#like I understand why others with ptsd turn to violence and anger

[luxuriant-starlight]

damn. having c-ptsd is fucked up huh

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 5

Chapter Five: Our Mistakes Were Bound To Be Made

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, Swearing, Suicide, reader in this chapter thinking of unalive, tiny fluff, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, Zombies, eventual SMUT, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!

Word Count: 10.8k

A/N: HELLO! WOW UM YOU GUYS ARE SO KIND AND SWEET AND AHHHHH every time I write I get so fricken nERVOUS bcs I want to do it right and I heckin’ put a lot of pressure on myself every time I create something and I want it to be good and now I’m slowly beginning to realize I’m a perfectionist AHKJFHAHA But it’s so worth it, I always look forward to your comments and feedback and warms my heart to see you all enjoying the series so far! ALRIGHT go go go go!

(P.S. UHHH THIS GIF MAKES ME GO FERAL DASKJJFHASKDGH WHY AM I SMILING SO WIDE RN PLS I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM HNGGGG)

Song: hate to be lame (feat. FINNEAS) by Lizzy McAlpine Previous Chapter -> Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

TLOU WORLD - 2023

KANSAS CITY – MIDNIGHT

Joel has his large frame covering your body and you’re trying to steady your breathing. His fingers are still gripping your waist tightly, feeling them pressing onto your skin. You hear Henry speak in a commanding voice, “Eyes on me. Eyes on me.” You and Joel slowly bring your eyes to him, while yours are wide with fear like Ellie’s, Joel’s eyes are narrowed in anger. He’s pissed at himself right now.

Henry has the gun pointed at Ellie, who was kneeling with her hands up, he speaks again, “You don’t have to worry about what to say. We don’t want to hurt you. We wanna help you.” Joel only utters a single word, “Okay.” Henry shifts his weight, making it clear he’s never done this before, “Okay, um…” You try and speak up, “Henry, please put down the gun–” This takes him aback and he sputters in anger, “How the fuck do you know my name?” Your body flinches at the sound of his rising voice and fear of what he would do.

Joel’s gaze darkens, it was like as if a switch had flipped, his vein is close to popping out of his neck, he is the turbulence and wrath all at once, and he shouts at Henry, “Don’t fuckin’ talk to her like that. Only talk to me.” You and Ellie look at him, mouths slightly parting and blinking up at him in shock. There is a sudden pause that fills the fair, and Henry understands that you were important to him, just like the girl who was kneeling in front of him. He shifts his weight again to his other side and speaks calmly this time, “I don’t know what the next step is with something like this but if I lower my gun we didn’t hurt you so you don’t hurt us. Right?”

Joel stares at him with daggers in his eyes, and refuses to warm his tone as he replies, “That’s right.” Henry blinks twice and nervously says, “That’s a weird fucking tone, man.” Ellie is quick in trying to diffuse the situation, “That’s just the way he sounds. He has an asshole voice.” She turns to stare pointedly at him and says, “Joel, tell him he’s okay.” You softly say, “Joel, please.” A beat passes, but Joel doesn’t let up, his voice becomes colder, and stares unwaveringly as he looks at Henry, “Everything is great.”

Ellie lets out an exasperated sigh, “Dude.” While Henry lets out a curse, “Fuck!” His hands are shaking and you get to hear the rattle of the gun as he speaks, “Okay. Listen. I’m gonna trust you.” Henry lifts his arm to get Sam’s attention, the young boy turns his head to his older brother who begins to use sign language, “I’m going to trust him.” Sam signs back to him asking, “Are you sure?” And Henry reassures him, “Yes.” His voice rises again, “But if either of you guys try anything…” He points the gun closer to Ellie’s head, indicating what he means, “Yeah?”

Ellie replies with an unsteady, “Yeah.” And Sam steps off of you and Joel, no longer perched up above you. You feel his grip loosen a bit, but his presence is still there. Joel thinks for a second and asks Henry, “Can we sit up?” And he replies simply, “Yeah. Slow. Get up slow.”

You feel his hands leave your hips and slowly remove himself from you, and you and he sit up slowly, doing as you were told. Joel asks for verification, “Is your name, Henry?” He nods, “Yeah, my name’s Henry. That’s my brother, Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now… my guess is you’re running a close second.” Henry lowers the gun from Ellie’s head, and the uneasiness of the situation dissipates a little bit. You feel your throat closing up as you stare at Sam and Henry, two characters whose futures were written with crayons and coloring books. It was misspelled and outside the lines, and you know their stories end in tragedy.

You, Joel, and Ellie sat across from Henry and Sam, in a fully formed circle. They had asked if you had any food and you nodded, grabbing the remaining packs of food from your bag. The lamp in the center illuminated the room, brushing aside the dark and making room for the bright. You were all chewing and eating quietly, discomfort hanging in the air, a scale waiting to tip off balance, this alliance that had been formed through force and tension.

While chewing, Henry decides to break the silence to ask, “Where’d you get these?” Ellie chirpily replies, “From Bill. He’s dead.” Your lips form into a frown at her words, even though you haven’t met Frank and Bill, the thought of them always causes your eyes to glaze over, your gaze now distant, over the memory of their love and how it ended. Not knowing what to say, the two brothers keep quiet at her statement.

Joel is busy glaring at Henry, unhappy and pissed at his presence, but his overwhelming sense of responsibility takes over and looks to the younger kid Sam, he crumples up the wrapper and gives his remaining food to him. He smiles and taps Henry’s shoulder, signing a thank you, and telling Joel, “He says thank you. I’m guessing you don’t have much, so this means a lot.”

Joel doesn’t say anything and he’s completely stoic, you decide to look at Sam and give him a small wave and you begin to move your hands and arms to sign and speak, “How old are you?” Everyone looks at you in surprise, not expecting what you had done, Henry raises an eyebrow, “You know ASL?” And you nod and signed as you spoke so Sam could also understand, “I’m close with my cousin, she’s deaf. I decided to take up classes early on so I could gossip to her about boys every time she came over after school without my parents finding out.”

Joel can’t take his eyes off of you, his compartmentalization is cracking and this close to shattering. He wonders how he got so lucky to have you with them, and this contrast with Joel’s abject terror at having to feel any sort of fondness or emotions towards you and Ellie. He’s trying to find a reason for him to be angry, to lash out at you for being so kind in an upside-down world, but he can’t bring himself to. 

Sam smiles and signs to you, “Eight.” Ellie smiles and says “Cool. I’m Ellie.” And you sign her name for him, and he nods in understanding, you also sign your name and he smiles at you, what a beautiful kid. Ellie then wacks Joel on the knee so he could be polite and introduce himself, he looks at the girl with a frown, and she persists him, he sighs, “I’m Joel. Look, you ate, we didn’t kill each other let’s call this a win-win and move on.” Henry cleans his hands and swallows the rest of his food, “Well, I’m betting that ya’ll came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun’s up I’ll show you one.”

TLOU WORLD - 2023

OFFICE BUILDING, KANSAS CITY – DAY

“Welcome to Killa City.” Henry says as you three look out the large glass window, “No FEDRA.” Joel states and Henry confirms this, “Not as of ten days ago, no.” Joel has his arms crossed over his chest, while you stand beside him, he says, “We always heard KC FEDRA was…”

“Monsters? Savages? Yeah, you heard right.” Henry said and he recounts what happened in those walls, “Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years. And you know what happens when you do that to people? The moment they get the chance, they do it right back to you.” You shudder at the thought of that, for twenty years FEDRA raped, tortured, and murdered for sport, all because they had the opportunity and power to do as they pleased. “But your not FEDRA?” Joel asks him, Henry looks up at him, “No, worse. I’m a collaborator.”

“What’s a collaborator?” You ask, and Joel answers you, “He’s a rat. I don’t fuckin’ work with rats,” He’s turning and about to usher you away but Henry is swift as he retorts, “Yeah, you fucking do. Today you do because I live here and you don’t. That’s how I followed you here. I know this city, and that’s how I’m gonna help you get out.” Joel’s eyes narrow in suspicion, “Why help us?”

“I saw what you did. What you both did. The way you killed those men.” His eyes shift to look at you and Joel subtly steps in front of you to block him from staring at you, his protective instinct taking over, Henry stares at Joel again, “Now, I know where to go but I don’t know how to make it through alive. Not if it’s just me and Sam.”

“You seem capable enough. You’re armed.” Joel says and Henry shakes his head, “You’re wrong and wrong. Never killed anyone. And pointing an unloaded gun at both of you was the closest I’ve ever come to being violent. So that’s the deal. I show the way. You clear the way.”

A laugh from Ellie and Sam causes the three of you to bring your eyes to them. They’re reading Ellie’s pun book and giggling to themselves. Henry has made a major admission to the two of you, that their guns were not loaded. Joel faces the window again, trying to decide, and you hug yourself with both your arms and listen to Henry say, “Haven’t heard that in a long time.”

“So how are we getting out?” Joel asks reluctantly with both hands on his hips, he has no other option but to let Henry lead the way. He grabs a piece of paper, places it on the conference table, then uses a pencil and begins to draw a map of the area, he begins to explain how to cross the highway, “Highways, downtown.” He points to the center of the paper, “Us.” He circles a specific area of the map, “This whole area belongs to Kathleen.”

“She’s in charge?” Ellie questions next to you, “Leader of the resistance,” Henry confirms, “You can see the way we’re bounded by highways. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught. No question. So how do we get across?” Henry bangs on the table, the vibrations getting caught with Sam’s senses, he looks to Henry and signs to him, “How do we get across?” The young boy nods and writes across the Woody Woodpecker doodle pad, and he holds up the board, “Tunnels.”

Henry snaps his fingers, “Boom.” And Joel is perplexed as he questions, “Kansas City has a subway?” The older brother looks down before replying, “No, but they do have maintenance tunnels. There’s a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers. And they share these tunnels, including… a bank building here.” He begins to draw on the sheet of paper again the graphite leaving marks on it, “So we enter the tunnels here travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential.” Joel has his mouth twisted to the side while you’re trying to process all the information being said by Henry, “There’s an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, pedestrian bridge over the river,” he claps his hand for emphasis, “free as a bird.”

“You’re right. That’s a great plan. So, what do you need me for?” Joel his voice was deep and stern as he asked, Henry, licks his lips nervously and takes a breath before replying, “You noticed anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange shit you’ve already seen.” You’re quick to reply, “There’s no infected above ground.”

“Bingo, damn she knows ASL and she’s observant, you’re pretty smart,” Henry says and you stare wide-eyed at his compliment, not knowing how to take it. Joel, however, is clenching his fist, and scowling at him. He clears his throat, uncomfortable and intimidated, “FEDRA drove them underground fifteen years ago and never let them come back up. It’s the only good thing those fascist motherfuckers ever did.”

“So you want us going into a tunnel?” Joel states and Henry quickly defends himself, “Everyone thinks that it’s full of Infected including Kathleen, which means that we’re not gonna be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is it’s empty.” He smiles smugly and Joel is skeptical, “You’ve been down there?” Henry replies with a meek, “No,” Joel takes a deep, frustrated, breath, about to chew him out but Henry pushes on, “but the FEDRA guy that I worked with told me that it’s clean, completely clean. They cleared it out. All of it.”

“When?” Ellie asks this time, “Like three years ago.” Henry replies, and Joel tsked at him while placing both palms on the table, shaking his head in disapproval, he responds with, “Okay, maybe, there’s one or two but you handle it.” Joel looks up at him, “What if there’s more?” Ellie adds, “And one of those blind ones that sees like a bat?” Henry looks surprised, “Wait, you ran into a clicker?” The young girl acts brave, “Two of them.” He then says proving his point, “And you’re still alive. You see? You’re the right people. If it gets bad down there we turn around and run right back out the same way we came.” Joel pushes himself off the table, puffing his chest, “That’s your great plan?” Henry shoots back, “No, that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan. But as far as I could tell,” he shrugs, “it’s our only shot.”

Joel sighs and you hear a thumping sound from the table, it’s coming from Sam, and he signs, “What are they saying?” Henry looks to you for an answer, and immediately your gaze is fixed on Joel, the temper in his eyes cool down and soften, this tells you all you need to know, you look to Sam as you speak and sign to the young boy, “We’re going to help you escape.”

TLOU WORLD - 2023

BANK BUILDING, KANSAS CITY – DAY

The group makes their way across the street and into the abandoned bank. The tall glass windows made you restless, if one of the rebels drove by someone could spot you easily. Joel reads your mind as he says, “We need to get out of sight.” Henry takes a look around and spots the entrance, “Uh, I think it’s this way.” Joel nods and the group breaks into a jog to the right-side hallway of the bank building. The squeak of the door fills breaks the silence and the shine of flashlights chase away the darkness. All of you enter, and Henry says to Joel, “This should be it. You ready?” Joel shifts his gaze to Ellie and then you, “Get your gun out.”

Ellie smiles and pulls it out of her jacket pocket and you do the same, Joel begins to take the lead and you trail behind him. He pushes the large metal maintenance door, shining his flashlight and making sure it’s clear. “See, it’s empty. The plan is good.” Henry says optimistically, and you shake your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. You hear Joel shush him, “The plan is good? We’ve been down here for two seconds. We don’t know anything.” Henry leans back a little, tilting his head at Ellie and you, “You’re dad’s kind of a pessimist.” And in synchronized fashion, the two of them reply, “He’s not my dad.” While Joel says, “I’m not her dad.” You nearly laugh and hide your face with one of your hands as the other was currently holding the flashlight and gun. Henry doesn’t say anything and Joel begins to give instructions, “Just point your light forward and be ready to run.”

You walk a few paces behind Joel with Ellie right behind you, the sound of footsteps echoes in the tunnel, and with every step, you hear the sound of the cement beneath your boots. After what seems like an hour, you take a left, to a section of the tunnel, and stumble across a colorful entrance, one you instantly recognize from one of the scenes in the video game. A castle is painted at the entrance of the door, and blue covers the walls representing the sky, people were drawn on them, child-like in manner. Flowers were painted, along with hills and rainbows.

Ellie lets out a quiet, “Woah,” as your lights bounced around the walls to admire and inspect them. You see Sam about to open the door but Joel stops him while shaking his head, “No.” He goes first, pushing the heavy door, taking a peek with his gun out, and finding no infected.

The rest of the group follows him inside to find chairs, tables, toys, and books scattered around the room. You see the large goal painted on the wall and find a ball right next to it. Joel looks up to find the ventilation fan and says, “I heard about places like this. People went underground after Outbreak Day. Built settlements.”

“What happened to them?” Ellie asks, and Joel looks at the whiteboard with the written house rules, “Maybe they didn’t follow the rules and they all got infected.” Ellie hums and walks over to one of the tables, Sam plops down on one of the chairs, and she messes around with him. Joel looks at a kid’s drawing on the wall, figures representing Danny and Ish. You look over his shoulder and then approached the wall, grabbing the drawing. Joel watches you and asks, “Do you know who they are?” You nod, “Yeah, Ish’s backstory might be different though. But the summary of it is that he established a community here with another guy named Danny, and Suzan and Kyle, with their kids. And several others, but at some point, a door was left open. Just like you said, someone forgot to follow the rules.” Joel sees you frowning and your eyes sad, “What happened to them?” You look up at him, “Ish, Suzan, and the kids escaped and made it out to the suburbs, after that their fate is unknown.”

You hear Ellie and Sam find a Savage Starlight comic and hear her excitement, “No way! I love these!” They begin to converse over the comic issues that they have, you shine your light around the room, looking through books and drawings. You hear Ellie speak again, “To the edge of the universe and back. Endure and Survive.” He begins to teach her how to sign the last two words, “Endure. Survive. Fuck yeah, man!” And they giggle and high-five.

“Keep it down. We’re not out yet.” Joel says and you’re busy grabbing one of the science books that was left behind, you hear Ellie groan, “Oh, c’mon. Can we just rest here for a while? There’s like actually shit to do here.” Henry pipes in, “Wouldn’t be so bad to wait the light out a bit. Safer in the shadows when we pop back out on the other side.” You also decide to mumble, not caring if they heard or not, “And let them be kids for a bit. It wouldn’t hurt them to have a little fun.”

Ellie looks at Joel, and seemingly outnumbered, he shrugs and lets them do whatever. The three of you sit at the table, next to Joel, while he and Henry watch both of the kids play. You are busy studying the book you found, was a bit outdated, but it still held the key information you needed to review, and for some reason, you’re having a hard time remembering important memories.

You hear Ellie and Sam having the most fun that they’ve had in years. Their life is a gorgeous broken gift, with billions of people waiting to be fixed. They were just kids who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up, and suddenly it fits. They grew up too quickly, but if only they knew, that the sunlight shines a little brighter, the weight of the world’s a little lighter all because of them. 

You hear Joel lowly speak, “If you were… collaboratin’ to take care of him I shouldn’t have said what I said. I don’t know you’re situation. And I’m not sayin’ they should let it go, but… All things considered, seems kinda cruel… to send a whole army after you for that.” You raise your eyes from the book, watching the two men, Henry looks down before he admits what information he was hiding, “You know, I wasn’t… exactly telling you two the truth before about me not killing someone.”

Joel turns to look at him with his mouth slightly parted while your eyes are simply waiting for him to continue, “There was a man, a great man. You know, he was never afraid, never selfish, and he was always forgiving. Have you ever met someone like that? Kind of man you’d follow anywhere.” Your leg begins to bounce up and down in anticipation while you slowly bring your eyes to Joel. He wasn’t that kind of man, and despite that, you knew deep down you follow him anywhere. Henry continues and your eyes dart back to him, “I mean, I wanted to. I would’ve. Yeah, but… Sam, he… he got sick. Leukemia.” Your leg stops bouncing after that, you completely go numb and breathing becomes a little harder. A pause between you three, a dose of reality that there were plenty of other illnesses and diseases besides the cordyceps they had to worry about. The quality and value of human lives have deteriorated over the twenty years in their world, and the decisions people have collectively made, to fight each other rather than together inevitably cause the apocalyptic world they have today. You know so little, yet fear so much. You aspire not to expire at the hand of some infectious disease. Children can no longer have proper childhoods, and no more clumsy start to adolescence, the moment they were brought into this world, they now also carry the burden of the past.

Henry continues, “Yeah, anyway… there was one drug that worked and, whoa, big shock. There wasn’t much left of it and it belonged to FEDRA. And if I wanted some it was gonna take something big. So I gave them something big. That one great man. The leader of the resistance movement in Kansas City. And Kathleen’s brother. Yeah, so… you still think they should take it easy on me? Or am I the bad guy?”

You rub the side of your face in exhaustion and stress, while Joel gives him a one-shoulder shrug, “I don’t know what you’re waitin’ on, man. The answer’s easy. I am the bad guy because I did a bad guy thing.” You shake your head, “What was his name?” He promptly responds, “Michael.” You continue, disagreeing with his statement, “No, it will never be that easy. You made a human decision. You took a risk because of your love for Sam at the cost of an uprising that wouldn’t have even happened if you hadn’t done what you did.” Henry only looks at you with guilt then he stares at Joel, “But you get it, though. You might not be her father, but you were someone’s.” Joel doesn’t deny it and simply looks down at the table while Henry goes on, “See, I could tell.” He shifts his gaze at you again, “You weren’t a parent, but I see how hard you try to be there for everyone.”

Joel looks at you for confirmation, but you merely blink with a gaze full of denial, you turn away and stand up from your chair while grabbing your flashlight, gun, and bag, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. The sun is about to set, let’s go.” For the first time, you were the one to walk away.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

PARKING LOT OF THE BANK OF AMERICA, ON THE WAY TO THE SUBURBS, KANSAS CITY – NIGHT

The sound of the metal door opening fills your ears as you walk out of the stairwell, flashlights shine through the darkness as Joel asks, “Do you know where we are?” Henry replies with optimism, “Yep. The other side.” You begin to walk away from the parking lot and into the suburbs. You pull Joel to the side and tug on his arm, he leans down to your height before you could go on your tip toes, and you whisper, “Joel, I’m not sure Sam and Henry are gonna make it. So far it’s been good, and things might’ve changed but I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, ‘cause I can’t remember how it goes from here.”

He looks at you with great concern, “What do you mean?” Your eyebrows tense and your eyes nervously move and shift as the words spill out of your mouth, talking in circles, “Henry might kill himself, but I don’t know why, something is stopping me from fully remembering, I was gonna tell you as soon as I could, but everything was happening so fast and at first I couldn’t recognize anything until the settlement we found… but I can’t… I’m trying my hardest, I swear but–” Joel grips your shoulders and you freeze, “Look at me.” You can feel your heartbeat racing, the anxiety running through your bloodstream and crippling your ability to breathe, “Hey… Hey. Look at me. It will be fine, we’ll figure it out, together.” Your eyes slowly fix on him as the both of you stood there, you know Joel doesn’t make promises, he isn’t at that point yet, but his sense of needing to care for you, to find a way to get rid of your distress, is slowly overpowering his practicality right now. He feels it within himself as his eyes are steadily on yours, trying to keep you grounded, here with him. Slowly, you come back to yourself and take a deep breath, mimicking his breathing.

The world was brighter before you had learned to dim it down, now you call it survival, breath is borrowed and our compass within you stands still. Beneath your brave and trusting feet, all revelations come to you in recovery, you start to nod at the man in front of you, who had his hand still gripped on your shoulders, “I’m fine. I’m okay. Let’s keep going.”

You hadn’t realized that the rest of the group had stopped a few steps ahead of you to give you and Joel the privacy you needed, he lets go and you follow him forward, Ellie only gives you a reassuring smile and you gently smile back at her. There are rows of houses sound asleep, and only streetlamps notice you, while you look for signals, for a clue.

Joel continues to lead the pack and you hear Henry comment from behind you, “No one is here. No one’s gonna be here because my plan worked.” You look up to the sky in annoyance as you, “Can you not say shit like that. It’ll jinx us.” And Joel clicks his tongue at him, “So much goddamn talkin’.” Ellie smirks at both of your attitudes while Henry points out, “I’m just sayin’, I deliver.” He raises his arm and directs, “Make this right, go down the street embankment behind the last house… and we’re out.”

Ellie peers at Henry questioning him, “So we cross the river, and then what? Where ya gonna go?” He ponders for a moment, “Don’t know yet.” And Ellie can’t help herself as she says to him, “Well, we’re goin’ to Wyoming.” Joel turns his head to glare at Ellie, she shrugs at him, “What? It’s a huge state. It can fit two more people.” He looks ahead, not wanting to argue with her, Henry senses Joel doesn’t want them joining, “Yeah. Maybe we just call this one a success and say our fond farewells.” Ellie replies, “No. He’ll change his mind. Trust me. This is how it goes.” Then she begins to mock Joel’s tone and voice, “He’s like, ‘No, Ellie. Never, ever, ever happening.’ And then I’m like,  ‘I’m gonna ask you a million more times.’ And he’s like–”

The sound of a bullet piercing through one of the rusting cars on the side of the street causes all five of you to flinch and duck your heads, you hear Ellie scream, “Fuck!” You’re all confused and puzzled, looking for the source of the sound. A second shot rings out and you all fully process you’re now in a potentially life-threatening situation. Joel shouts and covers you all, “Move! Move! Go!” You all run to hide behind a car, and get low on the ground, “Where the fuck is that coming from?” Henry asks and Joel hisses at him, “Shut up.”

Joel peeks to try and identify where the sniper is positioned, he sees a muzzle flash go off at the end of the road, the highest window of the last house, and he ducks back down. The sharp sound of glass shattering behind you. You hear Henry, “Shit. All right, fuck. Let’s move. Let’s go.” And proceeds to grab Sam by the wrist, attempting to run away, Joel yells at them for their naiveness, “What are you doin’?” He replies, “Gettin’ the fuck outta here!” But another gunshot rings out, hitting the rooftop of one of the nearby cars, Henry reacts and drags Sam back to the three of you, he asks panting, “What do we do?” Joel tries to peek again and luckily the guy misses and hits the car’s trunk.

After assessing the situation, Joel tucks his revolver back in his gun holster, “All right. Stay here.” Ellie whips her head to look at him and you do the same, all at once you both say, “What?” He brings his body to fully face the both of you, “If you don’t move, he’s not gonna hit you. I’m gonna go around, try to get in the house from the back, and then I’ll take him out.” Ellie brings up her valid concern, her voice filled with worry, “But if you go out there he’s gonna kill you.” Joel responds with confidence, “It’s dark and he has shit aim. Nobody’s gonna kill me.” She tries to argue, “Then he’s gonna kill us.”

A beat passes. Then Joel looks directly at Ellie, his eyes firm and steady, with no ounce of doubt, he asks her full of conviction, “Do you trust me?” Ellie swallows down her fear, blinks, and nods. “Birdie, watch over her,” Joel commands and leaves you no room or time to argue, he gets up and proceeds to make his way over to the house down the road.

You and Ellie anxiously watch from a distance, each second you’re secretly praying and wishing that nothing happens to him. Your heart is beating so loudly, the sound of drums beating and thumping non-stop, your worry so evident that you try and stop the oncoming tears that threaten to spill off your face. How quickly did you grow attached to someone who you once believed wasn’t even real? The truth is, the chances are you are alike, against the odds and the grain. Against what better judgment writes, you both ache like children for love. You have no stakes on the ground or an anchor tied down. There are no guarantees, you know nothing but your fears of attachment and neediness.

You toss your feelings away, letting them sink deep below the ocean floor in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You remind yourself and watch him make his way to the back of the house, no longer seeing the silhouette of his figure. Two more loud pops and then the gunfire stops, the four of you sit in quiet eerie silence. You couldn’t tell if minutes or an hour had passed, but a distant gunshot could be heard, this time not directed at any of you. 

You hear a revving car from a distance, and Joel distant yell but is unable to understand what he’s trying to communicate. Ellie’s ears perk up and you all stand to see lights appearing from a distance. Shit. You grab Ellie by the wrist and yell out, “Run!” You feel your whole body working; your leg muscles running warm, cold air entering your lungs and blood flowing into all your limbs. Your calves burned, and your breath formed clouds in the air. You look up at the house while sprinting, and from a distance you see Joel trying to take out the driver of the plow that was barreling through the cars. You and Ellie try to shoot while running, but it does essentially nothing to stop the truck.

The tensions heighten when Joel’s rifle jams and you three are helplessly trying to evade the plow. But this jam provides pause for Joel to collect his breath and re-aim, so the next shot he fires takes out the plow driver. The large truck crashes into a house, causing it to go ablaze and a loud explosion occurs. Ellie falls to the grown and you pick her right back up, quickly ushering her to Henry and Sam, who were hiding behind one of the old and rotting cars, you ask her, “You okay?” She replies with a small, “Yeah.” You hear a loud voice coming from a woman, assuming it’s Kathleen, “Dead end, Henry. Gonna step on out? Save us some time? No? That’s all right, it doesn’t matter.”

Henry looks at Sam, who’s terrified and shaking, he yells out, “I’ll come out! Just let the girl and the kids go!” Kathleen clicks her tongue and in a calm tone, she responds, “No. Sorry. Those two girls are with the man who killed Bryan. And Sam… Well, Sam’s with you.” Henry argues, “You don’t understand!” And the rebel leader pushes back, “But I do. I know why you did what you did. But did you ever stop to think that maybe he was supposed to die?” His voice chokes up as answered, “He’s just a fucking kid!” You can hear the way Kathleen rolls her eyes, “Well, kids die, Henry. They die all the time. You think the whole world revolves around him? That he’s worth… everything? Well, this is what happens when you fuck with fate.”

You couldn’t help yourself, the lightheadedness you feel, the built-up stress, the adrenaline within you, the gasoline that had turned into a flame, an anger that could match a bull’s, recklessly you shout at her, “I’m sorry about Michael, I am. But, Kathleen, can you fucking look past your revenge? Past your hate? Did you even fucking realize that none of this would have happened, your so-called freedom and victory over FEDRA would have never happened if your brother hadn’t died.”

“You have no idea what it’s fucking like! To be without him! He was everything!” She shrieks and you raise your voice louder, “I fucking do! To have everything you’ve known and loved taken away from you? To lose? I know it all too well. Kathleen, can’t you see? We all lost. All of us lost the day the outbreak happened.” There was a pause, and you hear the gears turning in their heads, you continue, “Will killing us bring them back from the dead, or will it just validate your anger? The world ended and all this time we’ve wasted trying to kill each other instead of working together to try and fix the obvious problem. And for what? Tell me. What good did it do?”

A collective silence fills the air, save for the only noise coming from the burning house across the street, Kathleen shakes her head and shifts her weight from one foot to the other, sealing her fate, “I don’t care.” 

You shake your head in disappointment, Henry grabs you by the wrist, “Get ready to take them and run.” You start to argue but reassures you, “Yes! Do it.” You grab Ellie’s hand while she holds Sam’s, ready to run. You hear Kathleen speak again, “It’s time, Henry. Enough!” He takes a deep breath before you watch him stand up, his hands in the air, walking into their view. Kathleen shrugs, “It ends the way it ends.” The click of a gun could be heard, and you anticipate the gunshot but instead hear a loud rumbling noise.

You peek past the cars to see the plow truck has damaged the basement of the house, caving a hole into the sewers below, and then you hear the familiar sound of groans and screeching. The Infected geyser up out of the hole, all at once, sprinting towards the rebels. The sounds of gunfire rang out and more infected came up out of the hole, they seemed infinite. Henry joins back to the three of you and hides behind the truck, a Clicker chases after him and stands atop the truck only for it to get shot by Joel. Henry grabs Sam and decides to run away, you and Ellie do the same. Only for you to get separated when a Clicker grabs Ellie, and Joel shoots it from the perch. The impact causes you both to fall, this is when you and Ellie spot an open car window. Knowing you won’t fit, you tell Ellie, “Go, I’ll help clear the way and then find another way to the house.” She nods and begins to crawl, and you raise your gun and fire at the infected, trying your best to protect Ellie, doing what Joel asked of you. Hearing the more shots from above, you knew Joel was also clearing the way for Ellie.

When she crawls through the window, your mind begins to race. You need to find cover and fast. Finding another car, you duck behind it, reloading your gun as you do. You shouldn’t draw attention, and make as minimal noise as possible. The screams of rebels being attacked fill your ears as well as cars ramming over dozens of Infected. A Clicker approaches you but you push down your fear and side-step it, twisting your body and then shooting twice at its head. It falls limp to the ground, a Runner tries to grab you but you manage to hit it with the butt of your gun, shooting it straight in the head.

You hear a large growl from the crater, and turn your body to look for the noise. Motherfucker. A Bloater begins to emerge from the underground, completely covered in fungal armor plating, its belly sagging and spores popping out from each part of its body. The massive beast tears into the army like it's made of paper people. No amount of bullets will do any damage to the Bloater, and you have zero molotov cocktails, the best course of action was to get Ellie and run. You spot and see Ellie hastily crawl out of the van, a child clicker screaming from the inside of the car. You dart your eyes to see where Ellie is going and spot Henry and Sam surrounded by two Infected.

You sprint your way over there, helping Ellie get rid of the first Clicker and Joel shooting the second one from a distance. A thin layer of sweat covers the back of your neck, and you can feel the aching of your back, as you fight off another Clicker, its mouth screeching at you and trying to bite you. Another loud pop of a gunshot rings out and the Clicker goes limp, you take a large breath and grab Ellie, along with Sam and Henry. The young girl yells out, “Come on… come on! Go… Go!”

You make it out past all the chaos to the front area of the last house, as you run, you hear Kathleen shout, “Stop!” All of you turn to face her, she has a gun pointed directly at Henry. Your heart is racing, and your breathing rate rises rapidly, you bring your eyes to an infected crawling from behind the fence, and Kathleen turns to see what you’re looking at. She was too slow to react, the child Clicker shrieked and jumped on top of her, and the leader of the rebellion fell to the ground screaming. The creature thrashes and mauls her alive as she’s screeching for her life. A car crash you couldn’t turn away from, as you watched her get bit, mumbling under your breath, “Comeuppance.”

Joel makes his way downstairs and outside the house to find all of you frozen, he yells to get his group's attention, “This way now! Move!” Joel is the last to follow, ensuring everyone’s safety. Even from a large distance, you could hear the hundreds of clickers making their way into Kansas City, ready to infect and destroy the foundations they have built.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

ABANDONED MOTEL SUITE, KANSAS CITY – NIGHT

With the fighting over, the five manage to find a safe refuge away from the carnage. A motel suite far away from the infected in the city, for now. The stars are a choir in the symphony of the black; they are lights that sing in limitless ways. Sometimes music is needed for the eyes, and the deeper the night, the sweeter the melody.

You, Joel, and Henry sit in the musty living room area. Henry is sitting on top of a bedside table, while Joel is sitting on the floor, one leg curled up to his chest while the other is stretched out, he has his back to the radiator, and you are next to him curled into a ball, elbows almost brushing, but they don’t. You can hear the chirping of crickets, indicating the bugs have come out to play and exchange stories. The only source of light is the yellow glow from the bedroom, you watch Ellie and Sam continue to read the comic book that they found from the settlement.

