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nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

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the dog house

the dog house

chris evans x female reader word count: 3,036 warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, and all that), splinters, & power tools. - summary: it’s sunday, and chris tries to build a dog house. a/n: i’m really bad at summaries and this is my first time writing for chris!

You’re awoken to the sound of a very loud buzzing.

“What the fuck?” You whisper to yourself, the Sunday morning sun burning your sensitive, tired eyes.

You hear it again, and it’s less of a buzzing and more of a sawing?

You look over and notice the empty spot in bed beside you. Weird, Chris usually woke you up in the mornings (either by knocking something over, tripping over the dog, or by poking your side until you finally opened your lids).

Dodger was gone too, and you sit up, rubbing your sleepy eyes and check the time; 7:38 AM.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whine to yourself.

Not like you had anywhere to be or anything to do. It’s Sunday - a day you and Chris constituted as a “do nothing together” day. But still...sleeping until at least 8 would have been nice.

You slip on a pair of slippers and pull on Chris’ hoodie over your sleep shirt. The sawing sound happens again, and you can hear it grinding through something. As you explore the house you realize it’s coming from the garage, and your heart sinks to your ass when you open the door from the kitchen to the garage and find Chris shirtless, in a pair of sweatpants and safety goggles cutting wood with a reciprocating saw.

He notices you and smiles, pushing the goggles up his face, “oh, hi babe!”, he says, brushing the saw dust from his chest and pants.

You look at him sideways, “what in God’s name are you doing?”

He shrugs, “couldn’t sleep in, took Dodger for a walk and someone was giving away free wood! So I picked it up and I’m making him a dog house!” Chris exclaims with childish glee.

Your palm immediately meets your face, “do you know what you’re doing? I didn’t even know you owned power tools.”

He shrugs again, “I looked it up on YouTube.”

You roll your eyes and chuckle at your ridiculous boyfriend, “care for a cup of coffee before you lose a limb?”

Chris pulls the goggles back over his eyes and you can’t help but laugh again at how utterly stupid yet incredibly sexy he looks, “already have a pot made for ya,” he winks before getting back to work.

Dodger follows you inside and sits at your feet, whining for his breakfast. You oblige (because who can resist that little face?) and even give him a little extra of his special wet food.

Spring is just around the corner, the buds in the front yard are starting to bloom, and they carry the scent of fresh flowers throughout the house through the open windows. You let out a breathy laugh every time you hear the saw start up again.

Chris was a busy body almost to a fault. It made him a workaholic, and more work meant more time away from you. It had been nice having him home for more than a few weeks at a time. But when he was home, the man could never stay still. As evident by the various home projects the two of you had completed over the last year or so. The two of you had repainted the living room three times (Chris argued the first color was too light, you argued the second was too dark), rearranged the master bedroom, installed a hot tub in the backyard, and then there was the incident with the ceiling fan (Chris doesn’t like to bring that one up).

Dodger gobbles up his food quickly and joins you on the couch for belly rubs. If there was anything Chris loved more than you, it was Dodger. It had been something you almost resented at the start of your relationship, but you’d grown to love the pup just as much as Chris did.

“Fuck!” You hear from the garage, followed by the banging sound of something heavy falling to the ground.

You put down your cup of coffee and rush to find Chris clutching his hand, nearly tripping as you scramble over to him.

“What happened?” You ask, uncovering his hand.

Chris pouts those lips you love, “splinter.”

You roll your eyes and push on his chest, “you scared the shit out of me! I thought you cut a finger off or something!”

Chris laughs and kisses the tip of your nose, “no, I’d be screaming much louder than that,” he says peppering your cheek with feathery kisses, “but thanks for checking up on me.”

“I know a way I could make you scream louder,” you say, cringing at your own words.

Chris snorts, “oh, that was bad,” he groans, “like a two out of ten. You feeling a way this morning, darling?” He asks, his voice dropping at darling, and a sneaky hand sliding up the back of one thigh.

You shrug, “honestly, no. But watching you try to halfass a YouTube tutorial with power tools kinda has me a little randy.”

“Should I build things more often?” He asks.

You shake your head, “no, Captain Build-A-Bear, absolutely not. I need all your limbs. Every Last Finger,” you poke the center of his chest, “but we do need to get that splinter out.”

Chris starts to follow you but you turn quickly on your heel and shake a finger at him, “uh-uh, you are not bringing all that saw dust into the house. I just finished cleaning yesterday. Pants off.”

That cocky, shit eating grin creeps across his face as he very quickly rids himself of his grey sweatpants and follows you like a puppy into the bathroom, nipping and touching you every chance he gets.

You sit him on the edge of the clawfoot tub in your master bedroom and his bright blue eyes look up at you behind long lashes and you swear you could turn into a puddle right then and there, but instead, it’s starting to pool between your legs with every lingering touch Chris leaves on you.

“Hi,” he grins at you as you pull a pair of tweezers from the vanity drawer, “whatcha about to do to me?”

You roll your eyes, “Jesus Christ, and I’m bad? One and a half out of ten, loser. I’m about to pull a sliver of wood from your skin. Sound sexy enough for you?”

Chris very loudly fake moans, echoing through the bathroom, “the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

You shake your head, “you’re insane. Give me your hand.”

Chris opens his palm, you can see the red spot and tiny sliver of wood that’s poking out from beneath his skin. You play with it for a second, trying to figure out the best angle to tug it out, and watch Chris’ face scrunch in pain. Once he catches you watching he relaxes and you let out a breathy laugh to yourself, “not so tough now, huh?”

His eyes narrow, “I’ve had splinters before.”

“Sure,” you tut, “ready? On three. One - two -”

You pull before you reach three and Chris shrieks, “you said three!”

“It’s better to do it when you’re not expecting it!” You defend.

“And who told you that?”

“I don’t know...my mom?” You laugh.

Before you know it you’re hunched over laughing at your serious faced boyfriend clutching his hand to his bare chest. Your bearded, beefcake, Captain-Fucking-America boyfriend hurt over a damn splinter. The whole thing was so ridiculous you did what you did best when your brain didn’t know how to handle something: laugh.

“Oh you think this is funny?” He asks, his voice stern.

You can barely breathe out a yes in your fit.

“Yeah?” His voice is softer now, “I’ll show you something funny!”

Your laughter ceases when Chris scoops you up, throwing you in one swift move over his shoulder and brings you to the next room. He drops you on the bed with a bounce and crawls over you, locking his body over yours.

“You’re right, this is funny,” you say, tracing the side of his face with the back of your finger, you can’t wait to feel that beard between your legs soon, “you thinking you’re the one in control.”

It takes all your might, but you manage to flip the two of you over so you’re straddling his waist, his half hard cock pushing up against your ass. You lick your lips at the thought.

“Honestly?” Chris starts, “I’m not even mad. Do your worst, darling,” he finishes, folding his fingers behind his head.

You get to work quickly, pulling off the hoodie of his you’d put on earlier along with your thin sleep shirt. Your nails get to work scratching up and down his chest, feeling his strong muscle constrict under your touch. It’s killing him not to touch you right now, and you wonder how long he’ll last this way. He loves watching you ride him; fast, slow, he loves watching the way you take him all the way in, and the way your face contorts when he hits that spot.

Chris chews his bottom lip, hard, and you can feel him swelling beneath you, “you are so fucking perfect,” he says, licking his lips and releasing one of his hands to slide up your bare upper half, “and all fucking mine.”

You rut your hips slowly, grinding delicate lace to cotton, two thin pieces of fabric separating you from him. Chris lets out a low groan and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, “fuck, babe are you already wet? I can feel you.”

“Want to find out?” You ask slyly.

His eyes widen, “uh yeah, I think that’s pretty fucking obvious,” he laughs.

You snort and quickly wriggle out of your panties, Chris laughing as you almost fall from the bed. You love the ability to go between funny and sexy with Chris. It’s so fluid and it just works. The two of you together, intimately, could never be one thing at a time. It was always a beautiful mixture of love, lust, laughter and pure bliss.

You settle your bare core against his boxer strained erection, your slick leaving an evident wet spot on the fabric. Your body jumps a little at the contact, your bud sensitive and ready. Both of Chris’ hands are on your hips now, thumbs gliding against the soft flesh at your hips.

“I want to watch you cum first,” he says as the rough pad of his thumb meets your clit, “use me, do whatever you need to.”

Without hesitation you start to move your hips against his rock hard cock, still covered with his boxers. It won’t take long, you think, not with the way his thumb is working against you. This man knew everything that made you tick, he knew exactly how fast or slow to move his fingertips to make you succumb to his touch, each thing that got you off.

Your breath catches in your throat as the first tiny shockwave hits you, your body jolting. Chris smirks, “keep going babygirl,” he encourages.

You rut harder, faster, he adds another finger against your swelling bud and that familiar warmth starts building low in your belly.

“Chris - I’m gonna fucking -” You pant, your eyes wrenched shut as the feeling overcomes you.

Chris continues rubbing you through your orgasm, your body collapsing onto him, shaking with each aftershock he rubs into you. He eventually slows down, and brings his fingers to his lips to lick one by one.

Filthy motherfucker.

You rise back up slowly, perching yourself on top of him once again, “I think it’s time for these to go,” you say, pointing at his soaked boxers.

The fabric is discarded in an instant, and you wrap your fingers gently around his throbbing cock. There’s a look of almost relief on Chris’ face when you touch him, his strong chest heaving up and down in a steady rhythm as you stroke him. It doesn’t take much to get him to where he needs to be, his cock pink and thick, ready for you.

Chris takes your hips between his hands again, this time tighter, his fingertips leaving red marks where he’s touched. You align yourself with him, and both let out a feral moan as you drop down. It always takes a few seconds of delicious burning to adjust to his size, eyes squeezed shut and a steady stream of air whistling between your lips.

“Take all the time you need,” he says just above a whisper, and just like that he’s tender again.

“I’m ready,” you announce, eyes opening up to his, leaning forward to rest your palms on his chest and dipping down for a chaste kiss before arching your back.

Your hips move methodically; not slow, but not fast either, leaning forward at an angle just enough for Chris to watch the curve of your ass bounce as you move up and down his cock. If this isn’t heaven, he thinks, this is as close to it a man like him will ever get.

One hand reaches around to squeeze your ass, his long fingers leaving prints behind, “fucking mine,” he growls, “think you can go faster?” He asks.

You grin, “I’ll do you one better.”

Chris raises an eyebrow and you cease movement. You lift your body, silently screaming at the loss of fullness when you completely lift off of him. Before he can ask what you’re doing, you turn around to face the end of the bed. Chris smirks as you lower back onto his cock, this time with his favorite view.

“I would love to personally thank whoever invented reverse cowgirl,” he gloats, “I owe them my life.”

You laugh, leaning forward to rest your palms on his legs, looking back at your boyfriend, “you’re absolutely ridiculous.”

Chris gives you a stinging spank, “get to it then.”

Without a moment wasted you lift your hips and get to work, moving at a quickening pace. The sound of skin slapping echoes around the master bedroom, mixing with your dueling pants and moans. You swirl your hips as you bounce and when you land at a particular angle you hit the spot. It comes as a surprise to you both; he feels your walls clench around him, while the breath is sucked from your lungs.

Chris hits it a few more times before your body stabilizes again. Your pace only quickens, desperate for your release as the coil deep in your belly begins to twist again. You feel hot all over, from your toes, to every strand of hair on your head. The skin between the two of you begins growing slick with sweat, thighs sliding against each other. It feels like the temperature in the room has increased twenty degrees in just a few minutes, and you push back a clump of hair that’s begun to stick to your sweaty forehead.

As the heat grows, there’s a pain in your thighs that you can’t ignore, and you remind yourself why leg day is so important, “can you take over?” You ask Chris just before your legs give out.

He slows your hips gently, and you suck in air between your teeth as his cock slides out of you, leaving your core throbbing for the ending you were so close to getting.

Chris gently cradles you for a moment before sliding between your legs, putting one over his shoulder, “this okay?” He asks, and you nod, the stretch feeling relieving.

He gives himself a few quick pumps before gliding back into you, licking his lips as he watches your cunt devour him.

“Always take me so fucking good,” he revels, “this pussy was made for me.”

The new angle completely overtakes you, your back arching up off the mattress, nipples just barely grazing the hair on Chris’ chest. Even the smallest touch sending a new surge of shockwaves through your body. The sound of thrusting, the filthy wet sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fills the room and the heat starts rising again.

Chris is moving faster than ever, damp skin slapping against damp skin, his forehead scrunched in concentration. He loves watching you take him in time and time again, all of him, bottoming out with nearly every thrust into you, desperate to watch you hit your high. It’s like a drug to him, watching you cum.

“I’m c-close -” you stutter out through pants.

Chris reaches a hand between you to rub your clit. The feeling is almost too much. With each thrust he hits your most sensitive spot, while he etches delicious figure eights into your bud. He’s getting close too, you can tell by the increasing sloppiness of his thrusts and the shaking in his thighs. Chris always wants you to come first though, it’s what got him off more than anything; watching stars light up behind your eyes, and the flush rise from your chest up to your cheeks in the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen. The way your back arches and chest rises to meet his and he can feel your pert nipples brush against his skin. It’s exactly what it takes to spill him over the edge.

Your end comes abruptly, tearing through your body with everything it’s got, orgasm completely rocking your body, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“FUCK - Chris,” you moan as he continues to pound into you through your high, sending your body through aftershock after aftershock. It’s when your fingernails scrape down his shoulders that his orgasm comes, and he fills you, body collapsing on top of yours, nestled between your legs.

The two of you stay like this for a moment, coming down from your highs, sticky skin pressed into sticky skin. He feathers kisses across your collarbone and neck, eventually pulling himself from you long enough for you to cuddle back into him, resting your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of him and sex.

“That was nice,” you murmur.

Chris sighs, “yeah. I just have one concern though.”

You furrow your brows, “what’s that?”

“What are we going to do with all that fucking wood?”

#AHHH THIS IS TERRIFYING #hi this is my first chris piece #of course it's smut lmao #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans fic

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

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Group Whumpees 11: Fight

So I stayed up until 2 in the morning writing last Friday, so you DO get an update before I go completely MIA for a couple weeks. And I do know y’all love Evan. Mind the CWs

CW: Attempted sexual assault (unsuccessful), violence, knives, stabbing, hospitals, needles, drugged character, multiple whumpees, referenced noncon, aftermath of trauma

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince @shameless-whumper @whump-only

Masterlist

Nyla gestured Evan closer, Greyson already present and staring absently at the washing machine. He seemed to snap back to the present when Nyla entered his field of vision, though, with Greyson it was hard to tell if he'd even been spacing off in the first place.

“Alright so I’d like your help moving the washer and dryer away from the wall,” Nyla instructed, “we’ll be able to reach behind them to clean, then.”

Evan chuckled, raising an arm over his shoulder and stretching it back. “Oh damn, we're really out of shit to do.”

“We have plenty to do,” Nyla said with a frown his direction. He was still behaving around Master Galo, thank goodness, but while he'd been cowed following his punishment he’d gotten more or less back to his usual self, around the family. It was relieving, because seeing Evan be… subdued, was worrying. But it was also the tiniest bit aggravating, because Evan was aggravating by nature. She couldn't wait for him to resume aggravating her when he talked about their Master, too (just as long as he wasn't aggravating while talking to their Master). She never thought she’d want to be mildly annoyed. “We finally have the chance to do lengthier projects, that’s all.”

“Like cleaning behind the washer and dryer.”

Nyla set her hands on her hips and frowned up at him. “Yes like cleaning behind the washer and dryer. Why wouldn't we?”

“Because the only reason anyone would clean there is if they were moving and wanted the house to look spotless for buyers. Seriously, who’s gonna look back there?”

“Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it isn't collecting dust and grime.”

“And just because it's been collecting dust since the units were installed doesn't mean it has to be cleaned.”

Nyla let out an exasperated huff of air, feeling the ridiculous urge to stomp her foot. “Why are you being contrary?”

“I'm not, I'm not,” Evan said, raising his hands and rocking back on his heels. “I'm just saying: we’re out of shit to do, and it shows. And you refusing to admit that doesn't make it less true.”

“We aren’t out of things to do though!” Nyla insisted. “There are plenty of hard-to-reach places that haven't been cleaned the entire time I've been here, probably before even Greyson was here,” she said with a gesture to him, who blinked but otherwise remained where he was, quietly waiting, “and the tortoiseshell guest room needs a new coat of paint, and we should really retile the bathroom with the lighthouse figurines, and--”

“And what you’re saying is we are super out of things to do.”

Nyla made a frustrated noise, Evan chuckling her, and she jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are super obnoxious.”

“It's a hard job, but somebody’s gotta do it,” Evan said theatrically, placing his palm upon his breast.

“Greyson, back me up here,” Nyla demanded, turning to him, and he blinked again, a little slowly.

“Greyson’s not gonna think we need to mop behind the fridge any more than I do.”

“Oh I hadn't even thought about moving the fridge,” Nyla remarked, pulling out her notepad. Evan laughed at her.

“Good thing we’re super bored, or I might be tempted to complain.”

“As if that is a thing you have ever once refrained from.” There was a knock on the service door. “Groceries. Can you two start--” Evan waved her off, ambling forward.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, go do your thing.”

Nyla ghosted up the steps, silent and swift, and answered the door with a bright smile and a small curtesy. The delivery man was someone Nyla had met with frequently, someone who came around often enough for her to recognize his face. He was a chatty sort, liked to ask a lot of questions, and didn't have a very strong concept of personal space, but he was friendly enough and Nyla didn't find it to be any particular strain to be polite to him.

“Noticed the new guy’s car isn't in the driveway today,” the man said, and Nyla hummed with a little nod. Master Galo had parked his car in the garage or in the drive with seemingly no criteria and changing all the time. It was in the garage, at present. Nyla theorized that the times Master left it in the drive while it was raining had been to rinse off the dust.

The man helped carry the groceries into the kitchen, which wasn't part of his job at all, but Nyla was appreciative enough for the help. She was a hard worker, but some of the heavier bags she was more than content to let someone else carry for her.

“Your owner out of the house often?”

“Yes sir,” she answered. Master Galo’s daily visits to the gym alone had him out and about with far, far more frequency than Mistress, plus with the training for his new volunteer effort he’d been out even more. And, like now, he would go out into the gardens to run or simply walk the grounds, whereas Mistress would only go into her yard for garden parties or to walk alongside visitors.

“So it's just you and the kitchen girl when he's out?” the delivery man asked, walking alongside Nyla as they returned to his vehicle for the final bag.

Nyla did not frown or furrow her brow, but she did feel a twist of confusion. What exactly was the man trying to ask? “We slaves serve only Master; he has no family that lives with him,” she said, wondering if maybe he was curious about that?

His hand came down to rest heavily on Nyla’s shoulder, almost causing her to stumble, lilting in close to him to keep from getting knocked off balance. “I--sir?” she asked, hairs on her neck and arms raising in alarm.

“Take it easy,” he said, which was the opposite of what Nyla was doing. He led her sharply to the right, away from the hall to the service door and into the living room.

“Sir, this isn't--”

Nyla winced as her head hit the wall when he pinned her to it, not hard enough to hurt but far from pleasant. Her smile finally dropped at the sight of the knife.

“Shhhh,” the man hissed, Nyla’s head tilting back, breath spiking, as his knife pressed against the soft underside of her chin. Her fingers trembled where they clawed against the wall, at her sides, terrified and confused. She did not whimper as his hand came up to cover her mouth, dry skin against her lips. “Shush, angel, I don’t wanna hear a peep out of you.”

Nyla had no option but to stare, silent, with tearing eyes at the man who grinned at her. “God, you’re so pretty,” he murmured as he slid his hand down, pressed to her throat, moving the knife away but replacing it with another threat. “I’ve been fantasizing about this, you know. What it would be like to see that smile of yours give way to fear. It’s even better than I thought it would be.”

Nyla’s breathing was shallow, frantic, she wanted to scream, but she knew she’d get a knife for her efforts. Mistress had used knives on her plenty, but never once had they gone near her throat, Mistress too careful for that. This man wouldn’t be half so cautious.

“God, I wish I could drag this out,” he whispered, bending close, his breath foul and ghosting over her lips, “but I can’t get caught, so.” He gripped her arm harshly, yanking her further into the living room, and her eyes jerked about frantically. None of the furniture in here was big enough--it was all decorative, where--

She gasped, air knocked out of her as he bent her over the arm of the couch. His hand returned to her neck, the back of it, keeping her head down, and the knife came up in front of her again, glistening, sharp. She trembled, feeling like she must have been hit harder than she thought, because she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t think at all. She felt a wall of sheer, unadulterated fright, and nothing past that, she couldn’t move, couldn’t make a noise even if she hadn’t been ordered not to, couldn’t even blink as she stared down at the detailed patterning on the fabric of the couch stretched out in front of her, knife pressed to her chest and a man, larger than her, grinding his crotch down onto her ass and she could feel his dick.

“Please--” she gasped, because she’d never done this before, because she didn’t want it to be like this, because she didn’t want this at all, because she was scared!

“Quiet!” he hissed, yanking the knife down, proving just how sharp it was and how strong he was by tearing through her dress, through her apron, leaving a thin line of red where the tip of the knife clipped her sternum. She swallowed a high noise of panic, quiet, quiet, she was quiet, she didn’t want to be cut or stabbed, too. Humiliated tears slipped down her face as he groped her, and she bit down another horrified noise when he said, “Unless you wanna draw your kitchen friend’s attention. Betcha she’d be real good at this, tits and an ass like hers, we could have her come join in.”

Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet, trembling hands on scratchy cloth, look at the pattern of the fabric, focus on that, focus on anything other than the heat and weight behind her, the hand on her breast, the knife pressed to her chest.

He gripped her hair and yanked her head back. “Crying already?” he asked softly, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Good.”

Evan rubbed at the back of his neck as he rose, washer and dryer now officially pulled away from the wall and all the dust bunnies and little clusters of lint and hair available for the dusting.

“Has Nyla been up there a while?” Evan asked, Greyson making his way to the broom.

Greyson’s brow furrowed minutely, only there if you knew what to look for, and he nodded. “You go. I won’t need you until we move them back.”

“I am okay with that,” Evan said, a joke, because he never actually would slack off if a task needed done. But he really had meant it; Nyla was contriving things for them to do because she was bored and he really didn’t see the point in this task specifically. The entrance to the basement wasn’t far from the service door, and Evan squinted, body going tense. Why would the grocery van still be here?

