#maybe record a voice note or something while i waited for the ambulance to come

[dullahandyke]

I need to start having more normal daydreams bcos rn the main one is about finding someone who will agree to consensually stab me 1. Bcos I wanna know what it feels like and 2. I've never had an extended hospital trip before and it would be a Different Problem to have to my current ones and 3. This is a smaller specific facet subset of the daydream of 'qpr with benefits roommate who I marry for tax benefits and have autism with'

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Lover, Please Stay

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get shot and Hotch worries about you while trying to keep it together. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: swearing, shooting, blood, injuries, hospitals, some angst and then fluff, mostly just wanted to write some worried!Hotch 

A/N: here we go! this is my first fic, so enjoy

Masterlist

---

As far as dates go, getting shot in the stomach twice was definitely not the way you wanted the night to end. Especially because you actually cared about the man sitting across from you in the dim lighting of the restaurant and you definitely had something else planned involving him, your clothes hitting the floor, and then the wall, kitchen counter, possibly the sofa, and of course, your bed and maybe the shower—but all that would have to wait as you slump back in your chair, stunned and bleeding. To his credit, however, Aaron Hotchner is not about to let the man who shot you get away with it, and swiftly tackles, disarms, and subdues the shooter, in record time, you think hazily to yourself with a small smile. After making sure the unsub won’t do anything else –not that he could even if he wanted to– Aaron turns to you. Eyes wild, he finds you –rather dramatically if you say so yourself—bleeding out and losing consciousness. So much for after-dinner plans.

“How romantic,” you gasp out and suddenly at your side, Aaron tips you out of your chair and lays you on the ground, immediately shedding his jacket to apply pressure to your abdomen and the growing red spots staining the dark green dress you had worn tonight. Fuck you loved this dress. And his jacket.

“….Sweetheart? You still with me?” Aaron’s voice wavers, and you realize he’s leaning over you and trying to gauge how you’re doing, aside from the obvious, of course.

You huff a laugh out—big mistake—and a small cry tears out of your throat as the pain in your midsection makes you regret your actions. Turning your head with a surprising amount of effort, your eyes float over him, taking in the way his hair sticks up, the frantic gleam to his eyes (tears?) and then down the black button-down he wore to his bloody hands on your body. You try for a reassuring smile—it doesn’t land—and then there’s some sort of commotion on the other side of the restaurant which you belatedly realize is the stampede of patrons out, as the ambulance slams to a halt outside, sirens blaring.

“Love, y’need t’figure this out,” you grit out, knowing that he won’t—can’t—argue with you as you look up at him.

“Y/N...”

“No, Aaron. Get th’ team,” your eyes are closing and breathing is getting harder so you stop, and hope that he figures this out. He has to. You know Aaron will want to protect you and go to the hospital this instant, but you can’t let him do that just yet. Not this time. It’s not everyday a BAU agent gets shot in a crowded restaurant in front of her boyfriend, who is also a BAU agent. It’s too weird to be random and the rest of the team needs to get here now.

The next few moments pass in a blur of shouting and pain, as you are lifted on to a stretcher and poked and prodded. Tiredly, you try to keep your eyes on Aaron, but in the noise you find your head rushing and with a sharp pain in your stomach, you fall into darkness.

Barred from climbing into the ambulance with you, Aaron has never been so scared and enraged. The ambulance screeches towards the hospital as he quickly fires off a text to the team –you’ve been shot, it doesn’t look good, meet him at the restaurant. And then he sits on the sidewalk. And thinks. And seethes.

How could he not have noticed the man advancing toward your table sooner? How could he not have noticed how out of place the man looked and the way that he kept a hand in his jacket pocket? And finally, why didn’t the man shoot him before getting taken down? Head in his hands, Hotch lets out a sigh before clenching his fists and closing his eyes, waiting. There are police officers milling around, taping off the restaurant and the unsub is in a car around here somewhere, or maybe already on his way to the police station, but Aaron can’t shake the fear in his mind. He should be speeding off after the ambulance, keeping you company, and pacing the hospital lobby until he knows you’re okay. You need to be okay. But your words ring in his head, figure this out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. You need him to try. He needs to focus.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Aaron jerks his head up to find Morgan and Prentiss looking at him with sad eyes. Accepting Morgan’s hand, Hotch stands, and after a beat, straightens up and becomes SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and not Aaron Hotchner, concerned and, quite frankly, terrified boyfriend.

“Garcia is pulling security footage from the restaurant and surrounding area. She’s also keeping tabs on the unsub at the police station and will let us know as soon as the cops figure out who this guy is.” Morgan says as Hotch looks around at the crime scene that’s sprung up around him.

“Unless she figures it out first,” Prentiss adds “which she probably will, it’s Garcia.”

A black SUV pulls up, and Reid, Rossi, and JJ emerge. Rossi immediately takes stock of the blood on Aaron’s hands and the usual chaos of a crime scene. Reid looks shaken to his core, and JJ isn’t much better, although she is valiantly trying to put on a brave face if only for her own sake.

“Aaron, you should be at the hospital. We can handle this,”

“Dave, she told me to figure it out. It was one of the last things she said and if I don’t and she…” Aaron trails off as the rest of the team looks at him, worried.

“I need to do this for her,” he says softly, thinking of how you looked as you were whisked away by the ambulance. How you passed out, face contorted in pain and then still.

“Hotch…” JJ lays a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“We got this. You can run point from the hospital with Garcia,”

That shakes him a bit.

“Garcia is running point from the hospital?” he wants to smile, but he can’t. Not while you’re possibly fatally injured.

“Of course she is,” says Morgan with a small smile.

“She went directly there after you texted us. She said she doesn’t want Y/N to be alone, ” Spencer supplies, and Hotch can’t help but be startled by how much he appreciates the thoughtfulness of his team in this moment.

Looking around the circle, he realizes that he doesn’t have to take on the investigation and your injury alone. No shit, he can hear you say. That’s what they’re here for, dumbass. Teamwork.

Halfheartedly, he tries “but the police need to take my statement and—“

“—and they can do that from the hospital after we’re done here, I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the Unit Chief of the BAU since his girlfriend got shot,” Rossi finishes for him. “Aaron. Go.”

“Come on, Hotch, I’ll drive,” and as JJ pulls him into the SUV, he watches the rest of the team disperse amongst the police and crime scene techs with a determination and focus he wishes he could emulate right now. Instead, he tries to focus on getting to you and how good it’ll feel to hold your hand again.

---

The ambulance ride is blurry and the lights are too bright and the noises too loud as you slide in and out of consciousness after initially passing out. Vaguely, you hear something about a perforated something or other and blood loss, but that’s really all you can understand before going back to being unconscious. Again. If only falling asleep was this easy.

---

Aaron never particularly liked hospitals, but now, with your life in danger, he hates them. Striding into the lobby, JJ at his side, his eyes find Garcia, furiously typing and wiping away tears as fast as she can. As his feet carry him to the desk, JJ breaks off to comfort Garcia.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I’m here for Agent Y/L/N she should have arrived half an hour ago with two GSWs to the abdomen,” his voice is surprisingly collected, as the nurse looks up at him from her computer.

“She was rushed into emergency surgery almost as soon as she got here. I don’t have an update for you now, Agent Hotchner, and it could be awhile until I know something for sure,” the nurse replies with a sad smile.

With a curt nod, Aaron walks over to Garcia, who now has JJ’s hand firmly in her own. Upon seeing him, Garcia springs up and sets her laptop and JJ’s hand aside to instead throw her arms around her stoic Unit Chief. Stunned but not unwelcome, Hotch reaches around to hold the crying tech analyst. Pulling back from the embrace and sniffling, Garcia looks at Hotch and her eyes widen almost comically.

“Blood. Oh my God, blood,” she states in a hurried breath and it’s only then that Hotch realizes that his arms and torso are covered in your blood still; he hasn’t had a chance to wash it off. Looking down at himself, his vision blurs for a second and the weight of his appearance takes a toll. Stumbling to the bathroom as JJ and Garcia reach for him, he staggers through the door and to the closest sink before throwing up. Leaning heavily on his hands, he hangs his head and catches his breath before turning the tap on. Slowly, methodically, he cleans his hands, then up his arms. Splashing water on his face he looks in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes, the way his hair sticks up on one side, and the dried blood on his black shirt as it catches the shitty fluorescent lighting.

You’re laughing at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. In the light of the restaurant he loves the way your eyes shine when you look at him. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, but you’re still laughing and he loves the way you look when you laugh. Bang. There’s screaming. Bang. You slump in your chair across from him. His stomach drops and there’s a roaring sound in his ears and years of training take over. The unsub stands still, gun in hand, and Aaron moves. Takedown. Push the gun out of reach. Hold the guy down. Swift punch to the face and the guy is out. You make a sound—a whine? a scream? his name?—and Aaron turns. You. Hands on your stomach, but Aaron can see the blood seeping through your fingers. Gently, as gently as he can, he gets you to lie on the ground and uses his jacket to try and staunch some of the bleeding. Your eyes flutter and he calls your name, asks how you’re doing, something to keep you awake and talking and with him and—

A knock on the door draws him out of his mind and JJ pokes her head in.

“I found a sweatshirt in the back of the SUV and thought you might want to put it on instead of having to stay in your shirt since…” she trails off and gestures to his bloody clothes.

Wordlessly, Hotch takes the sweatshirt from her. It’s one of his, he knows that, but he can’t remember why it’s in the SUV, especially because he hasn’t seen it since—You. You had it last. Inhaling your scent off the piece of clothing almost shatters him again and he holds the sweatshirt to his face as he tries not to cry. Slipping into a stall he slowly undoes his shirt before crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he takes a moment to collect himself before stooping down for his shirt and walking out the bathroom door back into the waiting area.

Sitting next to Garcia he can see that there’s a picture of the unsub on her screen, as well as general demographic information and stuff streaming past that’s too fast for him to read.

“Garcia, what have you found.” Business as usual. Except for the part where he doesn’t know how you are or if you’re alive.

“Well, Sir, the bastard who shot Y/N is Parker Harrison and from what I can tell, he’s a creep. Like look-through-your-windows-and-take-photos-while-you-change kind of creep so—“

“—so it’s weird that he came up to you two in a crowded room and shot Y/N when there is nothing that Garcia’s found to suggest that that’s even something Harrison would even consider,” JJ finishes while continuing to glare at the photo on the screen.

Hotch sighs and puts his head in his hands. Again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looks at JJ.

“Call the rest of the team and let them know that we know who the unsub is, but he doesn’t fit the profile for the crime and see if they’ve found anything out of the ordinary.”

With a nod, JJ moves to her feet and goes out the front door to make the call. Garcia makes a noise somewhere between frustration and surprise before renewing her furious typing. Aaron looks towards the nurse at the desk, the same one he had spoken to earlier, and catches her eye. She shakes her head and he tips his head back against the wall behind him, eyes closing.

---

You don’t think you’ve died. At least, not yet. Maybe this is some fucked up afterlife precursor, but you really, sincerely, hope you aren’t dead because that would suck for you and for Aaron. And Jack. And the team. Fuck you really hope you aren’t dead, but the fact that you can’t feel your body really isn’t helping you figure out what the hell is going on. There’s pressure building in your chest and as it expands, it feels like you are going to explode. You fight against whatever is happening—it hurts, dammit—and then back to nothingness.

---

He waits for hours. Pacing, sitting, standing, silent. Garcia mumbles to herself as she works, and calls the team with possible updates, but Aaron can’t bring himself to focus on anything but you. JJ comes and goes, standing, sitting, pacing, leaning over Garcia’s shoulder. She calls Will and the team a few times to give or get updates and for that, Aaron is grateful. He knows he should be doing more, as Unit Chief and as the person you told to get the unsub, but you you are his focus. He nods when Garcia shows him something and shakes his head when JJ appears with food and coffee. And he waits. At some point a police officer shows up and Hotch mechanically rattles off what happened. There isn’t much he can say since they have the shooter in custody already. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the team show up and all of a sudden Hotch is suffocated by the amount of people in the waiting room. Prentiss moves to JJ’s side and Morgan to Garcia’s, talking quietly. Reid and Rossi trade glances before descending on Hotch.

“Any news?” Rossi asks, but Hotch shakes his head.

“You guys find anything at the scene?” And Hotch is hoping for something anything to make this make sense.

“Well, according to the security cam footage, the unsub was dropped off at the restaurant and then walked inside, bypassing the hostess and making his way to your table. It seems like Harrison knew exactly where you were going to be and when, which is concerning. But after you take him down and he got to the station, he didn’t talk—and still hasn’t which indicates that he may be trying to protect someone which furthers the idea that he really didn’t come up with this on his own given that his previous criminal record didn’t indicate that he would shoot someone that he deemed a target, although Garcia is currently going through the contents of his electronics to see what she can find and—“ Reid is effectively cut off by Rossi, who states “and so we still don’t know enough about this guy to draw any concrete conclusions, but this isn’t an ordinary unsub and if he does have a partner, we need to figure out who that is before someone else gets hurt; possibly someone on this team.”

Aaron frowns to himself at this information. He thought that the team would be able to find something find more about Harrison, but it seems the universe is making him wait not only on you, but the fucker who shot you as well. Collapsing down on to the nearest chair, Aaron tries to come up with a plan, a preliminary profile, something that will help him figure out what exactly you’ve been drawn into. Staring down at his shoes, he fails to notice the way the team looks at each other, and then at him. With a sigh, Prentiss moves from JJ’s side to Hotch’s and sits. He doesn’t look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, but doesn’t shake off the hand that she lays gently on his shoulder as he continues to study his shoes.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the team is alerted to a development in your wellbeing by the loud squeak of the swinging door that leads to surgery. Half asleep, Rossi wakes the others from their various levels of slumber as Aaron stumbles to the doctor after he announces your name, eyes wide and hopeful.

“First, Agent Y/L/N is alive. She coded in surgery about two hours ago,” Aaron swears he stops breathing “—but we were able to revive her and finish stitching her up and repairing the internal damage. The bullets entered her abdomen and tore through her large intestine, and she did suffer more blood loss that I had hoped, but in time, she will recover.”

Aaron’s breath rushes out all at once and he almost collapses with the weight of his relief. He hears the gasps and murmurs of the team behind him which confirm their own happiness that you are alive.

“Can I see her?” the words leave him quickly, and he knows you won’t be awake, but he needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still here, with him.

“As you can imagine, she won’t be awake for quite some time. Her body has sustained major trauma, and we will be keeping her under watch for at least a week, depending on how long it takes her to wake up and then the rate at which her body’s healing process takes place. However, you may see her, one at a time, and are welcome to be here during official visiting hours tomorrow.”

Without turning to the team, Aaron nods and gestures for the doctor to lead the way, mind spinning with relief and worry, a dizzying rush of feelings at knowing that you’re alive. Stopping outside of a room, the doctor looks at Aaron before opening the door and stepping aside. Making his way to the side of your bed, Aaron can’t help but take stock of your appearance. Eyes tracing your face, fingers lightly following the same path before coming to hold your hand as he sits in the chair next to your bed. Exhaling slowly, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, eyes finding your sleeping face and finally, Aaron allows some tension to leave his body. You’re here you’re here and you’re alive and breathing.

---

Your return to actual conscious reality is slow, to say the least. The steady beeping of your heart monitor catches your attention first because it’s just so damn annoying. But hey, it means you’re alive—what a relief—so you really can’t find it in your hazy mind to care too much about the incessant beeping noise as you drift into consciousness. The next thing to draw your focus is the scratchiness of the sheets surrounding your body—are hospital sheets purposely so uncomfortable?—and the way that you can feel someone holding your hand. Aaron. Fighting to open your eyes damn those fluorescents you manage to squint your way awake. Well, as awake as one can be after what you just went through, but it’s an improvement to whatever semi-alive state you had been in even if you are still in a moderate amount of discomfort.

“…Sweetheart?” there he is. You squeeze his hand and turn to see him more fully, eyes raking over his face. Teary-eyed and smiling, you’ve never seen him look more handsome (okay besides when he was wearing his black button-down and black jacket at dinner before you got shot, but that’s obvious).