“You think they’ll be okay?” Henry asks, still eating the remaining food you’ve packed. Joel nods, “Yeah, I think. It’s easier when you’re a kid anyway.” There’s an audible gulp as he swallows, “You don’t have anybody else relying on you. That’s the hard part.” Henry nods, “Well… I guess we’re doing a good job then.” Joel agrees, “What’s that comic book say? Endure and survive?” And the other man confirms it, “Endure and survive. That’s shits redundant.” Joel gives a breathy laugh, “Yeah, it’s not great.” Henry chuckles with him, “Yeah, no.”

You get up from the floor, not having the heart to tell them how they were wrong. Those kids now felt an enormous amount of responsibility for one another. And to survive means to stave off death, but to endure means to emotionally harden oneself, and tolerate the pain of survival. You begin to walk out the door of the room and Joel calls your name but you don’t turn around, he calls for you again, “Where are you goin’?” You don’t look at him as you lie through your teeth, “I’m just gonna go look at the stars for a bit. I’ll be right outside the door.” You exit the room after that, quietly shutting the door, and sitting on the pavement that faces the parking lot.

You let out a loud sigh, close your eyes, and cover them with your hands. You’re completely worn out, your mind is full but you can't speak, these tired gears, and you’re here somewhere between, drained from the events of today. You remove your hands from your face and take the gun out of your holster, letting it lay flat on the palms of your hand. The heavyweight of your decision rests on a single action.

You nervously lift the left sleeve of your jacket, the bitemarks of the infection are there, but there is no sign of it spreading, no yellowing or puss seeping out of your skin. Your mouth partially opens in shock and confusion, with only one thought in your mind. What the fuck?

You pull the sleeve of your jacket down. This doesn’t make any fucking sense. Then again, you’re in a supposed fictional world with its main cast of characters. None of it should make sense. But you figured, the rules would apply to you as well, that you could get infected. You felt ignorant, humiliated, and painfully unmagical. You are old enough to distinguish a sorceress from a lonely girl, and magic from survival. You make every effort to leave the past alone; it is the result of living in the between, the weight of your found family, and the pull of gravity.

You slowly form your hypothesis in your head as to why you’re immune. Could it be because you weren’t supposed to be here in the first place? You recall something from your previous research notes, ‘In theory, it could be possible to analyze the state of every atom in a person’s body and transmit it to a new location, where the person could be reassembled atom by atom.’

You take a large inhale and rest your head on your hand, which means needing enough information and processing power by using a quantum system, and while measuring, there are multiple possibilities, until the measurement is conducted. But that processing power would have needed an immense amount of energy.

In the tug of war between the tide, you were swept ashore like bottles holding prayers. The courage you contained, and the flutter of your earnest heart, will fill the silent seas, and it has restored a part of your memory. Radiation has become a key factor in the multiple theories you’ve read over the years. So when your atoms had been reassembled, your body must have also mutated and adapted to kill foreign infections, including the Cordyceps.

You hear the sound of the door closing and you don’t need to guess who was there behind you. With the heavy footsteps and sound of the rustling jacket, he quietly groans as he sits next to you on the pavement, the smell of ash and smoke exuding from his being. Joel notices the gun, which was now on your lap but he remains silent, not knowing what to say or do, while you’re deciding if you should share what you’ve discovered with him. You didn’t even register that you were bouncing your leg up and down again until he cautiously and slowly placed his hand on your knee, which caused you to stop the action.

You tilt your head to look at him, and he sees the clear glaze around your eyes, this moment, where you recognize you have no idea what the future holds anymore and the story you’ve been silently telling yourself about what the future is going to be like, has fallen apart in a matter of minutes. It doesn’t get replaced with any new information, it’s simply vanished, an atmospheric tumult. You find no comfort in this discovery, it's like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark and mistaking one stair for another. Your foot slips through the air, and you have a sickening moment of gloomy astonishment as you struggle to reset your perspective. 

You are desperate for some kind of clue, this kind of fear of the unknown terrifies you, the sudden obliteration of expectation, the overwhelming feeling of frustration and fear builds up and rushes down like a rapid river stream. You bite down your lip to stop it from trembling and fold your hands to stop them from shaking. You’re trying to find the best way to avoid confrontation or conflict, but Joel still has his hand on your knee, not letting you get up and leave again without explaining yourself. You could be described as a great river, one which can carry everything along with them but with a hidden dammed-up reservoir of energy. You have very little access to it, due to feeling bad for rocking the boat. For this reason alone, you are generally tired all the time.

Take a deep breath to center yourself, willing yourself to not stutter, and you tell him word by word what you’ve discovered and the possibility of how you got into this world. He stays silent, listening to every word coming out of your mouth, even the science jargon he’s not used to. But what he does understand is, you’re immune just like Ellie. He’s still silent by the time you’re done, and you’re so nauseous that you might throw up on him. You turn away from him, waiting for him to lash out at you, scream and leave you behind. He takes his hand away from your knee, you feel the air in your lungs refusing to leave, and you shut your eyes, anticipating the warm body next to you to walk away.

Instead, he removes the gun from your lap and places it on the ground right next to him, then he holds your elbow cautiously and gently, and your eyes open in surprise, you watch him roll up your sleeve to see the bite completely faded, leaving an almost unnoticeable scar. He brings his eyes to yours and he anchors you down safely, there is rage in his eyes, and you quietly whisper, “Joel?”

You feel his hands squeezing your arm as he hissed at you, “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You should’ve known better than to go out there fightin’ all those infected. How could you be so reckless? What were you thinkin’?” You’re befuddled by his sudden lashing out, you narrow your eyes and try to uncover what he truly meant, and you try to calmly reply, “Joel, it’s okay... Next time, I’ll be more careful, and since I’m immune–” He talks over you, stern and unsmiling, “There will be no next time.” You pull back a little from him, “What? Are you serious? I’m immune and there was barely a scratch on me when the car–” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, his voice so cold as he says, “You got hurt. Twice. Because of me. Of what I did and keep asking you to do and you would’ve ended up like–”

You frown and can’t help the questions in your mind spiral, what if your injury had gotten worse or you hadn’t been immune? You could have turned. Just like Tess. Does he believe you’re her replacement? That you could be like her? Or you could end up like her?

You blink at him, putting more distance between you two, there is a war inside of you, you are out of depth at this altitude, it’s suffocating you, and feel your walls cave in. Your throat closes up at the thought of him thinking you were like her, that you could ever be her replacement, and your voice is soft and vulnerable as you admit the words you never wanted to say, “Joel… I’m not her. I’m not Tess.” He flinches and recognizes the hurt in your tone, and his heart sinks to his stomach faster than a stone hitting the bottom of a lake. You turn away from him, not wanting to give in to his warmth and strong protective nature, “I’m not her.”

The absence of sound between you two is deafening and consuming all that it touches. In your mind, you beg for it to stop, the need to fill the gaps with a problem you both don’t need. With folded arms and tired eyes, you try your hardest not to cry. The heavy ache in his chest leaves him restless and unable to find the right words to say. Sensing that there was nothing left to say, you stand up and turn to walk away but Joel grabs your wrist and you bring yourself to look at him to see his eyes silently pleading for you to stay. You bite the inside of your cheek and sit back down, expecting Joel to let go but he doesn’t. This causes you to lift your eyes and find him with his mouth open, trying his best to communicate with you without his pride and anger getting in the way of something good.

“You’re right, you aren’t Tess.” He said with his voice low, and can’t help the tears spill out from the rim of your eyes, you whip your head away from him, trying to pull your wrist from his grasp but he doesn’t let up, “Joel, let go of me.” He doesn’t, instead, he holds you tighter and says, “You aren’t Tess, Birdie. You are so much more than that… You are one of the good in my life that I… Hummin’ bird, I don’t know what I’d do if…”

He has trouble continuing, him admitting fragments of what he said shook you to your core. You’re incredibly clever but it takes you a while to process what he meant, so you tilt your head and try to see past his defenses, with these tall invisible walls he keeps himself in. You try to understand his perspective, it is why your mouth forms an ‘o’, not a gasp but the start of, oh, of course. He doesn’t see you as her. But he is angry, yes, but not at you, at himself. He wasn’t able to fully protect you. He made the tough call of crashing the car into the laundromat and you got hurt in the process. And then specifically asked you to watch over Ellie for him and you got bitten because of what he asked you to do. 

You slowly lift your other hand to rest on his cheek, and he flinches, but after a moment he allows himself to relax, unsure and clumsy, you say, “Joel. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m fine. I’m alive. I’m here with you. See?” You feel the want of thrill, of taking a risk. The pleasure of feeling the rush as feel yourself grow warmer. You let it happen.

The cracks begin to show, he feels his restraint slipping away, brick by brick and piece by piece. His struggle is not anymore with you, but with himself, his fears and desires, and the cognitive dissonance arising within. God, he’s so afraid, he wants so badly for his selfishness to win, and chooses to flutter his eyes close, with your hand still on his cheek, gently stroking his face, and for once, he thinks to himself, just for tonight, he leans closer to your touch, letting you become his sanctuary.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

ABANDONED MOTEL SUITE, KANSAS CITY – DAY

You had fallen asleep on the dark green carpeted floor next to Joel, using both of your jackets as pillows. Joel had moved in his sleep again and curled himself around you. His heavy warm arms wrapped around your waist and the ghost of his breath on your neck.

A loud thump and the sound of Ellie screaming jolts you and Joel awake. You sit up and see Sam tackle Ellie out the door of their bedroom. She hits the carpet, trying to fight off Sam, who’s scratching and shrieking at her, he has turned into the first stage of the infection. Ellie’s yells are piercing through your ears and you crawl to reach for the gun next to you, only for Henry to snatch it before you.

“Nope!” Henry says as he aims the gun at you and Joel, and Ellie is shrieking your names, for you and Joel to save her. You and Joel have a look of pure rage as you both try and take a step forward only for Henry to shoot at the floor, causing both of you to flinch back. Ellie tries again, wailing and crying out your names, and it only takes a second, before Henry turns the gun and shoots Sam right through the head. Blood splatters on the wall and the young superhero goes limp on the ground.

Your entire body is trembling, while Ellie is kneeling on the ground, looking at Sam’s lifeless body, you look at Henry, who is whimpering and sobbing, he blinks and watches his little brother’s blood stain the carpet, like spilling ink. Joel is heavily breathing and focuses on the young girl, “Ellie,” she turns numbly at him, “Are you okay?” He goes walk towards her, only for Henry to point the revolver at Joel’s head. Without a second thought, you step forward, protecting Joel from Henry. You raise your hands in front of you and plead, “Henry, easy, easy… Henry, please give me the gun.” His breath is shaking and erratic as he asks, “What did I do?” You try and calm him down, “Henry…” He doesn’t listen and still asks, “What did I do? What… what did I do?” He looks down at Sam’s limp and still body, the blood still pooling onto the carpet. A dark shade of maroon continued to seep out from his skull. “Sam?” He asks, lips quivering and his eyes full of fear, he looks back over to you, and you wail, “Henry, please don’t–”

He aims the pistol at his head, and you swore you saw before you blinked. There was no second thought, no going back or erasing. An avalanche now spent in white flag waking days. The loud pop, thud, and shriek follow in a sequence that will haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life, a memory wielded as a weapon. Every good intention is overshadowed by the stain of the past. Death is a blindfolded, bitter kiss. It's the finger put against your lips, emphasizing how they should have lived.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

OUTSIDE THE ABANDONED MOTEL SUITE, KANSAS CITY – DAY

You and Joel are outside, and the sound of shoveling dirt is a sound you’ve now grown to despise. The cold wind moves in only to meet the warmth of your blood, the only defense you have left. You feel it wash over your skin, again and again, only to be met by the beat of your aching heart. Fairness is a ghost, and its sightings take shape in such permanent truth. In the sullen silence, you were all taking turns shattering apart.

Ellie had gone back inside the motel room to get the rest of your things as you and Joel patted down the dirt, creating a small graveyard for the two brothers. If you could turn back the hourglass, you would. Reset every grain of sand, and give these two a proper chance at living the life they should have lived, you would. Your mind continues to spin webs of question marks and regrets as you stop your movements and stand there with instability. Ellie toses two backpacks on the ground, you watch her kneel on one knee and place the doodle pad on Sam’s grave, with ‘I’m Sorry’ written on it, the string of the pen is wrapped around the top and the pen is safely tucked in, making sure no one else will be able to write anything else.

Ellie stands up and asks Joel, “Which way’s west?” He only responds by tilting his head in the direction of it. She’s the first to walk away this time, a kid who grew up scared enough to hold the door shut and bury her innocence. You and Joel say nothing as you stare at the note, and hear her call for you both, “Let’s go.”

You both drop your shovels and grab your things, catching up to Ellie. Your steady true north fades, the three of you walking toward where the sun sleeps and casting your silhouettes as you do. Maybe there’s no answer here, at least neither one of you are ready to hear. No string of words will justify it or a simple equation to show you the solution and answer. In the meantime, you learn that you don’t have all the answers, just a little light to call your own, though sometimes it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows. 

Previous Chapter -> Next Chapter

END NOTES:

I am a hundred percent sure this was the fastest chapter I’ve written and felt so much easier than Episode 4 ohMYGAHD

HOW ARE WE FEELING?? ARE YOU GUYS OKAY??? DRINK SOME WATER BREATHEEE

YAY YOU’RE IMMUNE CONGRATS AHHH *confetti canon*

Wait why r u not happy you’re immune- oh right, you don't know what's gonna happen to you now that you have that information and it doesn't add anything good— it just makes you feel bad lol that sucks (the sudden obliteration of expectation) cause you’ve been telling a narrative you’ve always known and it’s changed and you have no fricken clue what's next

DID I GO BACK AND FORTH WONDERING IF THE READER SHOULD BE IMMUNE: YEP, A LOT… IT KEPT ME UP TILL 4 AM AND I CHOSE THIS BCS tbh it makes sense (??) you’re already a hecking anomaly, might as well be immune too :> Also, I’d like to hope this decision helped the story progress further… I think

Did the science make sense?? I hope so, I researched a lot on quantum teleportation and its possibilities. In theory, yes it’s probable. If you can manage to send every information about the atoms in your body, then send it to a specific time and place, which would take a massive amount of energy and processing power to do, yes u can teleport hooray! I'm just gonna assume radiation plays a part in the energy aspect and then since fungal infections can’t withstand that amount of heat from the radiation and your body has adapted— yeah you get the rest. (You’re not glowing radiation, it's just your immune system can fight the fungi lol)

I know a lot of people are gonna be rolling their eyes and saying, “why am I immune, goSH, so cliCHE, Y/N? knOWS ASL TOO?? WHY AM I SO SPECIAL?? I want to get bitten and be useless and not connect with anY chAracters–” well pretty thing, you’re one of the main characters! Ofc you’re special, you freaking discovered how to get to the TLOU world, I can’t have you dying on me… yet… silly!

Joel is having internal conflict with literally with his feelings about Ellie and yOU <3 I hope I portrayed that properly and well enough. Lowkey needed to write the miscommunication part because that question of if you were just a replacement for Tess was brewing in the back of your mind. Joel being him can’t fully express his feelings properly, so you settle for the broken sentences he has to offer and piece together the shards to find clues of what he means. Later on, it will be easier for him but for now, you both take baby steps.

But God writing that part had so many revisions and played every single possible scenario in my head— constantly questioning if it was good enough. Like was the thing I was trying to do between the reader and Joel natural and seamless? Did this conflict get resolved at all? Did I do this too soon?? Idk I’m just trying my best and I’m a sucker for Joel giving in bit by bit T^T (i mean i didn't make them kiss yet so I'm assuming wasn’t so rUSHED)

This episode centered around Joel rethinking his relationship with Ellie and YOU hehe. But I did want to give Sam and Henry the spotlight they deserved as well. I tried my best to find the balance in all of this, I hope I didn’t disappoint anyone with this chapter :&lt;<

oKAY INTO EPISODE 6 I GO, time to rewatch the pain again T^T

Grace

TAGLIST:

@memento-mora @elijahssuit @tartiflvtte @lillylilly2 @kyuupidwrites @amethystwonder11 @syd-vixious @kidkrow666 @soulofapatrick @ponyboys-sunsets @superflymaterial @chaotic-imposter @vainbimbo @eva-stark @loki-an-idiot @littleshadow17 @undermoonlightwalk @afternoon-evening @notmysunnydale  @slurmp69 @gyllord @aerangi @mac5323 @friskynotebook @earth-to-lottie @chaotic-imposter @kodzuvk @hawkins-2000 @reallysparklychaos @trust-dreamcatcher @darkened-writer @memeorydotcom @welcomebackfelicia @rainbowpitofdoom @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @marvelsimpcz @dorck26 @evienorville @munsons-queen @little-miss-bi @mxltifxnd0m @ohjoelmiller @coalix @taestrwbrry @avengersheart @gyllord @valentine-babe@missdragon-1 @ponyboys-sunsets @ipadkidsworld @otternanamilolo @issybee0611 @technicallysassyfox @cupcakemachete

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 28

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Burning Hearts

Notes: /

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  28/ It’s a secret.

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A joining?

A joining?!?

Matthew had always been someone you were enamored with. Yet, seeing the honey-eyed man now did not cause the same response in you that it used to. Especially not after what you had just learned.

Helio was blind to the shock on your face, and continued to sing Matthew’s praises, “He is a decent man. And I believe his affection for you has grown to match yours.”

It had you lost for words for a while.

He mistook it for being too overjoyed to respond. “I always hoped you would find a love as true as the one I and your mother share.”

It came out louder than you intended to, “No.”

Helio paused, “No?”

“No.” You said again, taking a step back. “There will be no joining.”

He clearly did not expected the response. “I thought you would be happy.”

The betrayal from Matthew was still fresh and this could not have come at a worse time.

“I am sorry, father.” You meant it, he was trying to make you happy and now you had to disappoint him.

You gave him no reason for the change in your feelings towards Matthew, and walked away alone towards the fort.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After all that had happened, Matthew sharing your private matters with others was the final straw of your patience.

A joining? With him? You were so upset that you didn’t even want to speak to him again. But you wanted to get this off of your chest first and not let him think that what he did was proper. You found Matthew speaking to a few of the knights in the entrance hall and marched right over to him. They were chuckling among each other amicably, but quieted down when they saw the storm in your eyes.

“How is your nose?” You didn’t actually care in that moment.

“It doesn’t hurt any-” Matthew’s answer was cut short by the slap he received across the face from you. His cheek turned red from the impact.

He was absolutely baffled by the slap that had made the pain in his nose return with a vengeance. “What… why-”

Some of the knights had flinched.

You wasted no time bringing the matter up to him, your voice was loud in the large hall, “Are you telling them about my personal matters too?”

Matthew was quick to understand where your anger was coming from, he got visibly uncomfortable and asked the others, “Gentlemen, will you gave us a moment?”

They didn’t need to be told twice and left the hall before the storm could crash down on them as well.

“Y/n… I-” He stammered.

“Shut it!” You didn’t want to hear it, you didn’t care that you were shouting at him either, “How could you?! You promised never to tell, and now I learn that you have broken your promise! It was not your secret to share!”

Matthew’s expression filled with remorse. “I am so sorry. It was just talk among men, nothing else.”

It was infuriating how he tried to make it sound like it was nothing. It wasn’t nothing, not to you. Trust was hard for the Dawn Folk, especially for yourself, and to be treated like this… “For you it was just ‘talk among men’, for me it is my personal affairs, that I trusted you with!”

He remained quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry.” He said again. “I did not know it would hurt you.”

Was he so inconsiderate?

Bitterly you told him of what your father had said, “My father thought it would be a good idea to have you as a knight, not just for your competence, but because he wanted to make me happy by having you live in our home.”

Matthew was pleasantly surprised, “Really?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “But ever since I’ve arrived here, you have been different to me. I am not one of your conquests, Matthew. We were never more than friends, even when I wanted to be more.”

He tried to touch your arm but you recoiled from him. “We can be more, y/n. I want us to be more.”

“I DON’T! I can barely look at you now!” It was unbelievable that he could act like he had not betrayed your trust severely. “You didn’t see me. I was so infatuated with you and you never looked in my direction with the same interest. I do not think you even really care for me, I cannot even trust you anymore. Where did my friend go? The one who respected me as I was, because I was me.”

The memories of childhood, when you played together by the creek, were painful now.

Matthew went down to his knees, sensing that this conversation was going the bad route. “I do respect you. I do care for you. Please, forgive me. I am a fool.”

“That, you are.”

A voice came from behind you. Matthew looked past you to see the Ash Man watch him be down on his knees for forgiveness. If that not dented his pride…

You gestured with your hand for Lancelot to leave. He reluctantly walked passed you and Matthew, and left the hall.

Matthew was not happy with the interference but kept it to himself. “I respect you, you must believe me.”

Slowly you shook your head. “No, you don’t. And I… I don’t think I want to be friends with someone who saw me as just another conquest. I thought I was more than that to you, I was wrong. I can feel how you are trying to see me as someone I am not.”

You stepped back and heard the door of the fort open again, this time your father walked in and saw the knight on his knees.

Neither of you looked happy now, you had known Matthew for years, but maybe you never truly knew him at all. Or maybe you were not the only one who had changed.

You walked away before your father could ask questions that would only make it worse. If he needed answers, Matthew was free to give them.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Ciro had taken Squirrel to the place he said he often had ‘great adventures’.

The library.

Poor Squirrel was counting on a real adventure but had to settle for the written ones.

While Ciro sat on the floor to read, Squirrel searched the books for something that wouldn’t bore him too much. Your cousin was the first you saw when entering the library, Squirrel was trying to climb a shelf to reach one of the old books at the top.

Of course it had to be those…

“Here, let me help.” You hurried over, before he could break his neck, and plucked the book he was aiming for off of the shelf.

After looking at it for no more than three counts, he handed it back to you. “Mirena is teaching me how to read. But I don’t find it very interesting.”

You couldn’t believe that you were not aware that he could not read yet, “I never knew you couldn’t read.”

Squirrel shrugged his shoulders and walked along the shelves again. “It’s boring.”

Ah, yes. He was the sort of child that needed extra motivation for certain things.

You gave him some encouragement, “You’ll find something to read that you will enjoy. Or maybe you will even write something yourself.”

He didn’t have much faith on the matter, “There’s nothing here for me to read.”

There had to be something there that he might like. “What do you want to read about?”

The boy thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “Moon Wings!”

You recalled a book that had some stories about them. “We have something about them here. Let me look for it.”

“What does it look like?” He asked.

You began to search for it. “It’s a big, heavy book, leather bound. Brown, with golden details on the front.”

Squirrel began his search for this book as well. Minutes passed before you found it at the top of a shelf, what idiot had put it up so high?…

The boy helped you stack some books on top of each other and by standing on the stack you were able to collect the book. A thick layer of dust was covering it and you tried to get it off as best as you could, then knelt down on the floor to look through the pages with him. The small sketch of a Moon Wing decorated a page about a hundred pages in, there was some information on them that you helped him to read. It got Squirrel interested in the rest of the book, so you sat with him for quite some time, in the meantime Ciro was consumed by the book he was reading off in the corner. There were so many pages, it wasn’t until your eyes began to burn that you looked to a window and saw that the sun had gone down.

“I think I should be taking the two of you to get dinner.” You began to close the book.

Squirrel prevented it, now having grown interested in the literature, “Can I take the book with me?”

You saw no issue. “Of course you can, just be careful with it. We do not have as many books anymore since the war.”

He closed the book, picked it up, and when he tried to stand the book slipped out of his hands. It landed on the floor, one or two pages fell out.

Squirrel looked so genuinely concerned for your reaction and gave a sheepish small smile. “Sorry…”

You bend down to put the pages back into the book, then saw the pages the book had fallen open on. A page that held a drawing of something familiar, even the boy saw.

A sketch of an unknown face, with tear-like markings beneath the eyes…

“Those marks, they look like Lancelot’s.” Squirrel pointed it out.

This sketch was of a woman, who’s markings were eerily similar to those of the Ash Man. You picked it up and read some of the text that accompanied the drawing, it spoke of the Ash Folk, of their lineage and the little information that was known of them. There were some names, it mentioned the king of the Ash Folk and his descendant. The book almost fell out of your hands too when Lancelot’s name was written under King Ban’s.

The door of the library was opened, Mirena stepped inside. “There you are, I’ve been looking forever, dinner is getting cold!”

Ciro was on his feet and beside Squirrel not a second later. “Sorry, Aunt Mirena.”

You quickly closed the book and used one of the loose pages as a bookmark for it, you told Squirrel, “I’ll go and put the book in your room. Go on, don’t let dinner get cold.”

With an apologetic look in the direction of your mother, you ushered the children to go with her. Once they were out of the library, you reluctantly ripped the page from the book before Squirrel or anyone else could learn of this and spread the news around. You stuffed the page into the pocket of your vest, then did as promised and brought the book to the room Ciro and Squirrel shared.

Was Lancelot aware of his lineage? Did he even know who his family were?

It dawned on you that he never spoke of them, maybe he did not remember who they were. You decide to get some fresh air after being in the dusty library for hours, the evening wind offered it to you freely outside the fort’s curtain walls. One of the knights stood with his back leaning against the wall, drinking a tankard of last night’s ale, he greeted you.

You returned to the fallen trunk of the tree you had sat on last night. The page in your pocket felt heavy, you would need to give it to Lancelot, he deserved to know. The rapid sound of hooves hitting the ground neared you, and you turned to see a woman ride up the hill on horseback. Her horse galloped into your direction and you knew there was trouble. Your eyes fell on the village next, in the darkness you could see flames light up the night.

The woman halted close to you, panicking as she called out, “Dawn Woman, we need your aid! One of our homes is caught by fire, we fear there will be injured!

“Warn the others!” You shouted to the knight who was coming closer, “Make them bring all the buckets we have and anything that can be used as such!”

You approached her, and she gave you a hand to help you sit behind her on the horse.

She spurred the horse into a gallop immediately, and darted down the hill towards the village down below.

The smell of smoke reached your nostrils long before you arrived at it’s origin. It was one of the larger buildings that was on fire, you knew that it housed quite a few people. Chaos had overtaken the night and villagers tried to help those who had fled the flames. You were helping the first wounded the second your feet touched the ground again. A young woman was crying in agony, the burns on her face were severe. It was a relief to see them disappear when you touched her hand to sooth and heal. She had no time to thank you for it, you were already tending to the next wounded.

The situation was overwhelming, you did not want to run out of energy too quickly, but you couldn’t just let the worst injuries wait. If their situation got worse, it would only take more energy to heal them. You prayed quietly to the Hidden, pleading with them to give you the strength to help your people.

Some stood by and watched the fire consume the building and spread to the one beside it, others cared for the wounded. It was a constant running back and forth of people trying to put the fire out with buckets, with water from the well or of the wagons that hurriedly filled and brought them back from the lake nearby. They needed help, you needed help…

There was too much going on all at once and the panic was overtaking the people around you. An approaching horse darted through the village in your direction like a shadow passing through the chaos.

You knew that horse…

It came to a sharp sudden halt and the boots of it’s rider hit the ground only a few steps away from you. Even with the veil around his face you had recognized him right away, and saw that a part of his cloak was missing, he had used it to make the veil he wore now.

“Lancelot, no! You cannot be here!” You ran up to him, knowing the rules your father had given him. He was not supposed to leave the hill, and broke the rules with his presence in the village.

He had been in the stables tending to Goliath when he heard the woman arrive on horseback to ask for your aid. The call of the Hidden to follow had made him break the rule your father had given him.

Lancelot stubbornly moved past you towards the burning house. “There are still people inside.” He spoke only loud enough for you to hear, “I can smell them.”

Oh gods, no.

Your first instinct was to go towards the flames to save them.

He did not even let you take another step near the burning building. “Don’t! I will go.”

“No, you-” You weren’t willing to let him risk his life.

He saw the fear in your eyes, his hand quickly cupped your cheek, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “Fire cannot burn me.” He let go. “Stay here!”

You feared that the last time you would see the Ash Man, was him entering a burning building. Some had even tried to stop him from doing so to save him from the flames, he fought them off without truly hurting them, then stepped into the fire.

The Hidden made their strong presence known to the village through the burning ashes, they began to collect together and circle the burning building. If it was not so destructive, it would have been considered beautiful, magic hanged in the air. It silenced most of the chaos as people stared at it.

“Please, protect him…” You softly begged the Hidden.

The people around you needed your aid, their shouts for help forced you to spring into action. Finally, the knights of the fort arrived to help, even your parents were present. With tunnel vision you healed one person after another together with them, your eyes never fully left the flames or the presence of the Hidden.

The exhaustion was beginning to take hold on you, but you could not fail them now. Healers from the fort arrived and helped those who could survive waiting for the help of the Dawn Folk.

Mirena healed one next to you and spoke to you loudly, so you would hear her over the noise, “The Hidden is here!”

You saw the people try and fail to get close enough to the fire to put out the flames, the magic of the Hidden was circling it like a barrier.

“Mother, Lancelot is inside!” You cried out in despair.

She couldn’t believe what she had just heard and looked towards the building again. That look in her eyes… you would never forget it. Especially because she looked at you next and you could see the sorrow in her eyes, the pity.

No…

NO.

It was taking too long.

Now that you were a summoner, would the old gods not protect you from harm too? Did it even matter, when you feared that he was burning? It did not.

Mirena must have seen something in your eyes, because she tried to grab your arm when you jumped up to your feet, she failed to do so and called out to your father. “HELIO! STOP HER!”

You ran to the building, to the scorching flames, the heat of it struck your skin once you got close. And then you were on the ground, Helio held you down as you tried to fight your way back to your feet again.

“LET GO!” You did not even hear what he was saying, you screamed it so many times that your throat went sore.

Helio’s attention left you all of a sudden, a woman emerged from the flames with a crying babe that had not seen a blue moon yet. Matthew came to her aid immediately, as those around witnessed how the flames around her never touched her or the child, instead they turned to ashes once they got too close. He led her away from the danger.

The woman refused to go much further than a few feet from the fire and cried out to the flames, “My child!”

You pushed yourself free and got to your feet, Helio caught you by the sleeve. The flames folded open and away from the entrance of the building.

The Ash Man emerged, took some steps away from the fire, then dropped down to his knees. In his arms he held a babe, the other half from the set of twins belonging to the distressed mother.

Exhaustion struck him now that the power of the Hidden was released by him. He did not let it go fully just yet, the flames that perished turned to ashes much faster than it could naturally happen. The ashes were born from within the flames themselves.

The lack of crying made him fear for the infant’s life. When he looked down, he saw that the infant was staring up at the red glowing marks beneath his eyes, and reaching their tiny hands up to touch.

The moment of innocent joy slipped away when he realized. The veil…

There were whispers shared, and looks of shock. They knew who he was, his markings had betrayed him. And yet… no one attacked him. They had seen a man run into fire to save another. The man who had sought to kill them, was now risking his life to save them. He looked to Matthew, to come and take the babe from his hand, which the knight did and the child was returned to it’s mother.

They saw that he was one of them.

He removed the swords from at his side, and while kneeling in submission, laid them out in front of him.

A surrender. His life in the hands of his people, as it always should have been.

You ripped yourself free from Helio’s hold and hurried over to Lancelot. He lifted his head and shook it, signaling for you to stay back, fearing the reaction the people would have to your action.

Fearing you would be seen as a traitor.

A fear struck woman shouted, “It’s the Weeping Monk!”

“He is Fey!” A man called out loud.

Oh no…

You were standing between him and the crowd that grew louder by the revelation. There were weapons being drawn, you could hear and see it.

You reasoned with the shocked villagers, “Killing him will not bring your loved ones back!”

A woman wished for vengeance, “It will bring them justice!”

The war had made many of them colder, it was understandable yet saddening to see. There had to be a way to make them less apprehensive to give him a chance.

If they wanted this to be a trial, then you would give them the true facts, “Justice? He is Ash Folk! If you kill him, you take the last of them away from the Fey! This is exactly what the Church wants, for the Fey to turn against one another! This is why they stole him, as a Fey child, to torment his mind into believing he and any Fey is evil!”

Mirena kept an eye on all of those around, fearing for an escalation to come.

You continued with your pleads, “His death would mean a gift to the Church and a great loss to our people. If the Green Knight saw the good in him, if the Hidden chose him as a summoner, how can we not give him a chance?”

Some of them were willing to listen to you, some were not.

“He did not give us a chance!” A woman shouted and the roaring of the crowd began again.

“He spared the children.” You countered, “And our future by doing so.”

Lancelot did not move from where he knelt on the ground, letting his fate be decide by his people. Often you looked back at him and saw the shame and guilt he always tried to hide from you. There was murmuring among the villagers, they must have heard the stories from children who survived the cleansings the Weeping Monk had attended. Your father surprised all when he came to stand at your side in this, and risked his reputation as protector of the Fey to help Lancelot.

Helio spoke to the people he had protected for decades, “Is this the message we wish to bring our children?! For when they are taken, they are not to return to us?” He gestured to Lancelot. “This could have been any of us!”

He walked over to a Faun Man nearby. “It could have been your boy, Thomas. The Faun Folk’s gift for archery would have served the Church well.”

The man looked to the people beside him and then to the ground.

Your father walked to a Snake Folk woman and spoke to her, “Or your little ones, Hildegard. The Snake Folk’s talent for making poisons would be very desired by our enemies.”

She put her arms around her children and brought them closer.