Not bothering with being quiet (Master was outside, anyways), Evan turned and set into a fast walk, ears perked, and a voice that wasn’t Master’s but was low and masculine anyway said something in the living room. Evan felt every instinctive alarm in his body going off, not knowing what was wrong but knowing something absolutely, definitely was. He wasn’t smart, but he had good instincts, and when he rounded the corner he saw red.

The knife caught him in the wrist but he didn’t feel it, didn’t feel anything other than the bastard whose hand had been on Nyla’s bare ass getting his nose broken under Evan’s fist. A sob tore out of Nyla, and Evan couldn’t hear anything after that from the blood in his ears. He’d hurt her. This fucking nobody had hurt Nyla. And he wasn’t Evan’s Master.

So Evan was gonna make him pay.

A shout, a wild swing of the knife, it caught Evan’s shoulder but it was shallow, meaningless, when Evan screamed it was with rage. It was with a wild, nameless fury, and it was with the bestial satisfaction of release.

He’d never raised a hand against Mistress. Hadn’t even thought of it with Master. But here was a target, open and asking for it, asking to be put in the goddamn ground for touching Nyla, hurting Nyla his family his friend Evan slammed his fists into any piece of him he saw, blood on Evan’s knuckles, flecked against Evan’s cheeks, and--

The knife in his thigh registered through the adrenaline, prompting another scream, this time of pain, Evan arching his back but he tried not to stop, not to deviate from his goal. Even as the knife came out and the pain shot blinding whiteness through him Evan was resolved to turn his face into pulp. He was going to punch and keep punching and he wasn’t going to stop punching until this fucker stopped moving for good, and if he bled out in the process that wasn’t currently a concern.

But a heave of movement left Evan struggling, and then the man was on top of Evan and things looked worse from this angle. Evan didn’t stop, though, couldn’t, grabbing the man’s stabbing wrist and holding onto it with a desperate, wild force, trying to get another swing in when the man’s other hand closed around Evan’s throat. He struggled, kicking, clawing red lines up and down the other’s skin, his cheek, aiming for his eye but missing, but air was quickly becoming a thing Evan would need more of fucking soon and that wasn’t happening. His grip on the knife-hand was growing shaky, the blade lowering and lowering as Evan’s vision blurred. He tried to scream again, in violent fury, but no air came out from his open mouth.

Master.

The knife fell on the carpet and Evan hauled in sweet air, choking and coughing as his abused throat struggled back online. He rolled onto his side, struggling up onto his elbows, and blood-rushed ears made out a brief exchange between Master and Nyla, confirming that the motherfucker had been the one to hurt her.

Even through the thick wood of the front door, Evan and Nyla both heard the resounding crack of someone losing the unbroken status of his skull. Fucking good.

“Ev?” Nyla breathed, kneeling in front of him. Her dress was sliced down the front, held up by an arm across her breasts, something had happened to the sleeves, too, and Evan reached a still-shaky, still-bloody hand up to cup her cheek.

“Nyla,” he said quietly, and she leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. He hated it when Nyla cried. Nyla crying was basically the universe confirming that absolutely everything was terrible and anything that could go wrong, if it wasn’t already currently going wrong, would go wrong very soon. “Did he--did--?”

“Just my clothes,” Nyla murmured, shuddering, and Evan squeezed his eyes shut tight and pressed their foreheads a little closer. Greyson caught them both off guard, entering their little huddle with a hand to Nyla’s shoulder, another to Evan’s. He took off his jacket and folded it, then pressed it to Evan’s leg, prompting a hiss, then he looked between them, Greyson’s equivalent expression for confusion on his face, and Evan looked to Nyla.

She’d explain to Master and Greyson could overhear, it seemed, because Master came back through the front door, the resounding boom of it (it wasn’t so loud as all that, Evan was just scared) reminding Evan of the other, far more terrifying threat in the house.

“No, he is currently unconscious, on the account of him attempting to rape and kill two of my slaves. Yeah, yeah, he’s gonna need an ambulance, I uh, I might have broken his skull.” There was no might. Galo had absolutely broken his skull. And you know, Galo wasn’t a violent person, he believed in pacifism and talking things out (he still had semi-neutral/semi-positive relationships with his family, after all). But Galo knew where lines were drawn and this, this, (who even was this guy!?) this nobody--

Regardless, he deserved it.

“Yes, thank you.” Galo had just changed the fucking locks on the goddamn doors, how had he made it into his house? “No ma’am.” Thank god Greyson had heard the yelling and gone straight to Galo, instead of getting mixed up in whatever was happening. No offense to Greyson but he was thin and gaunt and scrawny as all hell and probably would not have done a lot in a fight. “I… would prefer to hang up, if that’s alright. The people he assaulted are inside and I want to make sure they’re okay.” And check in with Greyson, Lilah and Sasha, after, provided the police hadn’t arrived by then. “Thank you ma’am, yes.”

Galo went inside, finding Evan where he’d left him and Nyla and Greyson there with. Nyla was still clinging to the remains of her dress and Galo found it A Little Stupid that Greyson and Evan, both in possession of additional top layers, hadn’t offered her something to cover up with, but adrenaline and shock made for one hell of a cocktail. He tugged off his tank top and handed it to her as he entered the crouched-down-semi-circle.

“Are there pressing injuries that need immediate attention,” Galo asked, needing to prioritize.

“My thigh,” Evan said weakly, and Galo found that once his attention was drawn to it, hey yeah actually! Greyson was staunching it, good for him, but that was an alarming quantity of blood.

“Do you need help applying pressure?” Greyson shook his head. “Okay, ambulance is on its way, we’ll get you to the hospital.” Galo glanced at Nyla, and upon finding her dressed (she looked faintly ridiculous, the tank top beyond oversized and the lettering entirely unsuited to the mood) he looked at her fully. “Nyla, do you need to be seen in the hospital as well?”

Fuck, wrong way to phrase that, she was shaking her head and Galo didn’t know if that meant Evan had intervened before he’d actually done anything more than fuck up her clothes, or if she was trying to tough it out.

“Can I get a summary of what happened?” Ideally brief, because Evan was bleeding from more places than one (those cuts seemed shallow, at least).

“The man frequently delivers groceries, he attempted to,” Nyla took an unsteady breath, and Galo wished he could hug her, comfort her in some meaningful capacity that wouldn’t just terrorize her more, “assault me, but was stopped from doing more than removing my clothing when Evan arrived. They fought, Evan was stabbed in the thigh, and you arrived, Master.”

“Very succinct, thank you Nyla.”

The sound of sirens; they’d made it there quick. Small blessings, Galo supposed. “Okay, I’m gonna go with Evan to the hospital, and also talk to the police I guess. Greyson, if Lilah isn’t inside already please go get her and lock the doors. The four of you stay inside until I’m back,” fuck what else. Oh, god, he felt horrible for even having to say it but if there was even a chance that they would… “Don’t worry about any of the other things you were gonna do today, okay? Just don’t worry about it. Do something pleasant, if you can.”

The sirens were in Galo’s driveway, and he stood, needing to direct their attention to the men in various states of injury.

“Thank you Master,” Nyla said, and Galo gave her a nod, not even bothering with trying to smile.

Things moved very quickly, after that, beckoning the ambulance staff inside, getting the grocery guy onto his own gurney, talking to cops (which Galo hated. Haaaaated.) Getting in his car and going to the hospital, talking to people there, time only slowed down as he sat in the waiting room chair. Waiting. He pulled up discord on his phone and started messaging John, a fellow tank, hoping to get the guy prattling in an attempt at a distraction. The thought of calling Jeremiah, just to get him to talk endlessly, passed Galo’s mind, but if his brother was in a weird mood or a bad one it would tip Galo off of some precipice he was standing on and that was not worth it.

He wished he had family he was close to.

He wished he had friends that he was close to, somewhere within a thousand miles of him.

Evan was fine, thankfully. The knife hadn’t been serrated, which meant the flesh had avoided extra damage upon removal, but the wound had been deep, and Evan had bled a lot. He had received a blood transfusion, and he had an IV in his arm when Galo entered the room, plus stitches, his shallower cuts had been treated, and also painkillers were involved.

“Hey,” Galo said as he settled himself into the hospital chair, perfectly comfortable and positioned at a thoughtful angle to the side, opposite the door so physicians could easily enter, feeling a sense of deja vu.

Evan was scared.

Evan was scared, and he was scared, and he was scared, and he was scared in an ambulance and scared in a hospital and scared surrounded by strangers and the adrenaline crashing meant he was also in pain and there were needles and Evan actually really hated needles and he was scared.

And it was a fucking joke of the universe that when his Master entered the room, Evan actually felt relief.

“Hey,” his Master, who had single-handedly cracked open the skull of the man who had put Evan in this hospital, said.

“Sir,” Evan whispered. He had intended for it to be a ‘hello sir’ but he was shaky and his throat hurt and hey, his brain wasn’t totally online.

“How’re you feeling?” Master Galo asked from the hospital chair, simultaneously altogether too close (he could reach out and touch Evan, if the mood struck him) and too far away (Evan was scared).

“Bad,” he answered honestly, “Sorry.”

“Hey,” Master Galo said, and it was a weakness Evan had sworn off the millionth time Mistress had played the kind sweet soothing game but Evan let himself take some small comfort in the tone, “hey, no, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did great, Evan, you protected Nyla and did not die in the process. You did better than anyone could’ve expected of you.” True. Evan had brought his fists to a knife fight. There was a burning little coal of pride, at that, and Evan felt his shoulders roll back a little, preening just a little, a little little, a little preening seemed to be allowed.

He hadn’t ever smiled around Mistress Bethany except when she made him, never genuine, so it was a surprise that he was smiling (just a little) around Master Galo. But Evan had done well.

“Thank you, sir,” and for once in his life, he was actually feeling grateful while he gave his owner thanks.

“Yeah, man. How’s the leg?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re giving me really good painkillers,” Evan said, which only confirmed his point because even he wouldn’t normally be ballsy enough to talk to his Master like that unless he intended to provoke him. But Master Galo just chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need to lay off it for the next couple weeks and they’ve given me the names of a couple physical therapists to talk to.”

“...Physical therapists?” Evan asked, brow drawn.

“The knife went in deep, man, your muscles are all fucked up,” Master Galo said, and his tone almost sounded pitying, but not really. Pity-adjacent.

Evan felt the urge to apologize again, but he wasn’t sorry and Master Galo had already told him not to so he blurted out his next thought, which was, “This is the hospital Mistress died in?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to die. They’re gonna keep you here for a few hours to make sure you don’t go into shock, and we’ll be home just after supper.”

“Oh.”

“You’re also gonna be kinda fucked up on painkillers for a while.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“I’m scared.” Evan made a displeased noise at his own honesty, pulling his lips back and sinking his chin into the folds of his neck. “Oh I am fucked up on painkillers.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty accurate assessment.” Master Galo sounded amused. Bastard. (Maybe not as much of a bastard as Evan normally thought he was).

“I don’t feel fucked up.”

“That’s probably not a bad thing. Why do you feel scared, bud?”

Evan gave his Master a very pointed look, then hunched his shoulders, looking down, because where the hell did he get off thinking he could give his Master any kind of look at all, much less a pointed one? Again, though, Master just chuckled.

“Okay, fair, entirely fair, that’s on me. What would help make you feel less scared?”

“I hate needles.”

“Okay, good news, you are done with the needle portion of the day. No more needles for Evan.” Master Galo pointed at the IV in Evan’s arm. “Except for that one. That one needs to stay exactly where it is until a licensed medical professional takes it out.”

“Can I take it out?”

“You are not licensed, medical, or professional, so no. Plus, it’d just injure you further cause you wouldn’t do it right and then you’d have more problems and I’d be a liar.”

Evan took a moment to puzzle together why Master Galo would be a liar if Evan took the needle out, but eventually realized that if he started bleeding he’d need another transfusion, and that meant more needles and okay, okay.

“Can I..?” Evan started, moving his hand across the hospital sheets.

“Hm?” Master intoned, looking down at Evan’s hand. He took one of those thoughtful pauses of his, Evan staring up at him. He was still shirtless, little T’s of scar tissue over his nipples. Evan did not expect Master Galo’s chest hair to be blue because that would be stupid, but maybe some fucked-up-on-painkillers part of his brain had expected that because he stared at Master’s chest hair a lot too. And his chin hair, which was sorta vaguely-fuzzy in the way it went when Master hadn’t shaved in a few days. Evan wondered if he could grow a beard. Evan couldn’t. Greyson extra couldn’t.

Evan felt stupid, childish, dumbass relief when Master Galo reached out and held his hand. Moron. This wasn’t real. This was something that he was going to be hurt for or pay for later, he knew it, he just knew it, nothing came without a price, but he was scared and his brain was acting all weird on him and if Master touched him Any Other Place on his body he was going to Lose His Whole Ass Mind, but for the time he clung to his Master’s hand like it was a lifeline. Idiot. He should know better. He should, he should, but he didn’t, and Master’s hand, heavy and warm, reassured him.

This hand had kept Nyla from getting kidnapped and Evan from getting murdered on the living room floor. It also had fine little hairs on the back of it, just barely there, and they didn’t really move when Evan brushed his fingers over them and he couldn’t feel them but he could see them, pale and thin and short.

Fuck what were in these painkillers?

“Was she in a room like this?” Evan asked, staring at the hairs on Master’s wrist and lower forearm.

“Yeah, pretty near identical, except the art. She was up a few floors, though.”

There were so many tiny, itty-bitty wrinkles that existed on a person’s hand. Like the knuckles, yeah, sure, but also the skin between the thumb and forefinger, and the palm, which Evan couldn’t see because he was holding his Master’s hand. “You got us here, right? She gave you..?”

“Yeah. Dragged her poor lawyer all the way over here just to fuss with her will and name me the sole heir.”

“Are you glad?”

“Yeah, bud.”

“Are you glad she’s dead?” Evan clarified, because he could see how someone might miss that with the way he’d originally worded it.

Another thoughtful pause, a little shorter. “Will you think less of me if I say yes?”

“I am,” Evan said, realizing far too belatedly that his Master had asked him a question he hadn’t answered. “I’m glad she’s dead. I hated her, and you’re confusing but you’re not mean the same way she was.”

“I don’t mean to be confusing,” Master said, Evan trailing his fingers over his skin. “I just don’t know what everyone’s expectations and routines are, and how you lived before I got here. I’m trying to figure out how to be a good owner to you all, but I’m making some pretty big mistakes along the way.”

Evan stared at the hand inside his own. He couldn't understand this man. Now that the fear wasn’t keeping him awake and alert, he was starting to feel exhausted. “Am I allowed to sleep here, sir?”

“I’ll go ask a nurse. Stay awake until I get an answer, okay?”

“Yessir.”

A little curl of fear let him do just that, when his Master took his hand away. Evan stared at his empty palm, fingers curling experimentally, and he felt the emptiness of the room echoing around him. These rooms were too big. Weren’t hospital rooms supposed to be small?

His Master came back and filled the space. It seemed like a reasonable size for a room, with this mammoth of a man inside it. “Yeah, bud, you can go ahead and take a nap. A nurse is gonna wake you up when they need to check your vitals, but go ahead and sleep until then.”

Evan’s fingers twitched. He reminded himself, firmly, that his Master liked to be asked for things. “Will you hold my hand again, Master Galo?” he asked as nicely as he could, because he was a weak little bitchbaby and a pansy and a moron. But he was a weak little bitchbaby who was getting his hand held, so take that!

God he hoped they lowered the dosage moving forward.

With Evan asleep, Galo now satisfied that he was fine and he was safe, Galo tried to make his brain do the thinking thing. His brain did not want to do the thinking thing, but too bad, because he was gonna make it do the thinking thing.

That was twice within the span of a single week, now, that someone had entered Galo’s home without his permission and attempted to harm Nyla. This could not continue to happen.

Hmm. Galo wasn’t guaranteed to be inside the house every time someone came knocking, so he couldn't ask the slaves to always let him be the one to open the door. But, also, well, Evan had very evidently proved himself as capable and willing of fighting back, if the person at the door was doing something they shouldn't. Obviously it'd have to wait until Evan was back on his feet (and even then, it depended on how well he recovered), but Galo could totally make Evan the doorman. Greyson, theoretically, could play doorman when Galo wasn't there, until Evan was an option, and really, how often even did people show up? Groceries, but other than that, Galo hadn't ordered a ton of deliveries and didn't have friends in town.

Oh but speaking of which, Galo pulled up the internet on his phone and started looking for crutches. Evan was gonna need one for a bit, and then after that he would get a lighter mobility aide. Guess what the aide would be. Guess. Guess what the doctor had recommended.

A fucking cane.

Galo’s life was a joke and his suffering was the punchline. But hey, silver lining was that there were plenty of those available, since the dumpster was scheduled to arrive in two days, so. Evan could have free choice of which instrument of torture he would like to use as a mobility aide. Fucking hell.

“Y’know,” Galo said very quietly, so as not to wake Evan up, “it used to be that the most interesting thing in my search history was the walkthrough for The Grey Rainbow.” Which was an excellent, free PC game and if there were any mind readers out there eavesdropping on Galo’s thoughts, they should absolutely open a new tab and play it. Even if some of the puzzles were a little tricky.

Galo left a note on his order that whoever delivered the crutches (he could only buy them in a set) please just set the box on the front porch and leave. Don't ring the doorbell or knock, please, just put it down and turn around. The slaves he'd left at the house didn't need the added anxiety of another knock on the door, not while Galo and Evan were gone and Nyla had just been attacked that morning.

“It also used to be that the most stressful thing that happened to me on any given day was annoying customers demanding to talk to my manager. Not unearthing horrible family secrets or fun new traumas,” Galo murmured, Evan sleeping right on through it. They'd given him the good shit, whatever it was, and Galo remembered getting his wisdom teeth out. How he’d wanted to do nothing other than sleep, eat applesauce, and sleep some more. Fortunately, Evan’s mouth was fine, so the urge for applesauce should probably not resurface with him.

Galo, very lightly, stroked his thumb over the side of Evan’s hand, just little motions. He crafted emails, one-handed, to a couple different physical therapists until a nurse came in to check on Evan and also deliver a late lunch. Galo thanked her and helped her sit Evan up, Evan looking mightily displeased at being touched, though Galo couldn't tell if he liked the nurse or Galo less. He was aware that, as far as Evan was concerned, Galo was very likely the lesser of two evils in this situation, the enemy you know is better than the one you don't and blah blah. He tried to keep it brief.

“And sir,” the nurse said, turning to Galo when she was done with Evan, “could I get you a shirt?”

Galo glanced down at himself, faintly embarrassed. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great thanks.”

Evan stared at Galo, namely Galo’s bare chest, after the nurse left, ignoring the food on the little tray next to him. He’d been staring at Galo pretty intensely earlier, too, so Galo just let him, thinking on what he should do for his own lunch, and if Evan would be good if he left him alone for a bit.

Google said there was an Arby’s nearby and fuck if Galo couldn't go for some loaded curly fries right then, actually. He could get a shirt on and walk down there, get some fresh air.

“Oh my god your nipples!” Evan suddenly exclaimed, Galo jumping in his seat, nearly dropping his phone. To his credit, Evan probably was not aware of how loud he’d just been. But also, Ah.

“Don’t rip your stitches there, bud,” Galo said, saying the first thing that popped into his head. Evan had uh. Moved. There.

“There are Ts on your nipples!”

“There are,” Galo confirmed, blinking twice. “More specifically, the scars are on the tissue around the nipples, but yes.”

“We couldn't figure it out,” Evan said, having one hell of an epiphany there. Galo quirked a confused smile and bit his lip, trying not to laugh. Evan would definitely hate him once he was sober, if Galo actually laughed at him while he was like this. “We kept guessing what ‘going on T’ meant but there are Ts on your titties!” Evan said with a broad gesture towards Galo’s pecs, and Galo shook with silent laughter.

“Mhm. So. That’s not quite it bud,” Galo got out, and had to pause and bite his lip again to suppress his laughter. “Going on T is in reference to the hormone testosterone, which I take supplements for.” Galo gestured to his scars. “These are the result of me getting top surgery, which is pretty much exactly like it sounds.”

Evan was squinting, nodding, and asked, “Am I going to remember this when I stop being…” he waved at his own forehead vaguely, “drugged?”

“Yes, probably, but it's okay if you don't. You saying this makes me think I should probably actually give a trans ed 101 to all of you. Which, you know, makes sense if you think about it because my aunt was definitely not the right kind of person to give any sort of information on queer life or history.” Galo and Evan both looked to the door when the nurse returned with a stiff, thin shirt that only barely fit Galo. He thanked her and slipped it on, moving his arms slowly so he didn't rip open the armpits.

“Which one is testosterone, sir?” Evan asked, squinting again.

“It’s the hormone that gives me body hair and lowers my voice and makes me sweat a lot and put me through puberty a second time,” Galo said, loose and playful with his explanation because Evan still seemed pretty far out of it, even if his words were all clearly articulated and coherent. He’d give more scientific answers during an actual, informative talk. “It's the hormone associated with masculinity; so I’m ‘on T’ because my body doesn't produce enough of it naturally.”

“Like a vitamin supplement?”

“Almost, yeah, but instead of taking a pill I give myself a shot every Saturday.”

Evan visibly paled at that, and Galo felt his hackles raise. Ugh, stupid, just because Evan seemed to be more relaxed didn't mean Galo could waltz around making careless mistakes. What had he said to set him off? Nothing had implied Galo was going to hurt Evan, had it? But that must be it, that was always it; what..?

“Easy, Evan, easy, I’m not going to hu--”

“You give yourself shots!?”

“I--yes?”

“Every week?”

“Yyyyyes?”

“Why!?”

Oh, right, Evan had said earlier that he hated needles. “Because needles don't bother me and if I don't my body’s hormone levels go bad real fast.” Galo shrugged. “It was uncomfortable at first but now it's just part of my routine. Like shaving or yoga Mondays.” He honestly didn't even think about it anymore, but he remembered when he was a kid, he’d had a diabetic friend and he had been horrified the first couple of times he’d seen him poke himself. So like, he got where Evan was coming from, more or less, he was just really desensitized to it now.

“You need--sir, yes Master, sorry Master,” Evan said, looking down on the ‘sir’ and very clearly just remembering who it was he was talking to.