“Aaron,” his name leaves your lips on a breath and you smile back at him as he kisses your hand before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“I was so worried, Y/N. So worried about you,” he continues down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally, finally, he presses his lips to yours. Hands intertwined with his other one coming to cup your face, you pull apart just enough to look each other in the eye. And to think you might not have survived to do this ever again. The thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes and as they fall down your cheeks, Aaron kisses your forehead again before leaning his head against yours.

“You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re here, I’m here, the team is in the waiting room. We’re all okay,” he says gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You continue to cry, soft whimpers escaping you as the pain in your midsection sets in and you realize how much you could have lost if you died.

“Th’ team. Need t’see ‘em,” you mumble through your tears, and Aaron nods before reaching for his phone and texting someone, staying by your side the whole time. Your tears continue to fall, but Aaron’s presence and steady reassurance calms you and soon you’re just staring at each other, hands clasped, reveling in your closeness.

A nurse enters the room and checks your vitals on all the machines you’re connected to before remarking on how good it is to see you awake and then she’s gone; Aaron doesn’t leave your side.

A swift knock on the door turns your head, and a smile breaks across your face as the team shuffles into your room and gathers around your bed. You watch them as they come in, looking for injuries or something out of the ordinary. However, they’re all okay, looking at you with sad hopeful eyes, but they’re okay just like Aaron said.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, wide-eyed.

“We’re okay? Mama, we should be checking on you. You’re the one whose been unconscious for a day and a half,” Morgan chuckles.

“’M okay. Good. Great. Sp’tacular,” you assure them with a smirk and a wave at your general hospital-chic appearance. You don’t have to turn to Aaron to know he’s rolling his eyes as the others let out small laughs at your answer.

“Glad you’re awake, Y/N,” Rossi states with a smile as Reid nods behind him.

“We were worried,” JJ adds.

“Don’t you ever do that again! I mean it,” Garcia says, pointedly. You huff out a laugh and grimace as your abdomen twinges in pain. Note to self: don’t do that again. You catch the rest of the room in a collective wince out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is now on Aaron, as he leans impossibly closer to you, gauging your level of pain through his furrowed brow.

“We’ll be back later,” Emily suggests, laying one hand on JJ’s arm and another on Reid’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Y/N.”

“Will do,” you grit out, pain subsiding only slightly in your stomach. Your eyes shut and over the sound of your heavy breathing, you hear footsteps retreating and the closing of the door. Aaron’s hand brushes your hair back off your forehead and comes to rest on your cheek. With your eyes closed, you realize just how fucking tired you are now that you’ve confirmed everyone is fine with your own eyes. You squeeze Aaron’s hand, and as you give in to your exhaustion, you feel him kiss your knuckles with a sigh.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and then you’re out.

---

You wake up to a hushed argument taking place between Morgan and Rossi at the foot of your bed and surprise surprise Aaron’s scowling at both of them.

Fighting through a yawn, you mumble, “G’morning, everyone,” pointedly glaring at Morgan and Rossi who at least have the decency to look sorry for disturbing you.

“Afternoon, princess,” Morgan says with a nod. “Nice to see you awake again.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but notice the careful way Aaron’s watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing his hand—has he let go of it since he got here? A thought to pursue at a later time—you turn your attention back to the agents at the end of your bed.

“What have I missed?” Rossi looks at Aaron before taking a breath and facing you.

“We think the guy who shot you has a partner and we’re trying to figure out who it is.”

Well shit. Schooling your face into a somewhat neutral expression, you repeat “…a partner…?” and something akin to fear washes over you. There’s someone out there who wants you dead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Steeling yourself, you look over at Aaron for confirmation and the hard look in his eyes is all you need. Fuck. Sinking further back into the pillows behind you, you stare at the ceiling and try to fully comprehend what you’ve just learned. Breathing deeply, you try and quell the panic that’s rising in your chest. Shit. Now what happens. Eyes clenched shut, you address the room.

“So, what now? There’s another guy so what do we have on him what do we know has the unsub said anything that might help us? Something? Phone calls at weird times, unusual credit card activity, change in schedule, unexplained absences from work, something has to stick out,” Your words rush out before you can stop them.

“Well—“ Morgan starts but you cut him off, rambling.

“—and what’s the name of the unsub anyway? What’s the name of the fucker who shot me two times?” you ask, eyes flying open at the realization that you only know him as “the unsub” and not his actual name.

“Parker Harrison,” Hotch states with enough contempt for you to stop and squint at him, worried.

“Sounds like an asshole,” you remark, but Hotch doesn’t smile like you thought he would.

It’s at this point that Morgan wisely makes some excuse about seeing if Garcia has found anything new and he herds Rossi out the door before the other man can protest. The click of the door behind them is deafening as you continue to watch Aaron’s face while he stares down at your joined hands on the bed. Tracing your knuckles, he doesn’t elaborate on the unsub and so you wait. You focus on your own breathing, Aaron’s hand in yours, and his presence next to you.

However, there’s only so much silence you can take when you have so many questions that you would like answered. Tugging on his hand, you wait for him to look up at you before speaking.

“Aaron, who is this guy?”

Silence.

You try again.

“Aaron, I can’t help you profile the partner if I don’t know who Harrison is. Let me help you catch this fucker,” and that catches his attention. With a small quirk of his lips, he exhales and leans closer to brush some hair out of your face.

“You shouldn’t be profiling or working at all, Y/N. You got shot. You need to rest,” he says as his hand settles on your cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes. As if.

“I can multi-task, love. Also, I need to work this case. Do you really think I’ll be able to rest and recover knowing there’s someone out there who wants me dead? Harrison is the first step to figuring this out and I can help, Hotch. I’m a profiler and he’s an unsub. This isn’t anything we haven’t faced before and we will catch him. So, once again, I’m asking you to let me help,” you implore. “I’m on bedrest, not dead. I can be semi-useful, even while lying in a hospital bed.”

With that, Hotch sucks in a quick breath and his eyebrows pull together.

“But you did die,” he says lowly. “You died you were dead. The doctor said you coded on the table. I could have lost you,” and with that last admission, his voice breaks. Bowing his head, the slight shake of his shoulders is the only sign you have to know that he’s crying. Crying over you. Oh, Aaron. Carefully sliding over in your bed—ouch—you pull on Aaron’s hand insistently.

“C’mere, love,” you whisper, and Aaron maneuvers his way on to the bed. Has he always been this tall or are hospital beds just smaller than normal ones?

Slowly, mindful of your injuries even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil, he curves himself around you as tears continue to fall. You lift your hand to card through his hair at a steady pace and eventually, just rest your hand on his face, catching tears and brushing them away. You raise your other hand, which is still holding his, to your lips and softly kiss his fingertips.

“I’m here. We’re here and we’re okay, and I love you,” you repeat gently until the shaking in his shoulders subsides and his breathing evens out to match yours. Holding your hand to his face, Hotch gives it the gentlest kiss imaginable before clearing his throat.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. So much. I was scared you weren’t going to make it, and then to find out you almost didn’t?” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“It’ll take more than a few bullets to take me away from you, Aaron Hotchner,” you say. “I mean it.”

Instead of responding, Aaron nuzzles the top of your head and moves impossibly closer to you on the bed.

“I just—“ he stops. “I waited for hours to hear how you were doing. I was basically useless to the team because all I could think about was you and how you told me to get the guy and figure it out, but I couldn’t. Not without you.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you shift so you can smile at him warmly and then he’s leaning down to you, cradling your face, and kissing you with a desperation that makes your heart ache. You return his kiss with all the reassurance you can offer. I love you. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sorry. Tilting your head, you move a hand to his chest, over his heart trying to do what you can to get closer to him. I love you I love you I love you. 

Breaking for air, Aaron presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before settling back into your side. Heart racing, you smile contentedly at the man in front of you before trying to get comfortable. Leaning just a little too far forward, your breath leaves you in a whoosh before the pain sets in, letting you know you’ve overdone it just a bit—and just when things were getting good, too. Ever the protector, Hotch readjusts your pillows and presses the call button for the nurse as you let out a whimper. Soon enough, a nurse makes her way into the room and asks you how you are—brilliant—and what level your pain is at—an eight—before giving you a very welcome round of pain meds.

As your body relaxes and your mind starts to drift, you turn your gaze to Aaron, still by your side. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead softly as you close your eyes. Safe for now.

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 17

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Peter, grasping for straws to remain 'The Prank Master,' thinks he's found a way to annoy you into conceding. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to him, what he's found is something much worse.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Content Warning for descriptions/mentions of PTSD and flashbacks. Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 34 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6,761

Red covered your mouth and nose, all over your hand, and a bit on your sheets. You blearily tried to gather your senses, tried to open your eyes against the unforgiving light that blinded you.

Peter stood over you, laughing. Telling you that you got what was coming to you as you groaned.

That fecker had put ketchup in your hand while you slept and then tickled your nose with one of the fuzzy-tipped novelty pens on your desk. The dickhead.

"Ugh! Gross! Dude!?" you complain, sitting up and reaching over to grab the tissues off your desk so you could clean yourself up.

"Serves you right for what you did to me!" Peter countered, gesturing to the blue staining his body. He began to walk out of your room, making sure to let you know that you shouldn't expect the two of you were even.

You roll your eyes and continue wiping the ketchup-y mess off of you. You glance down at your sheets and realized you'd need to wash them today too. Great. Guess this is what you got for sleeping-in.

Once you had finally cleaned yourself up you gathered your sheets to take them downstairs to wash them, but not before making a pit-stop to Peter's room. Wanting to make the trip quick you grabbed the first thing you could find- his comb- and pocketed it. It was about to have a date with some jelly.

As you turned to leave his room you saw Rocket standing in the hall just outside the door.

With a knowing grin he asked, "Whatcha doin' there?"

"Nothing," you answer flatly, gathering your sheets back up.

He let you pass but said, "So I guess I didn't just see you steal Quill's comb, then?" There was amusement in his voice.

"He'll get it back," you answer, not pausing in your walk towards the stairs.

"What do you plan on doing to it?" he asked, intrigued. He had no intents to squeal on you. This prank-y-ness was a side of you he had been pleasantly surprised to see. Much better the the stiff agent-type you usually liked to display. Had he maybe misjudged you?

"The less you know the better," you answered, continuing down the stairs.

No witnesses. Rocket liked your style. Maybe you didn't have such a stick up your butt after all.

***

You threw your sheets in the washer and put the kettle on. It was time to make some jelly.

While waiting for the kettle you grabbed the packet of jelly from the pantry and something quick for breakfast. Deciding on a granola bar, you go to pull one from the box when you also notice that all your spices had been flipped upside down. Obviously Peter's doing. That's also when you remember that you had hidden the rest of the food dye behind the spices, prompting you to give a quick peek to see that the box was still there.

It wasn't.

Peter must have found it while setting up his prank and took them, intent on making the two of you "even."

Crap.

The kettle began to whistle and you pulled yourself out of your thoughts of doom to start fixing the jelly. You could think about the dye later. Right now you had mischief to make.

You mix up the jelly in a glass bowl, adding in an extra packet of gelatin to make sure the shape would hold later. Then, looking around to make sure no one was around, you take Peter's comb out of your pocket and drop it in. The bowl was just big enough for the comb to catch on the sides roughly about halfway deep in the jelly water, so that when you turned it out it would be nicely suspended in the green jelly. You then quickly take the bowl to the fridge to set, burying it in the back on the bottom shelf so it hopefully wouldn't be seen.

Then you simply went about your day as normal.

***

Other than several bad puns, Peter surprisingly didn't attempt much to annoy you that day, and you had no doubts that it was because he was confident that he'd be able to return the favor in dyeing you an odd color when you showered tonight.

Not if you had anything to say about it.

Too bad for him he had no way to know that you knew, and you were confident that you could deal with it when that time came if you paid enough attention. For now you were just going to act none-the-wiser, and accept his invitation to watch a show with the others.

You settled in on the couch and the episode starts. It's a title you haven't heard of before.

Watching it you gathered it was a type of mystery/detective/thriller type that was somehow also a comedy. A detective was accused of killing this old lady, and he was on the run to try and prove his innocence. Lots of action, a bunch of red-herrings, overall not a bad show so far if you had to judge by this episode.

Then there was the end-scene.

The detective finally found the actual murderer, the mayor, and after tricking him into broadcasting his confession over the radio in this abandoned radio station- where he somehow had managed to make a broadcast work- the two fight. Only the mayor has a gun, and the detective's fell into a storm drain two scenes ago.

Through his cunning the detective manages to escape alive, but not unharmed. He's got a compound fracture to his leg. Cops are on the scene and arresting the mayor after surrounding him at gunpoint, and ambulances can be heard in the background.

You feel the hair on your arms stand up.

The sound of the sirens just keeps getting louder.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

They get louder. You look away from the screen into your lap.

All you can hear now is sirens. You don't realize they've already stopped on the screen. There's now instead dialogue, a conversation between characters, but you are unaware of it.

Your hands clench into fists, nails digging into your palms. You fight the images in your head. You don't want to see them. You hear sounds of tearing metal. Sirens. Screaming. Beeping. Your breathing gets shallow and you work to keep it quiet. You had to fight it back. Sirens. Bright lights. Glass shattering. Screaming. Sirens. You keep saying to yourself inside your mind that it's ok. You're ok. But what about-

Kraglin makes a comment to Yondu about something said on screen. You don't hear him. You only hear the sirens. God, why won't they stop? Screeching. Sirens. Blinding lights. Sirens.

Yondu turns to reply to Kraglin, but sees you looking strange. He raises an eyebrow, which Kraglin notices. He follows Yondu's gaze and sees you staring into your lap, body rigid, hands balled tightly into fists. Your eyes are wide, but unseeing. Your jaw is set.

Before either of them can say a word the buzzer on the washer goes off and you seem to jolt out of it, quickly hopping up and making your way out of the room.

Yondu and Kraglin share a look. What was that about?

***

You didn't return for another episode. Instead, you decided it was a nice enough day to hang your washing on the line. It hardly took you any time at all to finish, but you decide to stay outside for a bit anyways. Fresh air and all that.

Everything was fine. You were ok.

When you finally come back in it's well after a suitable lunchtime, and realizing that the only thing you had today was a granola bar, you decide to cut up an apple and sit at the table, scrolling on your phone as you eat.

Yondu comes into the kitchen for a drink and joins you at the table. "Where'd you go runnin' off to?" he asks, "Decide you didn't like the show?" What he really wanted to ask was what had prompted that look in your eyes earlier, but he knew better than to just come out an ask. You'd just deny anything had happened.

"Had laundry to dry," you answer, not looking up from your phone.

"Ya were gone an awful long time for laundry." Yondu said, not missing that you completely ignored his question about the show. But the question still bugged him. He recognized the look in your eyes back then. He remembered sometimes catching it in the eyes of some of the older battle slaves in the barracks when he was younger. It was the look one had when they were flashing back to something horrific they had been through. He and the other younger battle slaves were always told by other elders to leave those be when they were "stuck in it", as they would say. Don't disturb them. They'll come out of it. Nothing for it but to let it pass.

That never did sit right with him.

"It's a nice day. Thought I'd enjoy it," you answered.

Yondu hummed shortly. You weren't giving him anything, and he knew you wouldn't.

He decided not to press it for now, but he could tell something had triggered that response from you, he just didn't know what. He suspected it had something to do with whatever it was that you kept locked away inside. He had clues and suspicions as to what, but of course he couldn't be sure, though he was more determined now than he had previously been to figure you out. Only one thing was certain. You had pain inside you. A lot of it. No one should have to go through that alone.

***

Kraglin, unlike Yondu, wasn't nearly as subtle when he saw you next. However, he wouldn't get any further.

"Mind if I help?" he asked, joining you in the garden where you were pulling a few weeds.

"Go for it," you reply, barely looking up. There weren't many to pull, as it was starting to get cooler lately. You mostly just came out for something to do. Soon it'd be time to harvest the whole garden.

The two of you work in silence for a bit. Then, Kraglin asks, "So, um, was you alright earlier? I mean, saw that ya looked mighty shaken when we was watching that show."