Helio looked at the submitting Ash Man. “He was just a boy. Someone’s child, stolen from their arms and thrown into war. Break the child, build the monster.” He turned to the crowd once more and gestured to you, “It could have been any of us, it could have been my child.”

Mirena stepped to Helio’s side while speaking to the crowd, “The Hidden has returned the Ash Folk to us. Who are we to question their decision? We are not paladins, we are not Trinity Guards, we are FEY.” She looked at Lancelot. “If you believe he deserves to die, that he cannot be forgiven, I fear for what we have become.”

The mother of the children he had saved came forward from the crowd and slowly approached the kneeling Ash Man. You let her walk past you, seeing how the villagers watched her with silent awe. The Sky Folk woman stopped a step away from him, and for a moment she only looked at him in silence. The Ash Man lifted his eyes to her face when she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I forgive you.” Her words placed the next brick on his road to forgiveness.

This woman could not have thanked him in a more meaningful way than to give him what he so searched for. It was as if he could not believe she had truly spoken the words out loud. She returned to her children, the forgiveness within her was an inspiration to others.

Helio saw the change in the crowd’s attitude towards the Ash Man and approached him quickly. He grabbed the leather of Lancelot’s jerkin at the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Get up!” The poor Ash Man was startled by it. “Walk with me before they change their minds on sparing your life.”

“Father.” You didn’t expect him to help Lancelot at all.

Your father gave you the order as he led Lancelot back to Goliath, “Stay with your mother!”

Helio called out to two of the knights, “See to it that he is back at the fort.”

“Yes, Ser.” They responded and mounted their horses.

There was a strange silence creeping into the villagers as they watched the unburnt Ash Man mount the steed that no longer bore the symbols of the Church.

Helio gave him a low warning, “Leave the hill again without my permission and I will let you rot in the dungeon!”

All he could do was respectfully nod.

When Helio had turned his back and returned to see who else needed healing, Lancelot looked at you.

‘Go’ You mouthed to him.

The knights who were to accompany him urged him to follow, and after seeing your reaction he followed them back to the fort.

You were left somewhat shaken, and you were grateful for the help around you now. Mirena wasn’t too happy after having seen you run towards the fire, and managed to successfully give you a scolding whilst she healed people with you.

The fire had perished with the collective efforts of the village and the knights. And maybe the Ash Man had a hand in getting the fire under control as well, even if he was not aware of it. It was only a few hours before dawn when you returned to the fort, with the help of villagers who so kindly afford to bring you and your family back by wagon. Fortunately so, because this night had taken a toll on the Dawn Folk.

By the time you arrived back at the fort, you headed to your room without detours. You opened the door and by the time it fell shut behind you, you were already lying down on the bed, not even bothering to put the sheets over you even if it was a bit cold.

Faint knocking prevented you from slipping into the world of dreams. You called out quietly for them to enter, it even sounded incoherent to your own ears. The door creaked open, and clicked shut again.

There was no need to look, by now you could identify him based on the sounds and pace of his walk. Lancelot knelt beside the bed and touched your shoulder, “Is there anything you need?”

“Sleep.” You mumbled into your pillow.

A warm quiet chuckle passed his lips, then he was silent for a moment. Almost did you doze off to sleep when he remained quiet.

“Thank you.” He almost whispered, “For what you did for me tonight. I could not have faced them alone.”

You forced an eye open to look at him. “I’m with you, even if it is against an angry crowd.”

A yawn escaped and you closed your eye again. From your pocket, you retrieved the folded page of the book and waved it at him a bit.

Tentatively, he plucked it from your fingers, “What is this?”

“Ash Folk.” It was more mumbling.

He was silent again, probably reading what the page contained.

“Does anyone else know of this?” He sounded rather concerned.

Your eyes opened again. “I do not know for certain. I don’t think anyone has bothered to read the book it came from in years, it was covered in a layer of dust.”

The admission came from him, “What is written here. Is true.”

“About your family?” You risked asking.

He gave a slow nod, “Can we keep this between us? I am not who I once was, here and now is what matters most to me.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.” You vowed.

Your eyes grew heavy, all the healing had exhausted your body and it demanded rest. You let your eyes fall shut, feeling how hard it was to keep them open. “I’m so proud… of you… for saving that family. You were incredible.”

Another silence fell, this one lasted for a while. The warmth of his hand landed on your upper arm, it passed on to your skin when he rubbed in soft circles. It was terribly relaxing to experience. The last thing you registered before sleep took you, was the sheets being placed over your form.

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[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 19

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: Viktor senses something is off. Grayson touches base with Bone. The Children attempt their hiest!

Chapter CW: Canon typical violence. PTSD.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 4.5K

When Katya picked Viktor up on Friday, she barely acknowledged Ivy. Partly due to her anger, partly due to shame about her behavior the day before. She took the rucksack from the aide, her eyes downcast, hands reaching out to grab protectively at her brother’s shoulders once it was secure across her back.

Ivy watched the other woman sadly, wanting to say something, but not knowing what that would be; nor knowing if it would be wise to say anything in front of the boy.

“Have a good weekend, Viktor,” she said instead, a reassuring smile on her cherry-red lips.

“You, too, Miss – “

“Let’s go, Viktor,” Katya interjected, guiding him away.

Viktor’s brows furrowed as he began to awkwardly fall into step with her guided gait. He looked back at Ivy one last time before turning his attention toward the walk home.

He could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take an especially astute mind to see that Katya was in a foul mood. What was trickier for him was determining why. People had too many variables for his liking – it completely negated the scientific method. The backbone of chemical, biological, and physical theories and laws were their relatively controlled environments. If A, then B. If A, and C is present, then D; and so on.

People did not, as far as he could tell, live by such rules. Their feelings and actions could not be counted on to be consistent. And he found it vexing. And intimidating.

Viktor stuck close to Katya’s side as they made their way to the Bridge, his chin tucked in and eyes occasionally peering up at her, hoping he could glean any information from her stony profile.

“What is wrong?” he finally asked as they stepped into the Promenade.

Katya winced and chewed her lip. The pause scared him.

“Nothing,” she finally said, ushering him toward the Conveyor Car station. “I’ve just had a bad week.”

“Oh,” he murmured. He knew Katya didn’t lie to him, but he felt unconvinced.

“Come. Let’s get home.”

The weekend went by quickly, as it often did. But instead of feeling comforted and refreshed by time away from Piltover, he felt on edge and smothered. Whatever had happened during the week to his sister, clouded their home. It kept her irritable and clingy at the same time. She sat too close, touched him too much, didn’t really speak with him, and didn’t really listen. Despite her near-suffocating proximity, she seemed very far away, and he didn’t know how to call her back.

On Monday, when she dropped him off with Ivy, her fingers clawed at him when they hugged. Desperate and lonely.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy kindly said, “but we need to get going.”

Viktor made to pull away, ready to start his week. But Katya held on for a beat more. She touched him for as long as possible, letting her fingertips trail down his shoulders and arms as he stepped over to the aide.

“I love you, Viktor. I’ll see you Friday.”

Her voice was hollow and heavy. He didn’t understand. And he didn’t like it.

“I love you, too,” he replied. He attempted a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Grayson knocked on Councilor Bone’s office door and waited. Usually, Councilors had receptionists. Bone did not. Something the Captain took note now only because she wondered if this was another microaggression against an Undercity citizen.

“Come in.”

She stepped inside, removing her cap as she did. “Councilor, sir.”

“Ah, Captain Grayson,” Bone sighed, peering over his spectacles at her. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”

He gestured to the simple chair in front of his desk as he pocketed his glasses, and put the paper he was reading down. Grayson did as instructed, removing the folders from under her arm as she sat.

“I have looked through what you gave me,” she said heavily, placing a palm on the documents. His nod was equally somber, and he waited for her to continue. After a long moment, she added, “I see what you are saying.”

Bone nodded again, closing his eyes. He made to swallow and his throat hitched. He clasped a hand around his mouth as his lungs tried to push an angry retch up his trachea. His other hand fished out the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket. He covered his mouth, and swiveled away from Grayson. After a few more bone-rattling hacks, a warm, slimy wad crawled its way up Bone’s throat and mouth, and landed in the cloth. Very carefully, not wanting to disturb his guest, nor let on the severity of his condition, he coolly removed the handkerchief. Carefully pinching it to contain the bloody lump, he stowed it in his pocket and turned back to the captain.

“Apologies,” he rasped.

Grayson’s eyebrows creased in concern. She’d heard that the last Assembly had been cut short because of an acute health issue of Bone’s; now she wondered just how acute it was.

“I can come back another time, Councilor,” she offered. “Perhaps you ought to go home and rest.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Rest will not help. I do not want to rest.”

That statement made the lines on Grayson’s face deepen. What he had said did not have the calming effect she suspected he wanted. However, she was not in a position to argue with a Councilor. No matter where he hailed from. Not if the work he wanted to do with her was on a time crunch.

“Thank you for taking the time to look over those files,” Bone said, genuine gratitude shining in his pale eyes. “Unfortunately, those are only a fraction of the cases – “

“I know.”

“ – and Enforcer brutality is ongoing.”

Grayson closed her eyes. “I know.”

She had never partaken, and she had never taken it as seriously as perhaps she should have, but she was well-aware of trainees and rookie Enforcers going into the Undercity and finding citizens to fight. In the name of tradition. For meaningless clout. She had recently reamed a trio for that very activity. Not only was it unprofessional and shameful, but they had had their asses handed to them by whoever they had tried to intimidate.

“I would like us to put the data together in a thorough and concise presentation format,” Bone said, “and present it at an Assembly.”

“Us?” Grayson gasped. “Shouldn’t we get LeDaird on board, too?”

“We will. Eventually.” He fixed her with a sly grin. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, yes?”

“I suppose,” she conceded, settling back into her seat.

She knew from experience (her own and her peers’) that sometimes bending or skirting protocol was the best way to get things done, to solve cases. Even LeDaird knew that. “Hopefully after that attempted robbery at the docks a couple weeks ago, things will be relatively quiet so we can work on this.”

The first step in stealing the money, Katya found out, was sneaking across the Pilt. The airship port was on Piltover’s side of the river; built into the cliff faces on the outskirts of the city. The captain Beckett worked for was also a part of the Children, and was allowing him to use a small dinghy to ferry himself, Silco, Katya, and Annie to the opposite shore.

The night of the job, Katya met Silco at The Last Drop’s backdoor. Vander and Enyd stood behind him; the barkeep looking hopeful, but stoic. Enyd was pale, her hands continually fretting with the dark clothes her son wore. Katya was wearing dark ones, too; something that he had suggested when they had met up with Annie and Beckett to go over the plan.

“We’re meeting Beckett and Annie there,” he said, stepping away from The Drop. Enyd followed and began to fuss over Katya.

She nodded, and asked, “Are we ready?”

“Wait a moment,” Enyd breathed, her hand snaking into her satchel. She pulled a small, folded pile of cloth out and handed it to Silco. “To cover your faces with,” she explained.

He nodded and handed one of the four handkerchiefs to Katya. Taking it, she unfolded it once, a glimmer against the pitch fabric catching her eye. She squinted in the low light, and saw that there was a small ‘Z’ stitched into the corner with silver thread.

“Be safe, yeah?” Vander said, shifting restlessly. While his strong jaw remained set, his eyes shone with worry.

Silco nodded. “We will be back in a few hours.”

Enyd threw herself into him, holding on tightly. He drew her close and reassured, “It will be uneventful. In and out.”

Katya nodded; so did Vander, as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Reluctantly, Enyd pulled back from her son, only for her slim arms to reach for and hold on to the young woman. Thrown off, but grateful, Katya returned the embrace.

“In and out,” she repeated. “Like he said.”

Regardless, Enyd insisted, “Be careful.” She stepped back and gave the pair a warning look. They nodded and stole away down the alley. Vander placed a massive hand on Enyd’s shoulder as they watched them go.

Silco and Katya slipped silently through Zaun’s alleyways and to the docks. Annie and Beckett met them in the shadows of the Harbormaster’s hut, both looking uncharacteristically serious. In addition to their dark outfits, Beckett wore a black knit cap over his fire-red hair, and Annie had spun her own dark locks into a tight braid, instead of her usual loose pigtails. There were quick ‘hellos’ – Annie simply jutting her chin in Katya’s direction – and Silco handed the pair the remaining two masks.

The docks were dark and quiet as they strode for the small dinghy lazily bobbing in the water, waiting for them. Beckett took the back and readied the motor. Annie took the middle bench, while Katya and Silco sat hip-to-hip at the bow. Beckett untied the vessel and ripped the motor’s cord. It puttered to life and they began the short voyage to a small grotto just beneath the airship base. The boat would hide there while they executed their plan.

The water beneath the boat was so still; a smooth, black mirror of the sky. Beckett captained the vessel gently, leaving only a glossy ripple in their wake. None of them spoke. Katya’s knee bobbled nervously as they went. Eventually, Silco put a hand on her leg, keeping his touch light.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. He paused, and added in a quieter whisper, “I got you. I won’t let anything happen.”

Katya gave him a thankful smile, but her heart thundered on. It was a moment before Silco realized that he had left his hand on her thigh. Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, he drew his hand back. His fingers tingled and he flexed them, wondering why it suddenly felt difficult to breathe.

With the pace they kept, it took a little over an hour to reach the grotto. Beckett harbored the small boat just out of sight of any prying eyes. As they exited the vessel, both Beckett and Annie swung large, empty sacks over their shoulders and handed one each to Katya and Silco. They tucked Enyd’s masks up over their noses, and they ascended the steep cliff face. The climb became easier once the natural, jagged rock gave way to the smooth stone that built up the tower of the hanger. However, the biting wind off the Pilt stung their eyes and cheeks now that the extra rock cover was beneath them.

“The third hanger,” Annie whispered as they approached the first massive cavern in the cliffs. She pointed up for good measure.

While Katya had of course seen airships and blimps far up in the sky, it was very different seeing them up close, tethered and waiting in their bays. Impressive, hulking machines made from metal, wood, glass, and fabric. She didn’t know if it was because it was so late, but they did not have to dodge as many workers as she expected. The few she spied were lazily leaned against the iron gangways that bracketed each airship, smoking and distracted by conversations they were having with one another.

The ship in the third bay up was not as large as the one beneath, a fact Katya found comforting. Less room to have to search through, fewer crew members to have to avoid. The small group huddled together at the mouth of the cavern.

“The delivery from Clapper should already be aboard,” Silco said. “Stowed in the belly of the main cabin. Time?”

Beckett checked the chrono on his wrist. “It’s 9:30.”

“The ship is supposed to sail at 10:00,” Annie supplied.

Silco nodded. “Right. We sneak in, find the delivery, get the coin, and get out.”

Katya swallowed and set her jaw. Her heart tapped and she steeled her nerves. Stealing from the mines medical supplies seemed so much less risky compared to this.

They carefully crept onto the catwalks, mindful to keep their footsteps as soft as they could. They ducked behind crates and kept careful watch of the workers above and below them. They approached the ramp that led onto the ship and paused. Silco and Beckett looked to Annie, who skirted around them and sneaked up to the door, and silently slid it open. She peered inside, and after a beat, beckoned them to follow her.

The cabin was dimly lit and full of boxes. To their right there was a door and a brighter light spilled beneath it. Muffled voices murmured behind it. At once, Beckett began silently stacking boxes in front of the door. Katya joined in and set additional crates in front of that pile.

“Here,” Annie whispered. She handed each member a chem-torch from a nearby shelf. She flicked hers on and held it beneath her chin, making a twisted face.

“Not now, Annie,” Silco admonished, turning his own on.

Annie rolled her eyes at him and began looking absently around the cabin. “Oh! Look at this!”

The other three turned, expecting to see a crate with the Clapper insignia on it. Instead, Annie enthusiastically thrusted a small, metal and glass contraption towards them.

“It’s a camera! I think,” she said excitedly, spinning the object in her hands to look at it. “I’ve never seen one.”

“Put it back, Annie,” Katya hissed. “That is not what we’re here for.”

The other woman ignored her and stuck the camera in her bag.

“Come on,” Silco insisted. “There’s a door over here. It should take us below.”

Indeed, the door opened onto a short staircase that took them below the main cabin. Larger boxes were stowed there and the group dispersed, looking for their target.

“Here,” Katya called after a minute. Her torch’s beam shone over a large, squat box with Clapper’s logo stamped across the wood. The rest of the party gathered around, and Beckett withdrew a prybar from his sack and opened the crate. They pawed through the paper confetti cushioning the delivery until they finally uncovered the curtains beneath. “Nasha said the coin would be sewn into the hems.”

Silco and Annie reached in, feeling for the ends of the fabric.

“Here,” Silco said, lifting the end of one panel up. The fabric sagged and sifted over his hands, gently clinking as it moved. He withdrew the knife from his boot and slashed the hem open. Gold hexes fell out. Katya’s mouth went dry, both Beckett and Annie’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck,” Beckett breathed. “I’ve never seen so much coin.”

“And this is only a fraction of it,” Silco said, and Katya could hear the smile in his voice.

They filled Annie and Beckett’s bags first.

“Fuckin’ Janna,” Annie complained as she slung the pack over her shoulders. “This guy must be in deep shit if he owes this much coin.”

“It’s 9:45,” Beckett announced, adjusting his partner’s bag.

Silco nodded. “You two go. Start heading back down to the boat.”

“Be careful,” Katya implored as they crawled back up the stairs.

Together, she and Silco dug through and cut open the remaining curtains, emptying the gold into their bags. Once they got to the bottom of the crate, they carefully pawed through the panels again, making sure not a coin was left behind.

Above them, a door opened and loud footsteps stomped along the floor. Both Katya and Silco froze, bodies tense like springs, hearts thundering. There wasn’t another way out. Only up, back through the main cabin – where someone was traipsing about, entirely unbothered by the amount of noise they made.

They should’ve checked how many of the crew had been in the main bridge of the airship before boxing it up . . .

“What the fuck is this?” an unfamiliar gruff voice muttered. Then the sound of him shifting boxes around.

Silco turned to say something to Katya and she jumped, knocking into the crate’s lid, and toppling it over. It wasn’t a loud sound, but noisy and unsuspected enough that it alerted the crew member above them.

“Whose down there?”

“Hide!” Silco hissed, pushing Katya into a darkened corner.

No sooner had she stumbled behind another tower of crates, did the door at the top of the stairs open, a large shadow looming down the steps and into the cargo hold. She hurriedly turned her torch off, gulping down a scared gasp. Silco sprang for the shadows. But the light pouring in caught his boot before he could slip away entirely. His own chem-torch rattled and rolled away across the floor. The man grunted an amused tone and began down the steps, each footfall heavy. Meant to intimidate.

Katya pressed her back into the wall behind her, scarcely daring to breathe. This couldn’t be happening . . . This couldn’t be happening. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job. Her skeleton wanted to crumble to the floor; her meager supper threatened to make a reappearance. She shouldn’t have agreed to this; she hadn’t been in the right state of mind when she agreed. What had she been thinking?

She’d been thinking of her brother, she knew. Of how he deserved the world, and that this was supposed to be a way of giving it to him.

She bit her lip under her mask to keep from making a sound. She had also been thinking of herself, if she was honest. She was so angry with Piltover. So, so angry that they wanted to take another thing from her. Like she didn’t deserve it. Like Viktor would be better off without her. That she was nothing, and deserved to fall into soot-covered obscurity in the Sump and die.

“What’s this?”

The man spoke and Katya started, peering out from behind a tower of crates. Her stomach curdled. The crew member – a very large man with a sneer on his face and an iron bar in one hand – had pulled Silco out of the shadows and now stood over him. Silco glared up at him, his blue eyes shards of ice that cut between the space of his hair and the mask. Next to his side, the bag of coins was open, its golden belly glittering in the light.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling. The frame of the airship thrummed and vibrated. And then it jolted forward. Katya’s stomach tumbled. The ship was leaving port! Her mind raced. She couldn’t get caught. And she couldn’t be hauled off to Bilgewater. She couldn’t abandon Viktor. She had to figure out an escape. At this point, whether or not the money made it back to Zaun didn’t concern her.

“Thieving little Sumprat,” the crew member growled at Silco, taking another step towards him. The meaty fist that held the iron bar twitched.

Katya’s hand twitched too. Toward the small revolver tucked in her trouser pocket. She had debated leaving it at home, and was now glad she hadn’t. Before the man could raise the bar over his head, she took the gun out, aimed, and fired. The pop of the gun was sharp, and rang off the metal hull of the ship. The bullet lodged itself into the back of the crew member’s knee, and he howled in anguish, crumpling to the floor. Silco lurched forward and grabbed the iron bar, and cracked him across the head.

The Enforcer fell. Katya’s father stomped on his ankles.

Bones crushing. Hollow wails.

From the ground, the Enforcer delivered one blow of his baton to Katya’s father’s head.

Katya’s mind spun and her body froze, cold terror leaching out any warmth in her. Her vision began to white out around her periphery. Silco shouting her name, and reaching for her shook her out of the memory and back into her body.

“Kat! Are you okay?” He gripped her shoulders tightly as his eyes scoured her body. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Katya took a couple shaky breaths and shook her head. “No. Are you?”

“No. We need to get moving. The other crew members will have heard that – “

“The ship is moving!” Katya suddenly cried. The floor was softly rumbling beneath her feet.

“I know,” Silco said. His hands flew from her shoulders to cup her face. “We’re going to get back home. Okay? You hear me? I got you.”

She swallowed and nodded. Her eyes flicked over to the prone man behind him. “Is he . . .?”

“No, just knocked out. I think,” Silco assured. He stepped over and quickly assessed the man. “No. He’s breathing. Come on.”

As they scrambled up the stairs, the rest of the crew was shouting and ramming into the door Beckett and Katya had blocked off. A fair amount of boxes had been knocked away, the door open enough that one of them could shove his shoulder and arm out, trying to topple some of the crates just out of reach. His eyes bulged seeing the two stow-aways skitter to a stop.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

His outburst caused the other members behind him to scuffle and fight to get looks at who he was referring to.

“Thieves!” Someone yelled.

“Move!” Another screamed, knocking the man in front aside. A gun barrel appeared in the doorway, and it fired.

The shot was not aimed at anything, and Silco and Katya ducked as the bullet hit a crate. It exploded in a burst of splinters and paper. Another shot was fired; this one ricocheting off a metal pipe, causing sparks to rain down from the ceiling in a fine mist.

“Stop wasting bullets!” Someone yelled.

The distraction was enough to let Silco and Katya throw themselves into the door and crush the people behind it. The gun went off again as the nose of it was flung up by the impact. The bullet sliced through a tube slung on the ceiling, and fluid began spraying out of it in wide swaths.

Katya screamed and leapt back. She tripped over a crate and fell. Silco went after her, grabbing her arm. As he went to pull her onto her feet, he paused, sniffing. They both looked over to the decimated crate. It was smoking, orange embers slowly licking to life, eating away at the wood and paper. Growing bigger, stronger.

“Fuck,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded uncertain. Scared.

Behind them, the door to the bridge finally burst open, the three remaining crew members tumbling out, ready to fight. Katya’s eyes immediately picked out the woman who held the gun – a rifle, judging by its long barrel. She pulled her own gun back out and fired at her shin. The woman screamed and collapsed to the floor. Silco tackled into the man that had been trying to wedge through the door earlier, bowling both of them over back into the airship’s bridge.

The second man eyed the growing fire behind Katya with big, terrified eyes. He froze up as his counterpart on the floor yelled at him to do something. So, he did. Wrenching open the sliding door on the ship’s hull, he let a huge gush of air into the cabin. The embers sucked the sudden onslaught of oxygen up in a mighty WHOOSH. The flames ate and grew, licking up the walls and lapping at the ceiling. All three screamed, Katya scrabbling away from the fire. The heat bit at the sliver of flesh visible between her bangs and nose bridge. The smell of burning chemicals, hair, and heat filled the air. The crew member who had opened the bay door looked out at the view below him, back at the fire, to the woman on the floor, to Katya, to the gun in her hand, and jumped out.

The woman on the floor screamed and thrashed, trying to grab Katya’s revolver. Panic sluiced over her body, taking control of her limbs, as her assailant grabbed at her pant leg and attempted to pull her down. Katya’s limbs locked up a moment before exploding into action. Her free leg swung, the toe of her boot connecting with the underside of her attacker’s jaw. There was a sickening crack! and a garbled, anguished howl as the crew member was flung to the side. When she didn’t move, Katya lurched forward and grabbed the rifle before running into the airship’s bridge.

Silco had taken care of the final crew member; the man was slouched against one of the seats, blood dribbling from his lips, one of his hands pierced to the floor by a knife. Silco himself was at the consol, frantically looking over all the levers and buttons.

“The fire is spreading!” Katya cried.

Silco looked over his shoulder at her, and saw the blaze in the other room. The sweat trickling down his back was not only from the heat. Above them, there was a loud metallic groan and crash as the flames began eating away at the frame around the canvas balloon. Katya shrieked and jumped to Silco’s side. His mind raced, but no idea landed. He stared out the windshield at the expanse of black in front of them. Below, he could see the stars reflected off the Pilt, the orange fireball he and Katya were now engulfed in.

“We need to jump!” she shouted. He looked at her, eyes wide. “It’s our only option! Jump and swim to shore!”

Behind them, another gust of wind fanned the fire, and it surged up and around. Each of them could feel the thread of their clothes beginning to burn, the buckles of their boots becoming blisteringly hot. Silco agreed with her: jumping would be their only chance. He grabbed the rifle in her hand and beat it against the airships windows until they shattered. They scrambled up onto the consol and peered down below. The cool, briny air was a welcome relief from the heat and smoke. Less appealing was the very large drop between them and the water. Katya felt Silco freeze next to her, his body going rigid with fear.

“Come on!” she screamed, grabbing his hand and knocking her shoulder roughly into his. “Please!”

Silco grit his teeth, his fingers clamping down around Katya’s. “I got you,” he promised.

Katya wasn’t sure what made her say it, but she nodded and replied, “You have me.”

Together, they leapt from the airship. Plummeting down, down, down to the water below.

Notes: Cliffhanger! Cliffhanger! Wuh-oh!!!!

Coming Up Next: The Children of Zaun make their prescense known.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill, @pinkrose1422, @altered-delta, @truthandadare. @sand-sea-and-fable

[warriorsparked]

Headcanon:

I know I've mentioned this before, because I am definitely MTMTE critical about it, but Megatron returning to a civilian life is not... simple. Nor does it come without its struggles.

It's pretty far fetched to see someone like Megatron, someone who was literally a warlord, a cruel one at that, simply go to being a peaceful mech. That's not how it works.

His struggles with PTSD, I feel, were incredibly underwhelming in the series. I fully understand his redemption arc (and I wholeheartedly support it), and I do understand that comics are limited due to time, art, etc and everything else that comes with it. But Megatron's temper, frustration and violent nature isn't something that's just going to disappear because he's "had some time to think about it".

Megatron absolutely suffers from depression when it comes to a life after what he's done. He's got to live with the consequences of his actions, and understanding that he's done a LOT wrong. But he's not just going to shut down and become placid, or even a pacifist.

Megatron is a fierce, passionate warrior. His life has been nothing but violence for vorns (and for my Megatron, his entire LIFE has been surrounded by violence). Violence is pretty much all he's known.

As an adult, and someone who is on the more mature side of life, he does absolutely calm down from his raging episodes as Decepticon leader, but that doesn't mean he's a pacifistic. He's merely wisened up, and will CHOOSE his battles now (although I can tell you it's very easy to rile him up still, so he can and will still explode at some). There are plenty of things that still make him angry, and his temper will always be short. He is quick to snap, he is quick to the defence, he has a lot of self image issues after what he's done, and he understands why people don't like him.

Ultimately, Megatron is not here to please others. He is here because he understands the punishment he should receive for what he'd turned into. He DOES want to redeem himself, but it's not because he cares what others think about him, it's because he cares what HE thinks about himself. He wants redemption for himself, because he knows that he was fighting for a good reason, and he hates that he had become corrupted by that power, anger and greed, the drive for control because of his fears of having NO control. His actions now, are to remind himself that he ALSO deserves to live a life after the war--even if it's hard to accept and believe that (which is why therapy is important for him as well, despite his distaste for it).

I won't underplay the consequences that a few millions of years of war had on Megatron's mind. I won't underplay the moods he struggles through, the PTSD, the nightmares he suffers, the shell shock, I won't underplay his temper and his outbursts of emotions, and the episodes of depression where he cannot see the point in him being there anymore.

Megatron is SUCH an emotionally driven mech, it's hard to ignore that, and while he certainly keeps up facades and puts up his walls, I really won't be ignoring these parts of him. He is a complex individual, and at times, he's hard to read--he's had vorns to school his emotions in certain areas. But deep down, Megatron is an exceptionally emotional mech that is simply hurting and does not like to admit that.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

I suspect quite a few people on this site don’t realize they are struggling with the effects of chronic trauma. In particular I think more people need to learn about the symptoms of C-PTSD.

Distinct from general PTSD, Complex PTSD is caused by prolonged, recurring stress and trauma, often occurring in childhood & adolescence over an extended period of time. There are many risk factors, including: abusive/negligent caregivers, dysfunctional family life, untreated mental/chronic illness, and being the target of bullying/social alienation.

I’m not a mental health professional and I’m not qualified to diagnose anyone, I just remember a million watt light bulb going off in my head when I first learned about C-PTSD. It was a huge OH MY FUCKING WORD eureka moment for me—it explained all these problems I was confused and angry at myself for having. The symptoms that really stood out to me were:

Negative self-perception: deep-seated feelings of shame, guilt, worthlessness, helplessness, and stigma. Feeling like you are different from everyone else, like something is fundamentally ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ with you.

Emotional avoidance of topics, people, relationships, activities, places, things etc that might cause uncomfortable emotions such as shame, fear, or sadness. Can lead to self-isolation.

Learned helplessness: a pervasive sense of powerlessness, often combined with feelings of desensitization, wherein you gradually stop trying to escape or prevent your own suffering, even when opportunities exist. May manifest as self-neglect or self-sabotage. (I remember watching myself make bad choices and neglect my responsibilities, and having no idea why I was doing it, or how to stop myself. Eventually I just stopped caring, which led to more self-neglect.)

Hyper-vigilance: always feeling “on edge,” alert, unable to relax even in spaces that should feel safe. May be combined with an elevated “flight” response, or feelings of always being prepared to flee. (I used to hide important documents and possessions in a sort of emergency go bag, even when I was living alone and there was no logical reason other than it made me feel “prepared.”)

Difficulty regulating emotions: may include mood swings, persistent numbness, sadness, suicidal idealization, explosive anger (or inability to feel anger and other strong emotions), inability to control your emotions, confusion about why you react the way you do.

Sense of foreshortened future: assuming or feeling that you will die young. Recurring thoughts that "I'll be dead before the age of 30/40/18/21 etc." As a teenager I used to joke darkly that I didn't plan to live past 30—not because I planned to end my life, but because I simply couldn't imagine myself alive and happy in the long-term. I couldn't imagine a meaningful future where I wasn't suffering.

Emotional flashbacks: finding yourself suddenly re-experiencing feelings of helplessness, panic, despair, or anger etc, often without understanding what has triggered these feelings. Often these flashbacks don’t clearly relate to the memory of a single event (since C-PTSD is caused by repetitive events, which can blur together), making them harder to identify as flashbacks—especially if you’ve never heard the phrase “emotional flashback” and don’t know what to look for. For years I just filed it under “sometimes I overreact/freak out randomly for no reason, probably bc I am just a terrible human being.” (It turns out there was very much a reason, it was just hidden in the past. I have since learned to be kinder and less judgemental towards myself.)

There are other symptoms too, here are more links with good info.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile, because I’ve noticed that a lot of the people I interact with online have risk factors and experiences similar to mine. These include:

growing up in a dysfunctional household

having caregivers who do not fulfill basic emotional needs (do not provide consistent positive attention, encouragement, support, acceptance, communication, a sense of safety and security)

on a very related note, experiencing neglect or abuse at the hand of caregivers or other adults. I also want to emphasize the significance of emotional abuse, since it is hard to recognize, easy to ignore, and utterly rampant in so many communities. In general, family dysfunction, abuse & neglect are quite difficult to identify when you are a child/teen and that is the only “normal” you have known.

(For example, in my family it manifested as an emotionally absent father I was vaguely frightened of, constant nagging from a hypercritical mother, and a house full of people who yelled and screamed at each other. It took me years to realize I grew up in an abusive environment, because there was no physical violence, because I participated in the fighting, and because my behavioral problems made me the family scapegoat. And I internalized that guilt: I thought I was the problem. But no—I was a child, and I deserved not to grow up in a household full of anger and fear and negativity. You deserved that too. You deserved to grow up safe and loved and treated with kindness.) 

anyway back to more risk factors:

being neurodivergent or chronically ill (especially without receiving proper treatment/support/accommodation)

being queer (especially in a conservative or undiverse community, or without the support and acceptance of family & friends)

being the target of bullying or harassment (from peers, teachers, authority figures, irl, online, etc)

being isolated or alienated from peers, from family, from your wider community.

growing up with chronic anxiety, discomfort, pain, fear, or distress caused by any of the above and more.