“No biggie,” Galo said, going for casual, hoping this would roll off like the other times Evan shrunk in on himself earlier. The mood seemed to stick, though, and Galo very purposefully did not sigh. “I was thinking of heading out and grabbing lunch for myself. You gonna be alright if I leave you here alone for,” Galo wiggled his hand side to side, “an hour?”

“Yes Master.”

Galo winced a little at that. So long chill-drugged Evan, nice chatting with you. “Cool, back in a bit, hit the button if you need anything from the nurses.”

“Yes Master.”

Galo grimaced. Ugh, fuck, he’s done this with Greyson, too, that first night, taking it too easy and freaking ‘em out.

Fuck. But it’d been nice while it lasted, Evan sorta-calm with lowered inhibitions, actually talking to Galo like a person. He flexed his hand, the one that had been held.

Fuuuuuuck Evan hoped they eased up on the dose moving forward. His brain was lagging so far behind his big mouth and he felt stupid as shit. Also calm, which wasn't theoretically a bad thing but when his Master was in the room calm was a bad thing!

It didn't feel like a bad thing, but his dumb drugged brain knew it was a bad thing whenever his dumb drugged brain decided to get it's dumb drugged ass in gear. Bluh. At least Master didn't seem mad that Evan had been acting up. Evan stabbed the cantaloupe with a pout. The moment he could go off painkillers he would. He could handle pain, but his dignity wasn't gonna make a comeback from this.

Of course, the overwhelming majority of him didn't give a shit about dignity at the moment. The overwhelming majority of his shitty little person was mad because he was alone in a hospital and every shadow that passed his door set him on edge and he wanted his Master back in the room. Pansy ass bitch.

He finished his food and laid back with a sigh. He hoped Nyla was okay.

When he woke up again he had no memory of falling asleep. Fucking shit he hated this. But he also still felt oddly good, super even. His Master was back in the chair, staring at his phone, and didn’t seem to notice Evan had woken up. So he just. Stared at him. He was so big. He wasn’t touching Evan anywhere, which was a relief, but he also wasn’t touching Evan anywhere, which was something he wanted to change again. He liked holding his hand. He should absolutely not beg to hold his Master’s hand a third time, like some annoying, clingy, crying child who was scared of the dark.

Why would anyone willingly give themself a shot? Multiple shots. Frequently. Evan couldn’t fathom it. “You’re really strong,” he said, because his Master was able to enact things with careless ease that took all of Evan’s strength and force of will to even endure.

Master Galo looked up from his phone, and smiled. “Yeah, I sure am, man. Work out every day.”

“You give yourself shots,” Evan clarified, realizing his mistake again.

Master Galo bit his lip and ducked his head, breath going all funny for a second. Evan didn’t smile, but he felt almost like he did. “Yeah, I do. We’re still on that?”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, nothing to be sorry for. Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, easy Evan.”

“Oh I am so easy right now,” Evan said enthusiastically, then made a sour face. “What am I on?”

“I don’t know but I think stabbed-Evan should’ve definitely gotten the chance to meet no-wisdom-teeth-Galo,” Master Galo joked, and Evan laughed, because he got the joke! Master must have felt super great and weird then, too.

“Oh we’re feeling good,” Master Galo remarked, sounding pleased, and Evan hummed in agreement. “I called the house while I was out,” he mentioned, and Evan sat up a little, leaning on one elbow. “Nyla’s fine,” Evan felt himself relax, “she’s still feeling shaken up but she and the others have been curled up together and they’re glad you’re safe and on the mend. I told them to go ahead and eat dinner without us; we’ll just get something through a window on the drive home, and we’re,” Master Galo checked his phone, “pretty close to the time they balled for us to leave. How’re you feeling?”

“Fantastic. Also bad. And still tired.”

“What’s got you feeling bad, bud?”

“I can’t…” Evan waved his hands in front of his face, trying to express through gestures what he couldn’t find the words for, but decided against it when he lightly smacked himself in the face, nearly poking his own eye. He heard Master Galo snort and he glared at him. Bastard. Except no wait don’t glare at his Master.

“Alright, alright, I think I got the idea,” Master Galo said, and Evan huffed, frustrated. “It’s only temporary. The nurse’ll come take the drip out here shortly, and we can fiddle with how many pills you take at home so you’re not as loopy, sound good?”

“Being stabbed is stupid.” Mistress slicing him open was never like this. But those were all shallow and controlled, and this was deep. Fucking…… fuck bitch.

“It sure is, bud.”

To his Master’s credit, the nurse did arrive in pretty short order, announce Evan good enough to be discharged, and didn’t look at him with mockery or pity when he closed his eyes and looked away as she took the needle out. His clothes were technically good enough to wear out of the hospital, nothing sensitive had been torn open (like Nyla), and Evan didn’t want to wander around wearing a hospital gown, so yeah, he needed to change. But.

“Would you like me to help out, or should I step into the hallway?” Master asked, and that was the fucking dillemma wasn’t it? Evan would need help getting his pants on, and would be in only his underwear between taking the gown off and putting his clothes on, and Evan didn’t want his Master to see him mostly-naked but he also did not want to be left alone and mostly-naked in a room with a stranger.

“...Or maybe I’ll go stand in a corner with my back turned?” Master offered, and Evan wasn’t even proud or wary enough to decline. He dressed, and sat down on the bed, waiting while the nurse went and got the wheelchair over.

“Need help getting in?” she asked patiently, didn’t even sound condescending.

“Please don’t touch me any more,” Evan said pathetically, not answering because yeah, he needed help and he knew he did and if he tried to do it on his own his uncoordinated fucked-up ass was gonna faceplant spectacularly, but no, fucking god please no, he didn’t want any more strangers touching him. He just wanted to curl up around Lilah or Nyla or maybe under Greyson and sleep for five thousand years.

“Okay. Can you make it into the wheelchair on your own?”

No. Evan turned to Master Galo, feeling disgustingly pathetic and reminding himself that his Master liked grovelling, and asked, “Master, please...”

“Yeah, I got you.” Master Galo easily lifted Evan from the bed and set him in the wheelchair, and the nurse made an impressed noise.

“He’s really strong,” Evan remarked to her, and she arched an eyebrow before rounding behind the chair to push him.

“I see. Is that something that comes up a lot?” she asked mildly.

“It’s hot.”

Master Galo made a strangled noise and he was definitely laughing at Evan, Evan who was mortified.

“Not that I think you are,” Evan quickly followed, gesturing at his Master who was keeping an easy stride alongside the chair. “Just that, like, objectively, you’re objectively hot.”

“Thanks,” Master Galo squeaked, shit at hiding the fact that he was still laughing and Evan needed, he needed to--

“Like, to women.”

“Okay.”

“Any woman would be lucky to date you. You’re huge, like, to women.”

“Actually most people find me huge, but thank you. I’m flattered.”

“I’m not flattering, just, like, like art, like how art is hot, like a chiseled statue.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“I’m not gay,” Evan finally said flat out, because it was very important that his Master know that.

“Okay, well it would be alright if you were. I just wouldn’t reciprocate.”

“Look I know I was staring at your nipples a lot earlier but I’m not gay.”

“I believe you, Evan.”

“Would you like to go get your car, sir?” the nurse, who had heard absolutely all of that exchange, asked. Evan officially could never, ever get injured badly ever again in his life, he could never come back here again.

“Yeah, back in a jiffy, bud.” Master Galo jogged off and Evan sat, elbows on the armrests and face in his hands, wondering if maybe he should have just bled out while he had the chance.

Master Galo had to help Evan into the car and Evan hadn't felt this pathetic since his broken rib (and the painkillers Mistress had had him on weren't like this at all, plus they'd only lasted while Evan was in the hospital (the pain was a valuable lesson, after all)). Evan buckled himself while Master thanked the nurse and bid her good day. When Master Galo entered the car, Evan tensed minutely, but all he did was ask Evan where he wanted to eat.

“I don't know,” Evan answered honestly. Mistress was vehemently against fast food, believing chain restaurants were invented by the devil to tempt folk into sin or whatever blah blah reason. Evan honestly couldn't remember. But he did know she was “ethically against them” so his last exposure had been when he was, what, 5 or 6?

Master ended up choosing, and they sat in the car and ate, Evan feeling very uncomfortable at eating with his Master but not having any choice in the matter. Every sensible part of his brain told him he didn't get to eat until Master had finished his meal, and that he shouldn't be eating in the same space as him at all. But also huuuuuur duuuuur beef and ketchup, Evan’s brain was stupid enough to take the edge off his anxiety and just shove the food in his mouth.

Words could not express how relieved he was to finally get home. He wanted to see Nyla and then just sleep.

“Looks like your crutches arrived already,” Master Galo said. “Would you prefer I carry you up to the porch, you lean on me as a crutch, or I could go get them for you and you can walk yourself?”

Evan’s head made him skeptical on his ability to walk himself, but also. Hhh. Touch. “Can I lean on you, Master Galo?” he asked politely.

“Yeah man.” Fuuuuuuck. He couldn't put any weight on his leg at all, which was also stupid. He had to lean all his weight on his Master, reliant, weak, dependent on him for balance and even the simple ability to fucking walk.

He hoped Master Galo had killed that fucker that stabbed him.

The foyer was empty when Master and Evan entered it, Evan on one shoulder and the crutches propped deftly on the other. Master called out, that it was them, that they were home, and hardly a moment later Nyla, in her other dress and smile firmly back in place, swaned into the room. “Master Galo, welcome home,” she greeted, but hesitated.

“No hand-kissing for Nyla, his hands are full,” Evan said, which was supposed to be a thought inside his brain but whoooo there they are. Out in the open where everyone can hear them. Nyla, even through her smile, looked appalled.

“He's on really strong pain meds,” Master Galo said, and Evan pointed up at him with a click of his tongue.

“That.”

“I--see, sir, we can take care of him from here out, Master,” Nyla said, and the other three, who Evan knew had been listening close by, hovering just out of sight so as to avoid crowding Master, hedged into the area. They were worried about Evan, awwww, and he grinned when he laid eyes on Lilah, affection blooming in him.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Master said, setting the box down but not Evan. “I kinda wanna get him down the steps first, but then he's all yours.” Which, admittedly, was a smart idea, because Evan theoretically could make it down while leaning on the railing, but the threat of stumbling was a real one and if he fell on like, Greyson or Sasha, they’d all just go tumbling down the stairs. If Evan stumbled into Master, he doubted he’d even sway.

But he didn't trip! He was just unbearably slow, wasting everyone’s time going down one step by one singular, shuffling step. Lilah propped him up once he was at the bottom, and then, mercifully, Master Galo left.

They waited one, two, three baited breaths, and then the family was on Evan in a rush, their hands on him and their quiet words blurring over each other's until they mutually decided to let Lilah speak first.

“Tell is everything,” she demanded, and Evan raised a thumbs up.

“Will do. But fair warning, I am on so many drugs right now.”

“How many is that?” Lilah asked, her nose all scrunched up.

“Enough to talk to Master about his hot nipples.” Fuck, definitely could've phrased that better.

“You did what?” Nyla asked, Lilah and Sasha seeming struck and Greyson even harder to read when Evan was fucked up like this.

“Okay, lemme rephrase--” Evan blinked hard. “Actually could I maybe do this lying down?”

They got Evan into bed, his body in the middle like it rarely ever was (he preferred to sleep with his back to the wall, facing the doorway). He told them everything he could about the hospital visit, Sasha very frightened when he talked about how often he fucked up, Lilah looking up at him thoughtfully from where she was bundled in his arms. He couldn't read Nyla or Greyson, with his back turned to them, but from how Nyla’s fingers would occasionally curl in his sweater he could guess that she was thinking he was an idiot.

Which was fair. He absolutely was. And the drugs made him extra stupid.

They had spent their day in the room, with Nyla in the center of the bed, only leaving when Greyson answered Master Galo’s phone call and Master had apparently ordered them to watch a movie or something. They had watched Singing in the Rain, which Evan was actually pretty bummed to have missed. It was one of his favorites, and Movie Nights were rare treats.

“Maybe Master’ll let you watch a movie, while you're laid up,” Lilah mentioned, and Evan hummed into her hairline.

“Who knows? He's weird.”

“Yeah, but he's nice,” Lilah said, and Evan would be anxious about that when he was sober, he knew, Lilah buying into their Master’s lies, but at the moment he felt good and warm and very sleepy so he just hummed again, snuggling in a little closer.

In the morning, he realized why they’d had him on so many painkillers.

“Fucking ow.”

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chloca-cola · 5 years ago

Text

The Intern Part 7(final)

Y'all I am SO SORRY this took so long, and I know I left it on a cliffhanger 😂 but here it finally is the last installment of The Intern. I hope you enjoy it!

TW: Angst, fear, feelings of anxiety, implications of possible suicide.

Word count: 2,126

You heart was beating way too fast, you could hear it in your ears. That frightening whooshing of your blood pumping quickly through you veins, your blood chilling like ice. Was Greta really going to the higher ups with this?

In your panic you had bolted, leaving Leon back in his office just as confused as you were, and here you are sitting in your car in the parking garage, belittling yourself for your cowardice against confrontation.

It was then that you saw him exiting the elevator, looking for you, you hurriedly started your engine, slamming the car into drive, you peeled tires leaving the area. You just couldn't face him, not yet, and not like this.

You couldn't risk him losing his job over someone like you, you weren't worth something like that. His talk of being willing to leave his job for you, unfathomable. You wouldn't let him do something so absurd.

At your apartment, you unlocked the door and walked in as if you were in a haze. Had it just been this morning that you were the happiest you'd been in your life? And now here you are, hiding from your problems. You cursed at yourself again, slinging your bag onto your couch, fighting the urge to scream as you anxiety rose.

You had to call this off, even though it pains you to do so, you're not even sure if you can. Even if you're not with him, you wanted to be around him, that seemed so selfish to you. You wanted to keep the job and be around him at the expense of you both being tortured. However, you feel in time the wounds could heal and you both could move on.

You knew it wouldn't be true for you, you're in love with Leon and feel he's the one you've been waiting your whole life for.

In your internal war, you nearly missed the knock on your door. Your eyes widened and you looked in its direction, wondering who that could be? You slowly make your way towards it, what if it's your boss? Would she come all the way out to your home to chastise you for your transgressions?

"(Y/n)? It's me, Leon." His voice sounded as lost as you felt and you let out a long sad sigh. You opened the door a crack and looked at him through it. He let out a cathartic sigh, finally getting to see your face, and he leaned his head against the door frame, reaching out to caress your cheek with his fingers, as if you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. "May I come in? I...looked up your address in the record files. I'm sorry." Your eyes were stinging with tears as you got the courage to let him go. You opened the door and stepped aside, letting him come into your apartment for the first, and now, last time.

He walked in and his blue eyes did a sweep over your interior decorating as you closed your door. He found all your knickknacks as adorable as he found you.

He turned to face you as you played with your fingers nervously before him, keeping your eyes to the floor.

"Hey, there's nothing to worry about. I'm sure it will all turn out fine." He tried to assure you, taking a step towards you, and you took one in retreat away from your door. Leon hesitated, watching you fleeing like a wild animal from his advances, his head tilting. "(Y/n)?" He questioned, coming towards you again, with less verve, his own heart beginning to pound as he feared the worst.

Your eyes glanced up to his quickly and that's when he saw the tears.

"No." It was a breathless denial, as he quickly closed the distance between you both, grasping your shoulders gently. Your bottom lip quivered, as you avert your gaze from him again. He gently moved his hands to cup your face, making you look at him.

He leaned in for a kiss, wanting this to be a misunderstanding, but you pulled free from him and moved back across the room to the door. Your heart was breaking, seeing that look in his eyes, you had to do this quickly, like a bandaid.

"Are we over?" It was the softest you'd ever heard his voice, he wasn't even looking at you anymore, he was looking at the floor like you had been. You swallowed a sob as you opened the door for him again.

"Yes." The sob won however, causing you to hiccup as he looked into your eyes as he came towards the door. You could see how shattered he was, and your heart shattered along with his. Could he see the hurt this was causing you too? Did he know that you don't want this? How could he? You were crying in earnest now, him hovering in the doorway, not wanting to leave you. Your eyes met once more, and his hand reached out to wipe away your tears, but he hesitated, before bringing his hand back to his side and finally leaving your apartment.

You closed the door, leaning against it, loud sobs wracking your body, as you slid down to the floor.

The next few days were a blur, you kept to yourself, ignoring Greta as she tried to rub everything in your face.

"Greta, will you just...leave her alone? Haven't you done enough?" You heard one of the women who had been working there forever finally ask her. The older woman had always been nice towards you, and now that you hear the sternness and disdain in her tone towards Greta, it did make you feel better.

You hadn't seen Leon since he left your apartment, your soul was longing for him, and you found yourself glaring daggers at Greta. You usually don't wish harm on anyone, but with her, you've found the exception.

"What are you looking at?" She snapped at you, and you felt yourself scowl at her.

"Greta, I swear to god, if you don't leave her alone." The older woman, which you've learned her name to be Helen, threatened. "You're lucky. If you'd done to me what you've done to her, I would have beat your ass by now." Greta made a face at the older woman, and it was like you were watching a tennis match, as your head turned back to Helen. You watched her eyes as they narrowed dangerously at Greta, before she turned and calmly walked away.

It was later on that day that you learned Leon hasn't been in, and that's why you hadn't seen him. The news caused you to worry, is he ok? Your anxiety gripped your insides again, especially when you learned he turned down a mission. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted.

He was willing to leave his job for you, and you turned him away so he wouldn't, and here he is, still not doing his job. It's the worst possible scenario. Unless? You gasped, eyes widening, the blood in your veins turned to icy water at your next thought. No he wouldn't have done that...right? You asked yourself, looking frantically around the cafeteria, on the verge of a panic attack.

"Aww, what's wrong, little lamb?" Came Greta's condescending voice, and you snapped, you had enough of her.

"Greta, will you shut the fuck up for five minutes? What is so wrong in your goddamn life that you had to set your sights on me? Blossomed to early in life and now no one wants to fucking touch you, hm?" Your mouth fell agape, surprised at your own words, it was so unlike you to confront anyone over anything. Your face lost all color, as Greta mimicked your look, shocked that you stood up for yourself.

You took a step back from her, both still fish mouthed, before you turned and bolted from the cafeteria, leaving your untouched lunch behind, still in the microwave. Cheering did reach your ears however, but it's just something else she can lord over you later.

You grabbed your things from your desk, looking over at Helen, who smiled warmly at you.

"Helen...I've...I've got to go." She nodded, giving you a knowing wink.

"Go get your man. It's not the first time employees have fraternized here. It won't be the last." You stopped gathering your things to give her a surprised look.

"What?" You asked, humbly and she laughed at your expression.

"Sure, besides, if they stopped the two of you, they'd have to stop all the others. So they'll look the other way. I wasn't expecting you two to call it quits, or I would have warned you before. They just listened to Greta out of respect." She ticked her head towards the elevator. "So, go get him." with that knowledge, you rushed towards the elevator, bound for Leon's apartment.

You knocked quickly several times, but no answer. Panic rose like bile in you as you pounded louder on the wooden door.

"Leon! Leon, it's me!"

"Hang on, hang on." Came a very slurred reply, and you heard him approaching the door. It opened and he leaned against it, a bottle still in his hand, and you felt relief wash over you. He hadn't done anything stupid, just, well...getting really drunk.

"Leon!" Was all you could say as you flung yourself at him, and he staggered backwards. You were sure he'd push you away after all the pain you caused him, but he surprised you by wrapping his arms around you without hesitation.

"Is this real?" He slurred out, as he dropped the bottle of whiskey on the floor with a loud thump and the amber liquid splashed out, coating the back of your legs. His hands roamed your form as if trying to make out if you were another illusion that he's had many times in the last three drunken days.

"It's real, Leon, I'm so sorry." You sobbed out, burying your face into his bare chest, tears falling like rain. His right hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, as he kissed the top of it, holding you tightly against him. "I should have never ended us...I was just so scared." He made soft soothing noises, as he pulled back to cup your face. His eyes searching yours, before he leaned down and kissed you.

All the longing you both felt for each other the last three days was poured into the intense passionate kiss. You could taste his tears on your lips, mixed with the whiskey on his tongue, as he pulled you even closer, your feet lifting off the ground.

"Please...never leave me again." He whispered against your lips, and you sobbed again, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Never again. I love you." You heard his content sigh.

"I love you too, (y/n)."

The next day, you walked in with Leon, not hiding it anymore, because why should you two at this point? His hand was on the small of your back, as you made your way through the offices. You could feel the tension in the hallways, but none of it seemed directed at the two of you. You and Leon shared a look before shrugging to each other.

You braced yourself for Greta as you both made it to your desk, but found her desk empty, void of her ever existing. Your eyebrow quirked and you looked over at Helen, who was smiling smugly.

"Greta was...no longer needed at the office." She explained vaguely. "Turns out she was caught with pictures of important secret files. They gave her the choice to leave or be tried for espionage. You should have heard her wailing that she would never do such a thing!" Both you and Leon blinked in surprise at Helen's news before you looked at each other. She beckoned you both closer with her index finger. "The other higher ups don't have to know I planted those pictures. I couldn't stand that little bitch." You couldn't hold back your laugh.

"But how did you-"

"I told you that you're not the only one who fraternized around here." She winked at you as your mouth fell open in shock, but you and Leon both laughed, thanking Helen for her help.

Now, not only do you have Leon back, Greta is no longer around to cause you trouble, it was somehow poetic justice, and you smiled to yourself. You looked up at Leon, and he squeezed your hand.

"I'll see you at lunch." He promised, as he walked away, leaving you to work in peace without Greta.

@imagineleonkennedy @mitsuintheworks @kezikatescribbling @marshall1199 @sleepygal124 @locus-desperatus @disneymarina @crystaldwightsworld @savage-rhi and I hope I didnt forget anyone!

#resident evil leon #leon x reader #re leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy imagines #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagines #resident evil #biohazard leon #biohazard

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 5 years ago

Text

The Littlest Winchester

Part 1 - A Winchester is Born

Pairing: Dad!Dean x OC!Daughter!Reader (Sapphire)

Mobile Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: In a series of quick flashforwards we see Dean going through fatherhood. The mother, who is unknown drops the baby off at Bobby Singer’s house of all places, leaves a note for Dean.

Takes place during Seasons 4 - 8.

[A/N: In this part, these are flash forwards from birth to about age 4, mentioned in the story would be hunts, diapers, a one night stand similar to Season 7 with the Amazonians [I don’t remember exactly what they’re called], only she’s human in this fic, and so’s Dean’s daughter.]