"Don't know what you're talking about," you answer, standing up and tossing the weeds you picked over to the compost bucket.

Kraglin looked up to meet your gaze, frowning. He was about to say something along the lines that you were full of shit, but he stopped himself when he saw your stern expression. You weren't just denying it. With just those few words, combined with the subtly hard look on your face, you were outright telling him that he didn't see whatever it was that he thought he saw.

He exhaled out his nose and just gave you a look that said that he didn't believe you, but he wouldn't push it. He could see that you would just shut him out, and he felt like it wasn't his place to press it.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out, breaking the awkward silence and causing you both to jump.

You sigh, not appreciating the jolt, and said, "Damn hunters."

Kraglin nodded and tried to take this distraction as an opportunity to change the subject. If you wouldn't open up, maybe he could try and make you smile instead. "So... nice job on dyeing Pete blue last night. Real funny."

"I certainly thought so," you said.

He almost thought he saw you crack a smile. Wanting to bring about a full grin he decided to tell a story. "Yeah, it was just like this time Pete rigged a dye pack up in one of Yondu's drawers, I think he mentioned it last night. Anyway, so somehow Pete rigs it up, I think he got mad at Cap'n for making him scrub the grease traps or somethin', but anyway then Yondu goes to open his drawer one mornin,' yeah? And he's blasted in the face with this red dye. Ohhh boy! He was madder than a muzzled Flerken!!"

The mental image was enough to make your lips curl up involuntarily.

Kraglin noted this and continued, "What's worse is he had to meet with some lady client the next day about a job, and he couldn't get it off. He was this funny shade of purple for over a week!"

A short laugh suddenly breaks through your throat and you look at him. "Really?" you ask, mirth in your eyes. The mental image of the blue man looking quite cross and splattered purple while trying to commit space pirate business dealings was a humorous one.

"Yeah. He grounded Pete for so long after that." Kraglin replied, chuckling.

"I'll bet," you say as you stand up and brush yourself off, now finished with weeding and prepared to go inside. "Thanks. For helping in the garden, I mean." you say.

Kraglin also stands. "Not a problem, ma'am."

You wince and shake you head as you turn back to the house. You thought of telling him to knock it off with the 'ma'am' stuff, but you were concerned with what might replace it. So you left it alone for now.

***

You were on alert when you got ready for your shower that evening. You knew Peter had plenty of opportunity to have tampered with your bath products, but you played it cool. Acted unaware.

The plan? Beat him at his own game.

First you turned on the shower and let it run. You cupped your hands beneath the stream to make sure the water wasn't an odd color.

All clear.

You get into the shower, deciding to inspect your shampoo and conditioner bottles first. You felt it was unlikely he'd put it in those, as it would be unlikely to have a decent enough payoff for him, but you still checked just in case. Your shampoo bottle was see-through and the liquid inside clear, so it was obvious it had gone untampered. You went ahead and used it.

Time for conditioner. Unscrewing the top you look inside the conditioner. Completely white. Untampered. Good.

Finally you checked your body wash. It was a rose scented type and was already colored pink. If he was was going to strike anywhere, it would likely be there with the red dye. You squirted a little into a rag to test it on your hip, an inconspicuous area. You didn't even need to use it before you realized you were right. The body wash came out much darker than usual. It was like he hadn't even mixed it. Actually, that's likely exactly what he did. He probably wanted to make sure as much dye got on you as possible and so just squirted it right on top. Just out of curiosity, however, you still tested it.

Yep. It left a red steak right on your hip. You catch a glance at Peter's bottle on the shower shelf, and grin.

Silly Peter. He shouldn't have forgotten his bottle in the shower. Again.

You reach out of the shower for a new washcloth, and use some of his body wash instead. Of course, not before testing it on the first rag to make sure it wasn't left behind on purpose as a trap. It wasn't. The test proved it free of dye and safe to use.

For now.

Once you finished washing you then unscrewed the top off of Peter's bottle and carefully poured in as much of the dye from the top of your tampered bottle as you could without getting it on your hands. You had to sacrifice a little of the soap down the drain just to make sure it would come out clean the next time you used it.

Was he sure to notice? Probably, but you didn't care. You'd be just as happy with the message it would deliver if nothing else.

He was going to see that you were the Prank Master here.

***

Once finished with your shower you retreated to your bedroom. On the way you could hear Peter in his room asking Gamora if she had seen his comb, and you grinned. You sure knew where his comb was.

Mantis is gathering her own stuff together to take a shower when you enter the room. You glance at what she's carrying to make sure she has enough soap. God forbid she might run out and then use Peter's instead of yours. You actually would feel bad if the prank accidentally hit her instead of Peter. Satisfied that she does you shut your door behind her and wait, unable to keep a grin from splitting your face.

Perhaps half an hour later, a good bit after Mantis had returned from her shower, you can hear Peter shouting.

"Are you KIDDING me!?"

Mantis looks towards the sound in shock before turning to see you covering your giggles with your hand.

Now you can hear Peter cursing your name.

"What did you do?" Mantis asks, both intrigued and alarmed.

"He tried to get me back for turning him blue by putting red dye in my soap. I found out and turned it back on him," you answered, nearly stuttering over your giggles.

"How?"

"I just poured the tainted soap into his bottle. Now he'll have been dyed twice." You grinned, but it fell shortly when you heard the bathroom door slam open and heard his footsteps coming in the direction of your room. You jumped up and quickly flicked the lock just before he reached the door.

The knob jiggled and then he started to pound on the door, cursing your name and demanding you come out.

Feeling cheeky, you answered, "Nobody's home!"

From the other side Peter said loudly, "Come out here, you coward!"

"Do you need something?" you ask, your grin wide.

"You. Out here. Now."

"Whatever for?" You're have a real hard time biting back your laughter. Mantis is sitting on her bed, hugging her bear and openly giggling.

"You know exactly what for!"

You look to Mantis. "Should I?" you chuckle.

"YES! You should!" answered Peter from the other side of the door.

"Didn't ask you!" you retort. You look back to Mantis and she nods excitedly. She wanted to see what had happened to Peter.

"Alright," you answer, loud enough for Peter to hear as well. You unlock the door and slowly open it.

You tried to hold it in. Honestly, you did. But the sight of Peter standing there in his pajama bottoms, and now purple where he had previously been blue, and a pinkish-red just about everywhere else you could see, you lost it.

Your laughter, combined with seeing that you didn't have a spec of dye on you, made Peter cry out in frustration. "HOW?!"

"It-It's your fault," you laughed. "You left a trail!"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I did not leave a trail!"

"You did! I-I saw you had taken the rest of the dye and I knew what you'd do with it. Dude, you- you really should have left the box behind. I might not have noticed then." It was all you could do to say the sentence coherently as you tried to hold back your giggles. "How did you not notice I turned it around and poured it back in your bottle? Don't you look??"

As Peter sputtered indignantly for a reply you noticed that you again had an audience. Yondu and Kraglin stood at the bottom of the stairs, grinning up at the scene and shaking their heads. Rocket and Drax were standing by their room, Drax chuckling with a giggling Groot on his shoulder and Rocket almost looking impressed. Almost. Gamora was standing across the landing, shaking her head, though it appeared more out of second-hand embarrassment for Peter rather than disdain for you.

"Don't I- You- I'm- UGH!" Peter sputtered in frustration. He had half a mind to tickle you until you peed your pants for this- Well, not literally, though he wouldn't be above threatening it. He may be an asshole, but he wasn't 100% a dick. Regardless, the other half of his brain was too busy trying to think of any suitable comeback... and failing. He was The Prank Master! How were you beating him at his game? He glared at you. He wanted to wipe that smirk off your face. "You think you're so funny, don't you?! Just wait. You better watch your back. I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"You're not going to do anything, Peter." It was Gamora who spoke now, her tone teetering somewhere between warning and exhaustion, with a hint of amusement buried somewhere in there. "She beat you at your own game. Go to bed."

You couldn't stop the grin that split your face if your life depended on it. You took a calculated step back, hand resting on your door. You put on your most innocent voice. "So..." you started. "Does this mean I'm The Prank Master, now?"

The look in Peter's eyes could have vaporized you. "That's it!" he cried, stepping towards you. He wasn't sure what he'd do when he got hold of you. Hold you in a headlock until you apologized? Wet Willie? Both? Neither? Didn't matter. All he knew was you were going to pay for this.

However, he'd never get the chance. You were too fast, slamming the door in his face and flicking the lock just before he could get near.

You and Mantis doubled over laughing and Peter sputtered some more empty threats before Gamora could be heard scolding him and telling him to go to bed.

It was even better the second time.

***

The next morning you were, dare you say, cheerful.

Peter, less so. He was still a bit cranky that not only had he been the victim of the dye prank twice, just one night after the first, but that it had happened because he tried to get you back and you turned the tables on him. Sure, he had cooled down a bit from last night, but he was still an uneven purple/pinkish-red mess and the others kept snickering at him. Even Gamora had been caught hiding a grin behind her hand a couple of times.

It wasn't fair. He was determined to get you back, but how would-

He spotted something on the kitchen table, interrupting his thoughts. Something shiny, and green, and was that...?

Oh you were going to get it.

***

You were minding your own business, walking over to one of the bookcases in the sitting room, when suddenly you were accosted.

Peter had pulled you into a headlock from behind.

"Hey! What the hell! Let me go!" you demanded.

"Tell me you're sorry and I'll think about it!"

You had a feeling what this was about, but you played dumb. "I'm not going to apologize for turning the tables back around on you! It was your own fault for trying."

"That's not what I mean and you know it!"

You started softly laughing despite the moderate chokehold. You couldn't help it. "Did you- Did you ever find your comb?"

Suddenly you feel something wet in your ear. You knew there was only one thing it could be. "Ew! No! Peter!" you squeal, trying to squirm away. "That's disgusting! Stop it!"

Peter was chuckling now, still giving you a wet willie. "Say you're sorry!"

You jerk against him. "Never!" You were laughing despite really only having one hand to fight him with. The limited range on your brace made it so you couldn't bend your elbow enough to grab his arm with that hand, and you were standing too close to the bookcase to throw him over you and get out of the headlock. Well, too close to do it without hurting him, or your books, that is. You were stuck, but you still weren't going to give in.

Turns out you wouldn't need to.

"Alright. Break it up," came Yondu's voice from somewhere off to the side. "What's going on here?"

Peter released you and you rubbed your ear against your shoulder to get the wet feeling out of it. "She put my stuff in Jello!" he complained.

Yondu gave you a weird, albeit amused look. "Don't ya think ya did enough to him already, missy?" He wasn't scolding you, but he actually was surprised you were still on the attack after having seemingly won the war last night.

Fighting a grin you reply, "In my defense, I'd already done that before the dye thing. I only found out he was planning that afterwards," Technically not the full truth- you actually found out during the setup of the jelly prank, not after, but it was close enough, "and what was I supposed to do, not turn the tables back on him when I found out?"

Peter punches you in the shoulder, but there was no anger behind it, just cheekiness. You stick your tongue out at like a child in retaliation.

Yondu grinned and shook his head. It'd been awhile since he'd seen his boy carefree and goofing off like this, even if he was bickering with you like the two of you were kids. Still, he should maybe try to persuade a stop to the prank war again before things escalated any more and you two killed each other. It'd be a shame to save him from Ego just to let him die in a prank war of all things, and bad form to let him kill their host. "Boy, I think ya might need to accept that she won this round." he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"I will do no such thing! She just got lucky." Peter replied.

You smirked. "Yeah. Sure. 'Lucky'," you taunt. "Just say it and I'll call us even."

"EVEN?!" Peter exclaimed. He gestured to the stained purple and pinkish red of the areas of skin you could see. "Look at me!"

Trying not to smile you slowly look down to the brace on your arm. Head cocked to the side your eyes look back to Peter. "You were saying?"

Peter bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. You could tell he wanted to retort with something, but he knew he had no leg to stand on. Eventually he settled for, "I'm still not saying it."

Yondu snorted a laugh. "Whatever it is, just be a man and say it, boy. Quit while yer ahead."

Peter looked at him indignantly. "I am not going to declare her The Prank Master."

Unable to suppress your grin any longer you nudge him in the shoulder and say in your sweetest voice, "It's ok, you don't have to say it," taking a few steps away you add, "We already know." You then jogged out of the way when he made a grab for you.

You made your way out the front door, but he didn't follow, instead just stood there pouting.

"Ya finally gonna give it up, boy? Take yer loss like a man?" Yondu chuckled, teasingly.

"Never." Peter responded, too busy plotting revenge to fully catch the "take it like a man" part as he walked out of the room.

Yondu chuckled and rolled his eyes as he went to take a seat on the sofa. It was nice to see that you had a goofy side, though he wondered if it was Peter rubbing off on you, or if you had just had it buried under layers of stubbornness and sass.

Either way, it seemed certain that the boy was gonna have to relinquish his self-proclaimed title of "The Prank Master."

***

Over the next couple days the pranks between you and Peter had slowed down. This was likely in part because of how you made Peter realize that he couldn't complain too much about getting even for the dye prank if he considered that you were still in a brace as a result from one of his previous pranks gone wrong, but also in part because the two of you had pulled so many pranks so far you were seemingly running out of ideas.

Peter moved the furniture in your sitting room 3 inches to the left, likely to get your back for putting his comb in jelly.

You retaliated by setting up some cling film up at head height in the kitchen doorway for him to walk into and then calling him into the kitchen.

He got back at you by swapping your salt and sugar out, thereby ruining what would have been a perfectly good cup of tea.

For this high crime, you decided to get him back by scrapping out a couple Oreos and filling them with toothpaste. He was most definitely not fond of that one. Called it a crime against nature, and he may have been right, but so was what he had done to your tea.

Other than that, nothing really escalated, well apart from the oreos and tea, that is. The two of you kept making little jabs at each other and annoying one another. Really bad puns, petty insults, that sort of thing.

You did assume, however, that Peter was just biding his time, trying to think of something big that he could spring on you that might make you give up the game and declare him The Prank Master, because gods knew he wasn't going to concede.

And you'd be right.

Peter spent a decent amount of time brainstorming ideas for a really good prank, or even just a decent way to annoy you, in between all the smaller ones, but he was coming up with nothing he deemed quite good enough.

He was about to consider throwing in the towel when you inadvertently provided him with the fodder he needed.

***

It was the fourth day since the first dye prank and most of the dye on Peter had worn off by now.

You were reading on the couch, little Groot was playing with the TV and flipping through random videos on the YouTube app with Drax, and Peter and Kraglin were in the middle of a card game at the table on the other side of the room.

In what you would chalk up to a cruel twist of fate, Groot managed to find his way into a video of ambulance calls.

Rudely and immediately torn from your book by the sound, your hand shoots out for the TV remote and you mute the TV, much to the dismay of little Groot, who had found the noise fun and had been cheering the siren on. As calmly as you can despite your rapid heartbeat, you ask Drax, who was confused by your behavior, to please tell Groot to find something else to watch.

Drax looks at you strangely, but translates for Groot anyway, which again, only sounded to you like he was repeating your words verbatim due to his translator. You still didn't know that the translators didn't actually translate into Groot, but rather Groot had just picked up and could understand a bit of Galactic Standard, even if he couldn't speak it.

Groots looks slightly disappointed for a second but agrees and switches videos and you unmute the TV.

You didn't bother checking what new video he had chosen. That had been a mistake.

After the ad finished playing you were jerked back into reality from your book by the sounds of now multiple ambulance calls going at once. You mute the TV once again and say, "I'm sorry. I should have been more clear. Anything else. Anything else except for videos of that sound."

Drax, rightfully confused, asks, "Why?"

"I do not like it." is all you offer, and you don't elaborate when asked.

Peter, of course, overhears all this, and thinks he's found his new way to annoy you. He of course had no way of knowing the reason you couldn't bare the sound wasn't due to annoyance. He had no way of knowing its effect on you.

***

He tested the waters the next day after lunch.

You were washing up the dishes with Gamora when the sound of an ambulance siren makes you freeze in the middle of drying a bowl.