There are many other experiences that can cause chronic trauma, but these are some particularly common ones I see people in my own community struggling with. And I want more people to be aware of this, because we’ve been taught to ignore and second-guess the significance of our traumatic experiences. We’ve been taught to feel guilty for our own pain, because “other people aren’t struggling, so I shouldn’t either” or (contradictorily) “other people have it worse, so I shouldn’t complain.” But that’s not how it works—you are not other people, and you deserve to have it better. We all deserve better. We deserve to be happy. We deserve not to be in pain.

I used to think I couldn’t have a trauma disorder because (I argued in my head) the things that happened to me weren’t that bad. And then I spent five years in therapy learning to accept the full extent of my issues. I’ve since learned that trauma comes in many forms, and can happen quietly, invisibly, silently, chronically, and usually without the survivor being aware of the long-term repercussions of what they are surviving. That revelation comes later, after you have survived and must instead learn to live.

Finally, no single type of trauma is more real or harmful than any other. Severity is measured by the way the individual is affected, and the same situations affect different people in different ways. Because no one gets to choose how their brain reacts to trauma. No one gets to choose their hurt—otherwise there would be a hell of a lot less hurting in the world.

We can, however, choose to seek help. We can learn to recognize when something is wrong, we can learn when to reach out to professionals, and we can learn to educate ourselves on our injuries.

And gradually, we can learn to heal.

(posts like this brought to you by ko-fi supporters)

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 13 - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

My dear friend @abimess, I keep stealing your gifs and making updates without telling you. I hope you never get tired of it.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: Magical torture with minors, cursing, angst, ptsd, derogatory thoughts and behavior, dark magic.

Chapter Words: 8.486 K

A/N> Yes, I've gone for a month without warning anyone, and yes that might go on, but at least i'm near ending this (I'm already writing chapter 21). Once I'm finished, I'll just programe tumblr to upload them all for me because i'm lazy. I hope anyone like this yet, i don't even know what i'm doing anymore. Good reading!

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 13 - Part XIII - The Sixth Year (Part Three)

Gossip really starts to irritate you when you go to lunch after potions.

"You want to say something to me, girl?" You charge impatiently when you hear the giggles behind you again, coming from a group of students sitting at Ravenclaw's table.

The group turns around with wry smiles on their faces, and you notice the editions of the Daily Prophet in the hand of one of the boys. It is Hope Summers, your classmate, who speaks first:

"We're just sharing some theories, Stark." She says in a provocative tone. "Some of us find it an interesting coincidence that just now that Mephisto is back, you and Maximoff are losing control of magic."

You frown.

"What are you talking about?" you ask in surprise, referring to Wanda, but Hope thinks you want her to keep mocking you.

"It's just suspicious that no one knows what happened to you in that dungeon, or at the ministry of magic." Hope counters. "And now you two are blowing things up, and we have a dark wizard on the loose."

"Fuck you, Summmers." You curse as you stand up, leaving the girl in shock at your aggressiveness.

The same auror from the first day stands in front of you as you try to approach Slytherin's table.

"Students must respect..."

But you interrupted his speech with a loud shove that sent him staggering backwards, and drew the immediate attention of several people.

You were seeing red by now, the man's wry smile only making you more irritated.

He drew his wand, but so did you. And the room held its breath.

"Put your wand away, Miss Stark." Warned the auror angrily, but you didn't.

Wanda stood up as she noticed the confusion, rushing to reach you, but the auror put his arm in her way.

"Now, miss." He warned again, and you grunted in irritation.

"Get your hands off her." You retorted, feeling your body fever with hatred.

"Stark." The man said, his arm reaching down to push Wanda back, and you exploded.

You didn't even finish thinking about the spell, the magic exploding out of your wand.

The auror masterfully blocked it, and you dropped your wand to jump on top of him.

It was a confusion of shoving, other bigger students pulling you away from the man and he away from you.

" Never fucking touch her again!" You warned snorting in anger, Thor Odinson stopping you from jumping on the man's neck.

"I just pushed her away from the line of fire, you crazy bitch!" The auror retorted indignantly and angrily. "Go to the headmaster's office now!"

"Fuck you!"

Thor pulled you out of the hall as the crowd of students whistled in celebration, excited about the whole fight. The auror was too busy dissipating everyone to follow you.

"Hey, hothead, calm down." The blonde warned as he released the grip of you by the courtyard. You grunted angrily, wishing you could break something.

"Fuck this school, fuck that asshole." You complained aloud, as Thor looked at you curiously.

"You have quite a rage, Stark." He comments, and you grumble in irritation.

But Wanda catches up with you the next moment, and she looks even angrier than you.

"What the hell was that?" she asks and you roll your eyes, running your hands through your hair.

"I think you are going to be fine for now on." Thor comments, smiling at the thank you Wanda says to him before leaving you two alone.

"So?" Wanda insists, arms crossed. You bite the inside of your cheek as you look at her.

"What do you want me to say?" You retort angrily.

"You just started a fight for no reason! Again!" She accuses. "Only this time it was with a wizard who could kill you. I want to know what's going on!"

"I don't know, Wanda!" You exclaim angrily. "Why does everyone expect me to have answers? I don't know! Do you understand that? It feels like I'm going to explode in frustration any second, neither you or Gamora seem to get it. I don't understand what's happening to me!"

"Because you won't talk to us!" She shouts back, just as annoyed as you are. "You're pushing everyone away! Even me! We can't help you if you don't talk to us!"

You grunt impatiently, turning around. There was a strange throbbing in the back of your head, a strange whisper. Like a voice telling you that no one was telling you the truth, that your friends expected too much of you, that Wanda didn't care...

This last thought made you sob. Wanda softened her expression immediately, taking a step toward you and touching your shoulder, but you pulled away from her touch as if burned, wiping your tears away quickly.

"Leave me alone, Wanda." You mutter between teeth. She hesitates, raising her hand toward you again.

"Please."

"I need some time from you." You insist, pushing her hand away, and walking away.

A part of your brain is begging you to go back and make things right, but there is a cloud of anger and irritation that keeps you walking.

//-//-//-//-//

You roll over in bed in discomfort.

Nightmares. Again.

It has only been five days since you had your fight with Wanda, and you are getting worse every day.

With Summers' teasing, you end up noticing other things too.

How the school really found the theory that you and Wanda were somehow related to Mephisto, because the minister had covered up what happened in the dungeons and in the ministry, and everybody thought it was strange that two students were showing an increase in magical potential with the return of a dark wizard.

Unlike you, who were failing considerably in any simple execution of spells, Wanda was demonstrating exceptional abilities. Kaecilius was more than willing to make her the face of progress at Hogwarts, you heard the gossip about bringing in reporters to share the news of the new direction.

You know that the only reason Wanda hasn't come after you yet was because you're running away from her like the plague.

And you couldn't even explain why.

You were also blocking out your real health condition from her. Just like you two practiced during the summer.

Besides hiding this from Wanda, you have kept your friends away too, isolating yourself from everyone else in search of a little rest, only succeeding in taking a nap when you are running away between classes.

And the detentions with Kaecilius keep increasing as you skip classes.

You begin to consider learning to write with a different hand, just so the bruise has time to heal, but at this point you don't even care about the scar anymore.

"You really must like pain." Loki teases wryly as you sit in an empty room, waiting for the aurors' shift change again after your detention.

You don't ask him what he's doing on that floor again, and he doesn't ask why you haven't spoken to your friends in two weeks.

"Sure, that must be it." You joke back, massaging your injured hand.

He assumes a pensive expression for a second.

"Are you sure you haven't been cursed by someone?" He asks, causing you to frown in shock and confusion.

"Excuse me?"

He gives a little chuckle, settling himself better against the wall.

"Everyone's been talking about you being sick." He says. "I heard some of the Ravenclaw people theorize that you became a werewolf over the summer."

You laugh helplessly, massaging your temples lightly.

"I guarantee that's not it." You say making Loki smile.

"If you are sick for no reason, it could be a curse." He says. "I wouldn't be surprised, the way things are."

"But how do I find out if I've been cursed?"

Loki takes a thoughtful stance.

"I don't know." He says. "But I'm sure you can learn that in the no longer reserved session of the library."

You laugh at the joke, but soon you both return to silence. When that hallway's shift ends, Loki sighs, getting up and helping you to stand.

"Still can't perform spells?" He asks, already drawing his wand.

"Only if I want to blow things up." You scoff making him laugh.

"Fine, I'll enchant you." He says. When you are transparent, he looks at you with an amused expression. "See you next Saturday, troublemaker?

"Don't worry, I plan on skipping DADA, maybe I'll be here tomorrow." You retort in the same tone before turning to leave.

//-////-//-//-//-//

It takes three more days for Wanda to finally corner you.

You are skipping class in an empty room on the seventh floor, trying to doze off, and almost fall out of your chair with fright when the door opens and Wanda comes in, looking annoyed.

You grunt impatiently, without lifting your face from the desk.

"I told you I needed time." You complain, but tense up when you notice the tears in her eyes as she moves closer to sit at the table next to yours.

" You want to break up with me?" She asks in a whisper and you raise your head immediately, feeling your chest tighten.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Wanda gives a humorless laugh at your expression. "Why are you acting like this is an absurd idea? You've disappeared. You've been avoiding me, not even talking to me anymore."

You shake your head quickly, feeling the urge to cry.

"I don't want to break up with you." You say. "I..I would never want to be away from you."

"You just said you need time away from me." Wanda retorts with annoyance, and you feel your stomach clench as she sighs. "I don't know what's going on with us. And I miss you, but you won't let me near you."

You are exhausted. So you cry.

You rest your head on your arms, and let your sobs fill the silence, hoping that the tears will take this bad feeling away.

It's Wanda's gentle touch on your back that helps.

"Babe, tell me what's wrong." She whispers to you, her tone concerned.

It takes many minutes for you to calm down. But when you do, Wanda holds your hand, kneeling on the floor beside the chair you are in.

"I can't do magic." You breathlessly tell her from crying, "And I can't sleep. I've been sick for weeks, and I'm angry all the time. Healer Cho doesn't know what's wrong with me, but everyone at school seems to have a theory about it. I think I'm going to suffocate, Wanda. I'm messing everything up. Between us, between my family, and at school." You sob as you finish and Wanda shakes her head, her hand coming up to your cheek.

"Don't say that." She urges. "You didn't ruin anything. Hey, look at me. I love you. Your sisters love you, your friends love you. We'll figure out what's going on."

Wanda hugs you tight, and you sob, shaking.

You want to believe her words, so you push the intrusive thoughts away, and believe it.

//-//-//-//

Wanda takes you to a door in that same floor you two were before, but you have never seen that door until that moment.

And you are very surprised to realize that it is a bedroom.

"How...?" You ask confused as she closes the it.

"Welcome to the Room of Requirement." She says with a smile, pulling you by the hand around. "We hold our Avengers meetings here." She counters and you frown.

"In a bedroom? Interesting choice." You comment and she giggles.

"No, my love." She says. "That's how this room works. It is charmed to meet your needs. That's why I asked you to come in first."

"Oh, that's pretty cool." You say looking around. Wanda smiles at you, and then you both reach the bed. "The room thinks I have to sleep?"

"I do too." Wanda retorts, pushing your shoulders gently for you to sit on the bed. "Go on, nice dreams."

You hesitate. "You gonna leave me here alone?"

Wanda denies with her head, pointing to the chair that probably just magically appeared next to the bed. You frown.

"Can't you sleep in the bed with me?"

She giggles. "We don't have much time for you to sleep. If I lie down, you'll want to kiss me. So I'll be sitting in that armchair, studying as I should." She explains seriously, and you pout.

"Stupid rules." You grumble moving your hands up to her waist. "Lie down with me."

"Babe..."

"Please."

Wanda sighs, then nods. You smile, quickly removing your shoes as she does the same. You quickly adjust yourself on the bed, opening your arms for her to lie on top of you, and she gives a little giggle before doing so.

"Are you cozy, sweetheart?" You murmur against her hair, and Wanda squeezes her arms around you.

"Yeah, your boobs are good pillows." She teases, making you laugh with reddened cheeks.

Your eyes begin to heavy quickly, fatigue catching up with your body relaxed by the comfort of the moment.

"Go to sleep, babe." Wanda whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

You smile with your eyes closed, surrendering.

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

The problem is that as soon as you start to wake up again, you are feeling sick.

You touch the emptiness in the bed, mumbling softly. When you open your eyes you find Wanda sitting in the armchair, the darkhold in her lap.

"Damn it, Wanda, this book again." You complain in a hoarse voice, but she just sighs.

"Why the attitude?"

"I hate that book." You grumble sitting up in bed, massaging your face lightly. "Why do you keep reading it anyway?"

"It's interesting." She says, closing the item to look at you. "Agatha really told me a lot, but there are also things I didn't know."

"For example?"

Wanda bites her lips, appraising you.

"Scarlet witches are forged, for instance." She says and you frown in confusion. Wanda sighs. "Many powerful witches, born scarlet witches, never got to fulfill their destiny because the forging didn't happen."

You straighten your clothes uncomfortably, pensively.

"What exactly does that mean?"

"What the headmistress did last year was my forging." She clarifies and you swallow dryly, feeling your stomach turn. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you ask confused.

"Everything." She says upset. "I know we've talked about this, but it seems like all I do is cause you problems. With the bond, and with the forge. If Agatha didn't want my powers, she wouldn't have taken you to the dungeon and you wouldn't have suffered."

You poke at the knot of your tie, feeling yourself suffocate slightly. Wanda is speaking, you blink to focus on her words.

"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" You ask out of breath, sweating. You blink to find Wanda's concerned gaze on you.

"Babe, what's wrong?" She asks worriedly, her hands around your face.

You feel your head spin, and everything goes dark before you can answer.

//-//-//-//

You smell the scent of grass when you wake up.

Then you blink in confusion, getting used to your surroundings to realize that you are in what looks like a ward bed.

"Hey, all right, take it easy getting up, Miss Stark." Asked Professor Strange with one hand on her shoulder. In the other he held a potion that you imagined he had given you.

"W-what happened?" you mumbled confusedly, sitting up in bed. Only now did you notice Professor Munroe and Wanda standing in front of the bed, both with worried expressions.

"You passed out, but you're better now I imagine." Stephen explained gently, but you were still feeling very weak.

"Professor, she simply blacked out." Wanda commented in a tearful voice. " Don't you have any idea what's wrong?"

Stephen sighed, and then pointed at the chair, the darkhold.

"Where did you get that book?" He asked, and Wanda frowned, taking a step toward the chair in a defensive posture.

"What does that have to do with my question?" she retorted dryly, and Stephen looked at you one last time before standing up.

"There's a reason it's called the Book of the Damned, Miss Maximoff." He says."It damns its readers."

"That's ridiculous." Wanda retorted, crossing her arms. "I've been reading it for weeks and nothing has happened."

"Not with you."

Wanda hesitates, widening her eyes. And then she takes a step back, swallowing her cry as she reaches out to grab the book and hand it to Stephen.

She turns her gaze back to you, and lets the tears fall.

"I am truly sorry." She says with a mixture of guilt and shame before turning to leave the room.

You call out to her about three times, but she leaves and you don't have the strength to go after her.

"Damn, couldn't I have said that in a different way?" You complain angrily to Stephen, who just sighs, exchanging a look with Professor Munroe. "How come you two are here anyway?"

"It was Wanda." Professor Ororo replies. "She asked the room for someone trustworthy to help her with you. Then there was a door opening in the potions room. Stephen was there with me, and we both came."

"Great." You mutter annoyed, thinking about how you are going to talk to Wanda and convince her that you were not angry with her. "Would either of you happen to know how to make me better now?"

"Sure." Stephen comments by raising the book in the air, and with a wave of his hand, the item dissolves into several pieces until it is gone. "I didn't destroy it, if that's what you're thinking. I just put it away, to prevent something like that from happening again."

"Congratulations." You grumble wryly as you straighten up in bed, the same migraine from before is now weaker, but it's still there.

"You know, you had a better attitude when you didn't have a magical doom on your spirit." Stephen complains, causing you to frown, but Professor Ororo gives a chuckle.

"Thanks professor." You comment wryly, making him laugh. He sits back down beside your bed, and pulls out of the cover a small notebook.

"Now that Miss Maximoff has stopped reading the book, I suppose you will get better." Stephen says, making you sigh.

"You suppose? That's encouraging." You say moving to stand up.

"Where are you going, Miss Stark? You need to rest." Warn the professor, but you ignore him, and ignore the weakness in your body as well.

"What I need, Strange, is for people to stop lying to me."

"No one is lying, Miss Stark." Professor Ororo states next. "We really don't know the extent of the magic the darkhold carries."

"And why is that I imagine?" You sneer. "Because someone omitted the truth from you, and it's been passed down for generations, isn't it? Well, that's over now. Because we've finally studied everything in this place, including a book that condemns anyone who reads it." You exclaim impatiently, stooping down to put on your shoes. "If you two will excuse me, I'll figure out how to get better on my own. But first I'm going to explain to my girlfriend that none of this is her fault."

Ororo and Stephen are silent, but you wouldn't have been paying attention to anything they said anyway.

Soon you are up and out of the requirement room looking for Wanda.

//-//-//-//

She seems to have disappeared from the castle, so you must concentrate to use your instincts.

The hardest part is dodging the aurors, but you finally reach the astronomy tower.

You're a little out of breath from the run, but it's the image of Wanda standing on the edge, the sunlight in her hair that leaves you breathless.

"Hi." You say in a low tone, your hands in your pockets as you approach. She startles slightly, wiping away tears as she keeps her gaze forward.

"What do you want here?" she asks in a husky voice. You sigh.

"That you stop hating yourself and listen to me." You say and she lets out a short laugh.

"And what do you think you can say?" She questions turning her body toward you. "All I do is hurt you."

You shake your head, but Wanda lets out a tearful laugh.

"No you don't understand." She says. "Since I met you, you have only brought me good things. Affection, happiness, hope. You've been that kind warm feeling that I need on my worst days. Hell, you're even the memory for me to cast a patronus." She confesses with emotion, her face wet with tears. "But me? All I bring you is pain and suffering. And now I even bring sickness. This is wrong, I hurt you. You need to see this, and understand that we can no longer happen."

"Don't say that." You ask, reaching up to touch her face, wipe away her tears. "That's not true, Wanda. I love you, you make me..."

"Stop it." She interrupts with a sob. "Don't make it any harder than it already is."

"Please, Wanda, listen to me." You plead, resting your forehead on hers, your hands on her cheeks. "You make me happy, you are the only thing that makes me happy, I love you, please..."

Wanda kisses you hard, and you respond with the same intensity, both of you gasping into each other's mouths.

But then she is pulling away, thrusting you farther apart.

"I'm sorry." She cries, taking a step back. "We're over."

And she's running away again, and this time you don't go after her.

//-//-//-//-//

Without Darkhold's being consumed, you really start to improve in terms of physical health.

The only problem is the emotional ditch you find yourself in.

Gamora, Nebula and Mantis find you, again in the Room of Requirement, skipping class.

"My god this is worse than last time." Gamora remarks as she looks around at the mess of junk food and pillows. The room had been transformed into a "comfortable place", which basically had the appearance of a living room, with several soft armchairs, and lots of unhealthy food. "Why did you guys break up this time?"

"Please don't talk to me." You grumbled, your voice coming out muffled because you were lying on two soft puffs, your face buried in the pillow, your hand inside a bag of muggles snacks.

"I bet you five bucks they'll be back together before the end of the month." Nebula commented and you sniffled against your pillow, hearing a noise that sounded like Gamora hitting her sister.

"We talked to Wanda." Mantis said. "And with Professor Stephen, too. We're sorry about everything, but have you decided you're not going to study anymore?"

"I don't care about school." You grumble against the pillow. "Leave me alone, I want to cry."

Nebula gives a short laugh, and Gamora elbows her.

"Stop hitting me, you crazy." Nebula complains loudly, moving away from her sister to approach you, taking the bag of snacks you have, and making you complain softly. "And you stop being such a drama queen. Aren't you two like soul mates or some shit? It's just a fight, you'll work it out. You're acting like you've never broken up before."

"Your sensitivity is admirable." Gamora scoffs, pushing her sister away to sit next to you, stroking your back until you look up at her. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You feel the urge to cry arise again. "Wanda thinks she is bad for me." You say. "And she doesn't want to be with me anymore, and I want to die."

You start crying again, stuffing your face into the pillow as Gamora strokes your hair.

"How did this happen anyway?" Nebula asks, confused, chewing on salty snacks."You barely slept at home over the summer to be with her, and now you guys are breaking up. It's hard to keep up with this relationship."

"Merlin, Nebula shut up." Gamora asks impatiently, and her sister raises her hands in surrender with an ironic expression. You want to scream against your pillow, but all you do is try to control your crying.

"You can't keep disappearing, sweetheart." Gamora says as she runs her hands through your hair, trying to calm you down. "Kaecilius has already noticed. He's trying to figure out where you're going, and eventually he'll figure it out since you can't stay here forever."

"Maybe I can." You mumble making Gamora laugh softly.

"Come on, I'm sure you miss a decent meal." She says. "Why don't you join us for lunch?"

"I can't sit at your table."

"Who said anything about a table?"

This is how you end up on the edge of the great lake, at a picnic.

Mantis gets several dishes from the house elves, and since lunch is a free social hour, nobody seems to mind that you are eating outside.

Your sisters are not the only students who, over time, have learned ways around school rules.

You grumble slightly as you feel the sun on your face, but lie back on the grass, closing your eyes.

Your mind wanders back to last summer immediately, the memories of Wanda, and you feel horrible. You just want her back. And then you swallow the urge to cry again to accept the juice Mantis offers you.

"We wanted to tell you that we've found a way to help you, too." Gamora says after a moment, causing you to raise your eyebrow. "About the darkhold, and the eternal damnation thing."

"Light topic." You sneer, throwing your arm over your face. The day is hot. "I appreciate the help, of course."

Gamora giggles. "Merlin, I had forgotten how grumpy you get when you're upset."

"I'm not upset, Gamora." You retort angrily. "I'm frustrated."

"Sexually." Nebula sneers, making you grunt in anger, but Mantis holds back a laugh.

"What's your problem with my feelings lately?" You accuse the girl with irritation.

"Not everything is about you, you know." She retorts and you sit up quickly, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nebula laughs, rolling her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a war going on." She says. "We're all stressed and scared. And the three of us have been in the same classes as you, having to watch the same things. But you only have time for Wanda. And now you've broken up, again, because there's some mortal danger, again, that she's caused for you. So, I don't know, but maybe she is right to break up. Ever since you guys started dating everything has been about her, and the trouble she causes!"

"Fuck you, Nebula!" You exclaim angrily, advancing against the girl in front of you. Gamora and Mantis quickly separate you.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Gamora shoves you. "Were you really going to hit her?"

"Fuck this." You curse angrily, taking a step away. "I didn't ask any of you to come after me. I don't need you. I just need Wanda. Fucking leave me alone."

You turn back to the castle, cursing the wild on your way.

//-//-//-//

Loki is the only friend you have now.

You wouldn't call him a friend exactly.

Kaecilius has put you in detention for three days a week, including Saturday, but mostly you just clean the castle. But when he takes you to the seventh floor, and makes you scrape sentences against your own skin, you don't worry about being alone anymore, because Loki is always on that floor.

It takes a week for you to tell him about the requirement room.

" You could have mentioned it earlier, we would have stuck around here." He comments without sounding upset.

Soon it doesn't take long for you two to start seeing each other even when you're not in detention.

You are not surprised that Loki also skips classes, he has always been quite mischievous, but the reason is different from yours.

He knew dark magic. Much more than you or your classmates. And he has no interest in practicing it in class.

"It's stupid." He comments as you are sitting in the armchairs. "Most people will never have the courage or willpower to cast a death curse. It's useless to learn."

"Is that the only reason you don't agree with the teaching at Hogwarts now?" You ask in surprise, setting up the chessboard for yourself as Loki shrugs his shoulders.

"I feel like you're judging me, Hufflepuff." He sneers but you smile, rolling your eyes.

"Honestly, I don't give a damn."

And you really didn't care.

Wanda was avoiding you in the halls, and you were doing the same with your friends and family.

When Iron delivered the mail to the Slytherin table, including Nebula's birthday presents, you wanted to throw up, but all you did was walk away from the Hufflepuff table toward the requirement room.

Without the darkhold, you didn't feel sick, but the anger didn't go away.

Your magic hadn't stabilized, and you were failing at everything, but you couldn't bring yourself to worry about it.

Erik wrote to you, commenting on the importance of you and Wanda practicing magical balancing together, and you burned the letter while crying on the carpet.

And at this rate, time went by.

It was almost the middle of the school year when things started to take a turn for the worse at Hogwarts, and in the wizarding war as well.

Mephisto is getting stronger, and the order is losing. And Kaecillius must be under some pressure from the ministry, maybe for answers from organizations like the Avengers, which are forbidden, because his detentions get too horrible.

It is Saturday again, and you drag yourself to the room where you are supposed to fulfill your detention, but unlike the other days, Kaecillius locks the door.

You only notice because he seems tense and distracted, and there is no feather or book.

"Professor, what will my punishment be today?" You ask confused, and he is nodding to the center of the room as he stands in front of the desk, a few feet from you.

"Miss Stark, today I want to ask some questions and I expect honesty." He declines as he turns to you.

You hiss softly, putting your hands in your pockets.

"Shoot."

Kaecillius doesn't even mind your lack of formality, looking at you with an impassive face.

"What is Mephisto's location?"

You choke in surprise and disbelief. "Excuse me? Why do you think I know that?"

"The ministry has reason enough to suspect that the Order of the Avengers is nothing more than a cover for the death walkers.Your brother, whom I had suspected of being part of that order of delinquents, is no longer at Hogwarts, but you will have to serve." He speaks and with each word you become more outraged. "Now answer me, where is Mephisto?"

" Did you just fucking call my brother a delinquent?" You mutter incredulously. "I have no idea where Mephisto is, what's your problem?"

But you widen your eyes when the professor draws his wand, and you barely have time to swallow dry before the spell hits you in the chest.

It's the cruciatus curse. You know the second it hits you. The sharp pain fills every cell in your body and you scream, not having the strength to stand or with your eyes open, hugging yourself.

"We must not tell lies, Miss Stark." Kaecillius says as soon as he stops enchanting you, the pain disappears in the same instant, but you continue to tremble.

In complete shock and fear, you sob.

"I will ask you again, where is Mephisto?"

You let the tears flow, and shake your head. "I don't know, professor."

Kaecillius lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Some cases are more difficult than others." He comments somberly, taking a step toward her. "Did you know that the record for enduring the Cruciatus curse before madness is six hours? Incredible, isn't it? It happened during the first war, with a muggleborn. You're a half-blood, maybe you can take longer"

He has a devilish grin as he finishes, and you clench your jaw at the threat.

"I don't know where Mephisto is." You repeat, but the professor points his wand at you again.

"My bet is seven hours."

And then the pain returns.

You don't know how long you stay in that room.

But it is long enough for your consciousness to begin to fade. The pain gets so severe that it gradually fades away. You begin to gasp breathlessly, not even able to scream anymore.

Someone help me. Please, help me. Help me. Wanda.

Between the tears you see the floor of the room, and between a twinge of pain, a red light. And everything is dark again.

//-//-//

“Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Warcraft and Wizard is arrested in flagrant by aurors from the ministry of magic this week, full coverage on page..."

You blink confusedly, your eyes getting used to the clarity, while the headline of the Daily Prophet was the first thing your vision caught.

And then you shifted in bed, realizing that you were in a hospital room , and whoever was reading next to you put the paper down when they heard you, and you could behold the curious look on your brother's face.

"Tony?" you whispered confused, and he smiled as he stood up quickly, the newspaper forgotten on the armchair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He asked as his hand reached for the loose strands of hair on your face and put them back. "You scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

You thought, and then sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Kaecilius."

Tony bit his lip nervously before speaking.

"I'm sorry." He said, lowering his hand to his own. "I came here as soon as I got the howler from Professor Strange, but honestly, I didn't even need it, because all the newspapers are talking about it."

"What...?" You started in confusion, but Tony hurried to explain.

"Wanda found you, Y/N." He told. "She, well, wasn't exactly happy about the whole thing. I think she lost control. Kaecilius is lucky to be alive if you ask me. She almost destroyed the seventh floor, it was a huge mess. And then the aurors interfered, and soon there were reporters everywhere. I guess now everyone knows she's a scarlet witch."

You widened your eyes, straightening to sit up and grumbling a little in pain. Tony looked at you with concern, asking you to take it easy, but you were already asking about Wanda.

"She's at the ministry of magic." He clarified. "Kaecilius is going on trial for torturing a student, and she will answer for putting everyone in danger."

" What?" you ask incredulously, and Tony sighs.

"Yeah I know it's unfair." He says. "But the minister of magic seems to be looking everywhere for people to blame for his lack of control. The problem is how much of that information will get to Mephisto. The whole ministry seems to be full of walkers."

You ran your hand across your face, frustrated.

"I'm so tired, Tony." You confess in a whisper. "It feels like everything is falling apart around me, and things are only getting worse."

Tony squeezes your hand. "I'm sorry, I really am. This whole situation sucks, and I wanted to help you. I'm trying, sister. I haven't been talking to you as much as I should, but I didn't want you to think you're alone. I'm working on breaking the bond. To free you and Wanda from the prophecy, and the wizarding world from dangers like Mephisto. I'm sorry I haven't been by your side."

You swallow your cry, and nod, trying to smile at Tony. He reaches up to hug you, and you gasp softly, taking a few seconds to relax and let the tears flow.

When you calm down, Tony tells you that he is going to get a Mediwizards to check your situation.

You lie down again, sighing softly. The memories come back with full force, and you choke softly, feeling your body tremble.

It's as if you can feel the curse again, sense the pain on your skin. Opening your eyes and shaking the memories away, you swallow dryly and reach for the glass of water on the nightstand.

You just want Wanda by your side telling you that everything is going to be okay.

//-//-//-//-//

You stay under observation for two days.

Doctor Hank makes a joke about you enjoying St.Mungus more than you should since you keep coming back, but Tony doesn't laugh.

Then you' re going back to Hogwarts by train, because the doctor thinks you shouldn't use magical means of transportation for a few days, and it's weird to take the empty express, but as soon as you arrive at the station, Gamora and Nebula are waiting for you with boxes of candy bought in Hogsmeade, and tight hugs.

You are not surprised by the stares you receive from the other students, but you ignore them as your sisters escort you around the castle to the Hufflepuff communal hall.

"Did you get to talk to Wanda?" Gamora asks as soon as you sit down on your bed, sighing with exhaustion from the train ride. The mention of the other sorceress' name doesn't help.

"Not yet." You say. "And I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she's ignoring me."

Nebula exchanges a look with her sister before sitting down on Mantis' bed, who is hugging her knees and looking at you.

"Honestly, I just want to finish this year without any more problems." You confess as you take off your jacket. And there is a moment of silence before you swallow dryly. "I also wanted to apologize to you guys."

Gamora frowns slightly, but says nothing. You take a deep breath.

"I know I was under the influence of an evil book, but that was still no excuse for treating you guys like that." You begin. "Tony told me about how things are in the wizarding world. Everyone is going through something, and it was selfish of me to think that only my problems matter. I'm sorry."

"Really, Y/N, it's okay." Nebula says, surprising you a bit. "We were all stressed, and well, I think an evil book is a pretty fair excuse." She jokes, making you smile. "Maybe things will get a little better now that Strange is the director."

"Oh, that's right" You comment just then remembering the things Tony updated you on while you were at St.Mungus. Like Kaecillius' resignation, and the position being passed on to Professor Stephen. "But honestly, I won't be at peace until I hear from Wanda."

"The trial isn't until Friday. And the way things are going, we won't get any news until it's over." Gamora warned as she sat down on the bed next to you. "I think the Maximoffs are probably too busy to write."

"What do you think will happen to Wanda?" You ask as you tug at the loose strands of the comforter. Mantis sighs lightly.

"I don't have a good feeling about things, Y/N." She confesses and you frown in concern. "And the stars never lie."

"Thank you, Mantis." You mock softly, and Gamora runs her hands through her hair.

"Let's not be pessimistic, okay?" she says. "Maybe the predictions are about, I don't know, the school finals? It doesn't mean something bad is really going to happen."

You grumble unhappily, grabbing a pillow and sinking your face into it. Gamora strokes your back.

"I'm sure things will work out, Y/N." She says. "Wanda will write as soon as she can."

"Do you guys think Kaecilius will be sent to Azkaban?" Nebula asks next, making you raise your head curiously.

"I wouldn't be so sure." You grumble. "I was actually surprised that he was put on trial at all."

"Well, with the whole mess that happened, it was bound to happen." Gamora said. "More than half the school became aware that he used the cruciatus curse on you, and then the daily prophet. And I didn't even know they were in the castle."

"It was because of Wanda really, wasn't it?" Mantis added. "Kaecillius caused his own ruin. He called the journalists to show what he called progress and decided to torture a student while they were in the castle. Then Wanda destroyed the entire floor and the next morning his arrest was all over the pages."

"I'm just really outraged to know that if no one had seen it, he would probably still be at Hogwarts." Gamora says angrily, and you sigh, agreeing as well as the others.

"Well, you must be hungry, shall we go to the great hall? It's almost dinner time." Gamora comments next, pulling you by the hand. You grumble softly, but agree, and soon you are leaving the communal hall to join the rest of the students.