[a/n #2: This is my first (kind of) dad!dean x daughter!oc!reader fic, I first touched base in it in my Down the Rabbit Hole Series (in one of my many, many, many versions), read a doze of them, and now I’m hooked, so please, feedback would greatly be appreciated.]

It was the sound of a baby’s crying that caught his attention.

No one did even think to knock, she probably wouldn’t be fast enough to evade Bobby and his array of questions he’d have for her.

Bobby opens his front door to see a baby’s blanketed basket with a note pinned to it. Bobby looks around his yard, see’s no one, not even hearing a car racing off.

He picks up the basket and brings her inside. Takes a peak at the note.

Dean, is written in all caps on the top of the letter.

“Dean!” Bobby calls out from his study.

They had just gotten back from a case, after learning who actually yanked Dean out of Hell, where Sam had been for the past 4 months, Dean spent most of his days out in the yard. Either cleaning his Impala or fixing up a random car just to let off steam.

When he didn’t respond, Bobby searched for Dean. Finding him in the garage.

“Dean.” Bobby says, getting closer to Dean. He was laying on a creeper under a car changing oil. But Bobby wasn’t patient enough. So with a foot on the creeper he pulls Dean out from under the car.

“What the hell Bobby?” Dean scoffed.

“I’ve been calling for you, now, come with me.” Bobby says. Walking off before Dean could object.

Dean can hear the baby’s cries from Bobby’s study.

Bobby hands Dean the letter.

Dean,

Not sure if you remember. You probably don’t, but if the name Kristi doesn’t ring any bells to you then you deserve to know this. You needed to let off steam at the roadhouse I was working at just outside of Dallas, you gave me a night to remember. But I guess I was another one night stand to you. I was a virgin you ass. And you knocked me up, I’m not ready for kids, hell I don’t want kids. Why do you think I work in a roadhouse to begin with?

I found out I was pregnant some time in May of last year. She was born September 18th, 2008. I did not name her, I did not want her. I told the hospital people that I was giving her to her father. You, Dean, are her father, you have full custody of her. I want no part of being a mother.

Have a nice life Dean Singer

- Kristi

The name didn’t ring any bells, but Dallas did. The night Dean couldn’t remember was a night after a rough hunt, Sam was still hell bent on getting Dean off of his contract. She was born the day he came back from Hell.

Not sure how she found him, but the baby was no Dean’s responsibility.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Sam asked, having walked in at some point while Dean was reading his letter.

“I don’t know Sam.” Dean grumbles.

He didn’t want to raise her in this life. But knowing he’s a dad to his own child, a daughter no less. He didn’t want to give her up. Someone’s gonna know who she is just by looking at her.

“Dean, shut her up please!” Sam shouted.

“I’m trying, she’s been fed, I don’t know what else she could possibly want!” Dean shouted back.

The poor baby had been crying for what seemed like hours, but really it’s been about 15 minutes or so.

“Come on baby girl, don’t be like that.” Dean tried to soothe her.

“Maybe she needs a diaper change.” Bobby suggested.

“Oh god.” Sam goes.

Dean just looked up at Bobby and Sam in horror and with pleading eyes.

“Don’t worry son, it’s easy.” Bobby says.

“What’ll you name her?” Sam asked later that night.

“I don’t know, I like Mary but that was mom’s name.” Dean says.

Dean held her as he paced Bobby’s study, thinking of a good name.

Until she stirred, opening her eyes to him revealing such unique iris’s. He see’s his green color but also see’s blue. His green is outlining the rim of the iris while the deep ocean blue fills the center.

“Sapphire.” He says.

“What?” Sam goes.

“Her eyes, they’re blue…plus I see green…but the blue is like a sapphire blue.” He says.

“That’d be a pretty name, plus Sapphire is September’s birthstone.” Sam says.

“Sapphire then, her name is Sapphire.” Dean says.

“Next hard part, middle name.” Sam says. Dean rolls his eyes with a groan.

“Still with blue, how about sky.” Dean says.

“But spelled fancy. How about S-K-Y-E?” Sam says.

“Sapphire Skye Winchester.” Dean says out loud.

“Eh, not bad, her name has meaning though.” Sam says.

“Yeah it does.” Dean goes, looking down, admiring his daughter in his arms.

She smiles at him, reaches for his face. Choking Dean up.

She knows her daddy. He thought.

“Hey Blue, yea I’m your daddy.” He tells her.

First words. Took Dean by surprise.

He stayed home while Sam and Bobby worked a case out of Louisiana.

“Da!” she shouts. Dean whipped his head towards her with a deer in headlights look. Shocked.

“What was that?” he asks. Walking over to her high chair.

“Da! Dada!” she says. Pointing at him.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, tears formed in his eyes.

This is what it feels like? He thought.

“Yeah that’s right, I’m your dad.” He says. With an ear to ear grin.

And she went back to making raspberry noises with her lips, spraying spit everywhere. Only making him smile more.

I thought I would miss this, thank god I didn’t. Dean thought.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. “Get down here!”

Dean hurried from bed, Sam had gotten his little niece up early to eat when he noticed something. He sat her in Bobby’s study, and she had walked, on her own, to him in the kitchen, which is not very far.

Dean entered the study to find Sam holding on to her little hands.

“Go on, walk to daddy.” Sam says to her.

She turns to face him with a smile, excited to see her dad. And she slowly walks over to him.

He kneels down to her level, hold out his hands. “Come here baby, you can do it.” he encourages her.

She’d fall to her hands and knees, stumble again after a few more steps. Then in arm’s length she lets herself fall into Dean’s hands. Picking her up, holding her up in the air in celebration.

“You did it baby girl!” Dean shouted.

“What is going on down here.” Bobby grumbled.

Entering the study with the boys.

“Walk to Uncle Bobby sweetheart, you can do it.” Dean says, gently placing her on her feet.

And she slowly walked to her uncle, who smiled at her growth and progress.

And just like what she did with Dean, she did with Bobby. She let herself fall into Bobby’s hands, and he picks her up.

“You did it princess!” Bobby goes, smiling.

It’s little moments, the firsts, that make everyone whole again.

Human again.

“Happy birthday to you!” the small family sang In the bunker’s kitchen.

“Happy birthday dear Sapphire! Happy birthday to you!” they sang.

She closes her eyes to make a wish.

And she blows out four lit candles.

“What’d you wish for?” Sam asked.

“Can’t tell or it won’t come true Uncle Sammy.” She giggles.

Sam playfully shrugs, the kind that reads ‘okay fine, if you say so’.

“Alright, lets have some cake!” Jody announces.

“Uncle Sammy.” She shakes Sam’s arm.

“What is it princess?” Sam asked, kneeling to her level.

“When’s Daddy coming home?” She asked.

“Well, he told me he was getting a very special present for a very special birthday girl.” Sam says.

She lights up. “Presents.” She goes.

“Yes, so, lets be patient and wait. I’m sure he’ll call to let me know when it’s done.” Sam says.

After cake and ice cream, Dean sent out the text to Sam. Her present is ready.

“Okay, time for presents.” Sam announces.

Jody gave her some new clothes, and a new doll from build a bear.

Garth got her some dolls from build a bear as well. One even being the exact same one Jody got her.

Kevin got her a children’s book, Stellaluna.

Sam got her another children’s book, The Teacher from the Black Lagoon and Where the Wild Things Are.

All books Dean can read to her.

He enters the library where they opened presents.

“Daddy!” she shouted, hopping out of the chair and into Dean’s arms.

“Hey there birthday girl, ready for my present?” he asked.

She gasped with a smile. “Yeah!” she shouts.

“Okay, follow me.” He tells her.

She does, she follows him down the hallway. They stood outside a room, that was once used for storage.

“Whenever your ready sweetheart.” Dean says.

She opens to door eagerly, walking into to a princess’s dream bedroom.

She had beanbag chairs, too oversized for her, in a corner of the room where a small TV sat, along with a DVD player. Her small bookshelf her uncle Sammy installed when they first moved to the bunker and gave her some of their favorite children’s books when they were kids. A ‘big girl’ bed, no longer in the toddler bed in Dean’s room, she now has her own room, her own space. Pink and purple accents littered the room.

She squeals happily.

“I love it Daddy, I love it.” she screams, clapping and jumping up and down.

Then running to her dad, giving him a hug.

“Happy Birthday Blue.” He says.

“Thank you daddy.” She says.

Feedback please! Need to know if I should keep posting some of these up. ASK/REBLOG OR COMMENT.

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 01/05/20

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alloveroliver · 6 years ago

Text

Oliver x MC “This Is More Fun”

NSFW Explicit; Oliver Knight

WC: 1,482

Ikemen Revolution Fanfic

His brows seemed to be permanently furrowed since she walked into his garage. They hadn’t been dating for too long yet, but Oliver already gave her permission to enter his workroom at will. However, this didn’t mean he wanted her in there all the time, there was definitely some dangerous stuff he didn’t want her near.

Still, she entered nonchalantly, quietly walking towards the concentrated man that had yet to see her come in. The massive amount of tiny objects on his desk she saw as she neared, told her he was busy building a gun from scratch.

This was time-consuming work, but Oliver got paid the most for it. His jacket and hat were forsaken somewhere in the workspace, leaving him in a white button up with the sleeves pushed up to his elbow.

His shoulders were stiff as she stepped behind him quietly. Watching over his shoulder at the intricate mesh he carefully designed. Oliver let out a long sigh when a particular piece was successfully installed in the makeshift web.

“You better be in here for a good reason.” Oliver placed the industrial tweezers down, then twisted in his seat.

His sly eyes locked with hers in a daring stare.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t overworking yourself. That seems very delicate.” She pushed a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at her boyfriend.

“Unfortunately, this whole job is basically me overworking myself. I’m used to it. You’ll see… in time.” Oliver dropped his gaze from her, moving back around to his workbench. “You should get home, it’s late.”

“Nah.” She answered, pushing her hand out in front of her, swatting the air.

They had dinner together earlier, and she said to talk to Blanc for a while so Oliver could get started on his project. However, now she wanted some of his attention before departing.

“Nah?” Oliver turned and watched her saunter away from him.

She made sure to pull her skirt up an inch higher than she normally wore it before she entered the room, just to get the idea into his head.

“That’s what I said.” She joked, sitting on the desk chair at the far end of the walkway.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, watching her skirt ride up as she crossed her legs. She stretched her arms up for good measure, pushing her chest out as she did.

“As long as you don’t bother me, you can stay.” He turned back to his workstation, plucking the tweezers back up.

She didn’t answer, instead, she let out a sigh as she stood again. Walking down one of the isles of junk, she eyed some truly unique items. Some sparkled in the light, others looked like pieces of an alien spacecraft.

“What does this do?” She picked up, what resembles a tiny vessel, and showed it to him.

He glanced over at her, then turned back with a shake of his head.

Was that a smirk?

“It makes pretty girls be quiet.” He stated curtly.

Shrugging she replaced the vessel, into its place gently. Another few steps and a small pair of glasses came into view, looking like something Blanc would wear.

“Did you try to mod Blanc’s glasses? Are they magic or something” She laughed, putting the frames the front of her eyes.

Oliver gave her a side eye, adjusting his body in the chair.

“Yeah, they’re magic. They give you perfect vision if you wear them.” His lips lifted in a brief smirk as she put them on.

“Everything just looks blurry to me..” She pulled them back off, shaking her head.

“It only works if you have Blanc’s exact prescription.” He allowed a real smile to touch his lips as he continued to work.

“So they’re just plain ol’ glasses.” She rolled her eyes, tossing them back to the stacks.

“He probably lost them in here ages ago and ended up buying new ones.” He reasoned.

Walking back over to Oliver, she slid her hand over his back. Her hands wrapped around his neck from behind as she planted a kiss on his head.

“So what are you doing here?” She asked a question she already knew the answer to.

Her head rested to the side of his and he paused.

“I’m making a gun with a hypnotic effect.” His voice was quieter than before. “That I can’t finish on time if you stay in here like you are.” he turned in his chair, standing to his feet.

Her hands broke from around him as she stepped back.

“C’mon! Time for you to go home.” He gestured for the door, hoping she would walk towards it.

“Nah.” She smiled, touching his bare forearm with her fingertips.

“You can’t just say ‘nah’ and stay in here and distract me. I have work to do-” His words were cut off by her lips.

She neared him as he spoke and pressed up on her toes to capture him in a surprise kiss. Oliver stood still, not reciprocating the kiss in his stunned state. Her hand slid over the buttons of his shirt undoing the top one as her tongue begged for entrance into his mouth.

He snapped out of his haze, he put both hands on her sides and picked her up. He spun around, pushing his lips back into her with intensity. Their tongues met each other at the same time as they mapped the corners of each others mouth.

Oliver walked her back towards the empty side of the work surface, running his hands over her back and ass as he did. His fingers slipped under her skirt for a moment, then ran up the front of her chest.

Her hands wandered over his body briskly, yet once she met his bulge, she gently cupped it in her hand massaging gently. With a stifled moan, Oliver picked her up, setting her on the desk. Her hand stopped as he lifted her skirt, sliding his fingers over her thighs.

“Oliver.,” she whispered gently into his kiss.

He pushed her legs apart and pressed his hips between her thighs, rubbing against her core. Grinding on her, his kisses became more intense with every thrust.

“If you say my name like that, I’ll never get anything done.” He held one arm on her back and pushed her other leg open further.

Gliding over her skin, he kissed her deeply while the tips of his fingers trailed the line of her panties. With a push, his pointing finger dipped under the cloth and smoothed over the wetness between her folds.

In her state of arousal, Oliver could tell she had been fantasizing for a while now.

“What do you want me to do?” He pushed the panties aside.

“Finger me.” She didn’t pause before answering, holding his neck tightly.

Two of his nimble fingers slid into her hole slowly, pushing against the spongy zone immediately.

“And…” She let out a sigh, moving her hands to her blouse to unbutton the top.

She exposed her chest to him, pushing her bra down, out of the way.

“Use your mouth” Pushing out her chest, she hoped he would understand.

Oliver bend at the waist, fingering her slowly while he trailed kisses down her neck towards her chest. His tongue traced the outline of her nipple, then he blew his breath over the wet spot, sending a patch of chilled bumps up to her neck.

“Use your tongue.” She spoke urgently, losing herself to his magic fingers.

“Here?” He licked over her pert nipple generously.

“Yes, Oh my- You’re perfect..” Her moans filled the room while he pleasured her on his table.

Her body responded to his touch more and more as he added pressure to her sensitive zones. Using his thumb, he circled her clit. Watching her come undone due to his simple actions blew up his ego to the maximum.

“I’m really close… I’m gonna cum..” Her desire dripped onto the table below her as his hands sped up at her urgent words.

“So quickly?” He teased as his confidence soared.

She grew quiet, almost holding her breath while he still finger fucked her, and lapped at her nipple. Oliver lightly bit the pert nub with his teeth, throwing her over the edge in an instant. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers as his thumb rubbed the bundle of nerves.

“Say my name.” He requested, gently.

“O-Oliver! ah...ha Oliver” She tried her best, moaning his name between waves of pleasure that racked her body.

He kept up his ministrations, determined to ride out her orgasm to completion. This was definitely better than making that damn gun, and it was sure as hell a lot less stressful.

Thank you, Anon for the request!!!!!

An Oliver fan, I dig it! XD

#ikemen revolution #oliver knght #oliver x mc #smut #mature #rated e #alloveroliver

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quickeningheart · 6 years ago

Text

Two

Charley woke to the scent of fresh coffee and what smelled like baked oatmeal, which was one scent she hadn't experienced since leaving home. She sniffed the air and padded into the kitchen, finding Alley already at the table, sipping from a mug that looked like it contained more milk than actual coffee. Her hair was piled in a messy bun atop her head, and she wore a pair of tiny boxer shorts and a tank top for pajamas. Charley wondered if she ought to warn her about her sleeping attire in future. Last thing she needed was her boys to get an eyeful of her cousin dressed like that. Vinnie would be incorrigible! And poor, modest Modo would most likely have a stroke. Throttle, well … that guy was such an emotional enigma, he could probably go either way.

"This smells good." Charley inhaled deeply, pulling back the dish towel draped over a pan of steaming oatmeal. "Your mom's recipe?"

"Naturally."

"Did I know I even had ingredients to make this?"

"Doubt it. I pulled 'em from the back of your pantry. They're probably expired, so if we die of food poisoning, I apologize ahead of time," Alley teased.

"Funny."

"By the way, I have to know. I was digging through your fridge and … do you have some sort of a root beer fetish or something? I'm not sure I even wanna know about the hotdogs..."

"Ah, yeah." Charley smiled sheepishly. "I've got some friends and they kind of live on the stuff. So, I keep the place well-stocked for their visits."

"Hmm." Alley sipped her coffee. "Are these the same 'friends' who are unfairly bigoted toward rats?"

"Oh, stop it." Charley chuckled as she cut a large square of the oatmeal. "They're good guys. They've just … had some major issues with rat infestation at home, so they're kind of on bad terms with the whole lot of 'em. Besides that, the boys are really looking forward to meeting you, so maybe try and play nice, huh?"

"The boys, is it? Hey. You're not trying to set me up or anything, are you?" Alley regarded her with a teasing glimmer in her eye.

Charley laughed outright. "Trust me, kid. I doubt these guys are anywhere close to your type."

~*~*~*~*~

The Last Chance Garage was usually closed for business on Sundays, to give Charley a chance to catch up on backlogged work and make any necessary repairs or upgrades to the guys' bikes. Really, the way they treated those beautiful machines, she was surprised they didn't turn around and dump their riders on their furry asses in protest.

This time, Alley dragged her downtown to a nicer part of the city, where they spent the day furniture shopping for the spare room. Alley managed to find a decent bed and a three-drawer dresser in an antique shop, which she insisted on paying for despite Charley's offer to buy. "I've been working jobs since I was fifteen, and I've got a nice amount of money saved up. And since I'm attending school on scholarships, I can afford to blow a little," she said.

"You're gonna have to blow more on decent clothes for yourself in a couple of months," Charley reminded her. "You aren't exactly packed for winter weather, you know."

"Hmmm, winter." Alley tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You know, I think I've heard of that…"

Charley snorted. "Laugh it up, but when the temp drops below fifty degrees, you'll be begging for a pair of good thermal underwear. I somehow don't think Daisy Dukes and a tank top will cut it."

She eyed Alley's ensemble, again reminding herself to have a talk about her cousin's wardrobe choices around the guys. Alley was already drawing enough attention from every male who passed them. They all gawked openly at the slender young woman, whose golden-tanned skin was complimented nicely by the white short-shorts and baby-pink camisole top she wore. Her colorful hair was still pulled into its bun, revealing the delicate tattoo of a blue and purple filigree butterfly gracing the back of her neck. In mid-August, the Chicago streets were stifling with heat, but she seemed unaffected, having grown up in a near-tropical climate for almost a decade. Charley felt positively frumpy in comparison.

"Well, lets get this stuff back to the garage," she sighed, closing the rear gate of her pickup. "It's almost supper time."

"Question. How the hell are we going to get all this up into the apartment?" Alley asked. "The hall at the top of the stairs is kinda narrow."

"Well, If we have to, we can disassemble the bed frame and dresser and carry them up in pieces."

"And what about the boxspring and mattress?" Alley eyed them skeptically. "Glad I went for the single. A full would never make it."

"Don't worry. There's a fire escape outside your window. And the window itself should be tall enough. We can probably hoist them in that way."

"All by ourselves?" Alley groaned, not liking the idea at all.

"Nah. I'll be enlisting some manual labor to help move all this stuff. They'll be here first thing tomorrow."

~*~*~*~*~

As expected, Vinnie, Modo, and Throttle were less than thrilled with the idea of moving heavy furniture. Even the promise of root beer and hotdogs didn't cease Vinnie's grumbling … although the promise of finally getting to meet Alley did.

Within an hour of calling, Charley heard their bikes rumble up to the garage, passing a recently-added sensor that automatically opened the wide metal doors; a bell installed above the doors went off, loudly announcing the arrival of customers. It also doubled as a fire alarm. Such a handy system, this was. Charley wished she'd thought of installing it years ago. She'd have probably saved herself a lot of trashed garage doors due to the guys' constant, overenthusiastic entrances.

"Hey, right on time," she called from the stairs.

Vinnie hopped off his bike, pulling his helmet off. He had a funny look on his face. So did the other two, for that matter. "Sweetheart, what the hell is that … that thing parked out front?" he demanded, his tail twitching.

Charley blinked as she climbed down to the garage. "What thing?" She glanced outside, and then it dawned on her. She had to laugh at the matching expressions of disgust on their furry faces. "What, you never seen a VW Bus before?"

"It's … it's…" Vinnie was clearly at a loss for words.

"Colorful?" she supplied helpfully, her lips still twitching.

"I'd have gone with 'eye-gouging', but yeah," Throttle replied.

"Who would actually own something like that?" Modo added with a snort.

Charley raised an eyebrow. "My cousin, actually."

His eye widened. "Er, meanin' no disrespect to Alley Ma'am or anything…"

"Relax," she chuckled. "Alley has some … unique tastes, that's all. I'm inclined to agree with your description, but don't tell her I said that."

"You gonna just leave it sit out there? It'll probably drive away business," Vinnie snorted. "No self-respectin' biker would be caught dead in a garage with that sitting in front of it."

"I'll manage," she said wryly. "It arrived almost dead in the water, so it ain't going anywhere for awhile. Although if you macho mice could help me push it into the garage sometime today, I'd be grateful. I need to check the engine over when I get a little free time."

"Be glad to help," Modo offered.

"Great. But, first order of business. Give me five minutes and then come on up. I gotta go give Alley a heads-up about your arrival."

"You did tell her about us, right?" Throttle asked.

"Weeell…"

"Charley-girl!"

"Look, there is no way to describe three walking, talking alien mice without sounding bat-shit crazy," Charley laughed. "I'll warn her, okay? But she's gotta see for herself, or she'll never believe it."

The trio glanced at each other as Charley disappeared up the stairs. Well. This was bound to get interesting.

~*~*~*~*~

"Hey, Alley Cat?" Charley poked her head into the bedroom. Her cousin was seated cross-legged on the floor, feeding Mercedes a slice of apple with peanut butter spread over it. "Is that healthy?" she asked.

"A little treat every once in awhile won't kill her. She's had a long trip." Alley scooped the rat up, kissed the top of her little head, and deposited her into a rather impressive three-tiered cage sitting in the corner. "What's up?"