Gamora turns her head towards the noise and wonders aloud what it was.

Without answering you take towards the direction of the sitting room to, gently, scold Groot for playing those videos again.

Of course, when you get there, you only see Peter, who pretended to be surprised to see you.

"Turn that off," you say sharply.

"What?" Peter asked innocently.

You didn't ask him again. You just grabbed the control and exited the video before throwing the control back down into his lap. "Don't play that again," you warn.

"Why? Does it annoy you?" Peter asked with a smirk. He didn't notice your hands shaking.

Your eyes hardened. "Just don't," you say, returning to the kitchen.

Peter grinned. He was going to have fun with this.

***

Peter would play that sound three more times that afternoon, each time eliciting a more irritated response from you until you finally ripped the plug to the TV out of the wall and turn to him to angrily yell, "Stop it!"

"What?" Peter asked, chuckling in surprise at your latest response. You must really hate that noise.

"You know exactly what. I'm seriously, genuinely asking you to knock it off," you reply.

Gamora, who could tell Peter was working your last nerve and who was also becoming irritated by the repeated playing of the sirens, nudged Peter and told him he had his fun.

Peter half smirked and seemed to relent, saying simply, "Okay."

You sigh. "Thank yo-"

"After you declare me The Prank Master."

Gamora rolled her eyes and propped her head up on the hand resting on the arm of the couch, not wanting to get involved, but inches from yelling at her boyfriend that she was ending the prank war herself.

You were seething. "You're a goddamn child!" you scold, leaving the sitting room and considering getting out some of the vodka you had in the freezer just to calm your nerves.

You had only just made it into the kitchen when the sound started up again.

You back against the wall and cover your face, inches from tears. Your breaths came in shallow gasps as flashes of bright lights and the sounds of tearing metal and screaming fill your senses. You tangle your hands in your hair.

"FUCKING STOP IT!" you scream.

Peter and the others in the sitting room, as well as those upstairs, all paused in shock at the sheer volume behind your scream.

They then heard the sound of the back door slamming forcefully.

Yondu, who had been at the table playing cards with Kraglin, had only been present for the second and last incidence of Peter annoying you with the sound, and it wasn't until now that he put the pieces together. That day when you acted strange and walked out on the show- this siren sound had been playing then too.

Shit.

He got up and scolded Peter, who in his shock still hadn't turned the video back off. "Turn that shit off now, boy! If I hear it again I'm gonna shove my arrow up your ass! You hear me?"

Peter, recognizing the tone in Yondu's voice as one that he had encountered many times as a child when he was in trouble, immediately switched the video off. He had to concede that perhaps he went a little too far this time, but of course he didn't actually understand just how true that sentiment was.

Yondu went to go see where you went, and he didn't need to look very far, which surprised him. He was for sure you would have taken off for the forest again, since it was kinda your thing.

Instead, you were sat with your back pressed against the stone of the house about a couple meters from the door, hand clamped over your mouth and eyes in that terrible 'wide yet unseeing' way. In the dim light provided by what shone out the kitchen windows from inside he thought he could almost see the remnants of fallen tears.

He tried to approach you slowly, but you caught him out the corner of your eye and jerked to a standing position.

"Hey, hey-" Yondu said, holding his hands up. "It's alright-" he started, but then found he didn't know what else to say. After a moment he settled on, "Ya wanna talk about what that was about?"

You don't meet his gaze. "Nothing. He just pisses me off. He's a damn child."

"While that may be true, yer still full of shit."

You glare at him.

He continues. "If this was just about Quill gettin' under yer skin ya wouldn't be shakin' like that, and I doubt you'd be crying neither."

"Am not," you mutter. You turn away, wipe your eyes, cross your arms self-consciously, and start walking away. "It's cold."

Yondu rolled his eyes. It was cool out, yes, but it wasn't that cold. "Ya wanna talk about why ya dislike the particular noise so much?" Yondu called after you. "Ya ain't got to, but I can tell somethin's eating ya. I might help to get it off your chest."

"It's nothing." you reply. "Just an annoying sound."

Yondu frowned. "Now listen here. I ain't gonna force ya to tell me, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anyone just flat out lie to my face, missy."

You turn to him, indignant. "I'm not-"

"Hell if ya ain't. I've seen that look before, I know what it is. Ya can lie to yerself, but ya can't lie to me!"

You glare at him. "Who the hell do you think you are? Coming in here acting like you know anything about me!"

"I'm the person telling ya that it ain't healthy to keep that shit bottled up inside ya. It'll eat ya alive."

You don't respond. Just roll your eyes and start walking away again.

Yondu threw up his hands. "To hell with you then!" He starts to walk back inside but stops at the door to speak again, this time his tone a little softer, "I have a feelin' no one's ever told ya, girl, but ya don't have to 'be strong' all the time. Sometimes it's ok to let people in. It don't make ya weak." With that he headed back in the house.

You lean your back against the cool stone and sigh in frustration. What did he know.

***

You head back inside a bit later, not feeling much better.

Peter catches you as you're about to head up the stairs. "Hey, I just wanted to say sorry for-"

"Don't." You cut him off, not stoping in your path. "I don't care. I'm going to bed."

Peter frowns, but lets you go. Maybe he could try again in the morning. He truly was sorry. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun.

***

You stared up at the ceiling from your bed for what felt like hours. You couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about it. You knew Peter had no way of knowing why you couldn't stand that sound, but you still couldn't help but be unhappy with him. He just wouldn't stop.

You can feel your jaw clenching with each flash of horrific memory.

You were annoyed at Yondu too. Acting like he knew anything about you or some shit. What did he know? Not you, that's what. You didn't need someone acting like they cared. You didn't need anyone, really. People come, people go. No one stays forever.

You feel your chest clench. Your throat tightens and you sit up. You didn't want to cry.

A walk. That's what you needed. A walk in the forest would surely help wash the memories away. You could walk until you were too tired to think about it, then sleep it off. It would be better in the morning. You'd be ok.

You quietly slip on some jeans and make your way downstairs to put on your boots and grab a jacket. Choosing your thin leather one because it had been chilly when you were out earlier, you open the back door and head out into the cool night air.

You'd find out soon enough that you should have stayed in bed.

[inevitableconfusion]

Thank you all so much for your response to part one - it’s been incredible!! This turned into an actual beast (I’m talking like 10 pages in microsoft word for just this part) so I have to split it up again. The final chapter will be up by the end of the week! We’re gonna end this thing on a happy note, you guys!!

All Left AU - fanfiction | part one | part two (here) | part three Creator of the au: @sabertoothwalrus​ (Here’s the post that started it all - cw: blood, gore)

Read on ao3

He wakes up on a Tuesday.

It starts out slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep that keeps trying to pull him back in. There are voices, quiet and calm, from somewhere near his feet. There’s a rhythmic beeping off to his left. Something tickles his nose, and it takes him a second to realize there’s a tube on his face. Beyond the tube, he smells antiseptic and soap, and recognition slowly sets in.

A hospital. He’s in a hospital. He takes a big breath, and lets out a groan.

A chair scrapes against the floor and footsteps hurry across the room. There’s a gentle hand on his cheek. “Adrien?”

His eyelids are heavy, but he manages to blink his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent light. His sight is fuzzy at first, but there’s a familiar blue gaze above him, and everything starts coming back to him all at once. The fight. Hawkmoth. The wish.

“Ma-” he breaks into a coughing fit, voice scratchy and dry from disuse. Sabine appears with a glass of water and they help him sit up, tipping the rim gently against his lips. The water is cold and soothing, and he takes several long, grateful gulps until the glass is empty.

Before he can try to speak again, Tom comes back into the room with the doctor. “Mister Agreste, glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he croaks and clears his throat. “How long was I out?”

“About a week.” He jolts. A week? “Miss Dupain-Cheng, could you please step into the hallway? I need to ask him a few questions while he’s awake.”

Marinette seems to hesitate, but the doctor reassures her that it will only be a few minutes, and she eventually nods before turning back to him. “I’ll be right outside, okay? As soon as he’s done, I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch up a bit and she hesitates again, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back, and she turns and follows her parents out of the room. Everything feels a little colder as soon as she’s gone.

The doctor pulls over a laptop stand and slips some reading glasses over his nose. “Are you feeling any pain, Mr. Agreste?”

“No.” He doesn’t feel anything, actually. He looks down at his lap, where his left hand is fiddling with the hospital blanket, an IV taped against his wrist and an oxygen monitor clamped on his finger. He can see thick white bandages in the corner of his eye, peeking out from under the sleeve hanging off his right shoulder. “Just… a little sore.”

“That’s okay,” the doctor says, “soreness is to be expected. But if you start feeling lots of pain, tell me or the nurses and we can give you a stronger medication.” He pauses, taking his glasses off and looking Adrien in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is solemn and his voice is quiet, almost apologetic. “We tried our best to save your arm, but the damage was too extensive. The bone had been crushed in a couple of different areas and some of the nerves and blood vessels were pretty badly frayed –”

The words fade into the background as his mind flashes back to that day with excruciating clarity. The musty smell of the lair. His mother in a glass coffin. Hawkmoth charging at him with terrifying speed. Pain and more blood than he’s ever seen before, screaming, a flash of light as he de-transformed, his arm –

The doctor’s hand on his shin snaps him back to reality. The beeping of the heart monitor has picked up noticeably, so he closes his eyes and takes deep, shaky breaths until it slows down to a more acceptable pace.  “Mr. Agreste, are you alright?”

He winces at the name. “Please, call me Adrien.” There’s a stinging behind his eyes and he can’t bring himself to look at the doctor, instead choosing to stare off to the side.

After a pause, the doctor slowly straightens back up. “I… I apologize, Adrien. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He doesn’t say anything in response; the sound of typing fills the room. A few inconsequential questions later, and the doctor leaves as quickly as he came in.

Marinette walks in as soon as the doctor is gone, just as she promised, nervously fiddling with something in her hands. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, bites her lip for a second, and then holds out her hand to him. He takes a sharp breath. The silver ring shines beautifully even in the cold light of the hospital room. He can feel it calling out to his soul, an invisible siren song pulling him forward.

“I wanted to make sure you got this back. If… if you want it.”

He reaches out tentatively. The metal is surprisingly warm, cradled safely in the palm of her hand. He blinks back tears, curling his fingers around the miraculous. “Thank you, Marinette.”

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Here, I’ll…” she trails off, gently grabbing his hand so she can slip the ring on his finger. Her hands are shaking. Even after the ring is in place, her touch lingers, clearly lost in thought. It must be a painful memory for her, too.

He threads his fingers between hers and squeezes their palms together. Thank you. She offers a small, sad smile and squeezes back before letting go. Everything feels a little more right in the world.

She reaches up and touches her earring. “Plagg and Tikki… all of the kwamis have been dormant since… for the past two weeks. I don’t think they’re gone forever, but I don’t know when…”

She trails off and he frowns, his thumb tracing the underside of the silver band. Plagg is gone. Maybe not forever, but probably for a while, at least. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He curls his hand into a fist. “And… and fa – Hawkmoth?”

She takes a moment to speak, as if trying to figure out how to answer him. “He… he’s in a coma. Here in the hospital.” Another beat of silence. “Do you want to see hi-”

“No,” he cuts her off. He doesn’t want to see that man. He doesn’t want to see him ever again.

Marinette doesn’t say anything in response, but he knows she understands. Of all people, she would understand. She gently touches his hand, uncurling his fist into something looser, and he relaxes. He’s always found comfort in her touch – from both sides of her. Marinette. Ladybug. Two of the most important people in his life, now one.

“How many people know about our identities now?”

She frowns, and he notices for the first time just how exhausted she looks. Like she hasn’t slept the entire week since the fight. “Everyone.”

“What?” His stomach drops. Everyone?

“The… when the ambulance came, so did the police.” Her voice is thick and she grips his hand tighter. “I guess your father confessed when he called, because they knew, somehow. They just – they saw me, and then they saw you, and I didn’t – I couldn’t –” A tear slips down her cheek, but she blinks quickly and wipes it away. “And then the media caught wind, and it was just… chaos.” She closes her eyes, her voice a broken whisper. “There were so many people.”

Everyone. They all know who he is. Who they are. They all know what happened. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He feels so lost. But then, he feels the weight of the ring on his finger – solid, smooth, and real. She gave it back to him. And she still has her earrings.

That… that has to mean something, right?

He looks at her carefully. “So, what do we do?”

She sniffles and opens her eyes. Her expression is firm. Steady. Determined. And even through the tears, it’s just so Ladybug. “We face it, together.”

Adrien’s heart stutters. Together. He lifts his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin under her eye. He swallows the lump in his throat. “For the record, I’m really glad it’s you.”

Her brows scrunch up and she takes a shaky breath. She lifts a hand to cover his, pressing it against her cheek. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

He gives her a watery smile, feeling his own tears well up. “It’s you and me against the world, m’lady.”

“Always,” she whispers.

He feels his face crumble as everything comes crashing down. She throws her arms around him, pulling him closer, hugging him tighter, until there’s no space between them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, finally letting out all of the emotions he’s been holding back.

He’s alive. She’s alive. They made it.

.

.

His father dies on a Thursday.

It doesn’t really come as a shock; he’s been waiting for the news since he first woke up two days ago. The doctors have been doing everything they can to keep him alive, but Adrien knew that nothing would help in the end. The wish saved his life, so it would take his father’s. The universe has to balance out, and nothing can change that.

What does come as a shock is information that he’s given directly after.

His head shoots up, eyes wide. “Nathalie is missing?” He hadn’t even thought to ask about Nathalie, given everything that’s been going on.

Officer Raincomprix pauses, then slowly closes his notepad. “We… have reason to believe that Miss Sancouer was working with Hawkmoth, under the name ‘Mayura’.”

“What?!” Marinette shrieks, leaping to her feet so quickly that her chair knocks over. “Why are we just being told this now?”

The officer holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, but since you can’t turn into Ladybug and Chat Noir right now, we could not risk having you try to go after her. It seems Ms. Sancoeur has fled the country, but we are doing everything we can to track her down and bring her back. Justice will prevail in the end!”

“She has a miraculous! We don’t know when they’re going to become active again, so the fact that she’s still out there means she’s still dangerous! And now that she knows our identities, don’t you think she’s going to come after us first?”

“Not to worry. By then, we’ll either have her locked up, or you’ll be Ladybug again. Either way, it wouldn’t be smart for her to try anything.”

“I am still Ladybug. And you have a duty to-”

“Wait!” Adrien shouts, interrupting them both. There’s a strange mix of cold emptiness and white-hot rage boiling up inside him. He feels his body shaking. “Wait. Did Gorilla know about this, too?”

Officer Raincomprix’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“The Gorilla! My bodyguard!”

“Oh. No, he has been cleared of all involvement and released.”

Adrien rubs his eyes and then pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to hold off the sudden, unwelcome tears building up. “Okay. So, two out of the three people living in my house were secretly trying to hurt me for years. Got it. Cool.”

“Ad-”

“I need a moment,” he snaps, and then sighs and softens his tone. “Please.”

They are quiet for a few seconds, and the policeman offers his thanks for their time before leaving, closing the door with a soft click. Adrien still has his eyes closed, but he can feel Marinette’s concerned gaze on him.

“Are you okay?”

His shoulders sag, feeling heavier and heavier as the day goes on. He leans back against the pillows on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t feel like crying anymore, he just feels tired. “It’s… a lot to take in.” He rolls his head to the side and gives her an apologetic look.

Sometimes he’s thankful that she can read him so well. She offers a gentle smile and grabs his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m gonna head home a little early today. See if you can get some rest before your therapy session, alright? I’m only a text away.”

She starts to pull away, but before she can get too far, he tugs her hand closer and kisses her knuckles. Thank you.

She stares for a bit too long, and he realizes belatedly that that was a very Chat Noir thing to do. Warmth crawls up his neck and over his cheeks, but there’s a fondness on her face that he’s not used to seeing. “See you tomorrow, kitty.”

Silence fills the room after she leaves, and it would be enough to drive him crazy if he had the energy to think. Instead, he lies back and closes his eyes.