//-//-//-//-//

You are tapping your fingers gently against the desk as you wait for the History of Magic class to begin.

It is Friday, finally.

You have barely slept because of anxiety about news of Wanda's trial.

Things at Hogwarts have changed a lot this week, all because of Strange's administration.

He restored the old classes, banned the teaching of dark magic, the scandal at the Daily Prophet being enough of an argument that the Minister of Magic no longer had a defense over this kind of teaching at Hogwarts. The restricted session of the library was also put back, and the seventh floor was off-limits because of the destruction Wanda caused, and you unfortunately lost access to the Requirement room.

Mantis was writing what looked like a lunar calendar for the divination class while Professor Okoye didn't arrive, and you started whistling distractedly.

And then Thor Odinson was poking you in the back to get your attention, and you turned around in your chair.

"Hi, Stark, what's up?"

"Fine." You grumbled suspiciously. "Can I help you with something?"

Thor looked almost unsure. "I was just wondering if you know of anything going on with Loki."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean if you know if he's sick or something." He explains. "We had a fight, and well, he's not talking to me. And I've noticed that you guys have been kind of close lately, and I was curious if you knew anything and..."

"No, Thor, I'm sorry." You interrupt with a sigh. "Maybe you should ask him that."

Thor assumes a sad expression. "I would, but he's ignoring me. I think it might be about our mother."

You make a confused expression, and Thor looks surprised.

"Our mother, she...died earlier this year, Y/N." Thor counters, and you widen your eyes. "Our family is a name of reference against Mephisto. With the war, the walkers came to our home. She was there while we were here, and Dad was at the ministry."

"I'm so sorry, Thor." You whisper to him, still shocked by the information. He shrugged.

"I thought Loki told you."

"We don't talk about things like that, I guess." You say. "Sorry, I wish I knew how to help you."

"No, it's okay." Thor says with a sad smile. "You being his friend this year is more than enough. I don't like seeing him all alone out here."

You nod lightly, settling into your chair as you notice the teacher entering the room.

Mantis exchanges a look of understanding with you, having overheard the conversation even if accidentally, but she says nothing, and soon you are hearing about the witch hunt in the United States, and you try to focus on that rather than curiosity about how Wanda's trial is going or Loki's current emotional state.

//-//-/-//-//-//

As soon as lunchtime begins, you join the Slytherin table, where some of the students have placed a radio on the table, equally with other students from the other houses, to listen to the trial.

You are not surprised that a student's trial is such an interesting topic for everyone, but after the school started talking about Wanda being a scarlet witch, and the theories circulating around the halls, it was to be expected.

So you sit back while biting your fingertips and listening.

"And now directly from the Ministry of Magic, the trial of seventeen-year-old witch Wanda Maximoff, daughter of legendary witch Erik L-"

Your attention is slightly diverted from the narrative when loud laughter catches your ears.

They are Gryffindor and Slytherin students, exchanging coins. You don't need to hear the conversation to know they are gambling about the trial, the mean laughter and glances in the direction of you and your sisters are enough.

And as if she could feel your growing fury, Gamora touches your shoulder gently.

"Just ignore them, Y/N." She urges and you clench your jaw. " Everything is going to be okay with Wanda."

"I hope you're right, Gamora." You grumble, turning your attention back to the radio.

The narration of the newspaper is generic, and you discover that the audience has been closed off to the reporters.

You take a deep breath, concentrating.

No strange feeling, so Wanda is safe.

You wonder if Erik and Pietro are by her side during the whole thing.

It is only at the end of lunchtime that you have the result.

"It's amazing how things unfold in the ministry this afternoon." Counted the reporter with almost excitement. "After a unanimous vote, the witch Wanda Maximoff was found guilty of endangering her fellow students by not registering as a scarlet witch to the ministry of magic, after it was proven that her father, the sorcerer Erik Lehnsherr knew of her condition, as well as the affiliation with the criminal, Agatha Harkness was also mentioned. The ministry finally decided on Wanda Maximoff's expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding"

You felt your stomach plummet.

And everything became a little muffled around you, a soft whistle in your ear. You think Gamora and Nebula were calling for you, but you were getting up, feeling the room getting too small.

Stumbling out, you loosened the knot of your tie, finally stopping in the courtyard as you leaned your body against a pillar.

Wanda had been expelled from Hogwarts, publicly exposed as a Scarlet Witch, and tried as a criminal. You wondered if they would break her wand. Banned wizards led horrible lives.

Your sisters and friends caught up with you quickly, and you let them hug you.

In a few minutes Director Strange is catching up with you as well, and you release Gamora's grip to talk to him.

"Professor, I need to..."

"You cannot leave Hogwarts, Miss Stark." He interrupts with a wave of his hands and you frown in confusion, ready to protest but he is already speaking. "Tony sent a patronus as soon as the results came out, he already figured you'd want to see Miss Maximoff. The ministry is a mess, and Wanda will be staying with her father there for the minister's final decisions. You should stay here, where you are safe."

"That's not fair!" You squawk angrily. "Wanda needs me, I must-"

"She needs you to be safe." He interrupts again seriously, and then lowers his tone slightly as he notices the curious looks of the surrounding students. "Be rational, Miss Stark. Now that the Wizarding community knows the nature of Wanda's powers, how long before Mephisto has enough information and discovers your identity as protector."

You swallow dryly, clenching your fists begrudgingly. Stephen is right. You look away, and he sighs, placing his hand on your shoulder.

"Wanda will be fine, even without her NEWTS, she is an extraordinary witch." He says. "And the year is coming to an end, soon you will be able to see her again."

"She needs me now." You grumble annoyed, turning away from the professor's touch. He looks at you for a moment and then clears his throat.

"I'll see what I can do, Miss Stark." He says."In the meantime, focus on your studies, and be careful."

You frown at Stephen's words, but he is already turning and leaving before you can ask.

As you turn to your friends, Gamora has a worried look on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and you sigh, agreeing to hug her again as you mumble no.

"I can feel how upset she is, Gamora." You grumble against your sister's shirt, wishing you could hug Wanda now. Gamora squeezes you against her arms, and you thank her for her intention even if it isn't enough.

The next few days are like a blur for you.

Many letters arrive, as do many editions of the Daily Prophet.

When the picture of the day Wanda's wand was broken comes out on the front page and you see her tired face, you have to run out of the common room to keep from crying in front of your colleagues.

Everyone writes to you, even Carol, everyone but the Maximoffs.

It is frustrating, and honestly, it breaks your heart in many ways.

The news of a Scarlet Witch after a century is almost as bombastic as Mephisto's return, and you're not surprised that many of your colleagues would start to comment on the possibility of Wanda working with him or against him.

It's overwhelming how everyone talks about her, but all you can feel is how much you miss her around the castle, around you.

You couldn't even remember that your magic is stable, and with everything that has happened, you haven't had time to figure out how to fix things.

Stephen tried to help, but he didn't know what was going on. At least the theoretical part of magic you were able to master, and you hoped to get at least an acceptable score in some subjects.

Only almost a week and a half after the trial, Professor Strange interrupts the potions class to talk to you.

Ignoring the curious stares and whispers of your classmates, you ask Professor Munroe to excuse you, and leave the room.

"What is wrong, professor?" You ask curiously as you close the door, watching Stephen with his hands in his pockets.The dungeons feel emptier without the ministry aurors around the castle.

"Saturday, in the Astronomy tower, nine-thirteen at night." He says as he hands you a small gold key, causing you to frown in confusion. "You will have exactly one hour, Miss Stark. Not a second more."

You stare at the object in your hand, and understand. A portal key. To Wanda.

"Thank you, Professor." You say, and Stephen nods before leaving.

You turn back to potions, the object in your pocket. You could barely contain your anxiety.

//-//-//-//-//-//-//

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight || @iliketozoneout || @blackwow34 // @tiny--freak || @spongebobtentacles || @cyberbonesworld ||

A/F/N> Place your bets for my next comeback (a week, a month or tomorrow?). If I delete the blog, and you're in love with this story for some reason I don't know about because there are so many better things to read, know that I'll post everything on AO3 if I ever do.

[thomasshelbydrabbles]

The Messenger (11/22)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Adeline Taylor (OC)

Warnings: period typical sexism, series typical violence, period typical views of PTSD, period typical racism, blood and gore, smut

Summary: Adeline and Tommy talk about her deal with Polly. Adeline meets Michael.

**This is a series, so you should read The School Teacher first if you want to understand everything.**

Note: As the show does, I am loosely using actual events and people from WW1 and other time periods represented in the show. These are fictionalized versions of both events and the people.

Word Count: 4257

A/N: Eeep! Michael is now going to be part of the narrative. I debated about including him a lot, but I think he add such a great dynamic that I’m excited about this. I know it’s been forever since I’ve updated, but life is a bit crazy right now, so updates are slower coming.

Arrow House, 1922

Tommy glanced at her from the mirror. She caught his eye as he unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on his shirt. He was concerned. There, in the depths of his blue eyes, she could see it, the slight crinkle in the corner. Apparently, the happy face she’d put on when she and Polly had returned to the party wasn’t convincing enough for him. Part of her wanted to be angry at him for knowing her so well, for reading her like a book.

Mostly though, she burrowed into the warm feeling that engulfed her at the thought. Being known by this man was addicting. She quirked a brow at him, challenging. They would have a conversation – he needed to know about Michael, about her bargain with Polly. It would directly impact him, and she’d made the decision without consulting him, without even a passing mention. Maybe Polly was right about her – maybe she was being more proactive, more matriarchal about the Shelby family than she had originally thought. Maybe she could blame John.

“You seemed distracted tonight,” Tommy said as he turned away from the mirror, shirt unbuttoned, hanging loosely from his shoulders. 

“Lot of things on my mind,” Adeline replied.

She moved closer, pushed the shirt off his shoulders. His hands covered hers when she moved to unbutton his trousers. She blinked up at him, startled. She hadn’t intended her actions to be particularly provocative. She just liked taking care of him. Their moments together in the quiet of the house, all domestic and strangely intimate, became some of her most cherished. 

“Adeline.”

One word. A single uttering of her name and she knew. Knew exactly what he wanted from her, and sadly sex wasn’t a part of it. His hands were warm when they landed on her hips, his fingers rubbing small soothing circles against her hips. 

“I’ve made a deal with Polly. We shook on it.”

Tommy leaned his upper body back, hands not leaving her body, but he stiffened just slightly. His eyes narrowed a bit, as though not sure how angry he should be with her, but preparing for the worst. Damn. 

“It’s about her children.” 

His head tilted to the side, expectant eyebrow raised. She was dolling out information at a glacial pace. She wasn’t even sure why exactly, but something about all of this seemed as though it should be broached gently, slowly – with an abundance of caution she’d rarely exercised in her life. 

“Her children?”

“Aye. She asked me to find them. I have.” 

“You’ve found them?” 

Adeline nodded, encouraged by the small glimmer of what might be happiness in Tommy’s tone. Of course, the boys already knew about Polly’s children being taken from her. Until recently, none of them would have been able to do anything about it. 

“The girl, she passed. Died in Australia of something called Spring Fever, but Michael, he’s alive. Here, in England. She asked me to bring them home.”

“And?” 

“And I angered her with my stipulations.”

Now he looked amused, his eyes bright with laughter. “You gave Pol a stipulation?”

“Aye. Made it a condition of me finding her children for her.”

“She agreed?”

Adeline frowned, feeling a vague shadow of guilt. “I didn’t give her an option. Either she agreed, or I wouldn’t find her children for her. Gotta protect the family – even from itself.”

He moved back, hands sliding from her body. Glancing down at her, he tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders.

“Polly had some silly notion about keeping Michael separate from the business, about protecting him from what you – we – what she does to make money, to afford the house, the car, the pub – the clothes. He’s going to be eighteen, Tommy. He’s a boy. He’s going to take one look at this and want in. There’s no protecting him from it, not without breaking this family from the inside. I told her the only way I’d find him, bring him home was if she agreed to let him make up his own mind, not protect him from the illegal activities. I know we have legit business, too. But, we both know there’s not one without the other. Keeping him in the dark would be dangerous.”

“You threatened to make Pol’s son a Peaky Blinder, did you?” 

“It’s not a threat. Don’t you understand? It’s not like you keep Finn away from the business. You know why, too. It’s in his blood. Michael has that same blood – Shelby blood. He’s clever too, good with numbers. Make a good accountant for Shelby Brothers Limited, but not if he’s only doing one side of the books. I can’t protect him if he doesn’t know.”

“If he’s a Blinder you’ll protect him, but not if he’s a civilian?”

Adeline rolled her eyes. “No, Thomas. I’ll not protect him if he’s a liability. Ignorance isn’t something anyone in this family can afford. Thought you Shelby’s were better than fools. Seems I might have been wrong about that.”

Tommy held her gaze. She didn’t flinch, but she wanted to. Something about the darkness in his eyes, the vague disappointment she could see buried beneath the pragmatism fighting for dominance. He knew she was right about this. Like Polly, he wanted her to be wrong, wanted to protect this boy none of them knew. It made little sense to her because no one in her family had ever cared this much about anyone else. But, she knew the Shelbys put family before everything; they each took strength from the bonds they shared.

“He’s just a boy,” Tommy said after a long moment.

“Aye.”

“A boy and you’re going to put a gun in his hand, a peaky cap on his head, and send him out the door.”

“What the hell is it with you and Polly?” Adeline asked. She threw her hands in the air and paced around the room. “You’ve got no problem with Finn being lookout - fucking fought with me about making him wait a bit longer, you insisting he was bloody well ready for it. And you’ve no problem with Isaiah getting his hands bloody for the Blinders, but this boy that - other than the Shelby blood coursing through his veins is as good as a stranger - him you want to coddle? To what end, Thomas?”

“He wasn’t born into this life.”

“He was born a Shelby.”

They glared at each other.

Tommy sighed, raked a hand through his hair. She wanted to reach out to him, smooth the crease between his eyebrows. She wanted to slap him. Instead, she stood in the middle of their massive bedroom and stared at him, hands on her hips.

“You’ll give him a choice, Adeline.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The fuck do you think I am?” Her voice shrill as she closed the distance between them. She poked his chest hard as she glowered up at him, eyes spitting fire. “Of course I’m giving him a fucking choice.”

Tommy’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“He can come, meet Pol, be part of the family, or he can stay where he is, safe and unharmed.”

“Those are terrible choices.”

Adeline shrugged. “Life is all terrible choices. Happy endings are for the pictures.”

“And if he chooses to come to Small Heath?”

 “Then I treat him the same as I do Finn and Isaiah. Protect him with my life, smack him upside the head when he does something foolish. Because, he’s a Shelby, so foolishness is in his blood, too.”

“You didn’t bring this to me, didn’t call a family meeting.”

“It wasn’t up for a vote.”

 His eyes narrowed on her again. He stepped forward, looming over her. 

“I’m the head of this family.”

Adeline nodded. “You are. And, if I thought you truly disagreed with me, I’d feel bad about making this decision without you, but you do agree with me, so we’re just arguing so you can make yourself feel better. This way, you can tell Pol you fought with me about it, make her feel better about the whole thing. I’m alright with being the villain here. Pol needs someone in her corner for this, so you can be that person. Smooth the ruffled feathers.”

“First Arthur, now Polly, eh?” Tommy asked in a wry voice, tinged with an irritated amusement. “You going to handle all of us?”

“Only when you need handling.”

His laugh was unhappy, but she saw his shoulders relax. Giving him a moment to compose himself, she turned to the mirror. Pulling the earrings from her ears she set them on the vanity. She reached up to unclasp her necklace, only for her hands to be gently brushed away by Tommy’s. His fingers teased against the skin of her neck as he undid the clasp, pulled the necklace from her, and placed it on the vanity next to the matching earrings.

He smoothed his hands down her shoulders pulling the thin straps of her dress with them as they moved down her arms. Lips pressed against her skin, wet lingering kisses left up and down her neck. She arched her back, bent her neck to give him more room. As his arms wrapped around her, hands spanning her belly, she leaned back against him, giving him her weight so she could feel his hardness against her lower back. The moan that passed her lips would have embarrassed her years ago with how lewd it was. Tommy’s chuckle was dark in her ear as he kissed beneath her ear before pulling her lobe into his mouth, teasing it between his teeth.

“If you don’t fuck me,” Adeline growled, “I’ll shoot you.”

Tommy met her eyes in the mirror, dark, more pupil than blue. “Oh, I’ll fuck you, love. You’ll be sore tomorrow when I’m done with you.”

Her core clenched as she whimpered in his arms. Christ, she should be embarrassed about how easily she became a raw nerve, all sensation when he touched her. She hadn’t been a virgin for a long time, and she and Tommy had so much sex it was amazing they ever got any work done, but still. Each time he touched her it was fire. Every nerve ending in her body responded to him. His hand wrapped around her neck, fingers biting into her delicate skin. She whimpered. Fucking whimpered in his hold, body slumping back against him. If he hadn’t kept one hand wrapped around her body, she’d have slid to the ground, a puddle of lust and need at his feet. The thought of that, of being at his feet, begging for his cock sent a shot of lust through her. Few people ever saw her on her knees; she could count on two fingers the number she’d willingly been on her knees for, but at the moment – she’d spend the rest of her life on her knees, blinking up at Tommy. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Face flushed, eyes blown with lust.

“Look at that,” Tommy husked in her ear. “What a needy woman you are, Miss Taylor. So sure, so commanding around Small Heath, but here, in our bedroom, in my arms, you’re a mess of need. I bet you’re wet for me, eh? Fucking soaked between those thighs of yours. A couple of small touches and you’d do anything I told you to do.”

She moaned at the filth spewing from his lips, his breath hot pants against her neck. His fingers tightened around her throat, forcing her up on her tiptoes, arching her spine. The arm around her moved and she fell forward, catching herself against the edge of the vanity. The hand not wrapped around her neck pressed against her back, folding her forward, pressing her chest to the surface of the vanity.

Before she could do more than grunt, he’d pulled the skirt of her dress up and landed a smack to her ass. The sound echoed through the room. She gasped, back arching as he landed another blow to the opposite cheek. She bit her lip as pleasure tinged with pain licked up her spine. 

“Only fucking person in all of Birmingham who goes and does things without me knowing about it,” Tommy growled as he landed another blow. “Gotta remind you who leads this family, who makes the decisions.” 

She grinned, hid it against her arm as she tucked her face into her elbow. The whole thing was nonsense. She indulged his need to be a caveman about things, enjoyed the results of it as he spanked her ass a bright pink. He continued to mutter to himself about willful women, about knowing her place, about her submission to him. Here, in the privacy of their bedroom, it was all true. She went unbelievably pliant in his hands behind closed doors. Loved, thrilled, actually, in his command of her body. Then, as his cock filled her, all coherent thoughts fled her mind. Distracted by the humming, red pain in her ass, and her own thoughts, she’d missed the sound of him lowering his pants. Her excitement leaked down her thighs as he thrust his cock balls deep inside of her. She didn’t miss the filthy wet sound they made when he pulled his hips back before thrusting forward, knocking the breath from her lungs. She could feel the skin of his lower abdomen against her ass. 

“So fucking tight for me, love. No matter how many times I fuck you, stay so tight for me.” 

Her hands scrambled against the surface of the vanity, distantly she heard the sound of things falling to the floor as she worked to find something to grip onto. Behind her, Tommy bucked his hips against her relentlessly. The pace relentless and punishing. She would feel him tomorrow, just as he’d promised. This was both her punishment and his apology. Fuck. She could feel her orgasm approaching. 

“Close already,” Tommy rasped into her ear. “So easy for me. Such a slut for my cock. Fucking hell, your ass is bright red, looks so good watching my cock slide in and out of you, filing you full of me. Take it.” 

“Need – ”

His chuckle was dark. “Only way you’re going to come is on my cock. Gonna give it to me?” 

She shook her head. Focusing on the feeling of him inside of her, she contracted around him, heard him curse behind her as his rhythm stuttered. Breath hissed through her teeth as he slapped her ass again. Her grin widened. 

“Naughty girl.”

She wiggled her hips. His hands moved to grip them, stilling her movements. He held her in place while he plowed into her, the sound of his body slamming into her reverberating through the room. If she’d had any shame, she would have felt it now, knowing the maids could hear exactly what they were doing in here, behind closed doors.

“Come on, love,” Tommy whispered against her ear. His whole body draped against her back. “Give it to me. Come on my cock, beg me to fill you up.” 

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, sucked her earlobe into his mouth, bit teasingly at it. It made her legs shake as the feeling combined with the way his hips pressed against her, the way his cock filled her, pressed against her walls. 

“That’s it, love,” Tommy encouraged. “Give it to me.”

It snuck up on her. Her walls contracted against him as she opened her mouth on a silent scream, ecstasy exploding against her nerve endings. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. Behind her, Tommy continued to thrust his hips, chasing his own pleasure as she trembled and twitched, her whole body oversensitized. He groaned against her ear when he emptied himself into her body. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her back, the way his breath came in wet bursts against her neck.    

He pulled from her slowly, hands moving gently up her sides. They met each other’s gaze in the mirror, a smile tugging her lips. They looked wrecked. Utterly. She found she quite liked it. He held a hand out to her. Moving slowly, unbending herself from the vanity, she took it, allowing him to lead her to bed. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to as he tucked her up under his chin, wrapped his arms around her, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

 Sheffield, 1922 

Adeline leaned against the car, Isaiah standing next to her, cigarette between his teeth. They both looked up and down the lane. Around them everything was quiet, peaceful. Far removed from the noise and the chaos of Small Heath. Her lip curled up as she slanted a look at Isaiah who smirked in response. She struggled to reconcile what she knew about the Shelbys with this place. Anna’s file had made a perfect sort of sense to her, tragic though it was, but her desperate need to return to Birmingham, to return to the Shelby stronghold held an irrefutable logic to it. A place like this with its trimmed hedges, smiling neighbors, and fresh air scented with flowers felt stifling. The friendly looks the locals offered them made her skin crawl. 

“He grew up here?” Isaiah asked. 

“Aye.” 

“Poor bloke.” 

Adeline laughed. “Best we go rescue him then, don’t you think?”

“Suppose he wants to stay,” Isaiah mused. “What then?” 

“Then we head back to Small Heath and you buy me a drink at the Garrison.” 

Isaiah nodded his head. He threw the spent cigarette on the ground, ground it beneath his shoe. Adeline’s fingers itched, but she thought it best to make a good impression on the woman who’d raised Polly Shelby’s son. Knew it would be easier with her onside. As with any plan that involved Adeline being out of the direct line of sight of a Blinder, Isaiah didn’t like being left to stand by the car. She didn’t like that he’d been tasked with accompanying her, but she’d made the compromise with Tommy. Blast the man and his stubbornness. At least it wasn’t bloody Arthur like he’d first suggested. Idiot. 

With a deep breath, she stepped towards the house, configuring her face into what she hoped was - if not exactly friendly - at least a pleasant smile. Rosemary Johnson met her at the gate, trepidation in her eyes. 

“They said you was from the council.” 

Adeline felt the censure of her gaze as Rosemary observed her. 

“I’m sure they did.” 

“You’re not from the council.” 

Adeline shook her head. “I’m not.”

“What are you doing here?” 

Adeline forced herself to keep her shoulders back, to relax her stance, make herself seem approachable, open. 

“I’m here on behalf of the Gray family. They’d like the opportunity to meet their son now that he’s of age.” 

“That’s not supposed to be possible,” Rosemary hissed, eyes wide with fright. “You can’t take my boy away from me.” 

Adeline had anticipated such a response. Part of her glad to know the woman had some spine to her. 

“He’s a grown man, Mrs. Johnson. He can come and go as he pleases.” 

“He’s my son.” 

Adeline narrowed her eyes. “You might have raised him, but we both know he’s not your son.” 

“I saved him from his filthy, drunken, whore of a mother.”

Adeline’s hands squeezed into fists at her side as her eyes narrowed. Rosemary, noting her change in demeanor, leaned back, eyes wide with fright. 

“Out of respect for the effort you put into raising Polly Gray’s son, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Adeline bit out through clenched teeth. “I’d mind your words as our conversation progresses though. I’m not the forgiving type of woman.” 

Rosemary nodded, eyes flitting around as though looking for someone to help her. 

“We both know the council stole those children from Mrs. Gray, took them from their loving mother against her will and gave them to people like you. You might not have done the stealing yourself, but stolen goods are still stolen. He doesn’t belong to you.” 

“I raised him as my child. Put food in his belly, clothes on his back. Taught him to be a good boy.” She drew herself up, pridefully looking down her nose at Adeline. “I saved him.” 

Adeline bit her lip to keep from laughing. Rosemary glowered at her. It reminded her of her own mother. An unfortunate effect since she had little use for her mother, or things that reminded her of the woman. If anything, it increased her desire to see Michael away from this place. 

“Does he even know?” 

“My Henry - ”

Adeline scoffed. “Doesn’t even know his own name.” 

“I’m his mother. It’s the name I gave him.” 

Before Adeline could respond, she caught movement from the house. Seemed Henry became curious about the commotion because he was striding towards them. She could see the Shelby features in his face, in the way he carried himself, all puffed up importance and just enough arrogance to make her smile. 

“Mom?” 

Adeline raised an eyebrow, daring Rosemary to tell her son the truth. She watched the woman pull her hands in front of her, fiddle with them, glance nervously between Adeline and the car behind her. Hopefully, Isaiah was just stood there ignoring them as he’d been instructed. 

“This,” Rosemary glanced at her, eyes narrowed, “woman was just leaving.” 

Adeline chuckled under her breath. “Soon enough, I wager I will be leaving. Not sure how much more of this country hospitality I can handle.” 

“Sorry,” Michael said as he stepped closer, a confused look on his face. “Why are you here? We don’t get many visitors out this way.”

The look Adeline shot Rosemary was victorious, and just a smidge viscous at the edges. 

“I’m Adeline Taylor, and I’m here on behalf of your birth mother, Polly Gray.” 

Michael’s brow narrowed as he looked between his mother and Adeline. 

“...mom?”

“Don’t listen to her, Henry - ”

“Michael,” Adeline corrected. 

Michael shot her a curious look. 

“Your birth mother, Polly, she named you Michael. Now that you’re eighteen, she wanted to find you, let you know she’d like to meet you, get the chance to know you.” 

“My birth mother?”

Adeline nodded. “Aye. I know it’s a lot to process, but the council took you away from her when you were a young boy, about five. Your father died; left your mother to raise you and your older sister alone. Council came along and forcibly removed you both from your home, split you up. I’m sure Mrs. Johnson did a fine job raising you, loved you as her own. Mrs. Gray just wants the opportunity to reconnect with her son, with you, Michael.” 

“His name is Henry.” 

Adeline noted the desperate tone to her voice.

“If she’s so desperate to see me, why’d she send you? Why not come herself?” 

“She wanted to come here herself, but I didn’t think that would be wise given the circumstances surrounding how you ended up here. She’s still got a lot of anger about what happened back then, having her children ripped from her arms and given to strangers to raise. Seemed wiser to send a representative for the family instead.” 

Michael’s eyes grew curious. “Are you a solicitor?” 

Adeline smiled. “No. I’m a school teacher.” 

Now he looked utterly baffled. “My birth mother sent a school teacher to come tell me all this?” 

Adeline laughed gently. “I’m doing the introductions badly, my apologies, Michael. Polly Gray is her married name. She’s a Shelby by birth, and I’m engaged to one of her nephews, Thomas Shelby. He runs the family business. I’m the closest to a neutral party we’ve got in this situation.”

Michael nodded his head slowly. He glanced over her shoulder; she followed his gaze, smirked as she watched his eyes grow wide and bright as he took in the car, saw Isaiah, in his fancy city suit, leaning against it. 

“You’re of age now, Michael. I’m here simply to offer you a choice. It’s getting late, and I’m getting rather peckish. I’ll not intrude on Mrs. Johnson’s hospitality, or patience more today. I’ll be in town at the pub having a meal. If you want to know more, well, you know where to find me, hm?”

She caught Michael’s eyes, saw him process her words. He swallowed thickly, but nodded his head. Mrs. Johnson glared at her as she hustled her son back into the house. Honestly, she didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Johnson, of people who took other people’s children and somehow thought they were doing good. She wanted to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, but life had taught her to reserve judgment until all of the information had been gathered. 

Isaiah glanced up at her as she approached the car. She gestured towards the car. “We’re heading into town. Going to stop in and have a bite at that pub we saw.” 

“We are?”

“Aye. I’m hungry, and I’m sure you could do with a meal, growing boy and all that.” 

He smiled. “I could eat.” 

“We’ll likely have a guest join us, so we’ll get a booth in the back, tucked away quiet.” 

“You’re sure he’ll come.” 

Adeline looked out the car window, saw Michael stood on the stoop, hands in his pockets, eyes following the car. “Aye. He’ll come.”

Part 12

Master List

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[asirensrage]

Caught in the Crossfire - 2/53

Title: Caught in the Crossfire Rating: M Pairings: Michelle (OC) x Sam side pairing: Kelly (OC) x Dean Fandom: Supernatural. Includes characters from BtvS, The Darkest Powers Series by Kelley Armstrong, True Blood, Veronica Mars, X-Men, Harry Potter Warnings: PTSD, trauma, violence, murder, loss of time, demonic possession, mentions of starvation, anger, slow burn, learning to fight and survive Summary: Takes place during s5. Michelle was just trying to gain some semblance of normality. She didn’t expect to be a part of a fail-safe for the apocalypse. Reuniting with her best friend who should be dead, she struggles with trying to survive this world while being forced into a position that has her taking care of others who also don’t belong. She just wants to go home.

Note: this chapter is from Kelly's POV. It's the only one in this fic. You can find more of Kelly's POV and others, in Freed by the Crossfire on ffn and ao3.

also on ffn and ao3

Chapter 2: Porch Talks (Kelly's POV)

There is no death only a change of worlds. - Chief Seattle

      It was just after sunset and I was sitting on the back deck of Bobby’s with a glass of whiskey in my hands, the rest of the half-full bottle beside me. I felt awkward asking Bobby to drink his booze but was pleasantly surprised when he told me to take the whole bottle. I guess he could see in my face that one glass wouldn’t do the trick.

         As the last of the daylight slipped away, my mind wandered. Part of me knew I should be more freaked out but I was oddly calm about my circumstances. I had spent most of the day being grilled by the boys and Bobby about my arrival here and the world I’d come from. It was a welcomed distraction from worrying about Michelle’s health, both physical and mental. I started to pour more into my glass when I heard the door open and close behind me, followed by footsteps that stopped beside me. From the corner of my eye, a well-worn work boot appeared. I followed it up a leg clad in beaten denim, to find Dean standing over me.

         “Mind if I join?” He waved an empty glass above my head before sitting down on the steps beside me. I passed him the bottle and he silently poured himself a generous glass. He took a long drink, watching me over the rim. “Did you know the silent staring is seriously unsettling?”

         I snapped out of my apparent stare, “sorry, I didn’t realize I was even doing it. I guess I’ve been doing it a lot, eh?”

         Dean laughed, “eh. Sorry. Hah. Guess you weren’t lying about being Canadian.” 

         I smiled back, “Nope. Sorry about the staring.”

         Dean laughed again, and I realized I’d dropped another sorry. I was being pretty damn Canadian. 

         “I keep forgetting people can actually see me. Before, I could stare at someone and zone out completely. No one could see me, so I seem to be missing the normal social cues of when to stop now.” 

         “You’ll figure it back out. Besides, we have Cas around, so we’re used to weird social ticks.” Dean grabbed the bottle and topped up my glass. We lapsed back into silence for a few minutes before he broke it again. “So, can I ask? What was it like being a ghost in your world that long?”

         It was my turn to take a long drink. I wanted to repress the last years. “Lonely.”

         “Lonely?” Dean raised his brow, giving me a look to continue.

         “Yeah and frustrating. I never encountered any other ghosts like me. Years of having no one to talk to. To help me understand why I was still around. Lonely. Helpless. I could see things happening, but couldn’t do anything to help anyone. Watching family and friends mourn you? It’s heartbreaking. I tried everything to show them I was still there, but couldn’t.” 

         I downed more of my drink and Dean wordlessly refilled it. I felt the warmth of the whiskey spread in my chest, and the compulsion to keep talking.

         “Being here. Being human. I’m happy, but I feel so fucking guilty to be happy while I see Michelle struggle. Happy.” I snorted and shook my head. “How fucked up is that?”

         “Not fucked up. You’re human. You’re not alone. Sounds like a good reason to be happy to me.” Dean gave me a half-hearted smile.

         “I was at that diner. I saw the aftermath of the demon that attacked Michelle. I didn’t know she was there at the time. She’s struggling, and dealing with that trauma, and I’m over here. Happy.” I raised my glass in a mock cheer before taking another long drink.

         “We’re going to help her, and you. Make this right. You have my word.” I looked at him making eye contact. He looked so sincere, I felt a new calmness wash over me.

         “I don’t even know what helping me looks like. I don’t want to go back to my world, not to be a ghost again.”

         “Then Sammy and I will help you make a life here, once this is all...sorted.”  He knocked my knee with his and smiled. A life here was a lot to consider. I would be human again. If Michelle could go home though, I’d still be alone, in a world where monsters were real, but at least I would be alive. 