"Oh, the guys are here. Wanna come meet them?"

"Sure!" Alley jumped up, but stopped when she found her way blocked. "Okay, what?" she asked, noting the uneasy expression on the other woman's face.

"I need to warn you … the guys are a little … unusual," Charley hedged.

"How so?"

"Well, they look a little different."

"Such as?"

Charley thought for a moment. "Excessive body hair?" she offered after a moment.

Alley giggled. "Okay, so they don't wax. Not like I've never seen that before. Hello! I grew up on the beach! You'd be amazed at the amount of body hair I've been forced to look at over the years."

"That's not exactly what I meant." Charley scratched her head, clearly at a loss. She glanced at the cage and brightened. "Think of Mercedes!" she exclaimed. "Only … male. And a lot taller. With more muscle. And biker clothes."

"What, you're telling me you've got giant biker rats in your living room? Better call the exterminator!" Alley laughed and ducked under Charley's arm, heading down the short hallway to the living room … where she came to a screeching halt and gaped in stunned wonder at the three furry … creatures standing by the stairs.

"Charley. Y-you've got … giant biker rats in your living room!"

Charley slapped a hand over her eyes. "Whoa boy. Now you've gone and done it," she groaned, not sure if she was talking to Alley, or herself.

Alley squeaked and hastily backpedaled when the huge gray rat with a metal arm stepped forward, its single red eye taking on a demonic glow. "Rats!" it growled. "My mama didn't-"

"Easy there, big guy," the one covered in tawny gold fur hastily cut in, his voice full of warning. "She doesn't know."

"Yeah, simmer down, Modo, you're scarin' the poor kid!" The last one to speak had glossy white fur and a metal plate covering half his face. He offered a reassuring smile to the ashen-faced woman, who merely moved further back until she bumped into her cousin.

"Alley Cat?" Charley shook her shoulder gently. "Breathe, honey. It's okay."

Alley shook her head slowly. "Jiminy Christmas, Charley," she uttered softly. Right before her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted dead away.

#bikermice #biker mice from mars #fanfiction #original characters #humor #romance #Throttle #Vinnie #Modo #Charley #stoker

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dust2dust34 · 8 years ago

Text

Pieces of Always: October 2032 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: As of right now, I am taking more of a beta-like role because I’m having serious concentration issues with my other fics. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is taking the drafting lead and she’s been kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

Excerpt:

Jules just blinks for a second before going back to staring at the door in front of her.

Sara suddenly finds it hard to breath as she follows her gaze, her hands shaking as she grips Nate.

Ellie’s behind that door, she knows it as much as she knows she’s holding Nate right now, and she’s hurt. Badly. Every inch of Sara’s being tells her to go to her best friend, to prove to herself that she’s going to be okay, to hold onto her because she came so close to losing her forever. But she doesn’t. She freezes, utter terror holding her in place. She can’t move. She can’t do it. Opening that door and walking through that threshold makes it real. It means Ellie and Jules had really been kidnapped, they’d really been held against their will and tortured by a madman. Her mom might have been light on the details, but Sara had long ago learned to read between the lines.

(read on AO3)

A/N: Please read!

This chapter contains a storyline that requires warnings for physical and psychological torture of minors (teens). It is not graphic (this story takes place immediately after the assaults) and aside from the characters in question being underage, I don't think it's any worse than what the show has done. I would also add, because I have been asked this every time I have written any kind of scene involving a woman being kidnapped or assaulted in any way, that there is absolutely no sexual assault of any kind. That's not something I am comfortable taking on in a story and it should not be inferred here.

That said, I understand that this is sensitive subject matter for some. If you choose to skip this week’s, we completely understand. We will have a brief summary of vital details at the start of next week’s very sweet and fluffy chapter.

All Our Love, Janis and Bre

The Fallout - October 2032

Sara Diggle hasn’t said a word since the moment she got into her mother’s car. It’s not that there’s nothing to say; it’s that there’s too much. She’s so mad she can’t even speak, so scared she can barely breathe. She feels too much all at once and she doesn’t know how to sort through any of it.

The silence screams loudly, though. It fills her ears, making tiny, everyday hints of the world outside seem deafening. A car horn, the hum of the car’s heater, her brother’s jeans rustling where he shuffles in his booster seat in the back - the total absence of conversation heightens all of it. Right up until her mother sighs, that is, and pulls into the hospital parking garage. It’s absurdly packed and Sara wonders how long they’ll have to circle before finding a damned spot.

Her patience won’t allow it to be long.

“Honey, if we’d told you-”

“Don’t.” She’s so angry her voice quakes and it only amps up her ire more. Her whole being feels off-kilter; does her damned voice really have to follow suit?

“There was nothing you could’ve done.” Her mother is nothing if not stubborn and Sara, in her clearer moments, can admit she comes by that trait honestly. “We needed you and Connor safe.”

“Ellie and Jules weren’t safe!” Sara snaps, her anger boiling over. Blood rushes to her cheeks, the roar of her own pulse rushing through her veins pounds in her ears. “I could have helped! I could have been out there looking for them. I could have-”

Her mother abruptly hits the brakes, making the car rock as she stops in the middle of the ramp to the garage’s third floor. “Why the hell do you think I didn’t tell you?” she demands, turning to face her. She ignores the honking of a car horn behind them as she stares at her daughter. “I love you, Sara, but you are way too close to this. You being in the field would have put all of us in more danger, including Ellie and Jules.”

It’s not true. Sara wants to scream it at the top of her lungs, stomp her feet and deny her mother’s words with every last breath in her body. Even though a quiet voice in the back of her head whispers that her mother might have a point, Sara pushes it away, shoving it down and pushing herself forward.

“I’ll be eighteen in two weeks,” she points out, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door handle. “Good luck keeping me locked away then.”

“Sara,” her mother starts, but the teenage girl ignores it, pushing open the door and stepping out. “Sara, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to be there for the people who need me,” Sara snaps back, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. “I’ll see you up there.”

The teen solidly ignores her mother’s barely audible creative swearing as she heads toward the parking garage stairwell. Part of her almost feels bad. She knows why her parents made the decision they did and she’s well aware that it wasn’t out of any kind of malice or mistrust. They wanted her safe. They wanted control over the situation, as much as they could have it.

But, damn it, this is Ellie! And Sara had been sitting in class doing homework while her best friend in the whole world had been kidnapped.

She blames herself, she realizes as she tromps down the stairs as quickly as she can, her sneakers squeaking against the smooth concrete. It’s ridiculous because she couldn’t have known what was going on. Sure, it was a bit weird that neither Ellie nor Jules were at school that morning. She’d figured something was up, but it’s not like her mind should have realized immediately, ‘Oh, clearly my best friend has been kidnapped.’

Except this is their lives. Except there’s been an ever-present danger in every shadow since before any of them were born. Except, if she had connected the dots and called her mom and dad right away, maybe they’d have found her sooner.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been hurt at all.

Sara swallows down the sick feeling that creeps up the back of her throat. She ignores the tears burning her eyes as she hikes her backpack further up her shoulder, finally reaching the bottom floor. Wrenching the door open, she spills out of the stairwell and onto the street. She jogs across the crosswalk to the hospital entrance. Fall leaves crinkle under her feet and there’s a solid bite to the October air, but she barely notices either. She’s too in her own head for that right now.

The doors to the hospital slide open before her and she’s in an elevator before she even has time to think about it. She knows the layout of this place well, after all these years. It’s not like either of her parents are infrequent visitors, given the work they do.

Before long, the elevator dings and she takes an immediate right when she gets off. She knows exactly where to go, not needing the large colored stripes on the floor to guide. She finally rounds a corner that will take her where she wants to be…

The moment she does, though, her feet stop dead in their tracks.

She’d been so dedicated on getting here, so single-minded about it, that she never stopped to consider what it would be like when she did.

The sight before her blurs her focus, throws her even more off kilter, because all of a sudden it’s a lot more real.

Jules sits on an oversized chair in the hall, bandages wrapped around her wrists and body practically swimming in a dull blue-grey hospital gown, as she stares at a closed door. Nate’s curled up against her, looking like he’s trying to bury himself in her presence. He seems so much smaller than ten, right now. They both look like lost, little children. Nate’s saying something quietly to Jules, but she doesn’t even look his way, much less respond. After a moment of silence, he tucks himself under her arm and pulls it tightly around himself. Jules allows it, but she also does nothing to encourage it.

She just… sits.

Sara’s feet are moving before her brain can catch up.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice sounds odd to her own ears - raspy and worn, which is the opposite of true - earning her both Nate and Jules’ attention. Sara’s stomach pitches when Jules looks up at her.

It’s more like she’s looking through her, like she’s not really there.

“Sara!” Nate declares. He lets Jules’ arm fall away and barrels down the hall into Sara’s arms, letting out a little sob as she wraps both arms around him and strokes his hair. He might not have been taken - and thank God for that; she can’t imagine sweet little Nate in that position - but it’s clear he’s in desperate need of comfort right now.

“I got here as soon as I could,” she tells him, cradling the back of his head. He responds by leaning into her; she bears his weight entirely, playing the part of the pillar of support he so obviously craves right now. She looks up to find Jules is still staring at her with the same frighteningly expressionless look on her face. “Where is everyone?”

Jules just blinks for a second before going back to staring at the door in front of her.

Sara suddenly finds it hard to breath as she follows her gaze, her hands shaking as she grips Nate.

“Grandma Moira went to take a call from Uncle Roy,” Nate replies. “He kept trying to get through, but Grandma’s cell wouldn’t work in here. Your dad had to… get back to the place, with the stuff from today.” The lair, he means. Nate pauses before adding, “Mom and Dad are in there with Ellie.”

“They left you two out here alone?” Sara asks.

“Yup,” Jules says dryly, speaking for the first time, sparing Sara another look. Her eyes are painfully dead, and it’s enough to send a shiver slithering down Sara’s spine. It’s the kind of closed off she hasn’t seen from Jules in years.

“Grandma and Uncle Digg were supposed to stay with us,” Nate says, looking up at her with wide eyes. “They just stepped away for a minute and Mom and Dad will be back. The doctor wanted to talk to them.”

The thought of the doctor needing to talk to them about Ellie’s wellbeing socks her in the gut and just like that, a surge of adrenaline spikes through her. The almost irresistible urge to throw herself at Ellie’s door takes over - she just needs to see her, to just make sure for herself that she’s okay.

She wants to so bad she can taste it.

But she stays put anyhow.

Sara blinks hard, staring at the door before giving Nate a nod. And then she looks back to Jules’ vacant gaze. She can’t storm into Ellie’s room when the doctor’s in there with her parents, no matter how much she wants to. But Nate and Jules both need someone right now, too. Even if one of them is a whole lot more up front about that than the other.

“Give me a second, Nate,” Sara says, squeezing his shoulder before letting go of him and walking over to Jules. Nate hangs behind in the middle of the hall, aware that this part of the conversation really isn’t for him. He looks so lost, so small, and Sara’s heart hurts for all of them. She squeezes into the seat next to Jules. “You okay?” she asks quietly.

“Always am,” Jules replies. Her voice is dull, empty and it sends another chill right down Sara’s spine.

“Jules…” Sara’s hand brushes the bandage on the other girl’s wrist and Jules flinches, pulling her arm away. “Shouldn’t you be in a hospital bed?”

“Ellie’s the one in the bed,” Jules tells her. “I’m fine in a chair. The focus is on her… where it should be.”

There’s something about the way she says it, a distant resignation that sits poorly with Sara, and despite the fact that she and Jules have never been particularly close, she still considers them friends. Concern wells up, leaves her needing to fill in the gaps to what’s going on with the girl. She’d feel that way even if it weren’t for Ellie, but she also knows that Ellie would be worried for Jules.

Ellie can’t be there for her right now, so Sara sure as hell is going to be.

“They said…” Sara starts, breaking off and shaking her head as she fortifies herself. “My mom said you were both chained to the floor. She said there was a knife…”

“She’ll live,” Jules replies, misreading Sara’s question. “He… Ellie’s neck will have a scar. And she lost a lot of blood. It looked like so much blood…” She looks down at her hands and flexes her fingers. For the first time, Sara sees how sore the other girl’s skin looks, like she’d scrubbed the flesh of hands until they’d grown raw. Sara’s breath catches in her throat. Ellie’s blood. Jules had been trying to get all of Ellie’s blood off of her hands. Sara cringes, her stomach revolting at the very idea of Ellie’s blood being anywhere but inside her body where it belongs, before forcing herself to refocus on Jules.

The other girl’s hands shake.

Watching her now, Sara wonders if she realizes she did get all the blood off.

“She’ll live,” Jules repeats, setting her hands down gently in her own lap. The movement is jarring, like watching a robot learning how to use its limbs for the first time, not that Jules seems to notice. She just goes back to looking back at the door in front of her.

“And you?” Sara asks softly. She wants to take Jules’ hand, to wrap an arm around her, but the other girl is the most defensive and closed-off Sara can remember and she knows without a doubt that would not be welcome right now. It’d probably make things worse.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Jules tells her absently. “I wasn’t the one he cared about.”

That makes no sense in Sara’s head, but she lets it slip past because there’s so much Jules isn’t saying and the picture doesn’t make sense in Sara’s head so far.

“What did he do to you?” Sara asks. The second the words are out, she wants to take them back. She can’t think of a more intrusive question and she has never been the person Jules would lean on, but it’s already out there. Jules’ face cracks, so slightly it’s barely noticeable, but it’s enough, and Sara wonders if maybe Jules needs to answer it, to herself even if she doesn’t say it aloud.

“He talked,” she finally says, looking at Sara. “A lot. One truth after another.”

Sara frowns. “What does that-” she starts, but her question is cut off by a new voice in the hall.

“Jules.”

Will damn near barrels down the hall, heading straight for them. Jules is back to moving in slow motion as she looks up, but the way her breath hitches when she sees who’s saying her name gives her away. The instant he reaches her, Will pulls his sister up out of her seat, gathering her up in his arms. He lets out a sob of relief, closing his eyes as he presses his face into her hair, breathing in his little sister’s scent. “Oh my god, Jules.”

“I’m okay,” she says, her voice cracking.

It’s the first sliver of emotion Sara’s seen from the other girl since she got here and it’s the only one she lets out. Jules purses her lips together tightly and ducks her head, pressing her cheek into her brother’s chest. It’s all she allows herself, as close as she’ll come to opening up. It’s strange for Jules to be so reserved with Will, of all people. She’s always been closest with him.

Will must find it strange too, because he backs off slightly to look at her. He cups her face, tilting it upward, so she looks at him. She doesn’t want to. That much is obvious. Her hands are shaking more as they settle over his and she sucks in a nervous breath, but she doesn’t pull his hands away or step back.

Instead, she looks up at her brother with barely concealed terror. She’s been affected by this so much deeper than she wants to admit and she knows he will see it, but she also can’t seem to look away.

Sara can see Will’s heart breaking all over his face but he covers it by taking a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the bandages on her wrists. When he looks her in the eye again, it’s all intensity and determination.

“Are you?” he asks. It’s more of a challenge, and Jules absolutely takes it that way. “Jules, whatever happened, whatever he did-”

“I’m fine,” Jules tells him a little too harshly. She blinks hard and taking a steadying breath. “I am. The bandages are… we were tied up. There were chains. And I tried to get free to help Ellie, but I couldn’t. My wrists are just cut up. I did that myself. He didn’t want to hurt me. Just Ellie. I’m fine. It was about Ellie.”

It’s impossible to miss how concerned he is, which tells Sara she’d been right. There’s a whole lot more going on with Jules than she’d tried to let on.

“Julie,” Will says with a short, humorless laugh before pinching his eyes shut and kissing her forehead. “I’m not even fine. I know you’re not either. And that’s okay. We’ll be okay. Just don’t shut yourself away, alright? You’re so brave and so strong. Stronger than me. I can’t even begin to tell you how scared I was.”

Jules’ face crumples as she lets out a little sniffle. She chokes down a sob, her nose turning red as she nods wordlessly. It’s a tiny motion, though, and Sara can’t help but wonder how much she means it. Will seems to sense the same thing because he pulls her close, hugging her tightly, trying to engulf her with what he wants her to understand instead of speaking it. His bulk overwhelms her, making her look so very small.

Nate hovers a few feet away from his siblings and Will must see him out of the corner of his eye because he reaches out with one hand and pulls the younger boy into a hug with them. The ten-year-old burrows into the embrace, digging his face into Will’s abdomen.

The moment doesn’t last, though, as Moira Queen reenters the hall.

Will immediately stiffens in his grandmother’s presence as she freezes, adopting an absurdly prideful look. She’s aged gracefully, the only signs her silver-laced white hair and her thinner frame. But even if there was more, her attitude would easily make up for it as she stands taller in the face of her estranged grandson.

It’s good to see some things are normal, anyhow.

“William,” the mayor greets primly. The hall drops several degrees and Sara shudders. “I was unaware you were here.”

“Where else would I be?” he asks, letting go of his sister and brother to step between them and his grandmother. Sara doesn’t miss the way Nate wraps himself around Jules, clinging to her. Jules just watches them blankly, her arms limp at her sides. “Where were you? She was just kidnapped and you left her alone with her baby brother? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Nate’s “I’m not a baby!” protest goes completely ignored as Will squares off against the Queen matriarch. Sara’s pretty sure he’s been spoiling for a fight since the moment he found out his sisters were in danger and Moira’s presence only serves to make that impulse worse. She’s always brought out the worst in him.

Moira narrows her eyes. “I don’t like your tone,” she says, stepping closer. “Or your implications, for that matter.”

“Screw implications,” Will snaps, his voice echoing down the long hallway. “I’m saying it flat out. You can’t even stick around to support your traumatized teenage granddaughter. You’re the worst excuse for a relative I can even begin-”

“I don’t care for your accusations today, William,” she interrupts. “And I don’t have the energy for them.” She waves at Jules, her facade cracking ever so slightly as she says, “Julianna is fine - although what she’s doing out of a bed, I haven’t a clue.” Will bristles, glaring at her, like she’s the one who forced Jules out of bed. Moira looks back to him. “Can we not do this today? I am not the monster you think me to be, regardless of what your mother might have told you.”

“Oh…” Sara breathes, wincing, her eyes snapping to William.

That was the absolutely wrong thing to say. Even she knows that. But Moira Queen is stubborn to a fault, and while Sara’s sure she’s hurting as bad as everyone else, she can’t seem to help the patronizing tone she always takes on whenever Will appears.

Sara braces for the fallout as Will takes a step toward his grandmother.

“Don’t you dare bring my moth-”

The door to Ellie’s room opening cuts him off as his father steps out.

“What is going on out here?” Oliver demands, looking between his oldest child and his mother. They both wilt, sheepish and even a little ashamed that their ongoing spat reared its head now.

Sara Diggle has known Oliver Queen her entire life. Despite the fact that he’s well into the latter half of his 40s and nearly all his hair is gray, he’s never once looked old to her until this moment. There’s an exhaustion that’s more emotional than physical etched into his face. His eyes are bloodshot and the smile lines she so often sees on his face are nowhere to be found.

It brings out a fresh sense of panic that races through Sara’s blood and she’s up and stepping towards him before she can think. “Ellie?” she asks. Everyone looks at her, but she only has eyes for Oliver. “Is she okay?”

Her question seems to both deflate the tension and amplify the fear-fueled stress in the air. And isn’t that what’s driving the animosity in the too-loud battle between Will and Moira? But as many problems as there are, the only thing Sara wants is to see her best friend.

“Yeah,” Oliver replies, his voice too soft. His shoulders fall. “She is now.” The way he says it is chilling, like there’d been a whole lot of question about that for a while. He seems to collapse into himself even more as he continues, “She, uh…”

He cuts himself off, though, as a doctor appears behind him, exiting the room. The man puts a comforting hand on Oliver’s shoulder, offering him a sympathetic smile as he pulls the door shut behind him.

“I’ll be back later to check on her,” the doctor says.

“Thank you,” Oliver replies, giving him all he can muster for a smile at the moment. The doctor nods, more than understanding, before leaving the fractured family alone. Oliver scrubs his face and takes a fortifying breath and says the rest on an exhale. His voice cracks. “She lost a lot of blood. She was in shock when we got her here. They had to do a blood transfusion. They, uh… they didn’t have enough in stock, but Felicity has the same blood type, so she volunteered. It was enough. For now.”

Sara’s chest hollows out. For now. What does that mean? For a split second, Sara’s entire world narrows down to trying to remember what her blood type is. She knows it - her parents made sure of that - but she can’t remember it. A quiet, logical part of her knows she and Ellie aren’t compatible, but what if? Sara wrings her hands. She has to do something.

“It’s… she doesn’t look good.” Oliver sighs, but then he smiles at Sara. It’s so tired, so heavy, but it’s real. Shaky and a little uncertain, but it’s real. “But she’s okay. She’s better. Ellie’s better.” The words seem to trip him up and his smile falters. Sara’s heart practically falls out of her chest, because she can’t tell if he’s trying to convince them or himself. “She’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, Oliver,” Moira whispers, a hand pressed to her mouth.

“There was so much blood,” Jules mutters, staring blindly at the wall, lost in her own memories.

Will can’t seem to decide who needs his attention most. He settles for wrapping an arm around Jules as he looks at his father. “Where’s her chart?” he asks.

“Son…” Oliver shakes his head, barely getting the words out. “You don’t want to see it.”

“I see blood loss all the time, Dad. I do this for a living, remember? I’ll know exactly what the doctor’s saying.”

“That’s why I don’t want you to see it,” Oliver replies, his voice weak and tear-filled, saying everything he refuses to out loud.

It was bad, so much worse than she could comprehend. It’s enough to make Sara stumble backward until she finds she’s hit the chair she was sitting in earlier.

Will tries again. “Dad…”

“She lost consciousness in the car,” Oliver interrupts. It doesn’t escape Sara’s notice that Jules nods at that where she continues to stare at nothing. “Her pulse was weak, her skin was clammy…” Oliver’s voice dies and he closes his eyes for a second before leveling his son with a look. “Will, you really don’t want the details.”

There’s something desperate about the way Will shakes his head, like he can’t believe anything he’s being told until he knows, until he sees it for himself. He was so strong a moment ago, but now with his dad here, telling him facts, but not the right ones… Sara wonders if Will knows how hard he’s holding Jules as he bites out, “Were her lips and nails blue?”

“Will…”

He doesn’t want to say it.