  Father is dead.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. Just as quickly as the thought comes, the memory of whatever nightmare he was having fades into nothing. He’s not sure how long he managed to sleep. A few minutes? A few hours?

A gentle knock on the door tells him it was the latter. It’s time for his therapy session. He’s not ready. He’s never ready.

The physical therapy they’ve been having him do every day has been tough. His muscles are sore from a week of being unconscious, and his right shoulder hurts with even the barest movement. He has to re-learn how to do everything with only one arm – going to the bathroom, carrying large items, writing with his non-dominant hand. Even the once-simple act of tying his shoes or buttoning a shirt has left him in frustrated tears a few times.

Yet, the emotional therapy is so much harder. It’s difficult to turn his jumble of thoughts into words, much less coherent ideas that he can then dissect and analyze. And every time the counselor tries to bring up his father, he completely shuts down. Progress is slow and mentally taxing, and tonight is no different.

He finishes his dinner in a daze and Louise – one of his nurses – comes in. She sets his empty plate to the side and starts unwrapping the bandages on his arm to check on the stitches. She tries to make small-talk, but Adrien only answers half-heartedly, and eventually the conversation peters out. He feels a little bad; she’s a very kind lady, but he just doesn’t have the energy to talk. All he wants to do now is sleep.

After re-wrapping the bandages, Louise pulls an envelope out of the pocket of her scrubs and wordlessly hands it to him. He takes it, tossing her a questioning glance. “It’s a get-well-soon letter.” She picks up the dinner tray and gives him a small smile. “We thought it might make you feel better.”

She walks out of the room and he stares down at the letter, debating with himself. The exhaustion wins out in the end and he sighs, setting the unopened letter on the bedside table. He’ll get to it tomorrow.

.

.

The funeral is on a Friday.

His Aunt Amelie has insisted on have at least a bare-bones ceremony, because even though no one wants to honor the man who’d terrorized Paris for the past three years, she still wants the people close to him to have the opportunity to say their proper goodbyes. And by people, she means him.

Adrien doesn’t want to go, but his counselor thinks it could be cathartic, an opportunity to get everything off his chest. The hospital releases him an hour before the funeral starts, and even in death, he realizes he’s still stuck under his father’s thumb.

When he walks into the lobby, Gorilla is sitting by the door, and he feels a flood of relief. The man stands as soon as he spots Adrien, and his stoic face melts into something softer before engulfing him in a hug.

Gorilla isn’t officially his bodyguard anymore. He isn’t being paid; he has no obligation to be here. He has the right to uproot his life and start fresh somewhere new. Adrien wouldn’t blame him if he did. And yet, here he is.

It… it means a lot.

They step out of the doors together and are immediately swarmed by the paparazzi, the sound of inaudibly shouted questions and incessant camera shutters filling the air. Thankfully, Gorilla manages to mostly block his body from view, and they’re in the car just a few steps later.

The funeral itself is nothing to marvel at. A small church that he’s never set foot in, a simple urn, a wreath of flowers next to a picture of his father. It’s the only photo he’s ever seen with his father smiling; a family portrait from when he was a child. A happy, loving family that’s long since disappeared. The pews are almost empty, since very few people were allowed to attend. Not that many wanted to attend, anyway. He sits alone at the back, eyes scanning over the rest of the guests as the organ music drones on and on. The priest is kneeling off to the side, dutifully entranced in prayer. His aunt and cousin are in the second row; Andre and Audrey Bourgeois in the middle section; Roger Raincomprix and Gorilla standing guard at the doors. And that’s it. The only people in the world who cared about his father, all gathered in one room. Not a teardrop in sight.

He slouches in his seat, very aware of how much he does not want to be here. But someone sits down next to him, and he jumps. There, wearing a simple black dress, blonde hair in a sleek updo, looking like she’s halfway to tears, is Chloe Bourgeois.

“Chloe?” he whispers, unable to hide his shock at her presence. He hasn’t seen Chloe in… months. At least three or four months, probably. Not since he’d confronted her about her increasingly cruel behavior, and she’d subsequently cut him out of her life.

But here she is, eyes locked on the dangling sleeve of his suit jacket. Without a word, she reaches out and touches the sleeve, slowly closing her hand around it, as if afraid to see if it was truly empty. It is empty, of course. The realization seems to hit her hard, and she clasps her other hand to her mouth to muffle a gasp. She looks up at him, mascara already starting to run down her cheeks. “Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

It’s a little weird. Chloe’s become almost a caricature of herself over the years, really leaning into her mean-girl attitude, especially after cutting Adrien out. So, it’s strange to see her be so… vulnerable now. The way she’s looking at him, it reminds him of the girl he used to know growing up; the girl who shared her teddy bear when he cried, who played with him when he was lonely, who always stood up for him whenever his father was angry. Something like hope sparks in his chest, seeing her now. Maybe, just maybe, his friend isn’t totally gone after all. Maybe she just needs a friend, too. Someone to pull the old her out of this new shell.

He feels the corner of his mouth lift a little. “I lost an arm, Chloe. I didn’t die.” She wipes away her tears, taking a moment to compose herself. “I thought you hated my father?”

“I didn’t come here for him,” she scoffs. “I came here to support you, Adrikins.”

That’s… actually touching. A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. “Thanks, Chlo. It means a lot that you’re here.”

She faces the front and rests her head on his shoulder – a brief, silent show of solidarity. He rests his head against hers in response, and when the organ music cuts out, they both sit up straight. The priest walks to the front and begins the service with a solemn “Thank you all for coming,” and Adrien has to fight not to scowl. He wouldn’t have come if he’d had the choice.

Marinette plops down at his other side, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late, the police almost didn’t let me in.”

He ducks his head closer to her, feeling significantly more at-ease. “That’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. But she stiffens when her eyes lock onto something over his shoulder, and he realizes with some apprehension that she’s caught sight of Chloe. The two girls are staring each other down, and the air that hangs between them is so thick that he’s almost choking on it. But the tension breaks when Chloe gives her a curt nod, and Marinette nods back in some sort of weird understanding, and they face the front again.

The sermon is as short and to-the-point as it can be, but it still feels like it drags on. Marinette holds his hand the entire time, and it’s the only thing that keeps him from disassociating. When the priest asks if anyone would like to come up and say a few words, Adrien stays silent.

Afterward, as people are leaving, the priest offers the urn to him. He tries to refuse, but Aunt Amelie suggests that he take the urn to the mansion and spread his father’s ashes in the garden, next to the statue of his mother. And well… it’s as good an idea as any.

The ride to the mansion is silent. It’s just him and Gorilla now, and his bodyguard was never much of a talker. Not that he feels like talking, anyway. Adrien looks down at the urn resting in his lap, and frowns. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to his father, aside from that day. He can’t even remember the last time his father had hugged him. And here he is, cradling his ashes gingerly, as if he – as if he cares.

Gorilla stays in the car while he steps out, choosing to walk around the exterior to get to the garden. He doesn’t dare step foot inside the mansion. The last time he was here… well, it wasn’t a good memory. He didn’t have a lot of good memories here, actually. At least not after his mother died.

And his mother wasn’t really gone, it turns out. She had been in the basement for years, frozen in some sort of awful cryo-sleep. She was always there, waiting in limbo; while father was torturing him, and his friends, and all of Paris; while his house – the place where he was supposed to feel safest – became a prison; while his only remaining parent cut his arm off… all in the name of bringing her back.

Adrien sets the urn on the grass and takes off the lid. It really is a beautiful urn. It’s a shame it holds such an evil man.

He picks up the urn with only a little difficulty and starts spreading the ashes as best as he can, taking care to keep them close to his mother’s statue so it won’t harm the other plants. Now – now he can be with his wife for eternity. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Never mind his son, never mind that he still had family – all that mattered was bringing his wife back from the dead.

All of the love Adrien had for his father, all this time… it was all one-sided. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The empty urn drops onto the grass with a dull thud.

He’d done everything his father had asked. For years, he’d done everything – things he didn’t want to do – piano, fencing, Chinese lessons, homeschooling, modeling, all of it. He was left to grieve his mother alone, he was isolated in his home, he was kept from having friends and seeing other family; all while working sun up to sun down, until he was exhausted to the bone, and even then being pushed to do more. And despite it all, he tried his best to be the perfect well-behaved son that his father expected him to be. He – he’d tried so hard just to get a little praise, a little attention, a little love, but he never did.

His father had been so blinded by his goal of resurrecting his wife, that he failed to realize that he still had a son. He had his son, right there, hurting and in need of a father when it mattered most. And he hurt him further. Adrien wanted love, and all he ever got was pain, pain, pain.

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. He was never enough.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tears drip onto his hand. He wipes roughly at his cheeks, but they just keep coming. He’s crying – why is he crying over this? Over this person, this person who caused him so much anguish? This person who was supposed to love him?

He feels stupid for crying. He feels angry.

Why?

The question he wanted to ask his father as he slipped out of consciousness. The question he will never truly know the answer to.

Why?

A wave of grief crashes over him, knocking him to his knees. He curls in on himself, ribs pressing into his legs so hard that he can barely breathe.

Why?

Because despite it all, despite everything, he couldn’t hate his father. He wanted to, god, he wanted to. He wanted to be able to move on, to carve out all memory of him and live the rest of his life in peace, to say he hated the man who had cut off his arm and ruined his life. Yet, he can’t. He can’t erase the memories of playing in the garden with his mother and father, laughing in the sunshine, his father smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. He can’t shake off the ghost of his father’s arms, circling him in a hug when he got home from his first day at school. He can’t unsee the panic, the regret, the tears dripping from his father’s face after he de-transformed. His father was the only family he had left. Adrien had loved him so much, so unconditionally, for so long, that he – he didn’t know how to hate him.

Why didn’t you love me back?

Strong arms pull him off the ground and into a hug, and it just makes him cry harder. It’s like everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been refusing to let himself feel, is all crashing out of him at once. The flood gates are open and there’s no turning back.

He’s angry, and he’s confused, and lonely, and sad, and relieved, and it’s just – it’s all too much.

“I was there, that day, before the ambulance came.”

It’s the first time Adrien has ever heard Gorilla speak, and it’s enough to startle him out of his thoughts. His voice is deep, but quiet.

“It took me a while to break into the room, but by the time I did, you were already unconscious. So was Gabriel, and Marinette was kneeling by your body. She looked so scared.”

Adrien pulls back and looks at Gorilla, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“She told me who she was,” he says, “and who you were, and who Gabriel was. She said that there was a wish – that, if you make a wish using two of the miraculous, it could save you. Your father knew this, and wouldn’t let Marinette make the wish herself. He was the only one who knew the incantation, and he refused to tell her unless she gave him the miraculous.”

What?

“She had no choice, so she gave them over. He made the wish, and then he collapsed.” Gorilla moves his giant hands to rest on Adrien’s shoulders. “Your father loved you. He was proud of you. I heard the way he talked about you when you weren’t around. He tried to do what was best for you, he just went about it the wrong way.” Gorilla pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “He wasn’t… a good man. But he did love you.”

Adrien’s gaze falls, a few fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I… I can’t forgive him.”

“You don’t have to. No one has to. What he did – especially what he did to you – was unforgiveable. But,” he tips up Adrien’s chin so he can look him in the eyes, “You can’t hold onto this anger forever. Your father couldn’t get over his grief, and that was what lead him down the wrong path. Negative emotions like this, they’re important to feel – they’re what make us human. But if we hold onto them for too long, they can turn us into monsters.”

A shiver runs up his spine. He doesn’t want to turn out like his father. He doesn’t want to be another monster that his father created. But he can’t… he doesn’t know how to move past this. Not when looking at his reflection, seeing his missing arm, is a daily reminder of what his father did to him. “How? How do I let it go?”

Gorilla pulls him into a gentle hug. “You do better. Be better than he was. Turn your anger around into something good. It’s okay if you don’t know how yet. You are the strongest person I know, Adrien. And you have all of us – your friends, and your family, and all of Paris – behind you, to help you. We’ll always be here, so don’t worry about facing this alone, because you are not alone.”

The words are a weight lifted off his chest, a warm fire melting the ice that has surrounded his heart since his mother died. You are not alone.

He closes his eyes and buries himself into Gorilla’s chest.

 That night, he’s the one to bring up the topic of his father in therapy. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

[wellimaginethat]

Quite the Scare

Pairing: Matt Casey x (female) Reader

Requested?: Yes

Word Count: 2083

Author’s Note: Another Matt request! Yay! I love him

Trigger Warning(s): Injury, near death, mention of an argument, a child is injured as well (but saved)

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Y/N and Matt have been dating for about a year and have been living together for a few months. One night they have the biggest fight of their relationship and Y/N leaves and goes to stay with a friend. A week later, while she’s working, Matt is rushed in to the hospital after being severely injured.

Y/N = Your Name

You couldn’t even remember what started the fight. Just that it started and quickly spun out of control. You remember running out of your shared apartment and that Matt didn’t try to stop you.

You went to your best friend’s house, showing up in tears. She swore that she was gonna kick his ass and was halfway to the door before you managed to stop her.

Sarah comforted you and told you that you could stay with her for as long as you needed.

Only problem was that you didn’t grab anything.

You knew when Matt’s next shift was, so you went to grab some stuff and then went back to your friend’s house.

A week passed by and you hadn’t heard from Matt, which made you worry. You two had been living together for nearly a year now, and things were going fine. Sure you fought every once in a while, but it was usually nothing. And nothing like this ever happened. The two of you usually cooled down and made up, but this time was different.

You knew that maybe you shouldn’t have run out, and at first you were just too proud to go back, but now you were too heartbroken. It had been an entire week and he hadn’t come to see you, or called you, or even texted you. Maybe he didn’t love you anymore.

You pushed those feelings aside as you got ready for another shift at the hospital.

When you got to the hospital, however, you were immediately plagued by the feeling that something bad was going to happen. You could feel it in your stomach.

Hours passed and everything was fine, and then the ambulance showed up. You were immediately greeted by two patients being wheeled in from a fire, a man and his young daughter, with her being in the worst condition.

You could hear him pleading with anyone who would listen to save his daughter, and your heart hurt.

You rushed over to help, but then your eyes landed on the firefighter being brought in behind them. Your heart sank, and the minute you recognized who it was, it broke completely.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

You tried to catch your breath.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you knew that you couldn’t tend to him given your relationship, so you headed over to one of the other patients. “Let me know his condition asap.” You told Connor before disappearing, off to operate on the little girl.

You forced yourself to focus on what you were doing and to keep your mind off Matt, but it was hard to do.

Somehow you managed to go about your job and finished the surgery, ultimately saving your patient.

As soon as you were done, you walked out of the OR and you were met by Connor standing there. Immediately you felt a pit in your stomach as your eyes met his. “Is he-”

“He’s alive.” Connor assured you.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

“He’s in critical condition though.” Connor added gently, knowing how worried you must be.

You swallowed hard. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?” You asked timidly. “I want your honest opinion.”

Connor watched you for a moment, he knew you were a smart doctor and that you would figure it out eventually, but he still hesitated. “The next twenty four hours are crucial, but overall he’s in good condition, all things considered.”

You swallowed hard again and nodded.

As soon as you could you went to see him, he looked bad. You slowly stepped into the room and over to his bedside. Gingerly, you picked up his hand and very gently stroked the back of it with your thumb.

He was unconscious and intubated, and you knew that he most likely couldn’t hear you, but that didn’t stop you from talking to him.

“God, Matt.” You breathed out, tears stinging your eyes. “What happened to you?” You asked quietly, looking at his face. “I’m sorry about the fight.” You spoke after a moment. “I shouldn’t have left, or I should have at least come back, but I wanted you to chase me. I know that sounds so immature and stupid, but it’s the truth. I wanted to know that you still wanted me.” You sniffled and a few tears trickled down your cheeks. “I love you and I still want you, so please don’t die on me.” You begged. “Please, I’m not strong enough to lose you.”

You stayed there as long as you could, sitting in that chair next to his bedside, until Connor came in.

“You should go home and get some rest.” Connor told you gently, his hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t leave him.” You said monotonously.