         “Thank you. Can we keep this between us, for now? I need to be strong for Michelle, and whenever that day comes, if that opportunity comes, I don’t want her to know what my choice would be.”

         “Absolutely.”

         I wanted to change gears. Thinking too far in the future was bound to get my hopes up. Knowing this world, demons, angels and monsters, I could be dead again before I had a chance at another future. I drank more and Dean did the same. We lapsed into silence again, staring out at the scrap yard ahead of us.

         “Do you know how long she’ll be out with what Castiel did?” 

         “Cas said a couple of days. She’s in rough shape. He said he fixed the physical injuries, but the mental stuff...well even angels have their limits.” 

         I hadn’t seen Michelle in over a year in my world. The woman I saw here was not the same by a long stretch. Gaunt and haunted, I was still surprised I had recognized her in the panic room. My mind flipped back to the scene at the diner again. All that blood. The smell of burnt flesh…

         “You’re staring again” 

         I snapped out of my train of thought and realized I’d been staring directly at Dean. He didn’t seem bothered by it, probably used to it from Cas. “Thanks. Sorry again”.

         This earned me another half-smile, “stop being so Canadian.”

         I laughed a genuine laugh and felt a little of the weight lift off my chest. Dean grabbed the bottle to pour more for both of us, and we both realized it was nearly empty. Seeing the bottle so empty I recognized a feeling I hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Uh oh.”     “I’m sure Bobby has more.” Dean stood up to head back into the house, but I stopped him by grabbing his pant leg.

         “No, not that. I haven’t had a drink in years, and now I had a few glasses of straight whiskey. On a mostly empty stomach. I think I’m drunk.”

         Dean laughed “okay, lightweight.” He offered a hand and pulled me up. I swayed slightly as my world refocused, and he steadied me with a hand on my waist. My mind focused on the touch. Another thing I missed as a ghost was human touch. It felt so good. I must have been staring at his hand as he moved it and mumbled an apology.

         “I think I should go to bed. After I chug some water.” 

         “Probably a good idea.” Dean motioned for me to lead the way back into the house. 

         I grabbed a glass of water and said goodnight to everyone. I stumbled up the stairs and headed up to the bedroom to pass out.

         It was the second day at Bobby’s and I was sitting on the porch again. I had spent part of the day reading, but soon realized I couldn’t help much with research, given a lot of it was in Latin. Jane was staying in the basement to keep watch over Michelle and I was restless. I didn’t know what else to do but sit outside. Feeling the sun on my face, and enjoying being human again felt like the only thing I could do. 

         “We have to stop meeting like this.” Dean sat down on the step beside me, two beers in hand. He cracked one open and passed it to me before opening his own.

         “Trying to get me drunk again?” I smiled as I took a swig of the ice-cold beer. 

         “Seems like you might have needed it, but figured you wouldn’t want to look at whiskey right now.”

         He wasn’t wrong. I’d woken up that morning with a pounding headache and a rolling stomach. “I did not miss hangovers as a ghost.”

         “Little hair of the dog, and you’ll be fine.” I was silent but could feel Dean watching me, assessing. “Cas says Michelle seems better. She could wake up soon.” 

         “That’s good. Any luck with the research?”

         “Nothing solid yet. Cas is back out looking for more, like you guys.”

         “Bobby will love that. More of us crammed in his space.” 

         “We’re working on that too.” Dean turned to lean against the porch post facing me. “So, you said we’re a TV show where you’re from, huh?”

         I appreciated the change in topic and smiled, “yeah, very loyal...but small following.” 

         Dean nodded his head smiling, “loyal you say?”

         “Yup, some fans even have the tattoo.” I nodded my head at his chest.

         “Do you?” Dean’s eyes scanned what skin I had visible and I felt myself blush. Blushing was another thing I did not miss when I was a ghost.                  “No! But now that I’m here...well seems like we should probably work on that sooner than later.”

         “We can figure that out when Michelle is awake. For now, Bobby probably has some spare charms around if you’re worried.” Dean looked out over the scrap yard, “so you’ve seen it all?”

         “Well, what a 40-minute show would show. Enough for us to know you two have literally been to hell and back and all that in between. Enough to know that what we’re facing is terrifying and we should be scared shitless.”

         “I never got why people read the books, and I really don’t get why people would want to watch us. This.” Dean motioned at himself and the house.

         I smirked, “well, a lot of fans don’t watch for the plot.” 

         He looked over at me alarmed but then amused. “And you?” 

         “I was always a horror fan, but I definitely watched for more than the plot.” I smiled while internally freaking out that I just admitted to Dean my attraction to both him and his brother. I quickly added, “besides, the family dynamics. The brotherly bond. That’s what really kept me, and Michelle, hooked.”

         “Did you have siblings?” Dean was still staring at me, a slight smile on his lips.

         “A brother. Not close like you and Sam.” I paused, allowing myself a moment to think about my family, “I was supposed to be an aunt, but died before that happened. I was there for the birth, but not.” 

         “I’m sorry.” 

         “Can’t change the past. I’m thankful I could still experience some of it. Before it got too hard. I eventually took off and decided to do some sightseeing. The show films in Canada.”

         “Canada? Seriously? Sam and I have barely gone to Canada. Little hard crossing borders.”

         “Yeah. Well, the show is shot in Vancouver, but based in the US, like you really are. I’d never been far beyond my home alive, always too expensive to fly on my budget. As a ghost though? No restrictions. I saw a lot I wouldn’t have seen alive. Quickly realized it wasn’t the same though. You can’t touch things. Experiences are muted. You don’t feel the ocean breeze on your face, you can’t breathe in the crisp air of the mountains.” 

         Dean gave me an indescribable look, something playing behind his eyes. “So you’re human now. We settle all this, you can go anywhere. Where do you go?”

         It was an innocent question. Probably also Dean trying to figure out where he and Sam could dump me if we all survived this. It was also a question about a future I was actively trying not to think of, or more accurately, hope for. My face fell and I suddenly fought back tears. I could see Dean watching me closely. I swallowed and took a deep breath to attempt to steady myself. I knew my voice would be shaky when I spoke. I decided to do what I always did when things got serious. Joke. “Maybe Disneyworld. I could work at the haunted mansion. I’ve got the resume for being a ghost.” 

         Dean laughed, his laugh lines pronounced, probably relieved he didn’t have to deal with a girl breaking down into tears. “I haven’t been to Disney ever. Sam and I always joke about it, but never made it happen.”

         “Well, saving the world tends to be more pressing than riding teacups.” I could still hear the tremble in my voice but was getting it under control.

         Dean opened his mouth, about to ask another question when Jane appeared at the screen door.

“She is awake.”

taglist: @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @zeleniafic @jvstjewels @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @booty-boggins @residentdormouse @delicateblackrose @stanshollaand @cantfighthemoonknight @wordspin-shares @chrissymunson

[wicked-mind]

Betrayed: Chapter Two

Summary: Everybody thought Steve’s sister had passed away decades ago. But when you show up at the facility and try to attack Bucky, there are questions to be answered.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 4.9k

Warning: A bit of violence, talk of kidnapping and torture, talk of surgery, a hint of PTSD

Master List

All Writings Masterlist

NOTE: This story is set post Endgame, but Natasha is still alive and Steve never went back in time to be with Peggy. Although I have always been a fan of creative writing, this is my first time writing based on any movies/series. Any feedback would be appreciated (: Enjoy!

*gif not mine

CHAPTER TWO- Sunflowers and Pain

Steve made his way into the med-bay, where Clint was caring to the wound on Bucky’s neck. He had it bandaged, but still looked concerned at the wound, before turning his eyes over to Steve, “A warning that your sister is a vampire would’ve been nice.” He joked, crossing his arms as he walked towards Steve, “I was able to stitch it shut, bandage it well. But… It’s blistering. And his veins are becoming more visibly black around the wound like they’re inflamed. To me it looks like poison. Sam is trying to get Bruce to come in to take a look at it.” 

Steve listened, nodding slowly. He was more concerned with talking to Bucky about what his sister had told him than the injuries. “Give us a minute.” He said to Clint, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s face who laid unconscious on the medical bed. Clint looked at Bucky, then to Steve, “I’ll be right outside with Sam.” He said, exiting through the glass doors which shut behind him.

Steve approached the bedside of Bucky, looking down at him. Bucky’s forehead wrinkled and he slowly opened his eyes, looking up to Steve, “Is Y/N okay?” He asked his friend, not even bothered by his own injuries. He was concerned with Y/N. He missed her. His heart ached from the moment he saw her standing there, covered in dirt and blood. He didn’t even care about her wounding him, just wanting to know that she was okay. It was all he ever wanted, to know that she was alright.

“She’s fine.” Steve said shortly, still looking down at Bucky who was shifting to sit up, wincing at the pain in his neck. “She’s calmed down now, sleeping. She said some things Bucky. About you.” His nostrils flared a little bit as he remembered his sister frantically pacing his room hyperventilating. 

Bucky looked at Steve in confusion, noting his anger. He shook his head slightly, “What did she say? I haven’t seen her since the morning I left for deployment and we made that….” He paused, gauging Steve’s anger before continuing, “That promise.” He finished.

Steve shook his head, “So it’s true. You two did have some sort of promise.” He folded his arms, still keeping his eyes on Bucky, “She said you reached out to her after you returned home from deployment. Told her to meet you for what sounds like a date,” he studied his friend’s face for any signs he remembered this, “She said you grabbed her, kidnapped her. Took her somewhere where people played with her brain.” He said between a clenched jaw as he quoted his sister. Steve didn’t get angry often, but always had been defensive when it came to his sister, “She remembers screaming at you to help her and you turned your back on her.”

Bucky shook his head as he heard the story, “No.. no no…” He said softly, looking at Steve, “You have to believe me.. I didn’t do that.. I wouldn’t do that to anybody let alone her…” he paused, looking at his hands, before looking back to Steve wide-eyed, “They must’ve figured out she was your sister… Hydra… used me as their soldier to get her. To get to you. I didn’t know, Steve..” He promised, still shaking his head at the story. Was this true? Did he really betray Y/N and his best friend like that? Why couldn’t he remember? Bucky thought about her everyday of his deployment, excited when he got her letters. They reminded him he had something to fight for and return to. The memory of their promise, the way she sat with him during the sunrise. The one and only kiss they shared before he left. Did Hydra really make him betray the girl he was falling deeper and deeper in love with? Rage suddenly filled Bucky, realizing how real this situation was. He betrayed her. Y/N wanted him dead for it. He felt as though he deserved it after what he had done to her. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that was filling inside of him, “What did they do to her?” He asked through clenched teeth.

Steve watched Bucky, seeing he was genuine about his feelings and regret, “I don’t know. All she said was they messed with her head. Then you left. I don’t know what they did to her. Maybe they did some experiments like they did to the Maximoff twins, to you.” He sighed, running his hand through his blonde hair as he starts to pace the room, “When Bruce is here, we will have him look into it more. He will probably know more about your wound and maybe be able to figure out what is going on with Y/N. Until then, just keep your distance from her. She thinks you’re a traitor.” He said, looking to Bucky and seeing that those words hurt him, “Her words, not mine.” That didn’t help Bucky feel better, only worse. 

Bucky shook his head, moving to stand up from the medical bed, “No, Steve, I have to talk to her. Help her understand.” He said but was pushed back down by Steve’s hand, “Please. I can’t sit here knowing she is here without explaining.. I can’t let her think I betrayed her.” He pleaded, wincing at the pain in his neck.

“You can’t, Buck. Her emotions are everywhere. She sees you, hears your name, she snaps. And you’ve seen what can happen when she snaps.” Steve cautioned, “For now, stay away from her.”

Those words stung Bucky. How could he stay away from her? He grew up with her, and as that happened, his feelings grew also for Y/N, “Fine. I’ll stay away.. for now.” He said to Steve softly, half lost in his own thoughts. The pain he felt in his chest felt worst than his wound. He wanted to help Y/N understand that it wasn’t him, it was Hydra in his head that made him do those awful things. He wouldn’t have walked away from her screams. He would never be able to do that. He wanted to see her again. Before last night, the last memory he had of her was them together watching the sunrise, sharing their kiss. But now, the last memory he has of her is horrific. Y/N covered in filth, pale, red eyes. And she attacked him. He didn’t want to remember her like that, he couldn’t remember her like that. 

Steve turned as the door opened, Sam walking in to inform them Bruce would be here soon. Steve nodded, “Let me know when Banner gets here, we need answers.” He said, “Keep an eye on him..” He gestured towards Bucky as walked passed Sam to exit the room. He had to check on Y/N, see if she was still resting. He hoped she was having comforting dreams, not nightmares of the things Hydra had put her though. He was still seething with rage after hearing what happened to his sister. He felt guilty. If he wasn’t Captain America, then his sister may have been safe. He should’ve taken more precautions to protect her from his life. He wasn’t the one that needed looking after anymore, Y/N was and he felt like he failed.

Y/N was sleeping soundly. Not a nightmare in sight, which was odd. She usually had nightmares of the experiments Hydra did on her, of the things they made her do. The worst of all nightmares though were the ones that replayed over and over of Bucky taking her and handing her over to Hydra. How he watched as they hurt her, turning and walking away from her like she was nothing to him as she screamed for his help. But right now, there wasn’t a nightmare. Just a dream of her in a field of sunflowers, smiling as she picked a bouquet. Being able to see her brother again had changed her mindset to being hopeful for a happier future. She walked in the field, gathering up only the flowers that were fully bloomed. She must’ve had five or six in her hand already. She went to pick another one, but paused. It was dripping blood off its petals. She looked at it confused, tilting her head slightly. “Y/N..” She heard, looking up across the field. But there he was. Again. Bucky. His hair in his blue eyes, staring at her. His metal arm glistened in the sunlight, the red star shown brightly in the rays. “No…” She whispered, dropping the bouquet, knowing what was coming next. He would grab her, take her to Hydra, and they would torture her. She turned to run, but as she turned he was right there in front of her. He looked down at her apologetically, “Y/N, I’m so sorry….” He grabs her arm with his metal one, making her wince. “Please don’t do this..” She whispered to him, begging, “Bucky please…” Her eyes slowly filled with tears threatening to run down her cheeks. He looked pained at the sight of her tears, but tightened his grip on her arm, starting to drag her, “Please forgive me, Y/N…. I’m so sorry…” 

Y/N awakened from her dream suddenly, sitting up and yelling, “NO!” Her breathing was frantic. Wanda jumped out of her chair at the sight of Y/N finally awakening. She quickly sat on the bed next to her, placing a hand on Y/N’s back, “Shh.. Y/N, its okay. You’re safe..” Wanda said softly to her. Y/N looked at Wanda for a moment, but then quickly hurled herself into Wanda’s arms for a hug. She felt safe with Wanda, like they had an understanding of each other. 

Steve entered the room, seeing Y/N huddled in Wanda’s arms. He quickly moved to the other side of the bed, “She okay? What happened?” He asked Wanda, concern in his voice.

Wanda nodded, “She’s okay, just a bad dream.” She spoke softly, running her fingers along Y/N’s hair to calm her. She had seen Y/N’s nightmare while looking into her thoughts. But she couldn’t push deep enough to figure out what happened to her in the past. She couldn’t see what had made her this way, what Hydra had done to her. Y/N reminded Wanda of herself when she came out of the experiments. She had her twin brother though, while Y/N had nobody except Hydra. 

“Y/N,” Steve said softly, not wanting to alarm his sister who seemed to be in a fragile state, “We need to talk about some stuff. Are you up for it?” He gently placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder, causing her to turn out of Wanda’s hug and look at him, nodding slowly.

“Can Wanda stay?” Y/N asks softly, which Steve nodded. He understood how important it was for Y/N to have some sort of support system right now to feel safe. Y/N looked at Wanda who also nodded with an encouraging smile, before moving to sit on the bed in the center again. She brought her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them as she leaned her chin on her knees.

Steve sat down on the bed by her, figuring out a way to word what he needed to say without setting off his sister. “We need to talk about him.” He said, watching Y/N carefully for her reaction. But there wasn’t one, she just simply nodded slowly, “You bit him, do you remember? It looks like he was poisoned by your bite.” He said, waiting for validation. 

“Technically, it’s venom, not poison. And he deserves the suffering it’ll bring.” Y/N corrected, her tone soft but steady. She kept staring straight ahead of her at the wall, “He will start to have hallucinations as it runs through his veins, making his insides burn, until it kills him.” 

“Okay, venom, gotcha.” Steve nodded slowly, “Is there an antidote?” He knew the question may get him into some trouble with his sister. She obviously wanted Bucky to to suffer, and honestly Steve wanted him to suffer a little bit for what happened to his sister, but not like this. He knew Bucky’s brain was already torturing him enough.

Y/N looked at her brother, her eyes narrowing, “Of course there’s an antidote. But I won’t give it to him. He deserves it.” She stated again, a hint of anger in her voice that her brother would ask for an antidote to her venom. She had decades to think about how she hated him. How Bucky betrayed her. And how she believed these feelings and nightmares would go away if he was no more.

Steve shook his head, “You don’t understand, Y/N. That wasn’t him that did that to you. He wouldn’t do that to you, to me. It was Hydra. They were in his head, making him do that, just like to you. He doesn’t even remember. The last thing he remembers of you is your promise.” He said, the last words still annoying him. How could the two most important people to him keep such secret about their feelings? But deep down, he knew he already knew the truth about how they felt about each other. 

Y/N looked to Wanda for validation of what her brother just said. Could he really not remember the trauma he had caused her? How he betrayed her trust, her feelings? Wanda silently nodded to what Steve was saying, knowing it was important for Y/N to know the truth, especially when Bucky’s life hung in the balance. She didn’t want that burden of murder to hang over Y/N’s head, she knew what that felt like. Y/N sat in silence for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip as she debated, her eyes returning to the wall in front of her. She had a choice here. To finally get the revenge she dreamed about since the day she was taken, or to save the man who made this life for her. She took a deep breath, releasing her legs from her grasp and looking to Steve, “I want to see him.” She said, almost bitterly, but also with a hint of fear.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea….” Steve hesitated, watching his sister closely, “Just give me the antidote and you two can talk later in a contained area.” He bargained, worried about what would happen if he let his sister see Bucky.

Y/N tilted her head as she stared at her brother’s face, “He’s already dying. I have no need to attack him again. And I’m not giving you the antidote until I see him. If what you say is true, if he is the Bucky…” She forced his names through her lips, almost hissing it out, “we remember, then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” She promised him, her red eyes piercing through Steve’s blue ones. 

Steve nodded, “Fine.. come with me. Wanda, you want to tag along?” He asked, knowing it was more of an order than a question. He may need Wanda to help with his sister if things got out of hand. 

Together, the three made their way into med-bay where Bucky was. Clint looked between Y/N and Steve, wondering if this was the best idea. “He seems to be hallucinating about the war, some letters, and sunflowers. His temperature has spiked to almost dangerous temperatures. If it keeps rising, his organs will shut down and liquify.” He informed Steve.

Y/N looked at Clint as he spoke, a small smile forming on her lips as she heard of Bucky suffering. This wasn’t like her. She would never wish ill upon anybody. But things had changed and she had planned this revenge for so long. She followed Steve to Bucky’s side, tilting her head as she looked at him. She heard Clint click his arrow again, her eyes darting to him, “Do you have a more powerful arrow? Because the last one tickled.” She said with a smile. Clint huffed and rolled his eyes a bit, “Yeah, well, the next one won’t just tickle.” He warned.

Y/N looked down at Bucky who was panting, sweat beading down his face and arms. She looked at his neck, reaching to remove the bandage that covered her toxic bite. The wound seemed to have opened more and grown, as the veins around it turned black and webbed down his arms and up his neck. She could see him suffer like she had. She looked over when the door opened to the med-bay again, but this time a new face. A large green guy stood at the door, trying to get a read on the room. She assumed this was the hulk she had read about. She returned her gaze to Bucky, before poking near his wound, making him wince to wake up with a groan, “Can you not..” He whispered weakly, lifting a hand to swat hers away, opening his eyes slowly. He met your gaze, “Y/N…” He reached his other hand up to touch her face to see if you were real, but she flinched away from his touch. 

“So you do remember me..” Y/N said, on her guard. She was fighting the urge to just rip him apart as he laid there.

“Of course, Doll…. I was just writing you a letter, planning what we should go eat and do when I get home.. Did you get the sunflowers I had Bex buy? Wait…. Why are you here? It’s dangerous.. You should be at home” He said, looking around. It was obvious he was hallucinating that he was still at war. 

“Steve says you’re still you. That you have Hydra in your head that made you do all those awful things to me.” She leaned in closer to his face, her red eyes piercing into his blue ones, Her hand quickly moved to grip his neck, her thumb pressing into his wound which made him flinch, but not push her away, “If it was up to me, you’d suffer and get what you deserve. But, Steve has asked me to spare you. Give you a chance. I don’t think you deserve it.” She hissed out, anger clear. She heard Hawkeye move towards them, not wanting it to get violent again. She held up her hand to stop him, releasing Bucky’s neck, “But, I will help you. Not for you. Not for this team. But for Steve.” She said softly. She then scrapes her wrist with her fingernail, bright red blood forming. Everybody watched her confused. Y/N moved her wrist above his wound, her blood hitting the gash. As the drops hit, the skin sizzled, but slowly grew back together. The black veins disappearing and returning to normal. The wound slowly disappeared, leaving only a silver scar in the shape of her teeth. Steve passed his sister a bandage for her wrist. She placed it over the gash and stepped away from Bucky as he just stared at her. Y/N turned to Steve, “He’ll be fine. For now.” She said, walking past him to stand by Wanda, who gave her a small smile.

“That can’t be sanitary…” Clint muttered as he watched the wound disappear before his eyes. Banner just watched, his eyes flickering between Bucky and Y/N.  Everybody watched as Bucky slipped back into unconsciousness. Banner cleared his throat and looked to Steve, “So, uh, Cap… You needed my help?” He reminded Steve.

Steve nods towards Banner, motioning for him to follow into the next med-bay room with him for some privacy, also giving his sister a look for her to follow. Of course Wanda followed Y/N in, she hadn’t left your side for hours, feeling oddly protective and connected to you. Once the four of them were in the privacy of a different room, Steve shut the blinds so his sister couldn’t see Bucky anymore, hoping it would help her remain calm. “Bruce, this is Y/N Rogers. My sister.” He introduced.

Bruce looked at Steve in confusion and shock for a moment, then looked to Y/N, “You know, I knew I saw a resemblance. Nice to meet you, I’m Bruce Banner.” He smiled at her before he turned his attention back to Steve, “Now that his wound is taken care of, what can I do for you Cap?” He asked. Obviously he was warned about saying Bucky’s name.

“I need you to help look into Y/N. Hydra took her, did something with her brain according to her. You know more about this stuff than me.” He informed, before looking to his sister, “Is that alright with you, some tests?” 

Y/N nodded, not feeling threatened at all. Bruce may look scary as the hulk, but she could tell from the way he spoke and moved that he wasn’t a threat to her. She approached the med-bay table, laying herself down.

Bruce asked for the room, leading Steve and Wanda out. They opened the blinds again so they could see into the room to observe you from the other room, just in case something happened. 

“Okay, Y/N, I’m going to scan your brain, okay?” He asked for permission, a small comforting smile on his green lips. Y/N nodded at him, checking for her brother on the other side of the window who nodded at her to let her know things were going to be okay. She had forgotten that Bucky was now in the same room with her brother and Wanda, focused on the scan. She hated laying here, it brought back painful memories. But at least it wasn’t in some bunker with dim lighting. 

Bruce brought a machine by her head, placing it around her skull. The Avengers team had all the new technology which made scanning any part of the body for an in depth look super easy. It would show Bruce everything from her skin, to her skull, and into her brain. The machine hummed to life, causing Y/N to flinch a little at the sound. Bruce gave her another comforting smile, before looking at the holographic screen that appeared, “We are also going to take a blood sample, okay? Just a little poke.” Bruce said, to which Y/N nodded. A needle come down and extracted some of her blood from her arm. Bruce was looking at the skin under her hair first on her head, then going to examine her skull, before looking at her brain. They were in there for almost an hour as he looked over her scans and blood sample, a focused look on his face. “I’m going to go talk to Steve, I’ll be right back with him, okay?” Bruce said to which Y/N nodded slowly, continuing to stare at the ceiling. 

Bruce walked into the other room where all the eyes were watching Y/N through the window. “I’d like to go keep her company.” Wanda said, to which Steve nodded and watched Wanda go in to talk to his sister, waiting for the door to shut behind her.

Bucky had awoken again, sitting up and also staring through the window at Y/N silently. He was thankful she had healed him, he was able to get another chance at her forgiveness. But he was also curious to hear about what he had given her to Hydra for. That put fear in his bones as he awaited for Banner to speak.

Banner sighed, turning away from the window so Y/N couldn’t watch him talk. “It’s bad Steve. Theres a healed incision on her the top of her head in her skin, meaning they did cut into her head at some point. The X-ray of her skull showed a Hydra brand in the middle of the bone where they removed part of her skull. It looks like they drilled the design in themselves.” He watched Steve’s facial expression turn to worry, Steve’s eyes flickering between Banner and his sister through the glass. Bucky listened, rage and guilt growing inside of him. But the emotion he felt most was sadness. He had led Y/N to this, handed her over. He didn’t know who he was, who she was, or what he was doing, but still. This was his fault and something he would forever feel guilty for. Banner continued, “As for her actual brain… Someone definitely fiddled around in there. From what I can tell, her nervous system is damaged in the way it doesn’t register pain correctly. Her blood also showed mutated enzymes that heal very quickly. ” He looked back through the window to Wanda and Y/N, who were talking, Wanda smiling. “I would assume they used some variation of what they used to make Bucky, but more enhanced. When I X-Rayed her head, I was able to see fangs hidden in her gums. I assume they pop out when she bites and pushes venom into her victims."

Steve sighs, crossing his arm as he watched his sister, “She’s fast, strong, doesn’t feel much pain, heals quickly, and has venom in her teeth with her blood as the cure,” He said, listing off the enhanced abilities, "Sounds like Hydra was trying to up their game to make the ultimate soldier.” 

Nobody had noticed that Bucky was now standing by Steve, listening but keeping his focus on Y/N through the window. As he listened to what was going on inside her head, his rage grew. He had done this. Maybe Y/N was right to attack him, to inject her with his venom. He was hallucinating that she was okay, safe. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Bucky finally broke his silence, “She probably has some sort of trigger, like I did. It’s important we figure out what that is.” He said, turning his gaze to Steve who just nodded in agreement silently. It was a lot to take in for Steve. As he kept learning more about what happened to Y/N, his guilt also grew for what had happened to her. He should’ve been there for her, to protect her.

Bruce looked at Steve, “What they’ve done to her brain… it makes her slightly mentally unstable. It’s amazing she made it through what she did and is able to have any thoughts of her own. With what they’ve done to her brain, they should have full control.” He paused, watching the reactions from Bucky and Steve, knowing their next question already.

“So why don’t they have full control?” Bucky was the one to ask, looking at Bruce curiously. He finally tore his eyes away from Y/N through the window, curiosity grabbing his attention.

Bruce sighed, pausing for a moment trying to figure out the way to tell them the gruesome finding, “She had a chip implanted in her brain. It would send her the orders from Hydra. That is how they controlled her. She couldn’t fight it. It would instantly make her do what they wanted when they initiated the chip. With Bucky they had the phrase, but they must’ve upgraded to chip to make it easier.”

“Had a chip?” Steve turned to Bruce curiously, feeling somewhat safer as it sounded like the chip wasn’t there anymore.

Bruce nodded, “Yeah.. Uh.. Had a chip. It’s not there anymore. If I had to, I would guess she… uhm..” He paused, thinking of how to put the next information delicately without making it sound too horrific, “She picked it out herself.”

Steve’s brow furled in confusion, “Picked it out herself? Out of her brain? How?” He questioned, halfway dreading the answer.

“Y/N also had scars behind her left ear as well as a scar on her same spot on her skull. It looks like she scratched herself with her fingers until she got to bone, from there she may have used a drill, then picked the chip out of her brain with pliers but I would guess by hand. Her skull healed the hole and all that is left is scars.” Bruce said quietly, it was more horrific to say aloud, especially seeing the faces of Bucky and Steve.

Bucky looked back towards Y/N, “She was smart enough to figure out what they were doing, strong enough to dig it out.” He folded his arms, the peak of his rage had been met. If only those who did this to Y/N were still alive… He would have tortured them for her. For what they did to her and what they made him do. He looked at Y/N though, and his insides melted. The rage was subsiding. Bucky just wanted to go into that room and hold her, letting her know how sorry he was and that it would all be okay. That she was safe and nothing was going to hurt her ever again. He knew he couldn’t though. If he went in there to try and speak to you, he knew he would be met with hostility. And he knew he deserved it. She should’ve forgotten about him, had a family, had a happy life like he always imagined she had. But instead, Y/N was here. Damaged. And he couldn’t do anything to help.

___________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @taina-eny

[stellocchia]

Alright, now that I got some sleep, time for an overly long analysis on Tommy’s second prison visit!

I’m only talking about character in the rp from here on out, not the cc’s unless explicitly stating otherwise

-

First of all, a clarification is in order: was it Dream’s plan from the very start to get put in prison to end up in this situation? No. Does this mean he couldn’t have caused this to turn things in his favour? Also no.

Dream has proven before that he’s a rather flexible character (kinda has to be with a nemesis like Tommy), he’s been put multiple times in unexpected situations and managed to come out of top. We don’t know if he expected L’Manburg to be reborn after the 16th, and yet he managed to have the whole cabinet wrapped around his fingers. He didn’t expect Tommy to threaten him with Spirit, and yet he spun it around on him. We also know he didn’t expect Tommy to leave Logsteshire (he was talking about it with Punz, it’s the reason he went to check on him shortly after because he realized he may have stepped too far and broken Tommy out of his manipulation there) which offered him the opportunity to frame him for the community house disaster later on.

He is nothing if not resorceful.

Another thing we have to discuss when talking about the visit is the themes of their relationship:

- Dream’s possessiveness/obsession

- The whole Dream finding Tommy “fun”

- Their “game”

More under the cut

- For the first point, when I say “possessivness” I mean that Dream literally regards himself almost as Tommy’s owner. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about how he treats Tommy’s canon life then!

Remember all the way back during exile? To keep Tommy in line Dream consistently threatened to take his last life, implying that he would have been fine with Tommy dying, yet, as soon as Tommy showed signs of wanting to take his own life, Dream bust out the line “it’s not your time to die yet”, 2 times in fact. Why? Well, Dream wants control in all things, not only that, but he clearly thinks he’s in the right in wanting it. Of course the life of his favourite toy is no exception. Also let’s not forget about the terrifying scene on top of the obsidian grid where, when Tommy said that their story would be over soon, Dream immediately took control again assuring him it would never be over.

There is also Tommy explicitly stating that Dream was “borderline his owner”, in case we needed an additional affirmation, in the stream where Mexican Dream made an appearance in exile. 

Also, I have to mention that during the first Prison visit Dream, when talking about what he missed, grouped Tommy together with “his stuff”... can’t get much clearer then that

- Dream’s describing Tommy as “Fun” has been a reoccurring creepy theme between them. But is it soley done out of manipulation or does Dream actually feel that way in his twisted world view? I’d say a bit of both to be honest. 

Clearly there is a level of gaslighting with it were he used to say it at the very start of Tommy’s exile to get him in the frame of mind of considering Dream his friend and trying to convince him that they always had fun together (trying to get him to switch his anger from being directed at Dream to being directed at his old friends), but that’s not all. 

Dream, in cutting all his known attachments, is left with only Tommy as an attachment, Jack is right on that one, which is the rason why his obsession seems so extreme. That said, it’s pretty obvious that he does sort of find his relationship with Tommy “fun”. It’s the reson why literally everyone else is a replaceable pawn, but Tommy isn’t. Don’t get me wrong here: he doesn’t see him as a human and, despite him “caring” in his twisted way, there is NOTHING healthy about their relationship. But it is still important to point out that Tommy is extremely important to Dream.

- Their game is something we’re all well aware of. They are regarded by so many people as the hero and the villain of the server, even though neither of them accepts their assigned role. That said they both view the other in the role assigned to them. Dream doesn’t see himself as a villain, but he does see Tommy as a hero and vice-versa. And, just like that, the stage for their “game” is set.

Only problem? Only one of them is playing the game. We know this from the season 2 finale: the reason Dream kept coming down and trusting Tommy was because he thought Tommy was as attached to their “game” as he was, but he was wrong. Tommy HAS other attachments, plenty of them, he’s not dependent on Dream and that’s also probably why Dream is so obsessed with him in the first place: everyone else is predictable, easy to use. They aren’t surprising, they aren’t “fun” (remember that? Remember Dream goning “Tubbo isn’t fun” when Tommy said he had as much value as himself? Because I sure do) they are boring pawns. 