“Dad, I can’t not know how bad it-”

“Yes,” Oliver says, cutting him off again. It’s sharp, his voice rough and as terrified as Sara’s ever heard it. “Yes. And her breathing was thready and shallow and… It was bad, Will, okay? But she’s okay now, and that’s all that matters.”

That should be a comfort, but it’s not as Will shakes his head - it’s like he can’t stop - as he starts talking. “You can’t know that,” he whispers. “Dad, she was in hypovolemic shock. She might be stable now, but there’s the risk of organ failure or a heart attack or-”

“Damn it, Will,” Oliver snaps, so loudly Nate starts to cry. Sara grabs him, pulling the terrified boy close. Later she won’t be sure if she did that for him or for her. Pain, regret and guilt flash over Oliver’s face as he glances at his youngest, but he doesn’t move. His voice is frighteningly low as he says, “She’s fine. I know because I’ve seen this injury before.”

Incredulity covers Will’s face. “I get that you’ve seen a lot, Dad, but just because it presents the same doesn’t mean her body’s going to react the same. There are dozens-”

“No,” Oliver corrects. “I’ve seen this injury before. Exactly this injury, on the other… The other Ellie has a scar identical to our Ellie’s wound.”

“What? But that…” Will pauses. “That’s… Okay, but you can’t know that it happened the same way.”

“Yes, we can,” Jules says blankly. “She told us.”

“What?” Will asks, looking down at his sister in confusion.

“She was here,” Jules replies, meeting his eyes without an ounce of emotion showing. “She came back to save herself, to save this Ellie.”

“And you,” Sara adds without thinking.

Jules blinks at Sara. “Sure,” she agrees. “I was there. So, Ellie saved me, too.”

“She’s here?” Moira asks in a near whisper, stepping forward to grab his sleeve. “Oliver, the other Ellie’s here?”

“She was,” Oliver says, giving her a sympathetic smile. “But she had to get home, Mom. The man who took the girls…” It hurts him to even say the words. “He’s from her timeline. She had to bring him back and seal off the breach he created.”

The disappointment on Moira’s face is obvious and Jules lets out a little huff, shaking her head.

Oliver catches it. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something before changing his mind. “Jules,” he says instead, “the doctor wanted you to stay in bed.”

“I’ve done enough sitting in one place today,” she counters. “He didn’t hurt me. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Sweetheart…” Oliver sighs, stepping toward her, but she instantly steps back. He immediately halts as she moves away from her father, away from her brothers, away from all of them into a space all her own. She wraps her arms around herself, pinning her father with a hard glare.

“I’m fine, Dad,” she bites out. “What I need is space.”

Oliver is crestfallen at that declaration, torn, and Sara knows the instant she sees him turn to Will, a lost look on his face, that he’s hanging on by a thread, that he has absolutely no idea how to deal with any of this. He’s the Arrow, a state senator, the mayor’s son and the husband of a fortune 500 CEO. But for all the power he wields, today was so far outside his control that he must feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under him. Shades of his worst nightmares have played out in front of him all day long and the strain of that is readily visible.

“Okay,” he replies after a minute. “Okay, you can have space, if that’s what you need. But… baby, please just go lie back down? Please let the doctors take care of you? I know you say you’re fine, and maybe you are, but I just… Sweetheart, for me. Please.”

“And for me,” Will echoes.

Jules’ eyes dart to Will at that, a dark look of something Sara can’t even begin to name flitting over her features. But something in the combined plea must work because after a long silence, she finally nods. Oliver lets out a muted sigh of relief as Jules scratches absently at the back of her bandage. It must be harder than she intends, because she hisses in pain when her nails scrape over her wounds.

“Will can sit in the corner…” she ventures with a shrug. “If he wants.”

“I want you close, but not too close. I don’t want to make it seem like I want it,” is what Sara hears.

It echoes the Jules she’d known as a little girl and a sense of foreboding slips down Sara’s spine.

“Okay,” Will immediately agrees. “Okay. I’ll go with you, Jules.”

She nods and turns to go back to a room down the hall. His eyes linger desperately on Ellie’s partially open door for a moment and Sara has the distinct sense that he wishes more than anything he could be in two places at once. Will pauses long enough to say, “Get me if anything changes with Ellie,” before following in Jules’ wake.

“Is Mommy okay?” Nate asks, his terrified little voice breaking through the odd quiet that Jules and Will have left behind.

“She’s fine, Nate,” Oliver tells him. “She didn’t get hurt.”

“But… she gave Ellie her blood,” Nate points out, looking between his dad and his grandmother. “She still has enough for her, right?”

“Oh, Nate,” Oliver sighs. In spite of the older man’s exhaustion and that the ten-year-old is really too big for it, he steps forward with a gentle, “C’mere, buddy,” and scoops the boy into his arms. The fear of the day fast overwhelms Nate once he’s in his father’s arms and he bursts out in wet, desperate sobs against his dad’s shoulder. “Mom’s fine. The doctors made sure not to take too much, okay? She’s just tired and she forgot to eat lunch. They gave her the room next to Ellie to take a nap and give her some fluids. Did you want to see her?”

Nate hesitates, looks from Ellie’s room to the one next door with indecision tearing him in two.

“Go see your mom,” Oliver tells the boy. “Grandma will go with you, okay? Ellie should rest more before you see her. The doctor doesn’t want too many people in there at once anyway.”

“She’s really gonna be okay?” Nate asks, looking his dad in the eye, desperate to hear the words again.

“She really will,” Oliver promises, sounding far more convincing this time. “You can see her in a bit. Just… let her get a some rest first. I know Mom will feel better to have you with her. She could use a hand to hold right now and I need to be with Ellie. So, that’s your job, okay? You hold your mom’s hand and I’ll hold Ellie’s. We can switch later.”

That’s a heavy enough responsibility that Nate goes along with it. He nods as his father puts him down before looking at Moira.

“Mom,” Oliver says with an exhausted sigh. “Can you take him to see Felicity? I don’t really… he needs to see his mom and we should give Ellie some time to… rest.”

“To look more like herself,” Sara thinks. That’s what he’s not saying. He doesn’t want to scare his son with the sight of his incredibly pale, suddenly-weak, bedridden sister. The thought alone is making her chest start to feel heavy.

“Of course,” his mother agrees, reaching out a hand for her grandson. Nate takes it easily, allowing her to tug him along. It’s such a stark difference from his brother.

The moment his mother and son disappear behind the door to the next room, Oliver’s shoulders sag. He closes his eyes, letting out a tremendous sigh. For a second, Sara wonders if he’s forgotten she’s there.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks, shattering that illusion. He opens his eyes a second later to fix his gaze on her.

“Parking,” Sara replies. “In theory.”

“In practice?” he asks.

“Circling the parking garage for an empty space and probably considering hotwiring a car to move just so she’s got a spot,” Sara answers. She doesn’t really care where her mom is. What she cares about is a dozen feet away behind a closed door. She stands again, stepping closer. “Can I see her?”

He had to have known she was going to ask, but he stands stock still, weighing her request anyhow.

“Please, Uncle Oliver?” Sara asks. She sounds young and needy, but she can’t help it. “I’ll let her rest and I know she’ll look worse than she is. I can deal with that. I’m eighteen this month, practically an adult. And I know they probably said family only, but-”

“You are family,” Oliver cuts her off. It’s startling how much gratitude hits her at that firm declaration. “I’ve known you every day of your life, Sara. You’re family to me and I sure as hell know you’re family to Ellie.”

It strikes Sara that she hadn’t known just how much she needed to hear that today, but she really, really had.

“Okay,” Oliver decides aloud, raking his hands through his silver hair. “She’s been in and out a lot, but maybe she’ll rest easier if she knows you’re there.”

Sara stands a bit straighter at that, nodding fiercely and adjusting her hold on her backpack. Her fingers have a death grip on the strap so much that her knuckles hurt, but she needs something to hold onto, something to ground herself in this moment, and that will do.

With yet another weary sigh, Oliver turns back to the room. His hand rests on the doorknob, but before he turns it, he looks back to her. “It was close, Sara,” he says. He stares at her, trying to make her understand. “A few minutes more and… It was close. And she looks it.”

“I can handle it,” Sara tells him. “I want to handle it. I need to be there for her. She would be for me.”

Oliver surprises her by offering up a small smile. “I have absolutely no doubt that that’s true,” he says. Without another word, he opens the door and gestures for her to enter the room.

Sara takes three steps into the bleak hospital room and stops.

“She already looks better,” Oliver says from behind her as he shuts the door with a quiet snick.

“This is better?” Sara chokes out, looking back at her best friend’s father.

“Yeah,” he confirms, a pained look gracing his face as he looks past her to his injured daughter. “It is.”

That can’t possibly be true. She’s never seen Ellie so pale, so devoid of life. There’s a huge bandage on her neck and an IV in her arm and a cannula in her nose. She’s asleep, but Sara has to stare a long time to see her chest move at all, to prove that she’s really breathing. She’s so still, and it feels so wrong.

“Felicity didn’t want to leave her,” he adds, crossing the room to a chair at his daughter’s side.

He doesn’t elaborate on what happened to make her leave, and Sara doesn’t ask. She’s afraid to - did she freak out, or did she pass out giving blood? Did people do that?

Sara’s eyes dart to him. It’s always seemed to Sara that her Uncle Oliver carried the weight of the world on his shoulders - or maybe just the weight of the city - but she’s never seen him bow under it. Not until today. It’s almost frightening how human that makes him seem, how normal. She wonders if this is what being an adult will be like, to see beneath the masks of confidence and certainty that everyone seems to wear.

Now that he’s back by Ellie’s side, though, now that he’s near his daughter again, seeing with his own two eyes that she’s okay, he seems… better. Stronger. It’s fortifying and comforting in a way Sara didn’t even realize she needed to see.

“You can sit with her, too, you know,” Oliver says. It’s only then that Sara realizes she’s still barely standing inside the room, her sneakers rooted in place on a square of mottled linoleum flooring. “She’s pretty medicated… antibiotics and pain meds, something to help her platelet levels. She should sleep for a while.”

“I thought you said she was in and out a lot?” Sara asks. She forces her feet to carry her forward to Ellie’s bedside, but every step takes effort, like she’s slogging through quicksand. Ellie looks even more ashen up close. Sara tells herself that’s really just the horrible hospital lighting, but she’s not sure she believes that.

“She’s a fighter, my Ellie-bug,” Oliver says, kissing his daughter’s fingertips. “Even when she shouldn’t be, she’s a fighter.”

The closer she gets, the more her whole world narrows down to Ellie. All she sees is her best friend’s limp hand held tightly in her father’s soft grip, the colorless hue of her skin, the way her body looks so very tiny against the clinical hospital bed.

Every inch closer she gets to Ellie, Sara finds her frustration mounting. This is wrong. This is wrong. They’re supposed to be at volleyball practice right now. Ellie should be ribbing her about her spike and laughing in that way that lights up the whole room. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be like this.

Sara doesn’t even realize she’s moving until she finds herself collapsing into the chair across from Oliver at Ellie’s side. She reaches for Ellie’s free hand, but finds she can’t unclench her fist. Her knuckles are so tight they hurt and her jaw is so tense it feels unmovable, so she grits her teeth as she lets the back of her hand brush against the skin of Ellie’s fingers.

When the other girl doesn’t respond, something inside Sara breaks, a torrent of fear and frustration and anger coming out in a muffled sob. She turns, burying her face in her own shoulder as her eyes burn hot with tears.

To his credit, her Uncle Oliver knows her well enough to pretend not to notice. Sara is not the sort to unburden herself on others and she’d just as soon spare herself the embarrassment of someone else acknowledging them.

But anger… anger is different. Anger she can share.

“I want to kill him.”

She exhales the words through thinned lips so quietly that she’s not sure for a moment that he even heard her.

“Me too,” he agrees a beat past when she’d have expected an answer, his voice every bit as quiet as hers had been.

Sara nods hard. Brushing hard at her watery eyes with the hand that isn’t touching Ellie - she can’t move that one; she won’t - she looks at Oliver to find him already looking at her. Their eyes lock. He’s got to be every bit as angry as her, more angry even, but he doesn’t look it. He just looks sad and it eats away at Sara’s insides like acid. Because how can he sit here? How can he push back the need to follow after the man who’d hurt Ellie and slit his throat?

“You should have,” Sara bites out, not caring that this conversation will likely get back to both of her parents. “You should have driven an arrow through his neck and left him to bleed out on that warehouse floor.”

Her words don’t stun him. They don’t disappoint him or convince him or anger him. No, his reaction is far more infuriating than that. He smiles at her, thin and compassionate, and Sara wants to scream until her voice runs raw because this is the only response she really, truly didn’t want.

“Ellie and Jules needed me,” he tells her after a moment. “Helping them is always more important than hurting someone else.”

“Is that a rule of wearing a mask?” Sara snarks.

“No, Sara,” he replies, shaking his head at her. “It’s a rule of being a father.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s such a stark reminder of what he’s done - of the life he’s led and how much he’d nearly lost today - that shame washes through her at her own self-righteousness. Ellie’s her friend, her best friend, but she’s Oliver’s daughter. And whatever she’s feeling, she knows he must feel it ten-fold. She can’t even begin to imagine that, but it has to be true. Ellie and her dad are so close.

“I’m sorry,” Sara grits out, looking back to Ellie’s hand. After a second, she manages to loosen her fists so that her index finger runs across the back of the other girl’s hand.

“Don’t be,” Oliver replies. “I can’t be upset that my little girl has a friend who loves her that much. I never could be. I’m so glad that you two have each other.”

She can feel Oliver looking at her, but she doesn’t look up this time. She just nods. There’s too much going on in her head and Sara can barely process her own desperation and anger. She has no desire to share more of it. She’s so very on edge right now and it feels like any little thing just might become too much to handle.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks after several long minutes with no sound beyond the frustratingly generic sounds of the machines hooked up to Ellie.

Sara’s voice is rough as she replies, “You can ask.” The “I might not answer” goes unsaid.

“Jules,” he says, swallowing hard and squeezing Ellie’s fingers before looking at her. “What did she say to you in the hall?”

Sara looks up at him, the question taking her by surprise. It probably shouldn’t. If she feels on the edge of breaking, she has to wonder if he isn’t a few steps past that. His eyes are so haunted, so pained and guilty. For all that Ellie is Sara’s primary focus, the question and that look are a stark reminder that half of Oliver’s heart is across the hall with the other daughter he’d nearly lost.

“Not much,” Sara replies. “She was pretty closed off. It reminded me…”

“Of how she used to be,” Oliver finishes. His whole body sags when he breathes out. Sara’s not sure she’s ever seen him so defeated. It’s jarring. “Sara... “

He pauses, shutting his eyes. He takes a breath, but it’s shaky rather than fortifying and when he locks gazes with her again, every single ounce of terror and pain is horrifying visible, like he’s dropped a wall and he’s willingly showing the turmoil behind it.

“You two are friends,” he reminds her. “Not… not like you and Ellie. I know you aren’t that close, but you’re friendly, and she’s your age.” He pauses, licking his lips, and she wonders where he’s going with this. “She won’t talk to me. Didn’t say a word the whole ride here. She just stared at Ellie with this vacant stare and… Sara, if she tells you anything, anything at all about what happened, please, please tell me. I want to help her - I need to help her - but she won’t tell me what happened. The doctor said physically she’s fine other than her wrists, but…”

“She hurt them trying to get to Ellie,” Sara blurts out. She’d have told him anyhow, but the sheer desperation in his voice is just too much for her to handle and she needs something to get him to stop talking before she’s pulled right down with him.

“Jules told you that?” he asks, a glimmer of hope shining through the desolation in his eyes. “She said that?”

“Yeah,” Sara replies. “Nate was there, too. She might talk to him. Or maybe Will. Probably Will. But she said she and Ellie were both tied up and he only wanted to hurt Ellie. She fought to get to her sister and hurt herself doing it… How bad are her wrists?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at his own hands like maybe they’ve failed him. “She’ll probably have scars, too,” he finally says.

The answer is heavy enough that Sara can’t find words to follow up with, but Oliver saves her the burden because he’s not done asking questions.

“Was there anything else?” he asks. “Every time anyone’s asked her what happened, what he did, all she’s said is that he hurt Ellie and did nothing to her.”

“She said the same to me,” Sara confirms, replaying the conversation in her head. “She said all he did was talk to her.”

“Talk to her?” Oliver asks. His voice is alert and honed in, all razor-sharp with hard edges. “About what? What did he say?”

“She said… ‘true things’,” Sara replies, trying to pull the words out of her memory - it’s foggy; today has been such a blur - but the answer clearly brings Oliver no relief. “That’s all she said. No specifics.”

“If she says anything else…”

“I’ll tell you,” Sara confirms. “But… Uncle Oliver… I’m not sure about this, but I don’t think you should wait for her to talk about it. I don’t know that she will.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair. He’s lucky he’s not losing it, with how often he’s done that today alone. “I know that. Jules is… I love that girl so damned much, but she will shut down and she will lash out.”

“She will,” Sara agrees. Silence descends. A moment later, her curiosity gets the best of her. “What do you think he said to her?”

“I think he knew how to hit her where it hurts most,” Oliver confides. His voice is quiet, almost childlike, and it’s haunting. “I think he told her that she didn’t matter, that Ellie was the only reason he was here. I think he told my little girl over and over again that she was worthless. And I think she believed it.”

The likelihood of that slithers across Sara’s skin, leaving a shiver in its wake. At around eight years old or so, she can remember Jules shunning Ellie. The younger girl had been so confused, so hurt. She hadn’t even done anything, she’d protested, but that hadn’t stopped Jules from being mean anyhow. Uncle Oliver and Aunt Felicity hadn’t let that stand, had redirected the older girl with gentle but firm guidance. Sometimes it worked better than others. “You never wanted me anyhow” had been Jules’ go-to refrain in those days. Sara’s not sure the last time she heard that; the change in Jules since those years is remarkable. But it hadn’t been sudden.

She’s left wondering if maybe Jules’ wounds from today weren’t every bit as brutal as Ellie’s.

“There’s so much the girls can’t say about their lives,” he says, shaking his head. “So much they keep secret for my sake. They suffer so much because of it.”

Sara can see where this is going and she knows without a single doubt precisely what Ellie would say to her father right now, were she awake. But she’s not. Sara’s always had Ellie’s back. That’s not about to change now.

“They’re safer because of you, Uncle Oliver,” she tells him firmly. Her fingers unfurl and grip Ellie’s, seeking out solidarity, or maybe strength. She finds both. “All of us are. What you and the rest of the team do, we’re all better off for it. Ellie and Jules are both proud of you and so am I.”

He smiles at her, but he doesn’t look convinced. Even though he’s the one who brought it up, he’s obviously not keen to stay on the topic. “They’re both going to need to talk about what happened today,” he tells her. “Ideally, they’d go to a professional, but with what I do... I don’t know. Maybe ARGUS has someone. I’m willing to owe Amanda Waller a favor or two for this.”

“Either way, we'll all be there for them both,” Sara says. “For as long as it takes.”

“I appreciate that,” Oliver replies. “And they’ll need that, too, but I don’t know if that’s going to be enough.”

“Maybe Barry knows a therapist he trusts? They have all kinds of doctors and science type people,” Sara suggests. “Or maybe Big Sara knows someone? She sorta seems like she knows everyone.”

“Maybe,” Oliver says, though he doesn’t sound like his hopes are high. “Mental health isn’t exactly a priority with assassins.”

“That’s probably a major oversight on their part,” Sara advises dryly.

Oliver actually chuckles. It sounds rusty, but that she got him to do it at all makes her proud.

“It might be,” he agrees. “I’ll figure something out. I just don’t want to leave it to chance. Not this time. I shouldn’t have last time.”

When Jules was little. That’s what he means. The last time they’d helped her work through feeling like Ellie was somehow more important than her.

“This is different,” Sara tells him. It is, in so many ways, and it’s clear that Oliver knows that. The weight of responsibility sits so heavily on his shoulders that the strain is visible.

“Yeah,” he agrees on an exhale. “Yeah, it is.”

It seems like he’s resolved something with that statement, because he stands and leans over to kiss Ellie on her forehead. His lips linger against her skin like he’s trying to breathe his own strength into her. Sara’s not sure where he gets it from, at this point. Her Uncle Oliver has been to hell and back more times than she knows, but he has more stubborn willpower to keep putting one foot in front of the other than anyone else she’s ever met.

“I’m going to go sit with Jules for a bit,” he says, looking to Sara. “If anything changes, if she wakes up, please come get me right away?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Oliver brushes Ellie’s hair from her temple before stepping back slightly. “I’m sure Felicity will be back just as soon as the doctors let her. And your parents.”

Now that he mentions it, her mom is taking an awfully long time to park. Sara pulls her cell phone out of her pocket and glances at it to find a text.

“Dad called her back to the lair,” Sara tells him. “Some reporter connected the dots about what happened to Ellie and Jules. He needed her on the computers to block it from getting out.” Oliver stands a little straighter at that, falling into Arrow mode on a dime. He’s so ready to fight for all of them. She wonders how often he forgets they all fight for him, too. “They’ve got it covered,” Sara assures him. “The story’s dead in the water and Mom’s erasing all traces of the photos some jerk snapped on their cell of you guys coming into the hospital. We’re cool. Dad’s already on his way back.”

It’s obvious he wants to make sure for himself, but the alertness slowly fades from his frame as her message sinks in. He’d trust her parents with his life, with his daughters’ lives, but he also tends to expect the worst whenever a crisis hits home.

“Good,” he says after a moment. “The girls don’t need that out there. Recovering is going to be hard enough, but if their classmates see pictures and the media starts speculating…”

“They were in a car accident,” Sara asserts firmly. “I was driving and the passenger side got hit. That’s how they got hurt. I got lucky. I’ll back them up. You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll keep the media out of it. I’ll text my mom to plant a police report and email our teachers.”

Maybe it’s the presence of an actual plan, something approaching a way to move forward, but Oliver looks more at ease than he has since she got here. Sara’s grateful to have some part in giving him that.

“Sara… thank you.”

“That’s what family does, Uncle Oliver,” she replies. Her fingers curl around Ellie’s like she’s trying to physically hold onto her place in her best friend’s life. “You never have to thank me for that.”

The smile he offers back in response actually touches his eyes and it feels like a privilege, today of all days, to be able to give him that. He rounds Ellie’s bed to reach Sara’s side and leans down to kiss the top of her head, too.