Connor shook his head. “It won’t do him or anyone else any good with you being here and not getting any rest.”

You sighed, you knew he was right, so you nodded and stood up. You didn’t wanna leave Matt, but you knew you should try to get some rest. You leaned over and kissed Matt’s forehead. “I love you.” You whispered to him before turning and walking out. You stopped by the nurse’s station. “If Matt Casey’s condition changes in any way, I want to be notified asap.” You informed them in a polite but firm tone. You were met with a few nods before you finally left.

You went back to the apartment you shared with Matt and it just felt so cold and different. You were worried you’d be met with your stuff packed up by the door, but you weren’t, everything was the same.

The first thing you did was take a shower and change into some comfy sweats and a t-shirt that would work for bed, but also stuff you wouldn’t mind being seen in public wearing in case something changed in Matt’s condition.

After your shower, you decided you’d better eat something which is when you went to the kitchen and found the post-it note on the fridge.

Y/N- If you come back and I’m not here, please wait for me. I want us to talk and work this out, I love you and I miss you. Love, Matt

That was enough to cause the tears to spring to your eyes again, and next thing you knew you were on the kitchen floor crying your eyes out.

You didn’t know how long you were like that, whether it was five minutes or two hours, all you knew was that when your phone rang and you sprung up to get it, your body was stiff with fatigue.

You answered your phone quickly, worried. You were greeted by April’s voice telling you that Matt was awake.

“I’ll be right there.” You hung up after saying that and hurried to the door to put your shoes on, you were at the hospital in record time and rushing in.

When you walked into his room, you paused at the door seeing the others there with him.

“Hey guys, why don’t we give them a minute?” Herrmann spoke up, shifting his stance before beginning to herd the others out. They all looked at you, but you were too focused on Matt to register their feelings behind them, until Herrmann finally headed out and gave you a gentle, caring smile.

You returned it before slowly walking into the room and over to Matt’s bedside. “You know the limit on visitors is only two people, right?” You asked, chuckling softly, you were trying to use humor to ease the situation, since the last time the two of you talked you were screaming ‘go to hell’ at him. “Then again, I know how they are. You guys are a tight knit family, so I’m not surprised they were here with you.”

“I was told that you had to be kicked out.” Matt spoke out, his voice quiet and even, a little hoarse from being intubated.

“You seem to be doing much better than you were when I was here earlier.” You commented, chewing on the inside of your cheek a bit, fiddling with your hands.

“Y/N-” Matt started, causing you to look at him. “I’m sorry about the fight.”

You let out a relieved breath. “I am too.” You said softly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and picking up his hand. “And I’m sorry for leaving like I did.”

Matt’s eyes met yours and he just stared at you for a moment. “Will you come home?”

You smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah.”

Matt smiled. “Can’t believe it took me almost getting killed to get you to come back.”

“It didn’t.” You shook your head. “It just took you asking me to come back.”

He looked at you in shock then. “All I had to do was ask?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. Neither of us were innocent in the fight, but neither of us were completely at fault either. All you had to do was ask me to come back, let me know that you wanted to work things out.” You said softly. “But, I could have done the same. I could have let you know that I wanted to work things out too.”

Matt nodded slowly.

You fell silent for a moment, staring at his hand in yours. “I found your note.” You said softly.

“You did?” Matt asked softly, knowing that meant you had already gone back to your apartment, which made him happy.

You nodded. “I did.”

“I put it there right after you left.” Matt admitted with a small smile. “I really have missed you, so much.”

“I missed you too.” You said softly, gently squeezing his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Happy.” Matt answered you.

You looked at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Sore.” Matt sighed.

“You gave me quite the scare, what happened?” You asked softly, not sure you wanted to know but at the same time feeling like you needed to.

“I got distracted.” Matt told you. “A beam fell on me, knocked me out and then the next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

“You got distracted?” You asked softly, raising a brow.

“We were getting ready to pull out and I heard a child.” Matt told you softly.

You gasped, eyes widening.

“She’s fine, they got her and she’s fine-”

“I know.” You cut him off softly. “She was my patient.”

Matt smiled at you. “So you’re the one that saved her.”

“It was a team effort, if you hadn’t heard her, she wouldn’t have been brought in for me to save.” You told him with a soft smile.

He returned the smile. “I’m glad she’s okay.”

“Me too.” You agreed, nodding.

When Matt was eventually released, you drove him home to recuperate. It didn’t feel weird being there this time, the coldness seemed to dissipate and was replaced with the warm, inviting feeling you always felt. It felt like home again.

“So where did you go when you left?”

“Sarah’s.” You answered. “She wanted to kick your ass, by the way.”

Matt snorted. “Of course.”

“Although she said the universe did that for her.” You laughed a bit. “She’s glad you’re okay and that we’re okay.”

Matt smiled and pulled you over to him. “We’re more than okay.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss you gently.

You pulled back slowly. “Don’t scare me like that again, please.”

“I’ll try not to.” Matt told you.

You were both aware that it would most likely happen again, but you knew that when you started dating and you learned to deal with the worry.

“Good.” You responded after a moment, kissing his cheek lightly before moving to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Matt asked, quick to grab you again, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“The kitchen to make us something to eat.” You responded.

“Let’s just order in, I’ve gone too long without you in my arms.” Matt responded as he placed a tender kiss to your neck.

You giggled softly and turned in his arms. “You need to rest.”

“I will.” Matt responded with a smirk.

You looked at him for a moment before smirking back. “So what are we ordering tonight? Pizza?”

“You can pick.” Matt told you.

“Well I obviously want pizza.” You responded with a small laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck as you leaned in for another kiss.

[danny-chase]

Thanks to anon for requesting On the Run with Cassandra Cain and Dick Grayson!

Read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Nightwing (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain & Barbara Gordon Characters: Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon Additional Tags: Canon Divergence, blockbuster arc alternative ending, POV Cassandra Cain, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Cassandra Cain Is a Good Sister, Cassandra Cain is bad at feelings, TW: Suicide, tw: ambiguous suicide attempt, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, there are no hugs sorry, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily (DCU), Dick Grayson Whump, Cassandra Cain Whump, Hurt No Comfort Series: Part 1 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Cass runs away with Dick instead of Catalina (Catalina doesn't exist for the sake of this AU - and this is not romantic between Dick and Cass).

Full story under cut

“Cass? You here?” Light poured into her room as Barbara cracked open the door. Cass tucked her head under the blanket, yawning - it was too early to get up. “Cass, please.” The anxiety in Barbara’s voice made her reconsider – and she sprung upright, she could feel a mission coming on, and Cass didn’t pass up missions.

 “What’s up?” She asked, striding over to her closet, pulling out her Batgirl suit.

 “It’s Dick, I’m worried… He left in a rush yesterday morning.” Barbara’s hands were shaking – that meant it was serious. “Cass I was watching the news… I… God…he…”

 She pulled on her costume in record time. Dick was nice, he made Barbara happy. Made her happy too. Brought over cookies and told funny stories, he made the apartment feel… warm. He was a friend… no… family, they were family.

 She glanced back at Barbara, pulling the door wider, she looked pale, about to cry. She shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to help. “What’s up?” She demanded, stepping around the wheelchair. She grabbed the handles, and quickly steered them both towards the mission room.

 Barbara wiped her eyes as she reached the computer, pulling up a video clip. Cass recognized the apartment building; she’d been there a few times after joint missions. That was Dick’s-

 Oh.

 Fire rained down on the screen, the building reduced to rubble.

 Barbara sobbed next to her. “I don’t know if he was there… I don’t even know if… Cass… He… What if…?” Cass tentatively patted her shoulder, uneasiness filling her stomach. “He hasn’t called… his trackers are either off or…”

 “I’ll find him.” She promised. That was her mission. Find Nightwing, bring him home, then Barbara wouldn’t cry. She didn’t like when Barbara cried, it made her want to cry too.

 She dove out the window, swinging through the sky, down to where she kept her bike. Gunning the engine, she flew through the streets, Blüdhaven was an hour away – but she could make it in half the time. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, she tried to settle in for a long ride.

   It wasn’t hard to pick up the trail – she followed the flashing red and blue lights to scenes of carnage, masked men beaten and discarded in Nightwing’s wake. The whole day, she snuck around, carefully out of sight, watching as ambulances carted away people, describing them to Barbara and learning their names.

 “This… isn’t working.” She complained, her legs swinging off the side of a roof. “I don’t understand.”

 “He’s not taking a predictable path.” Barbara noted. “We’ll find him, we’ll just have to be patient.” She sounded much more confident than this morning. Cass sighed, leaning back to stare at the clouds. Why was Dick running around in circles? She reached up as raindrops began pattering down, feeling them seep through the suit. She let her hand fall across her face. Something felt off – wrong.

 The injuries Nightwing left behind were violent – he was violent, but not this much. Too much force. “This isn’t right.” She muttered, reaching her head behind her head. Dick wasn’t someone that lost control – that much she had learned.

 Cass sucked in a breath. It bothered her. Something bad was happening. “He’s hurting people.” She tried to explain. “Bad.” Breaking bones that would never heal right, being careless in his aim. “He doesn’t do that…” Normally, but it’s happened before. It’s happened when… “They’re threatening his family.”

 That felt right. Despite what the others thought, Cass wasn’t dumb – she was a detective too. And this was her case.

 “We’ll have to assume it’s connected.” Barbara mumbled. “Haley’s circus was attacked by Firefly a few days ago.”

 “Huh?” What did some circus have to do with-

 “It’s where he grew up.” Barbara explained. “You’re right, I suspected… we need to find him, someone might have figured out his identity.” She paused a moment. “Keep trying to track him down, I need to call Batman.” The line cut off.

Cass frowned, she figured something out… but it hadn’t been good. She briefly wondered if she’d caused more trouble by bringing it up. Hopefully, it would make sense when-

 Light flooded the sky, lightning cracking, and moments later a symbol arose, shining against the clouds and illuminating the area. Another clue. She swung off the roof, careening towards the source of their troubles.

   Nightwing was leaving as she arrived, tearing through the city skyline. As it poured, she did her best, following in his tracks, though not quite able to catch up. He was angry, she could see it even from far away. She was at a disadvantage; he knew the territory – knew the destination, and she frustratedly sighed as he slipped into a building a few blocks ahead.

 She leapt off a balcony – about to enter where Nightwing had, when a flicker of movement caught her eye a few windows away.

 “NO!” She screamed – too late, glass shattered as a bullet ripped through the night, thudding as it found a mark. An enormous man barged through the broken windows. Cass scrambled to follow, scurrying across the ledges. She could hear voices arguing in the room – Nightwing and the man, the sounds of smashing, they got farther away as she got closer.

 She burst into an empty hotel room, leaping over the woman’s dead body, and running past a destroyed wall to the end of a hallway.

 “Do you like being alone, Dick?” The large man caught sight of her, throwing Nightwing against the wall as he charged. Cass readied herself, rolling under his legs as he passed.

 “Batgirl?” Dick mumbled, running after the man. “Get out of here!” He shouted, leaping into a flying kick, and connecting with the man’s head.

 “I’ll make sure you can’t save any of them.” He punched the man again. “I’ll make sure you relive over and over, your failure to save my mother.” The man elbowed Nightwing out of the way, diving for her again. She jumped this time, using his head as a springboard. He grabbed for her ankle, but she slipped out of his reach, pulling out batarangs and throwing them as she twisted in the air. Each hit their mark, sinking into both his shoulders.

 The man didn’t seem bothered, simply turning to chase her again. “It’ll never stop.” Nightwing slide tackled his ankles, and the man fell, his hands grabbing at her feet. Cass danced closer to his head. “Every loved one, every stranger, I’ll kill-urk” She struck a nerve in his jaw, kicking it a second time for good measure as the man fell unconscious.

 “Call the police?” She asked, reaching up to her comm, glancing towards Nightwing. She froze in place. He was running towards her – reaching, about to hit, no he was –

 She dodged reflexively as he tried to swipe her comm. “We can’t.” He was shaking – tired, exhausted, pained, scared(?) – Cass recoiled, that wasn’t how Nightwing normally was. “Give it! We can’t call anyone! You need to run, he saw you!”

 “I’m not scared.” She stated, standing her ground – she was strong, she wouldn’t be killed so easily.

 “You should be!” He was – what did Barbara say? Upset… no - hysterical. Panic laced his voice. “He’s not kidding, he has people – he’ll kill people just for talking to me, I’m talking to you – if he hears us talking to-” Cass handed over the comm as he frantically grasped for it again. He threw it to the floor crushing it under his boot.

 “We have to go… I-I… I don’t know what to do.” He paced back and forth, muttering to himself. “I-I can’t talk to people, I need to be alone… but he saw Batgirl, she’s not safe…” He stopped, looking directly at her. He swayed on the spot, she felt uneasy – he didn’t look well. “You’re coming with me.” He demanded, grabbing her hand, and she let him lead them out through the fire escape.

 She didn’t understand, she had never seen him so… frightened. They didn’t need to run, Barbara would send the police – the man couldn’t hurt anyone, they’d won. “I don’t-”

 “He has power.” His breathing was ragged and pained. She cringed, he needed help – not to run. “He won’t stay in jail… He has people everywhere – there’s cameras they see everything. He-he…” They dropped into an alley. “It won’t stop.” The hand in hers was trembling.

 “I can-” He stopped in his tracks.

 “NO! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” He bellowed, angrily snapping at her. “YOU’RE NOT SAFE – NO ONE’S SAFE UNTIL I’M GONE.”

 Dick’s body was a wave of emotions, and she was being swept along with the current. “I’m strong! You’re being a coward!” She yelled back – but she already knew she wouldn’t change his mind.

 “Maybe I am.” He deflated and began running again. “But everyone’s safer this way.”

 She was at a loss for what to do, so she kept running. She couldn’t leave him alone; she couldn’t go back and explain to Barbara. She regretted letting him smash her comm. And so, she followed, and they weaved in and out of street after street, rain soaking through her costume, chilling her to the bone.

   While they ran, Cass had formulated a new strategy – wait until Nightwing lowered his guard, then nerve strike him, and bring him back to Gotham. A struggle would be too risky – he was acting erratic, someone (him) might get hurt if she tried too soon. So, sitting atop a train, watching as hills rolled over the horizon trying her best to be patient.

 The wind whipped in her face, the rumbling of the train drowning out all other noises. Nightwing paced beside her, obsessively turning from side to side, trying to keep all directions in his line of sight. He was getting too close to the edge.

 His movement wasn’t correct – Dick’s gait was normally smooth, intentional. Now, he dragged his steps, the normal grace gone. He kept tripping over his own feet.

 She couldn’t understand how one man could have such an effect; he was still shaking in anger and fear. They’d defeated the enemy, she’d won, right? Cass never really thought much about what comes after that – but Nightwing seemed convinced the battle wasn’t over.

 Dick was staring over the edge of the car. Cass was moving before she realized what was happening. She grabbed a fistful of his costume as he leaned forward, pulling him back.

 “Don’t.” She couldn’t tell if it was accidental or intentional – but she didn’t wait to see if he’d pull back on his own. Nobody would die tonight. Maybe she’d have to speed up her plan.

 He remained silent and stepped away from the edge. They slowly fell back into their routine – Nightwing pacing as she kept a watchful eye. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she watched him make his careful pattern – now staying three feet from the edges.

 Cass sighed. She was tired of running – she could protect herself; this was pointless. She wasn’t sure how long they’d wasted like this – the sun had been rising when they got on the train and now it was starting to set again. She was hungry, thirsty, and hadn’t slept in two days.

 She kept waiting for Dick to crash, but he never even sat down. He couldn’t stay like this forever - she was pretty sure he was injured based off his movement, he had to rest soon.

 “Sleep.” She demanded (as she had maybe an hour ago). He shook his head, going back to his pacing. Cass groaned, lying back to look at the sky, though keeping him in her field of vision. Stars were starting to peak out, though clouds were blocking some of them. She bit her lip; she was never good at helping people like this.

 Her stomach growled loudly, and she looked at him pointedly. “We’ll get food when we get off.” He replied in a monotone voice.