You’d think he may think differently of someone like Techno but, despite him acknowledging his strenght, he has no reason to think he won’t be able to use him every time at the smallest promise of violence as it worked every time before. George and Sapnap? When’s the last time Dream showed them he cared in any way? He used them time and time again and then left them behind when the relationships required work on his side to mantain. He didn’t even speak to Sapnap during his visit! He regards Quackity as barely an annoyance (remember what history left on him in the Lost City of Mizu? Just a Fool). Punz and Sam were both people he paid, only means to an end. They ALL played his game and followed his rules, which is what made them predictable. It's what makes them so replaceable.

-

Now that the themes are established, let’s move on to the analysis of the visit itself!

First of all: big foreshadowing from Sam with the missing books (which Tommy admitted to not remembering the content of) and from Tommy saying how much he trusted and appreciated Sam. It doesn’t have much to do with the analysis, but we all pointed it out.

That said, what was Tommy’s objective with this visit? Closure. Tommy wanted to make their game finally stop for good, he wanted to reclaim the control over his life that he hasn’t had for a while now. Not over his literal last life nor over hid day to day life. Both used to be controlled by Dream. 

Dream “loosing” his clock is the first information we learn. But, remember during Bad’s visit when Bad convinced Sam to give Dream one last chance to get his clock back if he behaved? And then again with Sapnap? Dream wanted the clock to go, that’s why he kept burning it despite the warnings. Why? Could it be that he was planning to get someone to stay with him in there? Isolation affects you much harder when you’re not aware of the passage of time after all...

“That’s the Tommy I know!” from the start of the visit Dream is trying to re-establish their “bond” and get Tommy in the mindset of them being “friends” again. I mean, it’s not a coincidence that he’s never been this talkative or friendly in any of the visits from other people. 

Other point in favour of Dream having planned this long stay is the sheer number of potatoes he had stored. Also, may I add that he immediately started giving them to Tommy? He started before the tnt and explosions, before he should have known Tommy was gonna stay. He never did this before during any of the visits we’ve seen. Establishing his role as provider again like back in exile I see...

Dream also started immediately demanding for Tommy to visit him more, but Tommy does turn it down just as quickly by explaining that that would be the last visit (if Dream wasn’t planning to act this time, he changed his mind in this moment. He’s very adaptable remember? And his main accomplice was online...). Of course, Dream isn’t happy about it. 

We already established that Tommy is the only one he finds “fun” (as far as we know), having him stopping visitations entirely wouldn’t be good for Dream. There is also the fact that Tommy is deciding to move on on his own. It’s Tommy’s choice under Tommy’s complete control and Dream has already shown he’s not too kin on that being a thing.

“Anything you want to say to me now, you have to say to me now, because I’m not visiting you again” “Why?” I’m highlighting this piece of dialogue because I think it’s pretty indicative of Dream still being convinced that they’re both still playing the game. Sure, Tommy outplayed him for now, but the game is not over, is it? Tommy can’t just decide to drop him can he? They both have so much “fun” after all... 

Of course though, to Tommy the “why” should be obvious. Because of Dream he’s struggling with severe ptsd. He’s afraid of plains biomes, of lava, of heights to a certain degree, of black stone (both because of the Attachments vault and the Final Control Room on this one), of tnt, of small holes (big enough to drop your items in as he said), of giving up his stuff and of Dream acting Friendly. Dream hurt him a great deal to the point were he’s not managing to settle down even now, he’s still afraid. How can Dream not see how he hurt him? How can he not understand? In Tommy's mind it just doesn't make sense.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES (had to add this because it was just funny... why are there always bloopers with this 2?)

Potatoes again. Again the tnt had not started to go off yet. And Tommy eats them again immediately, of course. I can’t stress this enough, but this is done again to re-establish the dependency tommy had on Drem during exile. While he didn’t entirely depend on dream for food (he barely ate and he had Mushroom Henry), he used to be entirely dependent on him for protection, getting to the point where he would hardly defend himself from the mobs when they attacked him even when Dream wasn't around. Of course Dream can’t provide “safety” while he’s in prison, so he has to find something else.

“You had all this shit coming” “I did but... you know... maybe one day” “No! Have you seen this prison? It’s kind of the most secure thing ever” They are talking about two different things here. Dream is implying that, maybe, they’ll let him out in the future while Tommy, having already decided to move on and not worry about Dream anymore, is implying that the only way Dream is getting out is if he manages to escape, which he won’t. Quite different from the first visit were Tommy showed quite a bit of hesitance when asked if he would ever let Dream out.

“Unless you have extreme therapy” Tommy recognizing the importance of therapy I see! No, but, more importantly, this goes to show that Tommy is moving on from his exclusively vengful mindset he had at the start (which was more then understandable, btw). At the start of this visit he said he didn’t think that Dream deserved to die anymore and now he’s recognizing that he needs help, Tommy however also knows he’s not the one who should be helping him, he can’t. Still, he’s empathizing with him, because he can’t help doing so. Despite everything, Tommy always tends to see others as their own individuals, even when the same is often not true in reverse. 

“I mean exile wasn’t that bad... right? I mean, we hung out” again, tying it back to the themes in their relationship, this fits so well. Of course exile wasn’t that bad, right? After all: why would Tommy have needed anyone else when he had his Best Pal Dream? And here’s the thing: we can’t know how much of what Dream says is just manipulation and how much of it he believes, but Dream has shown enough signs of being dependent on Tommy as his only attachment that we can assume there is, at the very least, some level of truth in this. I mean, if you remember back when he blew up Logstedshire, he didn’t even wanna believe that Tommy was suicidal. Tommy told him directly, but was dismissed. Why? Not because Dream wasn’t extremely opposed to him taking his own life, he’d already shown that not to be the case. Perhaps because he actually didn’t think it was that bad? Maybe he didn't want to admit he pushed him too far? Did he actually view himself and Tommy to be Dream’s own twisted version of “friends”? It’s a possibility and it’s what this visit seems to imply. 

“When I’m around you I feel like my brain is conditioned to be your friend, but also when I have a knife I wanna just plunge it into your heart... you don’t make me a good person!” This seems to be a rather recurrent theme with Tommy and the mentor figures in his life. Wilbur trying to convince him (albeit not managing to) to just blow it all up and give in to his aggressive nature. Techno wanting to “bring him to the side of evil” and making him more violent in the process. Now we have confirmation that Dream himself makes him lash out more (though we could see this already when he was in exile in how he lashed out at Jack Manifold without the latter having done anything to deserve it). There is also the confusion to point out. While Tommy is trying to move on he’s clearly in no way “healed”, he’s still very much suffering from the consequences of Dream’s abuse and manipulation. He still doesn’t know exactly how to feel about him because, despite everything, he feels compelled not to hate him entirely. 

“You’re a bad guy” “Well I did bad things, but everyone thinks they’re right from their perspective” “That’s not true” I haven’t seen almost anyone talk about this exchange, but it’s such an important one! As we said, Tommy views Dream as a villain, Dream doesn’t (he admits to having done bad things, but not to being bad because of them). Dream also sees Tommy as a hero, but Tommy doesn’t (Tommy doesn’t even view himself as “the good guy” in his own story, which ties in to his big self worth problems). It’s an interesting dynamic to be sure. 

“Well I think I’m right. I did bad things, but I did them for good reasons” “What good reasons?” “I wanted to bring the server together you know? Make it a big happy family” This is the second time Dream brings up unity as his ultimate goal (the first being with Punz). Of course we know that the “unity” he wants it’s under his complete control. It’s not an objective that we can see as positive, but he does, or, at least, if he’s telling the truth about it, he may actually believe in it. Now, while this is the second time he brought up “unity” directly he did also strongly imply in the season 2 finale that that was his intention when explaining he was doing everything to get the server to “how it used to be”, back in the idealized past with no conflicts that never existed. Dream is deluded in the literal sense of the word, I would say it’s pretty probable there is at least some truth in his declared objective (truth in the form of him actually believing the bs he spews).

At this point Tommy is done. He’s drawing an end to the visit and Dream started getting more frantic. He started insisting on how he’s “changing” and insisting for Tommy to go visit him again. Ngl, I think this was probably to buy time for his accomplice (who is very possibly enderwalk!Ranboo) to get there. Because, if he let Tommy go, their game would truly be over, and Dream can’t stand that.

And cue the explosions! 

So: Dream managed to buy enough time and, by the prison's protocols, Tommy is now stuck with him up to 7 days. He can’t leave which means Dream gets another chance to force him into continuing their game. 

Quite a few people pointed it out, but, from this point onwards, Dream gets much more assertive and controlling in his demeanor. He drops the whole “insecure” act that he had going on in his enunciation and general behaviour and goes back to being like the old Dream (you would almost think that all that talk about “having changed” was just absolute bs, though he keeps insisting on it throughout) 

Tommy’s behaviour also changes. He gets much more paniked (no doubt a combination of way too many of his triggers being present at once) and pliant. He starts calling out for Sam and asking to be let out but, of course, that doesn’t happen as Sam has to take care of the security breach first and foremost. 

Dream starts immediately harping on Tommy being stuck there (probably to increase his panic, as he's easier to influence when he's distressed), first pointing out how “Sam can’t hear him” and then that the tnt must indicate a “security problem” (which he then explains he knows the consequences of because he wrote the book). By now he’s dropped his meek act entirely and he’s showing to be much more smug and self assured (a big contrast with Tommy having a very obvious panic attack). As we already said: he got what he wanted, he basically won already. All he needs to do now is get Tommy back to how he used to be in exile (”when they had fun” in Dream’s words...). 

At this point there is only one question left to be answered: Why did he do all of this? How does this benefits dream?

Clearly this didn’t help him to get out. The security may actually increase because of it. Right? Well...

“I mean... if you want a way to get out, let’s get out together! We can work it out, we can-” “Fuck off” “Then there is no way out” I’m going out on a limb here and saying that, perhaps, Dream may know a way to get out provided 2 people cooperate on it. Tommy wouldn’t help him yet, but, who knows what he may do after spending way too much time locked in a small room, with a lava fall on the side and Dream to top off the list of his worst nightmares... 

“Are you trying to get out?” “I’m not trying to get out, I’m not trying to get out!” a bit of a contradiction here, considering he proposed getting out together like 2 minutes before (coupled with his insistence on “one day...”)... however “I’m not trying to get out (yet)” may be a way to interpret his words more truthfully. If he just needed an accomplice to get out, he would have probably used Ranboo, but there is something else he wants as well... 

(btw, potatoes AGAIN multiple times, especially every time Tommy is particularly distressed, and Dream also brings up Tommy being on his last canon life again in the context of this being “just like exile”... man do be trying hard with those parallels...)

You see, he already told us that he still sees his objective as good. He still wants control. He still wants his game to go on. And there is one person he elected to be the key to everything...

“I’m telling you you’re stuck in here for a little while with me, were we can bond, we can talk, just like old times, right? You know... just like exile” “Tommy this is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got in this prison, because now we can be company, we can stay together!” “Fine, fine, you’re done with me in a couple days, when you get out of here” “Tommy it’s not that bad! We can- we have lot’s of time to bond” Ngl... something tells me his other objective is very obvious... and we talked about it to death by now. But, in case it wasn't clear to someone, he wants to get back what (or who in his case) he considers to be his most cherished possession (again, do NOT interpret this as a "good" thing. It isn't. Dream literally treats Tommy as his toy, it isn't healthy and I've seen way too many people in chat trying to imply otherwise and calling it "cute". It's not cute, it's abuse)

“Tommy you’re stuck in here with me wether you like it or not, ok?! Wether you like it or not you’re in here with me for a WHILE, we’re gonna talk, we’re gonna have lot’s of fun” I just wanted to point out again how much Dream’s demeanor changed from the start now that he’s back in control. He’s not asking Tommy to talk to him, he’s not giving him a choice in it. Tommy already said how he doesn’t wanna talk and “get to know him better”, but that doesn’t matter. He has no power anymore. He doesn’t have the power to leave NOR the power to ignore Dream, as much as he wants to. Also, after this, Dream seriously ramps up the whole “We’re gonna have so much fun!” shtick...

And you want to know the saddest part of the ending? Tommy is already cracking (honestly, not surprising. He’s been through WAY too much by now...) 

He started asking Dream for confirmation of whether all of this was “serious” (just like he needed to ask if things were real back in exile... or generally Dream’s opinion on everything). He also asked for more potatoes in a dejected tone (I know it may not seem that serious, but, as I said, it is just another way to create the dependency that Dream wants), showing a beginning of acceptance for Dream’s role as provider once again. Together with the very obvious “I can’t do this” and the black screen right after it creates a very worrying picture.

In conclusion: Dream is already dependant on Tommy, but the opposite not being true was a big part of his downfall. So, before he can get out, he has to work on getting Tommy back to exile!Tommy only this time he’ll be even more careful not to do some dumb mistake probably... 

-

As anxious as I am to see how this will develop I do also think it’s one of the most interesting outcomes they could have had!

Also can we please take a moment to appreciate how WELL cc!Dream anc cc!Tommy manage to handle this incredibly serious scenes? Like, they bounce off of each other perfectly and, as someone who’s done theater themselves, I cannot commend them for managing to do so well in IMPROV enough!

They are honestly so great! Let’s get some serious love and appreciation for them to close on a positive note!

Also @mysweatymakerstudentworld

[maraudersbutmuggle]

"The Prank"

Content Warning: Gender Dysphoria, Transphobia, Violence, PTSD. Depression, Mentions of Sexual Abuse. ANGST, ANGST, ANGST.

It was the week before exams. Everyone was crazy, especially the fifth years. These exams would define their possible careers in the future.

Remus was twice stressed. He was sick of people asking him questions and asking him to tutor them and sharing his notes with them.

After he had yelled to two poor third years, and slammed his book shot, making Peter jump, he went to the loo. Just to wash his face and take a bloody break.

He didn't know it would be one of the worst days of his life.

As he washed his face, he heard someone coming in. But Remus ignored it. Perhaps it was another boy.

"Hello, Rosie"

"Rosie, my sweet Rosie" "No!" "C'me here, Rosie..." "DADDY!!"

Remus began shaking. He looked that the voice came from Snape. He was staring at Remus like a strange animal in the zoo.

"Snivellus" Remus tried to sound confident, but his voice sounded high pitched.

"Rosalind Meredith Lupin. That's your name, isn't it?"

"C'me here, Rosie..." "Daddy!! Help!!"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Remus was trying so hard not to break down. How did Snape find out?

Snape ignored him.

"I can't believe you fooled everyone. Even myself" Snape let out a little laugh. He stared at Remus with disgust "And all this time, you'd been a girl?"

Remus shook his head. Now he was shaking.

"I'm not a girl" but he didn't sound convincing.

"What I don't understand is who else knows? How could Dumbledore let you in, if you're sick. You are a freak"

"Shut up" more shaking "How did you find out?"

There was no point in denying it now. Remus was being so obvious.

Snape grinned. He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Thanks to the little love note between you and Black" Snape said "Maybe he needs to be careful where he leaves the love letters you send him"

Now he remembered. The note he had exchanged with Sirius. About his binder. About him being trans. He had begged Sirius not to show it to anyone.

"And then, I searched for you on the Internet. You were in the local news, Rosie. One of the victims of Fenrir Greyback. They found he had been raping girls thanks to your dad, the hero" Snape rolled his eyes "You were his last victim before he went to jail"

"Please don't tell anyone" Remus begged.

Nobody knew about that, not even his friends.

Snape shrugged "Why wouldn't I? Lupin? This is golden. One of The Marauders is actually a girl..."

"No..." Remus cried

"I can't belive your friends hid you like a fucking experiment. What do they do to you, Rosie?"

"I'm tryin' to be nice, Rosie..." "Please no!!" "Shut up!! I said shut up!!"

All Remus could do was cry and tremble. He didn't even dare to look at Snape anymore. He despised him and he couldn't believe Lily actually liked him. But Remus hated himself more.

"I thought I smelled grease from outside"

Remus was even more embarrassed to see his friends enter the bathroom. James in the front. Like a good leader. Him and Snape were mortal enemies.

"Potter" Snape clenched his teeth.

They noticed Remus.

"Moony?"

Sirius noticed Remus with eyes of concern. It was his fault. It was his fault Snape knew.

"What did you say to him, asshole?"

"I didn't touch your little bitch, Black" Snape scoffed.

"You and your greasy ass are always around upsetting us" James said "So go away"

Snape ignored him "You fucking perverts"

"Excuse me?"

"You hide a girl in your dorm, probably spy on her while she changes. God knows what else..."

Sirius rolled his eyes "What the fuck are you talking about? What girl?"

Snape pointed at Remus "Rosalind"

"Get away from Rosalind, you fucking wanker!!" "Daddy..." "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!! NOBODY TOUCHES MY DAUGHTER!!"

The Marauders turned to look at Remus. They didn't know his birth name. Remus felt so embarrassed. He clenched his nails on his arm, harder and harder. He wanted it to hurt.

"What is it, Marauders?" Snape continued, voice full of hate "Do you take turns to fuck her?"

PUM!!

James knocked Snape to the ground before anyone can stop it.

"SHUT UP YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!"

Snape touched his nose. And then he laughed. Like a maniac.

Greyback touched his nose. And then he laughed. Like a maniac. "Come on, Lyall! Hit me more!"

James wasn't satisfied. He kneeled down and kept punching and punching Snape yelling swear words and insults.

Remus was in shock. He stood there, glued to the ground. Like a statue.

Sirius crossed eyes with him. He looked so broken, and angry too. His eyes lowered. And Sirius turned to help James with the beating.

Peter seemed in shock as well. He had managed to put an arm around Remus and whispered things like: "It's okay, Moony. I'm sorry. It's okay"

This is it. Remus thought. Snape is going to die. James and Sirius are going to kill him. And Remus would be an accomplice. A stupid witness that didn't do shit. Just silently cried and shook.

Finally a younger boy came in and gasped looking at the scene.

"GET HELP" Peter yelled "PLEASE!"

The boy ran away. And minutes later, someone came in with him.

"STOP IT!!" It was Lily. She was pale as a ghost. Not in the normal way, but nearly transparent "I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STOP!! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL HIM!!"

"PLEASE LYALL STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!!" "He hurt her!!" Lyall cried, still hitting Greyback "He hurt my little girl"

Remus was surprised to see Lily's strength as she pushed James away. Peter ran to do the same with Sirius.

James was panting. He blinked like finally reacting. He looked at Lily, who was crying. And then at his hands. Covered in blood.

"Go and find McGonagall, Owen" Lily sobbed, talking to the little boy still there "Please"

Owen obeyed immediately.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU" Lily screamed mostly at James. He looked pale. Nearly in tears.

"Sorry..." he said "Sorry Lily.."

It was the first time that James Potter felt so small and quiet around Lily Evans.

But Lily was already on her knees, checking on Snape.

"Sev..." she cried "Sev... please wake up"

James' eyes were focused on them. He looked embarrassed. Sirius on the other hand approached Remus.

"Remus, are you okay?"

"Rosie, are you okay?" Hope asked, tears in her eyes. "MUMMY!!" the child cried. "Oh honey, it's okay" Hope hugged her child, crying herself "Mummy is here, is okay"

Remus flinched. Mostly because he was surprised that someone had addressed him. He had witnessed everything as if he wasn't there. And he felt the pain in his palms. Bleeding because of his nails.

He didn't want to talk to Sirius. He didn't want to talk to anyone or to see anyone. He just felt pain pain pain. Guilt Guilt Guilt. Anger anger anger.

This is your fault, Sirius. He knows because of you. He almost died because of you.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!" McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth "What the hell happened?"

Nobody answered. They could only hear Lily's sobbing.

"Miss Evans, who did this to Mr. Snape?"

"It was me" James whispered. James never whispered. He was always loud.

"What was that, Mr. Potter?"

"It was me" he repeated

"And me"

Sirius, the loyal companion. Loyal with James, not with Remus.

"Miss Evans, please take Mr. Snape to The Hospital Wing right now! Mr. Pettigrew, help her"

"Yes, professor"

Remus didn't understand how Peter was so calm, how could he even react?

"Potter, Black. To my office"

James didn't even protest. He gave a last glance at Lily, who was stroking Snape's hair. And James walked outside. Sirius immediately followed, his eyes on Remus as he walked. Concerned blue eyes.

I hate you. I hate all of you..... Not quite.

McGonagall walked carefully towards Remus. He noticed he was still trembling and panting. McGonagall didn't scold him. She just smiled.

"Mr. Lupin" she said kindly "Why don't you step into my office, and we'll take some calming tea. Alright? You can explain what happened?"

Remus just nodded. Because he couldn't speak. McGonagall touched his arm, and they walked outside. Remus find in her body a support not to fall.

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

The boys were not expelled but severely punished after they explained their motives. Snape was forbidden to speak to anyone about Remus. Remus remained angry at Sirius and James for months after this. But they make up.

This is my muggle version of The Prank. But this time it makes sense.

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[kayecorral]

Freight Car

Chapter One of the Brown Book Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence, PTSD (!), swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Summary: Nine years ago, The Winter Soldier murdered your friend in front of you. Nine years later, Bucky Barnes shows up at your door with the hope of making amends.

⭑⭑⭑

⭑⭑

⭑

You wake up on the floor again.

In the crossfade between dreaming to waking, the hardwood is concrete against your cheek. The sweat in your hair is the slick of blood. You fade in and out, and awareness comes back slowly. A siren descends, moving closer and closer, then recedes into the quiet. You don’t know if you imagined it.

You do know that your alarm isn’t blaring. Your ringtone isn’t sounding. The birds chattering and chirping at your window are real. The steady knocking of your heart against your ribs is real. Maybe that’s enough.

You open your eyes. A sliver of light from the parted curtains cuts across the floor. Above it, dust dances in the still air. All is calm. If you had woken up in your bed, this would be a good morning.  

But you didn’t wake up in your bed. So, you peel yourself off the floor and half-walk, half-limp to the bathroom. As you cross the threshold and flick on the light, a face flashes before you. Before your mind can work to discern its features, you slam the door shut and flip the switch. You cry in the dark.

⭑⭑⭑

You call into work again.

You’re tempted to stay where you are—curled in on yourself under the covers—but Dr. Kaplan’s gentle voice prods from inside your skull.  “Trauma changes over time,” it says. “You have to face it as it comes. You’ll feel worse if you put off dealing with it.”

She picks up on the second ring. Judging by the sound of clinking silverware, she’s on her lunch break. You promise to keep this impromptu session short.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. That’s why it hit me so hard, I think.” You begin. Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t know why. The nightmare is so distant now — just bits of feeling. Your brain is scrubbing away the memory like a mounted defense.

You’re quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dr. Kaplan just waits. She doesn’t pose a question or make a suggestion: in other words, she doesn’t offer an out. She never does. At first, her silence and seemingly unending patience unnerved you. You would later understand the value of having the space to organize your thoughts before speaking them.  

“I thought I was doing better,” you eventually say. “But now, it’s like I’m back where I started.”

“You are not back where you started,” she says. “We haven’t talked about your night terrors in months when we used to talk about them every session. That’s incredible progress. You should be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You hold the phone away so she can’t hear the tears in your voice. “But what does it mean? ”

“Well,” she pauses. “Have you been thinking about Jean lately?”

“Kind of,” you start to say, then remember Dr. Kaplan’s rule about specifics. “I’ve probably thought about her… twice in the past week. Marie, she, uh, she sent me a Facebook request.”

“Did you accept it?” She asks, with just a hint of amusement.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” Dr. Kaplan asks. She knows the answer, of course. You haven’t spoken to Marie since the funeral nearly a decade ago. You know she resents you. You saw it in the tightness of her smiles and the way her eyes turned to stone as you stood before Jean’s casket. You’re alive and her sister isn’t. You understand that. What you don’t understand is why she would reach out to you after so many years.

“I’m afraid of what she’ll say,” you admit.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Kaplan says. You shift on the couch. “She knows that. Maybe she’s been thinking about Jean, too.”

“Yeah,” you respond simply. Your head is light from dehydration, and you should probably take a nap at some point.

“I’d recommend you take easy today…”

“But?”

“But next week, I’d like to hear about your Facebook convo.”

You smile. The tears have dried on your face.

⭑⭑⭑

Snippets of dialogue filter through your thoughts. A woman is talking about a missing child, and a detective is asking the “who, what, where”s. It’s an episode you’ve already seen, but it makes for good background noise: the dramatic stings, the fast-talking, the screech of tires as the driver peels off. You don’t know why you gravitate towards crime shows. It might be a bit morbid, but until now, you’ve never thought to mention it to Dr. Kaplan.

You’re almost done with the cake batter. It’s looking a little watery, though. You really should have followed the recipe instead of improvising.

You reach for the flour bag on the counter, and just as you raise it to the mixing bowl, someone knocks at your door. You jolt and the bag slips from your hands. You narrowly dodge as it plummets to the ground. It lands with a  thump and now, your feet and pants and floor are covered in a film of white powder.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

There’s another knock, a bit louder this time.

“Give me — give me just a minute!” You call out, voice frayed.

You step over your mess and towards the door. You notice how slick your hand is on the doorknob, so you wipe your hands on your pants and try again. You forget your ritual of checking and re-checking the peephole. You unlock the door, already anxious at the idea of keeping anyone waiting.

When you finally swing the door open, a tall, dark-haired white guy is staring at the carpeted hallway floor. He’s not looking at you, but you feel exposed in your flimsy tank top and flour-splattered pajama pants.

Meanwhile, his look is carefully nondescript: a leather jacket, a dark shirt, and jeans. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks like someone who doesn’t  want to be seen, but here he is, standing at your door.

Maybe he’s just a neighbor on a reluctant mission to convince you to turn your volume down. Maybe he’s a dealer at the wrong address. Maybe he —

Your stomach drops. The shadows had been obscuring his face, but now that he’s tilting his chin up to look at you… the broadness of his forehead, the color of his hair, his height, all these things pull together. They pull tighter and tighter around your heart, and you realize that you’ve seen this man before. You’ve seen him a thousand times.

Your hand flies up to your neck. Fear hits like a punch to your gut. He looks normal — so normal that you could convince yourself that it’s not him. It’s not him.

But now, his eyes — a startling shade of blue— meet yours. Cold washes over you as every sensation in your body amplifies. You feel small and weak. Your vision starts trembling at the edges. You can’t move — not even to release your breath.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. His voice sounds so different from the one in your memories. It’s not as coarse and low, it’s gentler and higher-pitched. “I just wanna talk.”  

“Talk.” The word escapes you, but you hadn’t meant to speak. Hearing your own voice makes this real.

He clears his throat. “My name is James Barnes, and I’m no longer The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier. You suppose it doesn’t matter now what that means. If these are your last moments, you’re not going to spend them deciphering code. Instead, you think of your life and all the things you’ve done and all that you haven’t done. In the span of moments, you try to make peace with your death.

“If you’re going to kill me...” you can’t keep your voice from shaking, “do it.”

His eyes widen. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m — ”

“Hydra wants to know what I know. Is that it?” Your mind reels with the new theory.

His eyebrows tick up. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he says with a measured tone. “Not really.”

You don’t know how to respond to that divulgence. You don’t even know if you can trust it.

“I’m here because you,” he adds your name — your real name, “are part of my efforts to make amends.”

Your thoughts catch on how he knows your name. It’s a small thing, really. He knows where you live, after all. 

“I know you’re confused, and I know you have questions.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “And if you’re not, ah...” he glances from your face to your body, as if he were just now noticing your state of dress, “comfortable talking here, we can talk somewhere public. I guess what I’m asking is: can I buy you lunch or, uh, dinner? ”

You consider, seriously, that this man may be clinically insane. You have no other rational explanation for his showing up at your door on a Thursday afternoon, let alone his proposition. But you allow yourself to imagine it: you and him, sitting across a table with Jean’s ghost between and behind you. Your stomach turns at the thought.

“You murdered my friend,” you say slowly, “right in front of me.”

He nods. A pained look crosses his face, and that expression spurs your anger. It hadn’t occurred to you earlier that you should call the police. This man is a murderer, and he’s walking free. 

“You shouldn’t even be here — you should be in a prison somewhere!” You choke out as your throat tightens with impending tears.

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her!” He says forcefully. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I — ”

“But you did kill her!” You can’t hold them back anymore, and now, you’re crying in front of the man who killed Jean. Humiliation heats your cheeks.

“You did kill her,” you repeat quietly. You turn your watery gaze away.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says.

In your peripheral, you watch him step closer. When you flinch, he bobs back.

You should step back, shut the door, and call the police. Not that a slab of wood could stop him if he wanted to get to you. You’ve seen his silver arm. You’ve felt the grip of its fingers at the base of your neck. But, maybe you could manage a dial ‘9-1-1’ before —

“Look, I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he interrupts your line of thought and, against your will, you look at him again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I do want to offer you answers. Maybe it can…” He waves his hand as he searches for what he thinks are the right words. “Maybe it can give you some closure. And then, you’ll never see me again.”

You consider the furrow of his eyebrows. Over the years, you’ve tried reconstructing his face from its missing half. Now that you have the full picture, it makes perfect sense: the upper edges of the mask aligned with the cut of his cheekbones, the thin bridge really did conform to his nose, and the wideness of his jaw was merely accentuated. But his features are such a striking contrast to the severity of that mask and that metal arm. He looks so much leaner than you remember. He looks like a man, not a machine.

“Stay here,” you say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods and his brow softens. You shut the door and press your forehead against it.

After a few beats, you rest your hand on the base of your neck and suck in a few deep breaths. It’s a calming technique Dr. Kaplan taught you. But without meaning to, you flex your fingers. Just as your heart was beginning to slow, you’re pulled into the memory of him raising you by the throat. You gasp for air.

That man is behind this door. That man is behind this door.

You race around the couch to snatch your phone off the coffee table. You unlock it with shaking hands and now, your thumb hovers over the number pad.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you press ‘9’.

It’s true. You do want answers. You want to know why he killed her. You want to know about Hydra and his role in it. You want to know why he left you alive.

So you’ll get your answers,  then call the cops.

You pull on some real pants and cover up with a sweatshirt. But at the door, you hesitate to step out again. If you’ve imagined that whole encounter, if it was some vivid manifestation of your survivor’s guilt, then you wouldn’t have to go.

You press your ear against the door, and, as if your doubts had broadcasted through the wood, he coughs. You sigh and grab the doorknob. Your hand isn’t sweaty this time.

At the sound of the hinges creaking, his gaze snaps to you. You meet his eyes without meaning to. There’s no recognizable emotion in them. The creases in his forehead and the furrow in his brow are gone. Now, his face gives nothing away.

“There’s a place about two blocks from here,” you say simply.

He nods and looks to you as if for direction. If he were anyone else, you would start heading for the elevator without further ado, but the thought of Jean’s killer trailing behind you makes your stomach flip.

“I’d prefer you walk ahead,” you utter. His eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives no other visible reaction.

“Alright,” he says.

He moves down the hallway, and you follow. Your eyes stay trained on his back. Aside from your occasional direction, it’s a silent walk.

⭑⭑⭑

Sully’s is a dive, but it’s always busy, and this evening is no exception. The people who frequent this place are the kind of people who get loud after a few drinks and don’t give two shits about you unless you’re bleeding out on the floor. That’s perfect. God forbid anyone overhears your questions about murder and secret organizations.

“You want anything?” He asks after you choose a corner booth and tuck in. His casual tone bothers you, but he keeps his distance, at the very least.

“No,” you deadpan.

He nods and starts for the bar. A few people graze him as he passes, and it’s so crowded that you’ve already lost sight of him.

You place your phone face-up on the sticky, varnished wood table. Absentmindedly, you nudge the pedal base with your foot. You try to hone in on any particular voice, but all you hear is a buzz of conversation. It’s a comfort. It means that you’re not alone and he can’t hurt you here.

“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but…” Fuck. Your knee knocks on the bottom of the table. His voice is so sudden at your side.

He places a water glass in front of you, and you stop yourself before you can say “thanks”. He drops into the chair in front of you, a beer bottle tucked between his gloved palms. Gloves. He’s wearing gloves. You hadn’t noticed until now.

There’s an awkward pause. He watches you intently. Your stomach is churning, but you steadily meet his gaze. You have so many questions. Some of the things he’s said don’t make sense. One thing, in particular, though, is nagging at you.

“Back there, you said you didn’t have a choice,” you say dubiously, “what did you mean?”

He takes a drag of beer and sets the bottle down carefully before he speaks. “They brainwashed me.” He replies bluntly. “Hydra, I mean.”

Brainwashing? It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Aliens exist, as do superheroes and Norse gods and Mad Titans. What was once science-fiction is now very real and devastating.

He gives you a few beats to process, then continues. “For seventy years, I operated as The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. Seventy years?”

“I just turned 106 in March,” he says with a sardonic smile.

“How is that possible?”

“I was on ice.” He sighs. “They only took me out when they needed me.”

“And Hydra… what happened to them?”

His jaw tightens. It’s the most reaction you’ve gotten so far. “They used to have this saying: cut off one head, two more take its place… Maybe they’ll come back, but right now, they’re gone.”

“So they aren’t after me,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

“If Hydra wanted you out of the way, they wouldn’t’ve sent me.” He grimaces, even as his voice mocks a shrug.

You get it now: you’re not a threat, and you never were.

“But I was a loose end, wasn’t I? Why didn’t you kill me?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he finishes off his bottle and shifts his gaze to the table.

After a minute or two, you consider moving on, but something about his expression, both vacant and pensive, implores you to wait. In the interim, you glance from the people knocking shoulders at the bar to the couple in front of you.