“We’re lucky to have you,” he tells her, squeezing her shoulder as she smiles up at him.

“I’ve got Ellie,” Sara promises.

“I know you do,” Oliver replies. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that, he heads to the door, but Sara has one more thing she can’t leave unsaid. “Uncle Oliver?” she ventures, as his hand lands on the door handle. He glances back at her. “We’re going to be okay. It might take a while and it might not be easy, but we’ll be fine because no one in this family will ever give up on either of them.”

He doesn’t reply in words, but the little nod of his head and the thin but genuine smile that graces his lips as he looks down to where she holds onto Ellie’s fingers like a lifeline feels like answer enough.

A moment later he’s gone, leaving Sara alone with Ellie.

The quiet that follows is unsettling.

Ellie is a lot of things, but silent has never been one of them. Forever bubbly and full of life, she draws attention to herself effortlessly, but this… it’s foreign. Oliver being there had been a bit of a buffer from how grave the situation really is, but with him gone, with just the sound of Ellie’s rhythmic breaths, it’s all suddenly a whole lot more real.

It’s terrifying.

Sara swallows hard, staring at her best friend. She can see how close it had been. She doesn’t need the grittier details to tell her that. The blonde’s pallor is all wrong and the bandages on her neck and her wrists are startlingly large.

It doesn’t matter, she decides, trying to force resolve into her own bones. They’d both lived. That’s what matters. They’re both going to be okay. She’ll get Ellie some pretty bracelets for Christmas, something to cover the visible scars. And she’ll be at her best friend’s side to help cope with the ones that can’t be seen.

“You sure know how to scare the hell out of us, don’t you?” Sara whispers. She keeps her voice quiet, even though she knows from the click of the IV that her friend has a fresh dose of some painkiller that will surely keep her asleep.

“I bet you were brave, though,” Sara adds, running her fingers along the back of Ellie’s knuckles. “Because that’s you, Ellie. You are so strong. You always have been. You won’t let this beat you, because you won’t give it that much power over who you are. As soon as your eyes open, you’ll be smiling back at me and laughing over something. I know it.”

Ellie sleeps on.

Sara swallows hard, rubbing her thumb across one of Ellie’s nails like a worry stone. An unsettling feeling washes over her as she wonders if she’s trying to reaffirm how Ellie will react or if she’s trying to convince herself. They’ve all been through a lot together, the kids of Team Arrow. Danger is far from foreign in their lives and they’ve all seen their parents hurt, sometimes severely. But this is different. This is Ellie and Sara can only venture a guess as to how her friend will cope.

But she needs this. She needs to believe it. She needs to say the words aloud and force herself to have faith in the truth of them. Because the alternative is unacceptable. The alternative means the bastard who took them won. And Sara’s unwilling to accept that.

Suddenly, holding onto Ellie’s hand isn’t enough. The hospital bed is small, but Sara’s not about to let that stop her. Sara lets go of Ellie’s hand and, very carefully so she doesn’t jostle Ellie too much, she climbs onto the bed. It’s a tight squeeze and Sara has to lay on her side facing the other girl. The guard rail digs into her back and Ellie’s elbow is jammed into her ribs, but Sara doesn’t mind.

This is exactly where she needs to be.

“You’ll be okay, Ellie,” she whispers. Tears sting at her eyes as she shuts them, blocking out reality for the moment while she presses her lips to Ellie’s temple. She reaches across the other girl to lace their fingers together. “You’ll be okay, I swear. I’m gonna be here. I’ll help you. You’ll be fine. You’re fine.”

She half expects Ellie to respond, to laugh and meet her eye with an answering, “Of course I’m fine, silly. I’ve got you!” But nothing happens and Sara chokes down a bit of a sob instead as her wrist brushes against the bandage on Ellie’s.

Ellie might be fine, but she almost wasn’t. They’d almost lost her. And the weight of what nearly happened settles over her, blanketing her in a suffocating what-if that steals her breath away. But, even asleep, Ellie’s presence helps. Her hair tickles at Sara’s nose and her scent washes over her, leaving Sara feeling more grounded, more at home. And the warmth of Ellie’s palm against hers, the rush of her breath against Sara’s collar, is proof enough that her best friend is alive, that she’s thriving in spite of everything. And she’ll keep thriving because Sara Diggle will not accept anything else.

“Thank you, Ellie,” Sara murmurs. “Thank you for being so strong. Thank you for not leaving me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t want to know.”

But that, too, is a quiet declaration that goes unheard as Ellie sleeps on. It’s fine. Sara will tell her all of this again later. She’ll be there for Ellie and for Jules however she can. There’s not even a question of that.

She scoots down slightly on the bed to rest her head gently against her best friend’s chest, soaking in the sound of the other girl’s steady heartbeat. It’s a constant thump that rings out in Sara’s ears, screaming of life and strength. It feels like that strength fortifies Sara, too. She shuts her eyes, savoring the sound, letting it wash over her and drown out everything else.

Until the door cracks open.

A spike of adrenaline clashes with a near-violent need to protect as Sara moves to face the intruder. It’s instinct that has her on edge. She’s ready to defend Ellie in an instant - or maybe to defend this insulated bubble between the two of them that she’s forged. Every inch of her is ready to fight. Her arm tightens around Ellie, probably more than it should, and every muscle she has coils, ready to spring.

But, as it turns out, it’s just her father at the door.

It still takes a second for that recognition to click and for Sara to stand down, but even then her heart pounds, the urge to shield her best friend not dissipating in the least.

Surprise washes across her dad’s face, but it melts away quickly. “It’s just me,” he assures her as she sits up and blinks, running her free hand through her hair.

“Sorry, I…” she starts, but she doesn’t know where to go with it.

“It’s been a rough day for everyone,” he fills in, shutting the door behind himself.

“Yeah,” Sara agrees. “I sorta think we might have a few more of those ahead of us.”

Her father hums in agreement and nods, but swiftly changes the topic. “She looks better.”

“She just needs time,” Sara says, looking back down at Ellie. “That’s all.”

“She’s gonna need you, too.” Her dad walks over, taking the seat Oliver had vacated earlier. His elbows rest on his knees as he leans forward and meets her eyes. “You know that, right?”

“I’ve got this,” Sara nods firmly.

“There’s more to this than just the kidnapping and being hurt,” her dad tells her. He’s doing his intense and knowing face, which is always makes it feel like he’s looking right through her. “She was saved by an older version of herself from another timeline. That’s a lot to feel like you need to live up to.”

“The only thing Ellie needs to be is herself,” Sara insists. “If she wants to follow in her dad’s footsteps and put on a mask, that’s fine. If not, that’s fine, too. I’ll have her back either way. She saw one possibility for her life. It’s not some kind of destiny.” Her dad nods, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. Sara glances at Ellie before looking at him once more. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve found mine.”

Her father visibly jerks at the declaration, and Sara can see the ‘no’ already on the tip of his tongue. It’s not the first time she’s implied an interest in taking a spot on the team, but it’s probably the clearest she’s been about it. Neither of her parents will be thrilled, but she’s also not about to back down. Seeing Ellie like this, so badly hurt, knowing it could have been even worse, that cements her resolve.

“What if it’d been Connor?” she asks. “What if it had been Nate? What if it had been some kid we didn’t even know? How can I sleep soundly knowing that I could be doing something to help people, but chose not to?”

“Sara,” her father says, shaking his head.

“I can’t turn a blind eye, Dad,” she tells him. “You and Mom raised me better than that. And I think we both know that Uncle Oliver and Aunt Felicity raised Ellie better than that, too.”

“This isn’t a decision you should make because you think Ellie’s going to need you suited up beside her, Sara,” her father tells her. His eyes are serious as he pins her with a knowing gaze, but he’s wrong. He’s wrong and deep inside he knows that, because she can see the fear behind his admonishment.

“If she wants to work nine-to-five and buy a place in the suburbs with a white picket fence, I will help her job hunt and paint accent walls,” Sara replies. “But that doesn’t change anything for me. I will still put on a mask and I will still help clean up the streets, because people who do live their lives like that deserve to feel safe.”

Her father sighs heavily and presses his fingertips against his eyes. It’s pretty obvious that she made the right argument, gave him reasons he couldn’t counter logically. Her father is a towering man, a pillar of infallible strength, but lately when he stops, when he lets everything catch up to him, he looks worn to her young eyes. He looks old.

Fifty-five seems ancient to her, at seventeen, and she has to ask herself how many more years he can keep fighting this never-ending battle. Two decades, he’s done this. Two decades he and Uncle Oliver have taken on the worst this city has to offer. But age and injury have taken their toll. Experience mostly makes up for that… so far. But they aren’t getting any younger and Sara is starkly aware of the fact that their mission becomes more and more dangerous to them with each passing year.

“We can talk about this later,” her father decides, sitting back in the chair. “This isn’t the time or the place for big decisions.”

“Sure,” Sara agrees readily. She’s stroking Ellie’s hand, she realizes all of a sudden. Her fingers falter - when had she started doing that? But it grounds her in a way she needs, so she keeps going. “But this isn’t a sudden choice and it’s not something I’m giving up on. We can wait until Christmas break to really start training and I’ll hold off until I’ve graduated to join the team on the streets.” She gazes at her dad. “But I’m set on this path.”

“No way in hell I’m putting a deadline on training,” her father counters. “You’ll wait until I say you’re ready before you’re out on the streets.” It take a second for his own words to register. She can see the moment they do because his face turns drawn and ashen on a dime.

It’s not ‘if’ she’ll join the team. It’s when.

And her father knows it.

Sara’s not sure if that’s more exciting or terrifying. It’s both, if she’s being honest. She has no illusions that she’s picking an easy life, but she also knows she’s picking the right path for herself.

But her thoughts on her future evaporate when Ellie suddenly inhales sharply.

“Ellie?” Sara asks, sitting up a little more, touching the side of her best friend’s face.

Terror and confusion pollute Ellie’s normally happy gaze when her eyes shoot open. It only takes an instant for her to realize where she is, who she’s with, but in that instant Ellie looks as primal and defensive as Sara has ever seen her, like an injured and cornered wild animal. She scrambles back against the head to the bed as both Sara and her father move to try and soothe her.

“It’s me,” Sara tells her, pulling back both hands and holding them up non-confrontationally. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital and you’re safe. We’ve got you.”

“No one’s going to hurt you, Ellie,” Sara’s dad tells the injured girl. Sara looks with pleading eyes to find her father standing at Ellie’s side, using that same heavy gaze he’d pointed her direction earlier. “Take a second. Don’t push yourself.”

Everything seems to come back to Ellie in a rush because the primal nature of her fear shifts as Sara watches. The blonde’s eyes dart around the room, her hand flying to the bandage on her neck. She’s still utterly terrified, but it’s not for her own safety anymore.

It’s something else entirely.

“Ju’s?” Ellie rasps. She shouldn’t be trying to talk at all. It has to hurt like hell and she can’t even manage the whole of her sister’s name, but that’s beside the point to Ellie at the moment. Tears fill her eyes, her brow furrowing as she grabs onto Sara’s hand with surprising strength, everything about her pleading.

“She’s okay,” Sara tells her. Ellie lets out a little sob and falls back against the pillows. “Jules is fine. She’s in the room across the hall just because the doctors want to keep an eye on her. Your dad and Will are with her. The only thing she hurt was her wrists when she tried to get to you. She’s going to be okay.”

“No,” Ellie counters, shaking her head. Tears slip down her cheeks and she winces as she takes too big a gulp of air and strains the muscles of her neck. “Not ‘kay. Need Jul’s.”

“Don’t talk.” The command from her father is kind but firm as Sara looks to him for guidance. She feels so helpless right now. Seeing Ellie like this is hard. She’s so frightened, so battered, and Sara would do anything at all to bring her best friend’s easy-going smile back. But it’s not as simple as that. The world rarely is. “I’ll get your dad. I’ll get Jules, too, if she’s up and about, but you don’t move a muscle, Elizabeth. That means no talking, too. You got me?”

Ellie nods, a quick, nervous gesture that seems so out of place for her. The sight of her so small and so uncertain, makes Sara angry enough that she could scream. How dare someone do this to her? How could they make her shrink back in fear and hesitance?

Absently, Sara registers her father leaving, the door snicking shut behind him, but her focus remains on Ellie. Lost, sad, little Ellie who seems almost unrecognizable in an oversized hospital gown with her shoulders hunched and her eyes darting around the room like she’s looking for something.

She is, Sara realizes. She is looking for something. She’s looking for threats.

Sara wonders how long it will be until she stops searching the shadows around her, how long before she sleeps without nightmares. A long time. She’s certain of that much.

“He’s not here, Ellie,” Sara tells the other girl. Ellie jolts and looks to her. Their gaze locks together and Ellie waits, watching warily like Sara might have answers for her. Sara’s not sure she does, but she’s absolutely going to try. She takes Ellie’s hand and grips it harder than she should. Ellie’s nails dig into her palm, but the bite against her skin shifts reality into sharp relief and she relishes it. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back. Not for you or for Jules or for anyone else. I won’t allow it. So stop imagining that he won. Don’t give him that much power over you.”

Something like recognition slips across Ellie’s features, softening them and solidifying her resolve all at once. She gives a little nod before looking around again, but she’s not searching the darker recesses of the room for threats this time. No, she’s looking for something specific. And, a moment later her eyes brighten slightly as she reaches for her cell phone on the nightstand next to her bed.

“You’d better not be thinking about calling anyone,” Sara tells her dryly.

The look Ellie offers back is response is so very her that it feels like a bit of a triumph just to be able to bring that out in her today. Her lips curl up in a half-smile as she cocks her head and raises one eyebrow.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says without saying it.

A surge of near-blinding affection and relief shoots through Sara at the sight of it. But she doesn’t linger on that long because it becomes clear a second later, when Ellie lets go of her hand, that the injured girl is using her phone’s notepad as her voice and Sara is keen to see what she has to say.

Sara cranes her neck to try and get a look at the screen. She can’t quite get a glimpse, there’s a resounding glare. But it scarcely matters because a moment later Ellie flips around the phone so she can read it.

It’s just four words, but they make Sara’s breath catch in her throat because there’s no doubt to their meaning.

‘WE won’t let them.’

She looks from the tiny screen to Ellie’s face. All traces of that scared little girl are gone in the blink of an eye and settled in their place are the beginnings of a warrior, determined and unyielding. In this instant, Sara knows with complete certainty that the years to come will find them fighting side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, making sure nothing like this happens ever again to anyone in Starling City. In this instant, the future is so clearly painted in front of her eyes, she feels like she could reach out and touch it.

“We won’t,” she agrees.

The sense of unity between them is so fierce, so solid that it’s startling, but the moment doesn’t last because an instant later, Ellie’s dad is bursting through the door looking as harried as Sara’s ever seen him. He’s a powerful man, always seeming larger than life when she was a child. Between him and Aunt Felicity and her parents, it seemed like they could beat anything, like the world ran according to their plans. Maybe it’s just that she’s lost the illusions of youth, but it doesn’t seem like that to her anymore.

“Ellie,” he breathes out, crossing the room in a few large strides to gather his daughter up in his arms. Sara backs off as he does, slipping off the bed. She feels a bit like an intruder at the moment, but Ellie drops her cellphone on her lap and grapples for Sara’s hand, securing her in place at the bedside. In spite of the way Ellie grips onto her hand, though, the girl’s entire being is honed in on her father. She clings to him like a lifeline and his face is buried in the crook of her neck as he breathes her in. “You’re okay, baby,” he whispers to her. “You’re gonna be okay. I should’ve been there. Should’ve known, been faster. I’m so sorry, Ellie.”

Sara blinks and looks away, trying to be less present in this very private moment. But even as she casts her gaze to the side, she can see Ellie shaking her head in dissent from the corner of her eye. It’s Jules that Sara’s looking directly at, though, the dark-haired girl standing blank-faced in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. Will’s a few steps into the room, grabbing the tablet hooked on the foot of Ellie’s bed and pulling up her chart, one hand resting on her ankle. Sara’s not sure if he’s taking her pulse or if he’s just trying to anchor himself in the reality that his little sister is here, that she’s recovering. Sara gets the need for that. She’s awfully glad that Ellie hadn’t let go of her hand. That connection feels vital right now.

“Not-” Ellie rasps out before her voice fails her and her whole face twists in pain. Her father backs off at that, but not by much. Just enough to look her in the eye.

“Don’t try to talk,” he orders her. Sara gets the feeling this is going to be a frequent command in the coming days. “Or, if you really have to, at least make it a whisper. Will, can you grab the doctor?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, even as Ellie huffs in exasperation. He walks over and kisses her on the top of her head with a quiet, “I love you, Ellie-bug. You scared the hell out of me,” before heading out the door, gripping Jules hard on the shoulder and whispering something to her that Sara can’t hear as he goes. But Sara’s attention doesn’t stay with Jules for long because Ellie lets go of her hand to pick her phone back up and type out a message.

‘Not your fault,’ Ellie writes, holding her phone up to her dad with both eyebrows raised at him pointedly.

“We can talk about it later,” Oliver replies, with a thin smile that tells Sara he doesn’t believe Ellie’s words in the least.

It’s clear from the way Ellie’s lips twist that she’s not thrilled with his answer, but her gaze slips past him to settle on her sister and she immediately reaches a hand out toward the girl. Jules, however, makes no move to close the gap between them. She shifts uneasily instead, all wariness and apprehension.

‘Please,’ Ellie mouths at her sister. ‘Please, Jules.’

It seems like Jules is looking for some way to escape, but there’s nowhere to go. After what feels like an eternity, she takes a few hesitant steps toward her younger sister. The moment she’s within arm’s reach, Ellie grabs hold of her and pulls her in. Jules makes a choked noise that she tries to mask with a cough as she looks to her toes. But Ellie isn’t about to allow her so easy an escape.

The bed creaks as Ellie shifts, rises up and leans forward to press her lips to her sister’s forehead, letting go of her hand for a moment to hold both sides of the other girl’s face.

Jules shudders at the touch. “Ellie…” she rasps out, still staring at her own feet. She breathes out a hard sigh, working her jaw from side to side as she tries - and fails - to stave off tears. They drop one after the other straight onto the speckled linoleum floor.

Pulling back, Ellie makes the one gesture in sign language that virtually everyone seems to know. She presses her fingers in the ‘I love you’ sign against her sister’s chest, right over her heart, and it jars Jules enough that she looks up and meets Ellie’s eyes. Sara has to glance away from the sight. There’s too much raw pain there, too much longing and disbelief.

“He lied,” Ellie says in the quietest, most determined whisper Sara can even imagine. The sound of a wracked, muffled sob follows and Sara’s certain that Jules has covered her mouth in an attempt to cage the noise in. She can’t, though, and Jules has never dealt well with confrontation.

“Jules, honey,” Oliver’s saying. Sara can see him reaching for her, but Jules steps back from both of her family members.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “I just… I have to go. I need some air. I’m… I’m really glad you’re okay, Ellie.”

“Julie, please don’t go,” her father pleads with her. “Not right now.”

“I won’t go far,” she promises, as if that’s the issue. “Just down the hall. It’s fine. I’m fine. Stay with Ellie. She’s the one who needs you right now. She’s where your focus should be. I’m okay.”

That’s the furthest thing from truth that Sara can imagine. Jules is obviously anything but ‘okay.’ She’s splintered and broken, her entire sense of self cracked right down the middle, but she’s also the sort of person who needs to process things on her own and her father knows that.

“There’s a balcony off the waiting area on this floor,” he tells her. “Get some air. I’ll find you in a bit.”

“You don’t have to,” Jules says immediately, her tone defensive and snappish.

“I want to, Jules,” he tells her softly. “You’re my daughter and I want to.”

Jules nods once, sharp and decisive, a total contrast to the way her eyes water and her lower lip quivers, and she bolts from the room without another word.

“Jules,” Ellie tries to call after her, but she can’t make her voice loud enough and her whole face twists in pain at the attempt. For all the effort she puts forth, Jules doesn’t even register her attempt.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Oliver tells her again. Sara wonders if he already feels like a broken record. “You’ve got a lot of healing ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Ellie agrees in a tiny voice, her gaze still lingering on the doorway her sister had disappeared through moments before. “We both do.”

The End

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

Text

[HR] My best friend went missing twenty years ago. Today, I saw him.

His name was Alistair, and he was my best friend.

We met when we were both freshmen in highschool. He was tall and skinny, with black hair and the lumbering, awkward gait of someone who grew too tall, too fast. He had glossy, chestnut colored eyes that always shined with tears that were just not coming out, and would talk just above a whisper when others were around.

We met through a mutual friend, Zain, who knew him from back in primary school. He was an only child, and only really had Zain as a friend. They used to be best friends, and it really showed. Alistair was always different around him. He was more confident, his walk becoming less of a lumber and more of a stride. His head raised a bit higher and his voice coming out a bit clearer. His wit and sense of humor also showed through when they were together, leaving our sides splitting and our heads light from the endless jokes and quips he made. We'd always hang out together during lunch and after school, riding our bicycles down to the beach or to someone's house until sundown hit. At first I hung around with him because I felt sorry for him, he really struggled to interact with other people and only had us as friends. After a while though, we genuinely grew close.

The first time I went to Alistair's house, I thought he was a millionaire. He lived in the biggest house on the block, with three monstrous rooms which dominated the western wing. A massive living room, kitchen with all the bells and whistles and a game room, complete with a fully-kitted arcade took up the rest of the house. The entire northern wall was made of sliding doors that opened up into a beautiful terrace, complete with the deepest pool I've ever swam in. To call his parents rich was an understatement, and to call them 'absent' would be right on the ball. I can count the amount of times I've met them on my fingers. His dad was a lawyer. A very successful one, supposedly. He owned a few firms around the world and never really stayed in one place for longer than a week, while his mom was an ex-model who liked to travel with her friends and do the occasional promotional shoot. The lack of parents, sweet pad and endless food made his house our go-to meet up spot.

We got up to the usual trouble that teenagers get into. Sneaking into abandoned houses and breaking whatever wasn't nailed down, taking sips of booze from our parents cabinets on the sly and pretending to be a lot more drunk than we actually were. Skipping class to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom. Most of the time we got caught, but we only ever got a smack on the wrist and a 'don't do that again'.

We were as thick as thieves, but after freshman year ended and school break started, Zain left. His parents got a better opportunity out of state, and before we knew it, he was saying his last farewells over a shot of whiskey stolen from Alistairs’ parents liquor cabinet.