 She blinked sleep out of her eyes, digging her nails into the palms of her hands, and sitting back up. Nightwing could not be left unsupervised – that much was clear. And so, she resigned herself to watching pacing once more.

   The sun was high in the sky when the train finally began rolling to a stop. She followed Nightwing as he leapt off the car and began running after him towards the tree line. He made it about ten paces before collapsing. Cass rushed forward, as he began pushing himself up.

 She struck his jaw without warning, and he crumpled to the ground. Finally, she sighed in relief, things were easier this way. Crouching down, she hiked him into a fireman’s carry, and then looked around.

 She was in the middle of nowhere. Cows grazed off to the right, and there was an open field to her left. Straight ahead, the land eventually reached a forest. A small train station sat maybe a mile away.

 It would take a day to get back to Blüdhaven, but she was hungry and tired, and had no idea where she was. The train still rolled along behind her. So, she decided to walk alongside it – towards the lonely little station, away from home.

 Nightwing was heavy. She was strong, but he was… heavy. And she was tired.

 Every step was painful, it wasn’t long before she was drenched in sweat. She could see the station in the distance, slowly getting closer. She could make it… She could push through this – she’d pushed through worse.

 She focused on her breath, staring at the ground as she took step after step.

 “Lose some weight.” She muttered to the side of Dick’s head. She cursed herself for not packing more water and snacks – she’d run out while tracking him yesterday.

 She refused to stop, pushing past the pain of burning muscles, her suit unbearably hot in the afternoon sun. Gritting her teeth, she powered on.

 She wanted to scream with furry, at the man who’d hurt her brother – who’d left him so worn out and totally beaten despite losing the fight. She wanted to scream because she didn’t understand – why was this happening to them? They were strong – their family was strong – they shouldn’t have to live like this. Cassandra Cain did not run from fights, neither did Dick Grayson, and yet here they were.

 She grunted, shifting Dick’s weight on her shoulders. Cass didn’t like thinking about these things. She liked when things were easy – when she beat the bad guy, and things were over. Though, with every mission, she was starting to realize things weren’t always that simple…

 She thought of the man she’d rescued, who’d died on a train like the one beside her, because he’d wanted to say goodbye to his mom. Of the girl who’d she’d rescued from her father, yet she’d condemned to a different kind of hell living with her mother. Of the boy who wanted his father to come home safely, despite the man being a ruthless killer.

 And finally of the man who’d defeated Nightwing, his words dealing more damage than his massive fists.

 This world was so confusing – sometimes she missed the days before the words clouded her mind, muddling her in the mists of gray that transformed what she’d seen before in black and white. Was she better for living in that gray? For knowing it was there? Sometimes, it was hard to tell.

 She stumbled on uneven ground and soon she was falling, Dick sliding off her shoulders. She hit the ground face first and tasted blood. She let out the pent-up yell, frustratedly pounding the ground. This sucked. Everything sucked. Why couldn’t things just be easy for them?!

 Dragging herself to her feet, she ignored the pain wracking her exhausted body as she lifted the broken vigilante once more. She took slower steps, but certain ones, and inched closer and closer towards somewhere she hoped would be better.

[callboxkat]

By the Day’s First Light

Author’s note: I wrote this on a whim last night. Apparently treadmills are as conducive to ideas as showers. 

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: Shaking and Shivering

Summary:  In retrospect, Virgil was very glad that his sleep schedule was so messed up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even still been awake at three in the morning. As it was, he nearly missed the knock at his door.

Warnings: blood, major character injury, death mention, knife mention, biting mention, mild gore(?), censored swearing

Word Count: 3148

Writing Masterpost!

@badthingshappenbingo​

...

In retrospect, Virgil was very glad that his sleep schedule was so messed up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have still been awake at three in the morning, watching conspiracy videos on the TV he’d picked up for twenty bucks at a thrift shop.

Even as it was, Virgil nearly missed the knocking. It was very quiet, and after only four repetitions, was gone.

Virgil, ever the paranoid one, paused the video he’d been halfway through even though he was only half sure he’d heard anything at all. His gaze went to the door, and he frowned.

After a moment, he heard a muffled thump. Virgil set the remote to the side and hesitantly approached the front door. He paused, his hand reached out for the handle, then bolted to the kitchen for a knife.

(Maybe he was overreacting.)

(But maybe he wasn’t.)

Back at the door and armed this time, Virgil reached up and slid the cover off of the peep hole. He hesitated again as the image of someone stabbing his eye out through the hole flashed in his mind, then gritted his teeth and looked out anyway, his knife clutched at his side.

It was very dark—of course it was, it was freaking three in the morning—so he couldn’t see much, but there was definitely someone out there. Their head was bowed, and they seemed to be facing slightly away from the door. But that was about as much detail as Virgil could parse.

(He really needed to get the porch light fixed, he’d been putting it off for weeks, why the hell hadn’t he gotten it fixed?)

Virgil hesitated, briefly debated calling the cops, then decided he wasn’t looking to get himself or anyone else shot that night just because he was afraid to open a door.

He unlocked it, leaving the latch in place, and opened the door an inch.

At the sound of the door opening, the figure turned to look at him. The figure who suddenly looked very familiar.

“…Logan?” Virgil said, shocked.

The faint, blueish light from the paused television fell across his friend’s face.

The first thing Virgil noticed was that his friend’s eyes were wide and blank with shock, and his whole frame shook despite the warm night air.

The second thing Virgil noticed was the blood that dripped down from his mouth, and—

And soaked the jacket that Logan held pressed to his neck.

“Oh my god!” Virgil yelled, the knife falling from his hand with a clatter.

Logan flinched back, taking a clumsy step away from the door.

Virgil reached out and grabbed his arm—the one not possibly holding his neck together—to stop him. His skin was freezing. How long had he been outside? “No, no—I’m sorry, you stay here. It’s okay, I’m calling 911.” Virgil pressed his hand over the one Logan already had over his neck, pulling his friend inside. “Come on, come inside.”

“No,” Logan said faintly.

“No, you’re not coming in? What, you want to wait for them on the porch? I need to grab my phone, it’s on the table—”

“No 911,” Logan rasped.

“Logan, you’re literally holding a bloody jacket against your f*cking neck, of course I’m calling—”

“No!” Logan started pulling away, shaking harder, fighting him.

“Okay, okay, fine!” Virgil said in an alarmed voice, afraid that the pressure would come off his friend’s neck, and terrified of what that could cause. “Just come in here and sit down, and tell me what happened, and—and don’t f*cking die in my living room.”

Virgil pulled Logan inside and flicked on the lights, making Logan flinch again, squinting painfully in the sudden light.

“What the hell happened?” Virgil asked, sitting him on the couch and looking him over before his eyes had even properly adjusted.

“I was….” Logan let his words trail off, making no effort to continue.

Virgil reached for Logan’s neck, came up short, and shook his head. “Wait, actually, don’t talk. Let me look at this.”

Virgil’s hands shook as he finally put them on the jacket on Logan’s neck. The jacket felt wet to the touch. He hesitated, then started to peel it back, ready to slam it back into place in a flash. The jacket hardly budged, although Virgil swore he was trying to pull it back as hard as he could.

(F*ck, he couldn’t do this! He wasn’t a doctor!)

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?” Virgil asked, staring at where his numb hands gripped the bloody jacket. “I really think we should go to a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Logan insisted.

F*ck it, he passes out, I’m calling an ambulance, Virgil decided. “Okay,” he said aloud. “You’ve, um, you’ve gotta move your fingers. A little bit.”

Logan’s hand shifted, and Virgil gingerly peeled back the jacket, his heart racing, and gasped.

A jagged wound marred the otherwise smooth skin of Logan’s neck, like someone had carved a chunk out of it. Or ripped it out.

But… while it was definitely bleeding, it didn’t look like it was bleeding out. It even looked like the flow of blood was slowing as he watched. Which might have been wishful thinking on Virgil’s part, but he could have sworn it was true.

Virgil let out a nervous laugh, making Logan’s gaze drift in his direction. “I, um… I have no freaking clue how, but… I think it must’ve missed the arteries.”

(Or was that veins? …Arteries. He was pretty sure. The things that generally killed you if someone ripped a freaking hole in your neck.)

“That’s good,” Logan said mildly.

Virgil swallowed, looking away from the injury, not wanting to look at it any longer or more closely than he had to. “Yeah. Um, yeah. That’s really good. It’s great. But, dude, this….” Virgil covered the ugly wound again with the jacket, only partially to keep the pressure on. “This has got to need stitches. Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

Logan shook his head, making Virgil let out an alarmed yelp.

“No hospitals,” he repeated. “First aid kit. Your hiking one?”

Virgil paused. He did have a pretty well stocked first aid kit, including what he’d need to do stitches, for when their friend group went on hikes on the weekends in the spring and summer. But he didn’t know how to do stitches—those supplies were for Logan to use! And this wasn’t just a little cut!

“Go get it,” Logan requested, still speaking in that mild, detached manner, like he wasn’t quite there, not completely.

Virgil hesitated, then grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around Logan, avoiding his neck.

(He was pretty sure that was something you did for people in shock, and he was also pretty sure that Logan was in shock.)

“Wait here,” Virgil said, getting to his feet. “And don’t die.”

He made it back with the first aid kit in record speed. Logan was where he had left him, sitting on the couch, staring blankly ahead. One side of the blanket had fallen down, but Logan held the other in place with white knuckles.

“I’ve got it,” Virgil said, putting it on the coffee table and kneeling before Logan. “Let me… Damn it, I don’t know how to do this, Logan, I can’t—”

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Logan said.

Virgil hesitated, then set his jaw and opened the first aid kit. They didn’t have time to keep arguing. It was worth a shot, right? The worst he could do was kill his friend.

As Virgil worked, Logan rambled off instructions in a dull, lifeless voice, like he was reciting a textbook from memory. Virgil suspected that he was.

Finally, he was done. It was not the prettiest sewing job; but he’d managed not to throw up; and the insides of Logan’s neck were on the inside, where they were supposed to be; so he counted it as a win.

“Thank you,” Logan said softly, watching as Virgil put the supplies on the table, to be washed later when he was done panicking.

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt anywhere else? F*ck, your mouth—” Virgil’s hand flew to Logan’s jaw, where now-dried blood dripped from his lips and down his chin.

“Not mine,” Logan said, staring blankly in the direction of the TV screen.

“Not—what?” Virgil yanked his hand back, somehow even more horrified.

“I don’t know what happened,” Logan said in the same empty tone. His gaze slid over to Virgil, and his voice grew more pleading. “What happened?”

Virgil shook his head, staring. He glanced at his phone, sitting on the table, just waiting for Virgil to dial 911.

“I was walking home from my night class,” Logan remembered. “I took a shortcut.” He paused. “He was….” Logan swallowed. “He….” He gestured at the probably overly thick coating of bandages Virgil had put on his neck.

“He did that to you?” Virgil prodded, dimly noting that Logan’s night class had ended at nine. Not three in the morning.

Logan swallowed. “Yes,” he breathed. “I… There was so much blood. Everywhere. And….” He shuddered. “And I thought I was done for, but… I bit him, hard as… hard as I could. And….” He frowned, then touched his head. Virgil only then noticed the edge of a bruise poking out from under his hairline. “And… and I came here, because you were closest.”

“We’re taking you to a hospital.”

“No,” Logan insisted.

“You’ve got a cut on your neck, some mugger’s blood is all over your face, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got a concussion; yes, we’re going to the hospital!”

Logan surged forward and clutched desperately at the front of Virgil’s shirt, staring at him with wide, pleading eyes. “No. No, I can’t—they won’t believe me.”

Virgil’s mouth had opened in shock at Logan’s vehemence. “I’m pretty sure they’ll believe you got mugged,” he said, as wide-eyed as Logan.

Logan shook his head, let go, and clutched the blanket around himself. He mumbled something to himself, something that sounded like, “His teeth….”

Virgil fidgeted, unsure what to do. He could call his friends, but he knew they would be long asleep by now, and probably wouldn’t even see the notification until morning at the earliest.

He settled for a text, showing Logan the phone to prove he wasn’t dialing 911.

Unsure what else to do other than hope Logan didn’t die from his neck wound reopening or from some other injury Virgil didn’t know about because he wasn’t a freaking doctor and he didn’t exactly trust Logan to tell him if there was one, Virgil got up and got a washcloth, dampening it and bringing it to Logan to clean up his face. He also handed over a large glass of water.

Logan cleaned up his face, put the dirty washcloth in the gallon-sized plastic bag Virgil held out (for evidence), and then drained the cup, not saying a word the entire time. It seemed he was done talking, content to stare at nothing.

Virgil wished he knew how to help.

(He could help by calling a f*cking ambulance.)

(Logan might hate him forever if he called.)

(Logan might get worse if he didn’t call. A lot worse)

(Logan might also freak out, tear his stitches, and die if Virgil did call.)

Virgil buried his face in his hands.

Ten minutes of awkward silence, self-loathing, and fear later, Virgil noticed that Logan’s head had started to loll forward, his eyes half shut and unfocused.

Virgil sat up straight immediately. “Logan—Logan!”

Logan jerked, his eyes immediately on Virgil, confused and alarmed.

(F*ck. He’d just been falling asleep, hadn’t he? )

(Of course he was, it was past five in the morning. Logan usually got up for the day around now, and he hadn’t had any sleep. Because being knocked unconscious sure didn’t f*cking count.)

(Could he let Logan sleep, with that head wound?)

Virgil deliberated for a long moment, glanced over at the miserable looking young man at his side, then stood and silently pulled Logan to his feet. “Come on,” he said, guiding Logan to his bedroom. He shoved the clothes off of the usually unoccupied side of it and pulled back the blankets. Logan got in compliantly.

Virgil turned off the light, lay down on the other side of the bed, set an alarm for an hour later (he wanted to wake Logan every hour, just to make sure he still could).

When it went off, Virgil hadn’t slept a wink.

He reached over and touched Logan’s arm—he was still so cold, even with Virgil’s mass of blankets—to rouse him. “Logan?” he asked, nervous.

Logan immediately jerked awake, scooting back, nearly falling from the bed before he abruptly stopped, staring at Virgil. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and some of the tension left his frame.

“Sorry—sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. You didn’t open the stitches, did you?”

Logan’s hand went to his neck, and he hesitated, then shook his head. “Don’t think so,” he whispered.

“Are you… okay?” Virgil cringed. What a dumb question.

Logan just nodded, not seeming to mind, and lay back down.

Virgil set another hour-long timer, and went back to not-sleeping.

Thankfully, Logan didn’t startle as much the next time Virgil woke him. He still seemed afraid, but not quite so… shell-shocked.

Reassured, Virgil went back to bed. He even managed to fall asleep, this time.

When he woke up, the other side of the bed was empty. The curtains, drawn tight across the windows as usual, hardly let any light into the room, but Virgil could see well enough to know his friend was gone. He sat bolt upright in the bed, looking around.

“Logan?!”

There was a noise from the hall.

Virgil relaxed slightly, but not completely. He got out of bed and padded out into the hall, looking around for Logan and hoping he wouldn’t find him passed out on the floor.

Logan was not, in fact, passed out on the floor. Instead, he stood just inside the bathroom, the door open, his hands gripping the porcelain sink. He was trembling, his skin the sort of pale it usually only got mid-winter.

“Logan?”

Logan turned, and there were tears in his eyes—pinkish tears. The bruise on his head had nearly faded away.

“Don’t come any closer,” he croaked. “Something’s wrong.”

Virgil, who had been walking closer, wanting to help, instead froze in his tracks.

For in Logan’s mouth, where there had once been a pair of dull canines, were a pair of sharp, white fangs.

Virgil’s mouth went dry. “I… you….”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Logan said, shaking his head. He turned back to the mirror, taking in his reflection. More pinkish tears appeared. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Virgil would later be rather ashamed of what he did next. He bolted. The next thing he knew, he was in his room, locking the door behind himself. He even opened the curtains, sending dust everywhere, and more importantly, letting light flood into the room.

He stayed there for the rest of the day, clutching the lamp from his bedside table like it was a weapon, his mind full of static.