“It was that look on your face,” he says, and you find his gaze is fixed on you again. “It was rage. And grief. And that-that grief almost overtook everything else, but I saw it.” He leans towards you, his eyebrows knitting close. “That part of you that… that part of you that wanted me to kill you, too.”

He glances at his hand on the table and releases a shaky breath. “I understood that,” he says. “I know what it’s like.”

Like a clenched fist releasing, the tightness in your chest eases. You understand something else, now, too. This is meant to be an exchange. He wants answers as much as you do, no matter how much pain they carry.

“Do you wanna know what I saw? On your face?” You ask after a few beats. He hesitantly nods. “Nothing. There was nothing,” you say. “You didn’t even look human.  It was like you were an animal. And you were looking at me like I was prey.”

You look away. The intensity of his eyes threatens to pull you into that memory. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

“I’m so sorry,” you hear him say.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you say quietly, chancing a glance up.

His face twists into something like shame. If he were a different person, you might try to comfort him. But he’s not a different person. He’s a stranger wearing the face that’s haunted you for nine years.

“So why now?”

“Well, I was…” He mimics a snap with his right hand. “And after that, I… started going to therapy.”

He pulls a small, brown book from his jacket pocket. “My, uh, shrink told me to make a list of people I’ve wronged,” he says as he flips it open to a page in the middle and places it in front of you. “You’re one of the last.”

You find your name third-to-bottom. The ones above are crossed through. He glances from your face to your fingers as they trace his careful scrawl.

“You don’t let people look at this, do you?” You ask.

He half-smiles and shakes his head.

“So why are you letting me?”

“I, uh,” he flexes his hand. “I don’t know. I just… thought I owed it to you.”

You briefly consider asking about the other names, but he doesn’t owe you those. He owes you answers about the life he can’t return. Just as another question bubbles up your throat, a ringtone sounds. You glance at your phone’s black screen, then back to his furrowed brow. He reaches into his back pocket to fish out a flip phone. A  flip phone.  You haven’t seen one in years.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks up from the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says as he squeezes out of the booth. He disappears as quickly as before.

⭑⭑⭑

You finally take a sip of water. The sweat of the glass bleeds onto your fingertips, so you wipe your hand off on your pant leg before touching your phone. 6:15, it says, which means you've been sitting on this hard, plastic seat for over forty minutes. He's been gone for about ten of them.

Before you can seriously consider just leaving, his form comes into view.

"I've gotta go, but..." He says as he pulls the brown book out of his pocket again. When he opens it, he tears a small piece from the page corner, then scribbles something with a pen.

He places the piece of paper next to the perspiration ring on the table. Stealing one last glance at you, he turns and leaves for the third and final time.

On it is a phone number and a name:

Bucky

[aftgficrec]

First, I LOVE what you are doing, thank you so much.

Second: any that focus on the baby foxes—aside from just Neil punching Jack?

All the older foxes have stories that go more into their character, we can see why they are assholes (and almost excuse them). Any for the baby foxes (particularly Jack) like this?

Alternatively, any where the older foxes are held accountable for their asshole actions? (Andrew forcing Aaron’s withdrawal, the chocking incident, the speedballs, Matt’s attacking Kevin for stuff that isn’t his fault, Nicky’s kissing Neil, Andrew’s drugging of anyone he considers suspicious, etc.)

Ok, so Robin Cross and Jack are future foxes discussed in Nora’s extra content. Robin has some in-depth fics written about her backstory, most notably the true crime podcast AU ‘Red Rabbits: Season 2,’ below. We found a bit of Jack’s past in ‘Lessons In Cartography’ (chapters 19 and 20), and a bit of Robin’s in sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ (chapters 8 and 13), find both here.

I’ve also got some accountability fics for you. - A

Robin & Jack:

fics featuring the freshmen here

Jack and Sheena being assholes here

Neil fights with Jack here

‘pick up all the pieces (and what’s left of my pride)’ here

‘Red-Breasted Fox’ here

og foxes held accountable:

Confrontations about demisexuality/Andrew's soullessness here

Foxes feel guilty about Andrew here

New finds for Nicky kissing Neil here; master list here

Andrew apologizes to Kevin here

you may also like:

some with Jean reacting to Kevin’s role at the nest: ‘playing on’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’ (updated) here; ‘give your tears to the tide’ here

‘creature of habit’ here (fix-it fic for Nicky’s character)

Aaron’s ptsd from withdrawal here

in-depth fics for Robin Cross

Teaching a caged bird to fly series by Charcoalll [Rated T/M, Collection with 4 complete works, Last Updated Sept 2021]

Part 1: Sunrise over Home [M (we say T), 7870 Words]

Robin Cross is regretting ever signing with the Foxes more and more every day. But when a disastrous day at court leads to emotions culminating, she has a much needed talk with her coach. Turns out her recrutation wasn't as random as she thought, but why would Andrew Minyard off all people have an interest in her?

No matter what, it all ends on that cursed roof at midnight.

tw: violence, tw: negative self talk, tw: bullying, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa

Part 2: Guilt, Fault and Blame [T, 9093 Words]

Whatever that night at the roof meant, it changed Robin's life rather quickly. On the edge of a life she never thought she could have, she has to make some thought decisions.

What is Andrew's true intentions?

What does he want with her?

And is Steven still in controll of her from his prison cell halfway cross country?

Or; Robin begins driving with the monsters from practice and suddenly everything changes.

tw: anxiety, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced murder of a child

Part 3: Never felt Safer [T, 3465 Words]

Robin finally earned Andrew's attention. Now she's standing in front of the biggest changes her life has seen, but as it seems it's only for the better.

tw: violence

Part 4: Secret Privacy [M (we say T), 15790 Words]

5 times Robin saw the emotions others seemed blind to, and 1 time it was painfully obvious.

Or Andrew and Neil through Robin's eyes.

tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: slurs

Red Rabbits: Season 2 by bloodydamnit, jeni182 [Rated E, 282064 words, complete, 2020]

You’re listening to Season Two of Red Rabbits, the Case of the Newark 9. My name is Robin Cross. I’m number 8. And I survived.

Disclaimer: This season is dark. We won't pretend it's not. It's dark and it's not for the faint of heart, but we really tried to make every single action we take justified. Nothing that is tagged under abuse or otherwise is current and it is in no way detailed, whatsoever. We really took every reference seriously and there will be a list of triggers before every single chapter. It's part of the reason why getting this story out took so long. We want you all to know we have been double and triple checking ourselves to make sure every topic in this Season is handled properly. If there are any questions, please message us via the links in the AN of ch 1.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: referenced kidnapping, tw: referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: implied violence

accountability

cause and effect by clarodelune [Rated G, 2682 Words, Complete, 2020]

cause-and-effect [ kawz-uh nd-i-fekt, -uh n- ]

adjective

1. the principle of causation.

2. noting a relationship between actions or events such that one or more are the result of the other or others.

or: in which andrew understands actions have consequences and that losing kevin might just be one of them.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced non-consensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd

hand over hand series by lackingsoy [Rated T, Collection, 4 complete works, Last Updated August 2020]

Part 1: the deal's done [4091 Words]

"Does it hurt," Allison's voice was bleak.

"What do you think," Kevin replied, somehow managing to sound steady despite his closed throat.

Allison looked at him, eyes remarkably cool for someone who went toe to toe with Seth and other despicable players. "I think," she said, lips popping on the last word: "You, Kevin Day, are heartbroken."

Five fingers, one promise, and the end of a lifeline. Post-hotel scene, the long hours after but before Neil gets picked back up by the Foxes, wherein Kevin stares into the face of his wounds, Allison extends an olive branch, and Renee decides, in the privacy of her own mind, to stop playing mediator.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Part 2: domestic bliss [4251 Words]

It was a vindictive, vicious sort of triumph, Kevin supposed, that made him turn his face to meet Andrew’s gaze. To rear his head just a little, bare his throat. A steady dark line, marred and patented.

Abuse aftermath is seen to seriously by Wymack and Abby; consequences are left in the hands of the Foxes; and a few finally make unprecedented moves. Kevin just wants to die, so maybe nothing's different. (Except it is; has to be.)

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced violence

Part 3: you asked for this (he didn't; you spat in the face of him) [1326 Words]

“You were supposed to be better,” Renee said. “For him.”

“That was never the deal,” Andrew told her.

Re: the loud crash. What actually happened when Renee sought out the Monster(s).

tw: violence

Part 4: a minor inconvenience, a smaller promise [1022 Words]

Aaron looked like he wanted to die this time. His shoulders shifted side to side, uncertain and uncomfortable. But his eyes were very clearly honed on the discoloring still visible on Kevin's neck, Allison's intensive powdering long washed off, and the darkness that passed over his eyes could've been misinterpreted for anger and maybe stupider still, regret.

tw: implied/referenced violence

Like Damned Guilty Deeds by EmilyScarlett [Rated M, 1679 words, complete, 2017]

The first time Jean and Kevin train together again after the events of the books.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety

[weelittleweasley]

Amnesia (p1) | Draco x Reader

Prompt: The Battle of Hogwarts was one that was hard on everyone mentally and physically. During the war, you took a brutal fall, hitting your head, which caused you to lose your memory, amnesia if you will. You forget a solid chunk of your life, specifically your last few years at Hogwarts and the relationships you made with certain people, including your romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy. What happens in Part One of this multipart series?

Warnings: language, violence, blood, memory loss, death, mentions of PTSD, anxiety

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: This story is not about romanticizing mental health issues. These are serious conditions and this story is not meant to romanticize or fantasize these topics. It’s used as a vessel to convey a different story. That being said, please take care of yourself and sending everyone lots of love. Enjoy part one :)

Flashbacks told in italics! 

War, chaos, violence, and then silence. Peace. The rubble had fallen, the chains had been broken, and the dust had settled. But things weren’t over. No, quite the opposite. This was just the beginning of it all.

Hogwarts, as you knew it, was falling to the ground. Everywhere you looked around you saw stones falling, students running, flashes of light and fire, the echoes of screams, yet the only thing on your mind was finding him. Finding the blonde boy who you loved so much your bones shook and you heart ached. You ran through the halls, dodging falling stones and avoiding spells, curses, and hexes from wands. Your breath was uneven as you ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of your lungs, your throat burning, “Draco!” 

As you ran down the hall, your body collided with that of your closest friend. “(Y/N), you have to run, get out of here, Draco is gone, there’s no use searching for him,” Ron grabs your face in his hands, desperately trying to shake some sense into you. He searched your eyes for any sense of hope; he needed it now more than ever. His face was covered in dried blood and fresh blood, his hands covered in dirt and his eyes full of panic. He needed you to survive this war, if it was the last thing he could do. “Listen to me,” he shakes you as you let a sob escape your lips. “Draco is gone. Okay? He left.”

You shake your head ferociously. “He wouldn’t do that, he’s here. He’s waiting for me. He told me he would wait for me and he’d see me at the end of this,” you yell at Ron, your ribs aching and knees weak. You’d recall when Draco furiously kissed your lips hours before this all dissolved into madness, telling you to stay where you were and he’d come back for you. Draco promised that you both would run away from this and go somewhere you couldn’t be found. Away from his father, away from the Dark Lord, away from magic, away from it all. He wanted to escape just as badly, if not more than you. “I need to find him,” you pushed Ron off with all the might you could muster in your frail body. “Draco!” you scream again, your voice cracking, too weak to echo anymore.

Ron grabs you by the waist now, pulling you away as you kick and scream in his grip, demanding he let you go. “I’m not letting you get killed!” Ron yelled. “I already lost Fred and I’m not losing you too!” he screams, his voice cracking with anger and fear. “Hermione, help!” Ron calls to Hermione who grabs your fists that pound on Ron’s chest.

“Let me go!” you sob, breaking down under the grip of your two close friends, completely losing yourself to your emotions. “I need to find Draco,” you manage to speak in between sobs, choking on your own tears and cries. “He could be dead for all I know! Please let me find him,” you grab onto the collar of Ron’s shirt, begging him, staring into his eyes as tears pour out of yours. “I need to find him. He could be out there, looking for me, calling for me. I need him, Ron, let me go, let me go find him!”

Hermione wraps you in her arms, trying to get you to stop crying as they pull you behind a wall. She whispers in your ear that you needed to protect yourself. You couldn’t worry about Draco anymore. He was a lost cause. But how could you forget about him? This was the man you loved so violently that you would die before you let anything bad happen to him. He was your one and only and you knew that the day he kissed you for the first time. “You need to stay here. Right here. You understand me? This is a matter of your life and death, do you understand?” Hermione scolds you. “Under no circumstances do you run for anyone. You run for your life if someone tries to kill you. You fight back. But under no circumstances do you do anything else, do you understand me?” she yells at you, needing you to understand that you needed to survive this.

With a shaky breath, you nod. Hermione looks at Ron before Hermione runs back to the chaos, flicking her wand, sending beams at Death Eaters, protecting the students. Ron looks at you, tears still in his eyes as you hold back your sobs. Ron engulfs you in a large hug before pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “I need you to live. Please,” he begs you, clinging onto every last bit of hope he has. “I’ll find you at the end of this and we’ll be okay.” You shake your head, giving him a tight hug again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you tell him before he joins Hermione, running off protecting her and fellow students.

So there you stood behind the concrete wall, looking around as others fought and got struck. People were getting killed all around you and you were being suffocated by the sight. Why were you just standing here not fighting back? Deliberately disobeying Ron and Hermione’s orders, you run from the wall, flicking your wand swiftly, pushing back Death Eaters, defending yourself and other students. You stood proudly beside your fellow classmates, slashing your wands, casting spells and fighting the good fight. 

As you fight alongside your classmates, you turn your head, keeping a 360 on the area. But that’s when you see him. His blonde hair covered in dirt, his concerned face looking behind him as his mother and father guide him away from the scene, across the bridge. From a distance, you see him look in your direction as your heart sinks. He was leaving without you. 

“Draco,” you whisper, forgetting about everything in the world and focusing on him. “Draco!” you scream with every last fiber in your body. You launch yourself into a run down the stairs and towards the bridge. You push people out of your way in a beeline for your love, hoping that he’ll stop for you, but he doesn’t. His parents keep an iron grip on him, pulling him along the bridge. Draco turns around, seeing you run as he tries to writhe out of his mother’s grip. His face is full of concern, but he can’t escape. His father puts his body in front of Draco’s as Draco screams out in pain and fury. “Draco!” you yell.

Your feet carry you as fast as possible as you run toward the bridge, trying to get to him as quickly as possible before it was too late. Draco claws at his father, trying to get past him. As you run you feel your breath becoming short and your lungs burn, but you ignore the sensation and push. You need to get to him. He needed to get to you. You needed to save each other. 

But that all came to a screeching halt when you name being yelled out in horror by Draco. “(Y/N), watch out!” someone screams a blood curdling scream as you look up to see a large rock come crashing down. 

And that’s when it went white. Your hearing gave out. You went numb. There was silence. Deafening. Palpable. The silence screamed for a million years and then a million more. 

But then there was a roar. Your ears rung and yelled. Your brain thumped against your skull, your lungs burned like you swallowed ash, and your mouth tasted of metal and dirt. You repeated told yourself to open your eyes, but you couldn’t. You tried again and again, but nothing. All you could sense was ringing in your ears and muffled voices. Who was it? Who was talking? You couldn’t understand anyone or what they were saying. It all sounded like a different language. What happened?

Even though your brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, you crashed. Your senses gave out and the silence was back. Deafening. Palpable. The silence screamed again for another million years.

But this time there was a roar and your eyes shot wide open. You sucked in a large breath like you couldn’t breathe before. Your lungs swelled with oxygen, but hurt when you took deep breaths. It took you a second before you felt the rupture of pain that carried from the back of your head to the front. You sucked in a sharp breath, placing a hand where it hurt the most. 

As you looked down, you noticed the white sheets covering your body and the small hospital bed you lied down in. Thin hospital robe on your body and on your arm stuck out multiple IVs and monitors. You heard your heart rate monitor picks up speed as your anxiety grew with every passing second. What happened to you? Why were you in the hospital? Who brought you here? 

When you try to remember what happened to you, you can’t recall a single thing. You can’t even pinpoint what your last memory was, they all just mesh together. Before you can think about what is going on, the door opens up and a Healer’s assistant walks in. “You’re up,” she smiles. “Hello, (Y/N). How are you feeling?” she has a bright grin and calming eyes. This puts you at ease.

“My head hurts,” you respond.

She gives you a knowing smile. “I’m sure it does. You got severely concussed a few days ago,” she grabs a clipboard from the side table and starts scribbling down notes and checking your vitals.

Your eyes go wide, “A few days ago?” you speak bewildered.

The Healer’s assistant takes your temperature with a muggle thermometer before handing you a glass of water. “Yes, a few days ago,” she confirms. “You were in and out of consciousness a few times before you woke up today. Just to put your mind at ease, you have a few broken ribs, that’s why it may be a little hard to breathe and a sprained wrist. We administered you a healing potion, so you should be fully recovered in a few days, but you should still monitor yourself. Your brain, however, is still bruised.” She places down the clipboard and walks back to the door. “Let me tell the Healer that you’re awake. In the meantime, I think there are some people who want to see you.”

You sit up in bed and patiently wait for your visitors. The door swings open and in floods your mother and father. “Mum, Dad,” you smile as they both have tears in their eyes when they see you. They hurry to your side, crying into your hospital gown, kissing your face, thanking Merlin that you were alright. You hold onto them tight, afraid to let them go, as you let a few happy tears fall from your eyes. 

“We thought you were dead,” your mother looks at you as you wipe her tears away, holding onto her and your dad’s hands. “Thank Merlin they got you to the hospital as fast as they could. Madam Pomfrey had taken good care of you before they brought you here,” she tells you. “I can’t believe you are alright.”

You spent a few hours with your parents, the Healer coming in a few times, speaking about how you had to take it easy and how you are lucky to be alive. Your father and mother, however, were acting a little strange whenever they spoke to the Healer. One would get up and speak to him in hushed tones as the other distracted you with conversation, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to what they were leaving you out of. What was going on?

“Mum?” you ask her as your dad whispers to the Healer. “What are they taking about?” you question. She just brushed it off and says he just wants to know how quickly your recovery would be. You knew she was lying, but rather than implore for answers, you let it be. You were tired. 

A few more hours past when the Healer’s assistant from earlier came back in. “Hi, (Y/N), visitor hours are almost done, but you have a few more people who came in to see you,” she tells you as you furrow your brows. She motions her hand to let the visitors in.

When the visitor’s step in it takes you a second to register who they were. Your brain was trying to put names to their faces. You knew that you knew them. You felt your excitement grow when you saw them. You could tell that you had a deep connection to them because when they saw you, both of them started sobbing tears of joy. The girl with fluffy brown hair covered her mouth to conceal her sobs, but a large smile was on her face. Beside her the ginger boy stood, taller in stature but tears running down his face as he silently cried when he saw you. “You’re alright,” he whispers.

Your parents give you and these visitors some privacy, leaving the room so it’s just you three. You stay silent, but a smile is on your face. What are your names? The boy slowly approaches your bedside, sitting next to you, and gently grabbing your hand. He squeezes it and brings another hand to brush the hair out of your eyes. His touch was loving and delicate, handling you with the utmost care. That’s when it hit.

“Ron fucking Weasley,” you laugh as he joins in, pressing his forehead against yours. Ron laughs and cries against you as you cup his cheek gently. It felt like forever since you saw him. You give his hand a squeeze before pulling away and looking at the girl. “Thought I forgot about you, Granger? Get in here,” you speak as she laughs and joins the small group hug, still making sure not to hurt you. The three of you sit and cry and laugh for what feels like hours. “Where have you all been?” you ask with a smile. 

Hermione laughs, “Well, for starters, you’ve been out for four days since your injury.” She rubs your arm. “We’ve all been really worried about you. Harry, too, but he’s also in recovery right now. You’ll see him as soon as you’re discharged from the hospital.”

You nod, the image of Harry Potter popping up at the mention of his name, significant memories flooding back into your brain of him. You think of year four when you had a crush on him briefly during the Triwizard Tournament and you smile at the memory. You also remember Ron teasing you about it after that crush died out, Harry laughing along with you both. Then a question pops up in your mind. “You guys,” you start. “How did I get injured? The Healer told me it’s mostly a head injury, but I don’t remember it. Did you see it happen?”

Ron and Hermione uncomfortably shift in their seats as Hermione shakes her head to Ron, letting him explain what happened. “During the battle, you were running for Draco when a piece of rubble came crashing down and hit you in the head,” Ron explains gently and slowly, making sure not to disturb any trauma that could be sprung up from the horrific scene. Ron recalls watching it unfold and the wind being knocked out of him as it happened. Ron remembers running to your side, screaming for someone to help pick you up and get you to Madam Pomfrey. Ron shakes the memory away and breathes in deeply. Recalling the day was too emotional for him and it happened to recently for him to relive it. He was careful with his words, stroking your hand as he explained what happened.

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Wait, hold on,” you laugh. “Battle? Is that like a new name for a quidditch match or something? I know that I play quite aggressive during games, but I didn’t think it was going to hospitalize me.” As you attempt to crack a joke, Hermione and Ron’s eyes go wide before they look at each other in fear. It was worse than they had thought. “What?” you asked, the concern raising in your voice. “What are you hiding from me?”

Hermione gulps, “Do you not remember the war?” The scoots closer to your bed, seeing if you were playing a joke on them, but you were deadly serious.

“War?” you repeat. “About what? Is He back?” you question, wondering if the Dark Lord was back. You remember Cedric Diggory’s death like it was yesterday, Harry yelling on the field over his dead body that the Dark Lord had returned. Hermione and Ron stutter, trying to find the words. “What’s going on? Are you guys playing a sick joke on me?” you start to frantically ask. “Did Fred and George put you up to this?” At the mention of Fred’s name, Ron instantly tenses and his breath hitches in his throat. Hermione rubs his back, comforting him, holding him close to her as if something happened to Fred. What was going on? Confusion darted through your brain. “I need to go take a breather for a second,” Ron sighs, rising from his chair. “I’m glad you’re awake, (Y/N).” Ron kisses your forehead before walking to the other side of your hospital room, opening the window for some fresh air.

Hermione looks back at you and grabs a hold of both of your hands. “(Y/N), I need you to be completely honest with me like I am being with you right now. What do you remember from Hogwarts? List out the last few things you remember. I need to know,” she pleads, looking deep into your eyes searching.

Your breath picks up as your lungs fill with oxygen, burning from the rapid movement. Your heart rate sky rockets and the back of your head starts to tingle in pain again like it did when you first woke up. Trying to recall your memories, your brain feels like it’s being squeezed. Not much comes up. “I don’t know, ‘Mione,” you tell her. “I remember Cedric’s death, I remember going home for the summer that year, I remember coming back to school and Harry being on edge because no one believed him about the Dark Lord, I remember that twat Umbridge,” you tell her, “but after that the rest is a blur...” Hermione looks at Ron who’s eyes are wide in disbelief. It was much worse than they thought. “What in the bloody hell is this war you’re talking about?” 

Ron looks to Hermione and then looks to you and says, “(Y/N), what year of Hogwarts are we in?” 

You take a second to think. If your memory and your timeline serves you right, you were in year five. “Year five...it’s 1995...why?” you respond. Wasn’t it obvious?

“Bloody hell, this isn’t good,” Ron runs his hands through his hair. Your eyes widen and your heart rate picks up, lungs burning from the rapid inhalations you were breathing in and out. Your head was pounding now. What was happening? Were you wrong? You were sixteen, right? How could you be mistaken? Ron paces back and forth as Hermione remains deadly still. Did your parents not tell you?

The more you think, the more your head hurts. “Wait a second,” you stop the small chatter between Ron and Hermione. “You said I hurt my head because I was running to Draco Malfoy?” you ask as your close friends shake their heads. “Why? I’ve had a total of four conversations with him. Why would I be running after him?”

And that’s when the severity of the situation hit Granger and Weasley. “Go get the Healer,” Hermione commands Ron as he dashes out of the room. “You are being honest with us, right?” she asks as you rapid shake your head. Why would I be lying? “(Y/N), you cannot freak out about this, okay?” she looks at your heart monitor as it beeps quickly, picking up the pace with every passing second. “Okay,” she breathes out. “Listen to me,” she grabs your hands, squeezing them. As she does so, Ron enters back in with the Healer from before. They observe what Hermione does. “(Y/N), you are eighteen. Hogwarts had a battle against Voldemort where many people died and sacrificed themselves for the greater good. That’s where you got injured. You were running to Draco to find him because he-”

“Hold on,” the Healer stops Hermione. “Don’t overflow her with information, she can have an aneurysm from the anxiety and overstimulation.” Hermione rises from her chair as the Healer replaces her seat. “(Y/N), I need you to look at me and breathe. Try to relax yourself.”

At this point you are hyperventilating. “What is going on? Did I miss two years of my life? How long was I asleep for? What war happened? Is this what you and my parents were talking about before? Are you all lying to me?” you start to panic. You look around, needing to get out, out of this room, out of this gown, out of your own head. You felt like you were being tortured from the inside out. “Get these fucking tubes out of me,” you claw your arm as the Healer grabs your hands in attempt to cease your manic movements.

“I need you to listen to me, I will give you the answers you want, (Y/N), okay?” he attempts to reason with you as you try to wiggle out of his grip. “I will tell you what you want to know. Hermione and Ron will be with you the whole time. None of us are lying to you, okay? You just need to trust us,” the Healer speaks slowly as not to rile you up.

Slowly, you let your breathing even out as you lay back in bed, looking at Ron and Hermione. You give them scared looks as Ron grabs your hands, giving them a squeeze, Hermione sitting herself next to you on the bed. “Okay.”

The Healer takes a deep breath in and starts. “You are eighteen, recently graduated from Hogwarts. Hogwarts went through the second wizarding war, which you fought in very bravely. In the midst of it, you saw someone you loved and you ran over to him and got a nasty head injury. The head injury has caused you to have something called temporary amnesia or memory loss. That being said, you can’t remember the past two years of your life,” he tells you.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. You don’t know what to say or do. You just sit in shock as your mouth goes dry. You feel like you’re going to vomit, pass out, scream, cry, or all of the above. How could this just happen to you? You just forgot everything that happened over the past two years? So much could have happened and yet you couldn’t recall an ounce of it. You only remembered up to year five and then your brain just shut you out. Your body was working against you. “What?” you ask breathlessly, tears starting to pool in your eyes as the Healer gives you the sorriest look you have ever seen. “I-I-I don’t understand how can my brain just forget?”

“I’m so sorry you are going through this,” the Healer tells you as you look to Ron and Hermione who are starting to cry now. This couldn’t be happening. “But that being said, this amnesia is temporary. It will wear off, but we don’t know when. It can just come back one day and that can be scary, I know. But you have great resources and friends and family and a boyfriend who will help you navigate through this. I will give you a minute to talk to your friends,” the Healer squeezes your arm before leaving the room.

As the door closes behind him, you erupt into sobs. Hermione cradles you in her chest as violent sobs rippled through your body, causing pain to shoot through every fiber in your body, but you didn’t care. Your brain didn’t work like it should and that was a horrifying thought. Why you? Why you of all people? Why was this happening? Who did this to you? How could this happen? Who let it happen? Too many questions danced in your head that you were unable to answer.

Ron pulls your head up to look at him. “We’re going to get through this,” he tells you. “You have me, you have Hermione, you have Harry, you have your parents, you have our friends,” he smiles at you.

“What did the Healer mean when he said I have a boyfriend? Who? Why can’t I remember him?” you speak through sniffles. You had a feeling that your boyfriend was a certain someone, but the thought of him being your romantic interest made your stomach churn.

Your two friends gulp, trying to figure out how to navigate this situation. “You know how I said you ran over to Draco Malfoy when you got hit?” Hermione says. “It’s him. Draco Malfoy is your boyfriend.”

That’s when you think your heart is going to fall out of your stomach. You could only pinpoint a few memories of him throughout what you can remember. You remember Draco being cruel and mean to you and your friends. He called Hermione a mudblood, he teased Ron relentlessly, he always had a bone to pick with Harry, and he made fun of you until you cried multiple times. How could you love someone like him?

Almost as if one cue, the Healer’s assistant came back in and said, “(Y/N), visitor’s hours are over in twenty minutes, but there is someone in the waiting room for you. He insists that he knows you and he’s your boyfriend. The name is Draco Malfoy.”

Everyone and the air freezes. He was here. He came to see you. He didn’t forget about you, but you certainly did with him. Although he was one of the last people you wanted to see right now, there was a feeling in the pit of your stomach that told you to let him in. He may have the answers you need. Ron and Hermione insist that she turns him away, but you halt their demands, you saying, “Bring him in. I want to see him.”

She nods and leaves the room as Ron and Hermione just look at you shocked, knowing that this is not going to end well for anyone. “Why did-”

“Because I want to know if he has answers,” you simply state, eyes not moving from the door. If Draco really was your boyfriend, then he should know you better than yourself. Maybe Draco could bring back your memory. Maybe he could help you recover quicker. Then his nightmare would be over. 

The door swings open and there he stood, in all black, hair disheveled, a worried look on his face. Draco looked sick. He was pale and looked thin, almost sickly. When his eyes meet yours, tears fill his eyes and a soft smile appears on his face. “Darling,” he breathes out as he steps closer to you. Ron and Hermione instinctively stand up to protect you as he looks over to them, at first angry, but then he sees the looks on their faces and that’s when his fear worsens. He understands with just a look. The situation was worse than he had thought. He thought you would wake up and you would pick up from where you left off. He had explaining to do, but he was ready to work it through with you. But this situation was one he was not prepared for. Draco looks back at you and says, “You...don’t...”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry, Draco, but I don’t know you like you think I do.”

In that moment, all of Draco’s memories of you flooded his mind. The first time he remembered thinking that he liked you. You were in the room of requirement when Umbridge busted Potter and you had a horrified, yet angry look on your face. As you left the room, you pushed Draco out of the way, looking at him with a disgusted face. 

“You’re despicable, Malfoy,” you spit at him.

Draco let a smirk appear on his face as he bit his lip. “If you want me that badly, (Y/L/N), you should just come to my room tonight,” he spoke, eyes raking you up and down, knowing it would annoy you.

You rolled your eyes before stomping on his foot, him wincing in pain as the boys around him laughed. “If you want to get slapped next time, you should have just asked,” you mimic him. “You’re deplorable.”

Although the memory was not a happy one, Draco was fond of it because he knew you were hard to get and Draco lived for the chase. He knew you could hold your own and not depend on him for everything; you were independent and he found that irresistible. It wasn’t long after that that he had asked you on a date, starting a rollercoaster of relationship. You were there for him in his darkest times, in the hours where he felt himself slipping away, but you were always there to pull him back out and show him the light to which he was forever indebted to you. 

Draco knew that he had no greater love than the love he had found with you and if he had to fight like hell for it, then he would, the rest of the world be damned. 

So there he was, standing in front of you in a hospital bed, the sight already making him sick to his stomach. He looked over to Ron and Hermione as if to ask them to give him some alone time with you. Your two friends looked back at you, to which you nodded, them giving your hands a squeeze before leaving the hospital room.

Now you were alone, staring at the boy in front of you who you were supposed to know everything about and him to you. But instead, your mind drew blank. You couldn’t remember anything about him besides what you had known up to year five. You got no feeling of excitement when you saw him in comparison to the reaction you had when you saw Ron and Hermione. You didn’t feel like you had a connection with him. You just felt numb. Tingling from exhaustion and burning with pain in your head and lungs. So badly you wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep, hoping that this was a sick dream and when you woke up things would be okay. 

“You remember nothing?” he asks, blue eyes like the ocean brimming with tears that threatened to pool over, but disappeared when he took a deep breath in, his attempt to remain strong in front of you. 

“I remember up to year five,” you correct him. “I don’t remember any of our relationship,” you confess.

This makes Draco’s heart plummet into his stomach, but he tries to not show it on his face. He slowly tries to approach your bed and reach for your hand, hoping that his touch would make you remember something, anything. But when he extends his hand out to touch you, you pull away, looking at him way too confused and scared to touch him back. You barely know who he was, why would you want to touch him? As if this whole situation couldn’t get any worse. He had run away from his mother after his father was taken to Azkaban, in hopes to find you and fulfill the dreams that you two had of running away from this place and magic to start a new life together. A clean slate. But his dreams came crashing down from around him. Now Draco had to pick up the pieces and build everything back up exactly as it was. Or else he didn’t know what he’d do. Draco had poured everything into this relationship of yours just for it all to be thrown away due to a nasty head injury. This had to be a sick joke crafted by his father in some way shape or form. But he wished it was that simple.

Draco shakes his head, “Right.” 

You look at the deeply broken boy in front of you and you feel sorry for him. Even though you cannot remember anything about your romantic history, your heart aches for him. This must be difficult to go through. Someone you love not know who you are. What kind of sick torture. “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I wish I could remember.”

He offers you a sad smile, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” You just nod your head as the two of you stay in this silence for a moment. “It’ll come back, right? Your memories?”

Nodding gently, you speak, “That’s what the Healer said.”

Draco sits in that moment, knowing that there was hope for you and your relationship. But it was just a matter of if he was willing to fight for it.

To be continued