The next school year started without him, and for the first few weeks, Alistair wasn't the same. He wasn't as comfortable around me as he was when Zain was around, and his usual slouch was deeper than ever. His eyes even sadder than normal. I carried on as if nothing had changed, inviting him to come down to my house for the afternoon or for us to go down to the train station and smoke a cig or two. My relentless pestering eventually won him over, and he slowly opened up again. We became closer than ever, every afternoon spent together getting up to mischief like the good old days.

That year I really grew out of my shell, I became more vocal in class and made a lot more friends. Alistair still barely talked above a whisper when other people were around, but soon enough we were being invited to parties almost every weekend, mostly due to Alistair getting a fake ID. Being the tallest and oldest looking out of all of us, he would buy the alcohol for everyone, which in turn got us invited out even more.

The year ended and we turned sixteen. Alistair got his license, and his parents got him a car. His hunched over frame completely dominating the small, black VW sedan his parents bought him. It had just enough space to cram everyone inside, as long as you didn't mind sitting on someone's lap, and he'd drive us all over town with it. Gas was paid for by his parents, so we could go wherever we wanted.

That’s when it happened. It was the weekend and all of us were at the beach, gathered around a small bonfire that we lit on the sand. The moon was high in the sky, it's bright shape reflected off of the waves as music blared out of Alistairs' car. We passed around a bottle of vodka, taking small sips before passing it on. I took a gulp, my head going fuzzy and the world going out of focus as I gave the bottle to Alistair.

We were all laughing and joking together, shouting over the music and each other, when suddenly our friend Cam stood up, his silhouette framed by the fire, and exclaimed:

"Hey, hey! Shut up, everyone! I've got something for us!"

We quietened down, seven glossy pairs of eyes staring up at Cam as he dusted off the sand from his ass. He swung his gaze over us, ensuring that he had our full attention, before reaching carefully into his pocket.

"I scored some from a friend of mine. It's only a bit, but I'm willing to share with you guys. Just this once." he said, as he pulled out a small, unassuming joint.

Most of us stayed quiet, having never really taken drugs before and not sure of how to respond. One or two of us let out cheers of joy as Cam lit it up, taking a few drags before passing it to the next person.

I didn't wanna be left out, and being curious, I took a few drags, letting the smoke sit in my lungs for a bit before breathing it out. Immediately my head started feeling lighter, and I could feel tingles along my body. I glanced at everyone, them staring back at me, and we all burst into laughter as I handed it to Alistair.

He took a test pull, his eyes going wide as he felt it hit. He took another, longer pull as his shoulders relaxed, his back stretching out to its full length as he leaned back into the high.

For the first time ever, I saw him relax.

He took a couple more drags, his body stretching out and getting more comfortable with each one. Before we knew it, he’d finished it by himself.

It was like he was a whole different person. He was confident and friendly. Quick with a joke, and his laughs were more heartfelt. He took over the conversation, and for the first time ever, he became the center of attention.

For the rest of the night we sat there, feeding the fire and finishing the vodka. The sky lightened to a delicate blue as the sun began to rise. We hopped back into his car and he took us back home, dropping everyone off one by one until we were cruising down our street alone and towards my house.

“That was fucking awesome” he told me, as he eased the car into my driveway. “Best night of my life, man.”

“Yeah, but fuck, I’m tired now.” I replied, stifling a yawn as I clicked open the passenger door. “Thanks for dropping me off, man. Check you tomorrow?”

“Yeah dude, definitely.” he replied, as he gazed out the windscreen. He seemed lost in thought, only half-there as I hopped out of the car.

He gave me a half-hearted wave goodbye as I opened the door and went straight to bed, passing out the second my head hit the pillow. I slept well into the afternoon, and would’ve kept going if not for my mom waking me up.

“Andy! Phone for you!” she screamed from the lounge, snapping me out of my dreams. “It’s Ali!”

I groaned as I pulled my body out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts from the chair next to me and slapping them on. I stumbled down to the lounge, my head pounding with every step.

My mom was standing by the phone, the receiver in one hand while the other covered the microphone. She gave me a knowing look, as I tried to tease the curls out of my hair.

“Have a fun night?” she asked, as I wandered up to her and held out my hand for the phone. “Want me to cook you up some eggs and bacon?”

I nodded, my stomach growling at the thought of some greasy bacon. I put the phone up to my ear and fell into the armchair, while my mom made her way to the kitchen.

“Yo, dude.” I said, as I got comfy in the chair. “What’s up?”

“Hey man,” Alistair replied excitedly, as his voice crackled through the speakers, “You wanna come over to my place? My parents aren’t home."

“Wow, what a shocker.” I replied, the joke being well-worn and comfortable by that point. We both knew that Alistairs' parents were never home. “Only if you pick me up, I’ve got a killer hangover.”

“Sure, man! Just tell me when.” he replied enthusiastically.

I gave him a time that I estimated would be just after breakfast. After a few jabs at each other we said goodbye and I hung up the receiver, the smell of bacon and eggs prompting me to the kitchen.

Stomach full and head feeling better, I stood by the driveway while I waited for him to pick me up. The sun was high up in the sky, the wind buffeting me and skewing my hair as I saw the telltale glint of his black sedan. Alistair drove up the driveway, revving the engine a bit as he pretended to swerve into me before coming to a smooth stop next to me. The blaring music he was playing spilled outside, as he reached out one gangly arm and unlocked the passenger door for me. I hopped in and gave him a light punch on the shoulder, before closing the door behind me.

He maneuvered the car out the driveway and took off down the street, the engine purring and the road smooth underneath the tires. A few minutes later we arrived, Alistair pressing the button that opened the gate leading into the property. He swung the car through it once it was open, it shut behind us and he pressed the button that opens the garage.

The garage was a separate building from the house, and massive. It had enough space for his and his parents cars, as well as his dad’s project car. His dad had installed a fully-kitted workshop in the back so he could work on it when he was here. He maneuvered his car and parked it in his spot, pressing the button again once the engine shut off, closing the garage behind us. The fluorescent lights came on automatically as we hopped out and walked into the main building, the familiar smell of floor cleaner and polished marble welcoming us back.

I made my way to the game room while Alistair closed the door behind us. I swung open the familiar oak door, revealing rows of old-school arcade machines and the fully-kitted snack bar in the corner.

Him and I spent most of the day there, going against each other’s high scores on the machines and eating from the snack bar until sundown. As the sun touched the horizon, its red glow filling the sky, I noticed Alistair getting more and more quiet.

Just as I beat his high score, he approached he, his head hung down and his shoulders tensed.

“Hey man, uh… I got something for us.” he said tentatively, as he reached for his pocket.

I got flashbacks to last night as he held out a small joint, similar to the one Cam had. For a moment he stood there, bouncing from foot to foot as I contemplated it.

“Whoa, no way dude! Where did you get it?” I asked him, as I carefully picked it up.

“From the same guy Cam got his.” he replied, as the tension left his body. I could almost hear his relief.

“Oh shit, did you ask Cam? When did you call him, this morning?” I asked.

“What, you mad? The phone lines tapped, stupid.” he replied, as he tapped the side of his head with his finger. “I went to his house and asked him.”

For a moment I was stunned, picturing shy little Alistair driving up to Cam’s house and asking him for his dealer’s information.

My eyes widened when I realized that he must have then went to the dealer by himself and brought this.

“I kinda… Wanted to try it again, and thought it would be cool if we had it together.” he said, his eyes worried underneath his heavy eyelashes.

“I mean yeah, I’m all for it. You wanna do it here?” I asked him, as I handed it back to him.

“Yeah, let’s chill by the pool.” he replied, as he made his way outside. “Light it up, watch the sunset, smoke some cigs. Sounds cool.”

We grabbed the lounge chairs and sat next to the water. Alistair lit it, taking a few deep pulls before passing it to me. The sun dipped low to the sounds of the birds singing and the pool cleaner moving, smoke hanging between the two of us as we passed it back and forth.

But something happened. Something wasn’t right.

I started getting anxious, constant thoughts of being busted or the cops banging on the door running through my mind. The pleasant tingling from yesterday wasn’t there, instead replaced by what felt like running static throughout my entire body, sending jolts down my limbs and making me jump. I started feeling panicked, uncomfortable and scared from what was happening to me. My heart beat faster and faster, drowning out the sounds of the birds.

I sat there in discomfort and panic, the sun too red and way too harsh for my eyes. I started picturing his parents pulling open the door, his dad shouting at me, calling me a criminal while his mom called the cops.

I began to sweat. A cold, panicked sweat. I felt it dripping down my back, felt it stinging my eyes. I clenched my teeth, trying to calm myself down as I squinted my eyes against the sun.

All the while, Alistair sat there, a dreamy expression on his face as he watched the sun glint off the surface of the pool. His hand would lazily lift up to his face, his eyes squinting slightly as he took another drag.

He was in absolute bliss, while I was in hell.

It took an hour for it to wear off. A full hour feeling the worst anxiety of my life. All the while Alistair gazed at the sky, making an occasional comment about the shapes of the clouds. When night came and the moon rose, and I felt the effect wear off, I got Alistair to drop me off early.

That day, I learned that sometimes, weed makes me panic. It was the day that I decided that it wasn’t worth the risk. That day, I realised that twice was enough for me, and that I’d never touch the stuff again.

It was also the day that Alistair decided to become a daily user.

At first he’d only smoke it after school, when he got home. Then, he started smoking it just before school as well. He became much more social, way more comfortable with people and way more comfortable with himself. Seeing him act so normal, even though he was so high, I wondered how he ever managed to cope without it.

Then, he started smoking it at school as well. He’d duck behind an alleyway or on the far side of the football field, underneath the big oak tree that grew there. He started gathering a small following, fellow stoners that were charmed by his open humor and new, welcoming personality.

It took some time, but I realized that we were drifting apart. I started hanging out with Cam more, spending lunch with him and the rest of the group while Alistair spent his lunch getting high. Soon enough he was skipping out on going out with us, preferring to stay at home and blaze all weekend with his new pals.

After a while, he stopped hanging out with us entirely. Three joints a day turned to four. Then five. Then we lost touch, and stopped seeing each other.

He started skipping school, preferring to spend his days by the beach or by the local park with all his other friends. His parents were called, but I don’t think anything came of that.

I turned seventeen, and for months I didn’t see him. I’d hear the occasional tidbit and rumor, though. He found another dealer and supposedly brought from them almost every day. One of his stoner friends moved in with him, taking up one of the spare bedrooms while his parents were away.

Then one day I went to a party, and he was there.

He was dirty, like he hadn’t showered for days. His pupils were dilated so much that they completely filled his retina, making them look black. He kept picking at his skin and hair, pulling out strand after strand from it. He’d constantly fuss over his nose, scratching at his nostrils and rubbing it constantly.

He gave me a wide grin and wrapped his arm around my shoulder when he saw me. He smelled of sweat and sickness.

I gave him a pat on the back and told him it was good to see him again. He made up some bullshit about us hanging out soon, before going off to rejoin the rest of his group. I stayed on the opposite side of the party, sipping my beer and watching him carefully.

A few hours in, I saw him pull out something. It was a plastic bag with white powder inside. He opened it up carefully, making sure not to drop any, while pulling out a small, metal spoon from his pocket. He dipped the spoon inside the powder, scooping up a tiny amount and bringing it up to his nose.

He snorted it quickly and violently, his whole body shaking as it went up his nose. He let out a few loud chuckles, before passing the bag and spoon onto the next person.

I got up and left. Seeing him fuck himself up like that made me angry. I wanted to grab him by his skinny neck and shake him until all this shit just left him, until all his druggy friends disappeared and we could go back to just playing games in his parents house.

But I couldn’t do that. No one could help him if he didn’t want help, and he clearly didn’t.

So, I left.

That was the last time I saw him.

A few weeks later, I was woken up by my mom shouting for me to come to the door. I dragged myself out of bed and went to grab a pair of shorts from the cupboard as usual, when she shouted for me again. "Andy! Get up and come here now!"

I let out a loud sigh as I pulled on the shorts, wondering just what the hell was so urgent. I swung open my bedroom door and bounded out the passage.

I slowed to a halt as I saw why she was so impatient. She was standing by the open doorway, two large policemen blocking the outside as they stood on the other side of it.

Their eyes turned to me, my mom's blazing with anger from having the police knocking on the door asking for me. The cops just looked tired, giving nothing away as to why they were here.

"You have visitors." my mom said, the disappointment dripping out of her voice.

I approached them cautiously, my mom stepping aside as I stood in front of them. A million memories flitted through my mind as I tried to think of why they'd be here.

I looked up at them, their downcast eyes staring down at me as I asked them: "Can I help you?"

"Are you Andy?" asked the one on the left, his lips barely visible underneath a thick, black beard.

"Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?" I asked again, my heart beating faster.

They looked to each other, their brows furrowed with worry as they wrestled with a decision. The one on the right gestured to the other, then nodded his head towards me. The other one let out a loud groan, an agreement passing between the two as he turned back towards me.

"It's about your friend, Alistair."

"He's missing."

I heard my mom gasp from behind me, then felt her hand gently rest on my shoulder. I stood there for a moment in disbelief, my mind not yet processing the seriousness of the situation.

A hundred different questions flitted through my mind, all of them swirling around and demanding answers. I grasped at the most prominent one. "For how long?"

"His parents aren't sure, but at least a week. They came back home last Saturday and he wasn't there. They called us last night when he still didn't show."

A whole week? He could be anywhere. He could be a hundred miles away from here, or even in a different country.

He could be dead.

Something tugged at my heart as I pictured Alistair lying in a cold, dark place, his eyes wide open and his skin grey and cold.

The officers voice snapped me back to the now, as I faintly heard him say something. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" I asked him.

"His mom said that you'd be the last person who saw him. Apparently you two are very close. Best friends, right?"

My eyes widened as I realized that his parents didn't know that we weren't talking anymore. It's been so long since they came home.

I told the police that we weren't on speaking terms, and that we weren't for a few months. I gave them the names of some of the people I saw Alistair hanging out with, and they thanked me and told me they were gathering people to do a search of the town for him.

That afternoon my family and I joined about a hundred volunteers, rescue service crew and his parents in a massive search for him. We first checked out the town, driving down the streets and checking in alleyways and abandoned buildings. Then we combed through the woods, calling out his name as the sun dipped low. As the moon rose high in the sky, our torches illuminating our surroundings, we checked the beach.

We didn't find any sign of him. His parents were wracked with worry, their faces growing more sullen and their eyes becoming more haunted as the night progressed without any signs of him. As volunteers started heading off to home, apologizing to them as they went, they became quieter and quieter.

The search continued for two weeks, the volunteers giving up hope bit by bit as their numbers dwindled each day. By the end of the first week, it was just the rescue crew and his parents searching. By the end of the second, it was just his parents.

A few months passed before they gave up as well. Resigned and believing that they'd never see their son alive again, they locked themselves in their mansion and didn't come back out.

Finals came and went with him still missing. I started university in another state and mostly forgot about him, our memories together fading into the background as the stress of exams and my new friends kept me busy.

I got my degree and began work, accruing more and more bills and responsibilities. Performance reviews came and passed, promotions were handed to me. I met a girl named Emily, and we got engaged. We had a beautiful wedding in the Bahamas, my family and friends all coming with to celebrate.

I became older, my belly growing out and joints getting more and more stiff.

Emily got pregnant and we had a beautiful baby boy, after a relatively easy birth. We named him Michael, after Emily's grandfather.

All the while Alistair laid in the recesses of my mind. A distant memory, a person I knew back when I was a child.

My father passed away one day. Suddenly, in his sleep. We held a small funeral for him, Emily coming in her Sunday finest and Michael dressed in a neat little suit, held up in Emily's arms as he sucked on a dummy.

My mom was too old and frail to stay in the house alone. But she was too prideful and too stubborn to live with us. "I changed your damn diapers for years, it'd be humiliating if you ended up changing mine." she said, as she checked herself into an old age home close by. "Come and visit often, but I'll be fine."

We helped her move into her new house, all the antiques and baubles her and my dad collected over the years packed into small boxes and moved into her new unit. Emily and I spent the rest of the weekend helping her unpack, taking out her precious items one by one as she guided us on where to place them.

Once we were done, she strolled up to me, hands on her hips. With great finesse, she fished something out of her pocket and held out her hand to me.

I reached out my hand to hers, slightly confused as she dropped a set of keys into it.

"He left the house to you in his will. Take good care of it, I'm sure Michael will love it."

I couldn't believe it. He left the house to me? I gave her a long, deep hug as I thanked her, Emily doing the same right after. She brushed off the thanks, "It would rot and gather dust otherwise."

We moved in the next month, canceling our rental and hiring a moving company to take care of everything. We repainted all the rooms and installed new lighting. My old room became Michael's, his cot fitting snugly in the one corner while we piled nappies into the cupboard and got a changing station fitted on the other side.

It became home again. We threw a housewarming party and invited everyone we knew. We settled in over the next few months, making minor repairs and improvements as we needed to.

Michael learned how to walk in that house, and even said his first words.

It was bliss. Sometimes we fought, but we'd always sort it out and make up. We had friends over every weekend, and I took Emily on dates and showed her around the town I grew up in.

One night we were fast asleep, one of the rare days when Michael sleeps through the night, when I heard banging coming from the kitchen. I groaned, wondering what the hell Michael has gotten into this time, as I swung myself out of bed and towards the bedroom door. The night before I caught him fist-deep in the cookies, and I still wasn't sure how he managed to do it.

I opened the door and walked into the passage, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I reached for the light switch.

I flicked them on, illuminating the passage in bright light. I squinted my eyes, the sudden shift from darkness causing me to go momentarily blind.

As I opened my eyes, I saw a figure lurch into the passage with me.

My eyes snapped wide as the shape of a man came into view. He was unnaturally tall and skinny, his limbs stretched out and spindly. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I raised my arms up, ready to stand between whoever this was and my family.

The man took another step forward, coming fully into the light. He had sunken, haunted eyes and a face well weathered by the elements. He had a patchy beard that grew in knots that hid half his face, and long, black hair that was knotted and split, reaching down his back.

He stared down at me with haunted, brown eyes. I took a step back, readying myself in case he tried to make a run for me. "Whoever the fuck you are, get the fuck out of my house!" I screamed.

The man cracked a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, as he took another step towards me. "That's no way to treat an old friend."

I took another step back as I processed what he said. Old friend?

A memory flitted to mind. That of a tall, awkward kid with brown eyes.

It's Alistair.

I lowered my arms a bit, as my brain processed this new information. "Alistair? What the fuck happened to you? You've been missing for years!"

I dropped my arms as relief flooded in. Alistair was back. A chapter in my life that I forgot about has finally come to a close. "Hey, man, shit, it's been-"

Suddenly, he ran for me, his spindly arms coming forward and ramming something into my stomach. I felt something pierce my skin as I bent over, the suddenness of the attack taking me by surprise.

I doubled over, ripping the object from my stomach. A needle clattered on the wooden floors, it's contents already dumped into me.

"What the fuck?" I asked him, as my vision began to swim and my limbs became numb.

He stepped over me, making his way towards the bedroom. The room became darker, the faint noise of Michael crying in his room swimming through my mind as Alistair cracked open the door.

I watched as he made his way inside, before the darkness swallowed me up.

I woke up suddenly, my body cold and bruised. I let out a loud groan as I got up from the cold floor, my joints cracking and creaking.

A light haze hung over my mind, as I struggled to form my thoughts. I looked around at my surroundings, my neck stiff as I moved it from side to side.

I was in a damp, dark room. A thick layer of dust covered every surface, and I could hear the drip of a leak in the corner. It was completely bare, the faint glint of light filtering in through large, boarded-up windows.

I made my way to the door. As I lifted my arm to push it open, the sight of my hand gave me pause.

The fingernails were long and cracked, yellowed and unsightly. My hand was clawed, skinny, with open sores dotting its surface.

I took inventory of the rest of me.

"What the fuck?"

I was wearing what looked like rags, half hanging off of my frame. Torn shorts and a shirt that was covered in stains and has been stretched from overuse. My feet were bound in broken shoes, shoelaces tied around them to keep them together.

I touched my face and found a thick, unruly beard. My hair was long and unkempt, tangled and knotted.

Confusion swirled through my head. What the fuck happened?

I pushed open the door, its rusty hinges squealing as it swung outwards. I ran out into the rain, the sounds of the beach coming from close by as I stood in a cracked and dirty parking lot.

I looked around, trying to figure out where I was. I looked behind me and stared at the building, my eyes widening as I recognized it.

The old diner by the beach. It had closed when I was still a kid, and no one brought it afterwards.

I was close to home.

I managed to get my spindly, bruised legs running underneath me, as I made my way back home. The sun was beginning to rise as I made it to my street, my neighbors staring daggers at me as they watched me pass.

As I made my way back to the house, I saw the front door open. My heart lifted as I saw it was Emily, safe and unharmed, walking out with Michael in her arms.

My elation turned to horror as I saw Alistair, hair combed and trimmed, face smooth and with a suit on, walk out behind her and lock the door.

Emily turned to him, saying something to him that I couldn't hear. He let out a light chuckle before leaning in, giving her a kiss.

I marched up to him, my anger boiling over as he turned his head to me. I grabbed him roughly and pushed him against the door, my face going red as he looked at me, shocked.

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" I shouted, spittle flying from my mouth as I bashed him against the door again and again.

"Andy? Is that you?" he asked, shocked.

I smashed him against the door again, as I heard Emily shout behind me. "What the fuck are you doing?! You know this man?!" she asked him.

"Yeah, he's an old friend." Alistair replied. "Hey, man, let's just calm down-"

I punched him in the gut, letting go of him as he crumpled to the floor, with a groan. "Don't fucking talk to her. Don't you dare fucking talk to her. What did you do to me?!"

He sat there for a few seconds, catching his breath. I heard Michael crying behind me, and I turned to make sure he was alright.

Emily was clutching him tightly as she stared at me, anger and hatred set in her beautiful face. I took a step towards Michael, my hand reaching out as I wanted to comfort him.

Emily took a few steps back as she turned Michael away from me, disgust in her eyes.

"Andy, I'm sorry man." said Alistair, as I swung back to look at him again. He was slowly getting back up, his hands up in front of him.

"We searched for you, man. I looked for you for weeks but we didn't find anything." he said, as he took a step closer to me, his hands dropping to his side.

He looked at me sadly, his eyes turning glossy as he stared at my face.

"Your parents spent months looking for you."

"Where did you go?"

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alloverroliver-blog · 6 years ago