That night, when he finally emerged, still wielding his lamp, Logan was gone. The medical supplies he’d used on Logan had been cleaned and packed neatly back into the kit. Virgil stared at the red box for a long moment, ultimately leaving it where it sat.

There were new messages on his phone, texts from Patton and Roman, asking what was going on. Virgil had told them Logan had been mugged, but no more detail.

He left them on read.

Two weeks later, still with no sign of one of his best friends and mounting questions from his other two best friends, Virgil didn’t know what to do.

He’d had some time to think things over, and he was undeniably ashamed.

Maybe Logan was a vampire—as impossible as the idea should have been—but he was still Virgil’s friend. He was still Logan. And he needed help.

Virgil sat down in his room, and after a long, long hesitation, he called him.

He was shocked when Logan picked up.

“Hello, Virgil,” a calm, steady voice answered.

Virgil swallowed. His voice was not so steady as he responded. “Hi, Logan.”

A beat passed.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil said, unsure what else he could possibly say, how he could make up for what he’d done. “I just… I panicked.”

“It’s fine,” Logan said.

“It’s… what? I just ditch you, after that, don’t talk to you for weeks, and it’s fine? You haven’t even talked to Roman. You haven’t talked to Patton.”

There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the phone. “I admit I was at a loss for what to tell them.” The steadiness in his voice wavered. “I’m… having a tough time, coming to terms with things.”

Virgil swallowed. “Yeah, I get that.” He folded his legs up on the bed with him. “Are you, like… good?”

“My neck appears to have healed itself,” Logan said. “I took the stitches out. There’s barely a scar.”

“…Yeah,” Virgil said. Good news about being a cryptid, he supposed. “I get why you didn’t want to go to a hospital, now.” He shifted. “And what about…?”

“I’m adjusting,” Logan said. “It appears I will have to be nocturnal, for starters.”

“Nocturnal?” Was the sunlight thing real?

“I burned myself trying to leave your house,” Logan admitted. “Just my hand, thankfully. But, the sun… I can’t go out in it. And I am certain I will have other, ah, accommodations to make…. I never imagined catching a  rabbit, certainly not for that purpose… but….” Logan trailed off, and Virgil imagined him shaking his head. “None of this feels real. And I don’t know the first thing about—about this.”

Logan never had been a fan of monster movies. It made sense that he’d be completely lost, even aside from the whole vampires-are-supposed-to-be-fictional thing. Virgil thought about his large cache of those movies, and his playlist of cryptid videos. He had a few vampire ones on there, for sure.

“I might be able to help,” he offered.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Then, tentatively hopeful, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You aren’t… afraid of me?”

Virgil recalled his reaction to Logan’s… transformation… with a wince. But this was still Logan, he reminded himself. Still his friend.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not afraid. I’ll help you.”

A relieved sigh sounded on the other end of the call. Logan’s calm façade crumbled, and his voice broke. “Thank you, Virgil. I would appreciate that quite a lot.”

[peralta-guaranteed]

Can you hear me, S.O.S., help me put my mind to rest

“Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment. “It’s not stupid.” “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it. “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

---*---

Amy is Jake’s emergency contact on his medical file, which makes sense if you think about them as the lovey-dovey couple that they are now. She has been his emergency contact since two months after he’d met her, which makes less sense, until you realise that she is reliable, comforting, supportive Amy, and he is Jake, and he has never not been yearning for her attention just a little bit.

read it on AO3

 “Jesus Christ, Jake. I know you’re bad at paperwork, but this is a horror show.”

 Amy rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, trying to stare down the little stars that appear in her vision from doing so. Jake, across the room on his worn-down couch, eating something very sweet and very crumbly - a cannoli, maybe? it was gone too fast for Amy to recognise - simply shrugs.

 “You don’t have to do it, Ames, you know that.”

 She does. She knows. She offered, after all.

 Maybe it was too early for something like this, anyway. They’d been officially together for barely a month, a stage where most other couples would still be discovering each other’s little likes and dislikes and trying to hide some imperfections from the other. Definitely not the stage of going through their partner’s chaotic mountain of very personal paperwork and files. Yet here she is, sorting through insurances (the rare few that Jake actually has, mostly because he’s legally required to), licenses, bills and Academy certificates.

 It was a mess that had Amy’s fingers itching every time she saw it, she reasons, and nothing they’d done in their month together really fit the usual trajectory of a relationship anyway, based on the fact that they already knew each other like the back of their hands. So when Jake had groaned about another forgotten bill from the mail tub that Amy forced him to steadily work through every time she came over, she’d offered to get things straightened out for him once and for all.

 She’s not sure if she regrets it now. Thumbing through a pile of loose papers that turn out to be several medical records from his injuries as a rookie cop, she realises that maybe this is a bit too personal, a step too close for what they have so far. Would she be willing to share this kind of information with a boyfriend of four weeks? she wonders as she skims over a page detailing the frankly insane amount of medication he was supposed to take after another week-long stay at the hospital. She’s quite sure he took barely half of it, gritting his teeth and moaning about stupid doctors instead, even though she didn’t know him back then - she knows him too well now not to immediately picture a slightly younger Jake with a list of weird-sounding pills he couldn’t pronounce and a giant frown on his face at the pharmacy.

 “I don’t have to- I mean, I can stop. If you don’t want me to do this.”

 Jake, finished with whatever he was eating, leans back on the couch to face her at the tiny table in his kitchenette. He gives her the patented Peralta-grin, the sweetness only heightened by some leftover cream-filling (definitely a cannoli) on his right cheek. She has half a mind to get up and lick it off, but she’s blocked in by paper piles all around her.

 “And keep Amy Santiago from a chance to file paperwork? Pretty sure that’d be grounds for a break-up. I’m surprised you haven’t run out to buy me a filing cabinet filled with all sorts of folders and tabs and whatnot.”

 She lets her eyes drop back down to the papers in her hands, trying hard not to show him the blush creeping onto her face. She had been making a mental list of what binders she should buy to really get this in order.

 “I’m just saying, if you don’t want me to see some of this- it’s very private information-”

 “Babe.” He still grins, and Amy thinks about how that pet name has settled between them far too quickly and far too comfortably as well. “Pretty sure nothing in that mountain of papers is any more embarrassing than all the stuff you already know and tease me about all the time.”

 “True. It’s not like I’m going to find out here why you think using the same soap for your dishes and your shower routine sometimes is an okay thing to do.” She grins back before filing away another old medical record, suddenly getting stuck on one little line at the top of it. “Jake, please tell me Stevie Schillens is      not     still your emergency contact.”

 “What? No. Of course he isn't. They make you update your info with every promotion at work.” That alone tells her that if ‘they’ didn’t, Jake would definitely still have a co-worker from his starting days on his files rather than, say, his current sergeant or a close friend. She shuffles through a few papers to find a more recent record.

 “Who is it, then? Might be good to update again and reconsider, promotion or not. Your mom is like half an hour’s drive away if anything happened, Terry can’t really get away from his family if it’s after hours. I wouldn’t trust Charles not to break down worse than you if he ever gets a call, and Rosa- I guess she’s responsible enough, but she might hurt you more for giving out her phone number-”

 “Really, Ames?” His voice is so soft from the couch, and when she finally looks up again, his face has that strange tilt to it, between affectionate and amused. As if she’d just said the most ridiculous, yet adorable thing in the universe. As if the answer wasn’t completely obvious.

 She looks down again at the paper she picked up, a medical report from a while ago, and as she reads the little line on top, she remembers.

-*-

 “Amy Santiago?”

 “This is she.”

 The voice down the line is as foreign as the number on her cell had been when she picked it up. She didn’t get many calls on her private phone anyway, apart from her family, and they were not the kind of people who’d call her at midnight on a saturday.

 “This is NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. We’re calling on behalf of Jake Peralta? You’re listed as his emergency contact, but there is no additional info on your status-”

 She’s up off the couch and into her bedroom to change into jeans before the nurse on the line can even finish.

 “I’m his partner. Work. Partner. We’re detectives. NYPD.” Amy almost barks down the line while wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to pull down her sweatpants. Jake would obviously carry his badge even when he wasn’t on duty like tonight, but maybe they hadn’t found it, maybe he hadn’t been able to give them that info... and while it was slightly upsetting to think about, she knew that the hospital would give fast-tracks and special treatments to active cops, and if that was something that could help him now, the morality of it all didn’t matter one bit to her. “What’s happened? Is he- is Jake okay?”

Obviously he’s not, you idiot, he’s in the hospital and not present enough to give them any information so they have to call his emergency contact, that is the furthest from okay that he could be-  

 Her inner scolding is interrupted by the very calm, very soothing voice of the nurse.

 “He should be fine. He was brought in ten minutes ago. Somebody assaulted him, but a nearby officer intervened and called for an ambulance. We just needed to check because his files are very… incomplete.” Amy hears the rustling of paper and the slight distaste tinging the nurse’s voice and makes a mental note to sit down with Jake and make him update all his information as soon as possible. “And he’s not clear enough to answer any questions due to the painkillers. Are you aware of any allergies or problems that could arise from medications? He doesn’t need surgery, but we have to treat some lacerations and other wounds.”

 “He’s not on any permanent medications. He had to take Vicodin and Heparin after a surgery four months ago.” She replies immediately and without a doubt, remembering her last trip to the hospital with him while she slips into a jacket and checks her bag for her purse and car keys. “Oh, he has asthma, but hasn’t had an attack in years, so he doesn’t use his inhaler regularly or anything. And he’s allergic to bees, but I don’t think that matters?”

 “No.” the nurse almost chuckles. “But the rest is very helpful to know, thanks. Will you be able to arrange for someone to monitor him for the next 24 hours? Otherwise we’ll need to prepare a room for him. He keeps saying you’ll pick him up, but we weren’t sure-”    “I’m on my way.”

-*-

 She speed-walks to the front desk of the emergency room not ten minutes later.

 “Hello. My name is Amy Santiago. I’m here for Jake Peralta - he was brought in twenty minutes ago?”

 “Ah! The lovely lady detective.” The nurse - it’s a different one from the phone call, she can tell from the voice - gives her a weird sort of smile. “Yes, he’s been asking for you non-stop. But the painkillers should have worn off by now, so he might be more coherent.”

 She tries to ignore that comment, she really does. But it’s not easy.

 “The doctor’s going over aftercare with him, so he might be a few more minutes. You can take a seat if you’d like.”

 Amy glances over to the waiting area, full of people even at this time of night, before turning back to the desk. “Uhm, the nurse on the phone said he needs to be monitored for 24 hours - do you know why? Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

 The lady gives her a once-over before another strange smile, like she knows more than Amy does (which, logically, in this situation she does, but it feels like she knows something else, too).

 “He’s had a minor concussion. Nothing to worry about, but he might be a bit disoriented or woozy, so it’s best not to leave him alone. And if he throws up or feels faint, you should bring him back immediately. He has a check-up appointment to remove his stitches in three days. Everything else you need to know will be on his report.”

 “Sure.” Amy nods, and hopes that Jake doesn’t lose track of that report on his way from the examination room to the waiting area - it wouldn’t be the first time he manages to lose paperwork in record time. She gives the still smiling nurse another nod before finally heading to sit down and pull out the crossword puzzle she was halfway done with when she got the call.

 “Hey.”

 “Oh! Hey!” Amy practically drops her puzzle and jumps from her seat in the waiting room once she sees him standing in front of her.

 Jake looks a mess. His leather jacket is ripped on one shoulder seam, and his jeans are covered in grime. There’s an awful lot of blood on his hoodie - probably from his nose, which is covered in a bandage - and his face is more red-bruised than pale in most places. There’s another, bigger bandage over a stitched-up gash across his left cheekbone, the accompanying eye blood-shot, and his lip is split in at least two places.

 “You look like hell.” She blurts out before thinking and immediately scolds herself, but it actually earns her a little laugh.

 “You’re looking lovely as well, Santiago.” His eyes wander over her messy ‘I had to get here in under ten minutes on a saturday couch night’ look, including a steadily unraveling hair-bun and oversized sweater.

 “Sorry, I mean-”

 “S’alright.” He drops into the seat next to her and winces. More bruises, Amy thinks.

 “What happened?” She sits back down as he leans forward, only now noting the clipboard and pen in his hands (which are equally roughed up, knuckles worn down, with scabs already forming. Whatever had happened, he sure hadn’t given in easily).

 “Some big-shot guy whose dealer I arrested last week spotted me coming out of a bar. Decided the best way to deal with his crippling drug addiction was to beat the shit out of the cop who’d cut off his supply. He was, like, a giant of a dude.” Jake puffs up his chest and raises his arms to show the supposed size of the man, and Amy can only nod. “Luckily he was too stupid to check for surveillance on the very public street we were on, and there was a beat cop on the corner who cuffed him pretty quickly.” He looks down again at the clipboard, and tries to scratch his nose before remembering there’s a bandage in the way. “He also called an ambulance, which I think was a bit over the top, but I couldn’t really breathe to tell him no.”

 Amy gives him a quizzical look, and he sighs before explaining.

 “Fucker punched me in the chest so hard I had an asthma attack.”

 She snorts. She doesn’t want to, but it’s not really something you can stop, even as she clutches her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

 “I’m sorry, Jake, I shouldn’t- it’s not funny-”

 “Well.” He grins at her, far softer than usual, but that might just be to not upset his split lip. “It is a little bit funny, I guess.”

 “Do you have an inhaler at work? You should take one with you, you know, even if you haven’t had problems for a while, you never know when they show up again, case in point, and people might not know what to do - maybe I should get an inhaler too, for when we’re working together, and make sure Charles knows how-”

 “Hey.” He interrupts her verbal stream of consciousness by holding the clipboard up to her, and she grabs it reflexively the same way she does when he sneakily slips her his unfinished paperwork. “Can you help me fill out these stupid forms? I think I’m still a bit high from whatever they gave me back there, or maybe I just don’t know half of these words anyway.”

 She grabs the pen from him as well, clicks it twice, and gets to work. She doesn’t even have to ask him about most of the fields he’s left blank, and after a minute or two, the file is full with both his chicken scratch and her perfect handwriting. She’s filled out so many of these forms for him before, she could probably do it in her sleep. Which would be quite a worrying thought if it wasn’t so weirdly sweet at the same time - she realises that he has never, not once, asked anyone else for a ride to the hospital for work injuries, at least when he had the choice (and luckily, he was barely ever so hurt that he couldn’t, that any one of them had to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but most of those times it was her as well).

 “Here.” She hands the file back to him. “Get that to the nurses, and we can go back to your place so you can catch up on sleep. Do you have your medical report?”

 He nods and swaps it for the clipboard in her hand in a well-set routine they both know, getting up to hand it in while she does a quick read through. There are not that many after-care instructions - the usual things for concussions she’s aware of, a healing balm for the bruising, replacing the bandages regularly, and another truckload of painkillers and medicine. The doctors sure do seem to love pumping him full with it whenever they get a chance, and he sure does love to ignore them and not take any of it. She still makes a mental note to swing by the pharmacy on their way home to pick it all up when he gets back and gestures for her to leave.

 He does a dramatic turn and bow to say good-bye to the front desk as they pass it, earning himself a giggle from the ladies and swaying only a little after he gets back up. Amy has her hands around his elbow immediately, steadying him and leading him outside - they did say he would be woozy - and the nurse gives her another one of those smiles. She’s still not quite sure if she likes them or not.

-*-

 They stop at the late-night-pharmacy as planned - Jake obeys orders to stay in the car to make it all quicker, but insists on getting a bag of sour gummies as a reward, and Amy sighs as he tears into it right away, probably covering her whole passenger seat with the powder - but the rest of the drive stays quiet. It feels more concerning to Amy than it should. He’s a blabbermouth at the best of times, should be even more so after being loaded up with painkillers and coming down from the adrenaline high of a fight, asthma attack and hospital treatment all at once. But right now he seems utterly silenced, fidgety and... nervous.

 “Sorry they made you come out for something so stupid.” He mumbles, finally, in the elevator up to his apartment.

 “It’s not stupid.”

 “It’s 1am on a sunday, I’m pretty sure you had better things to do than pick up a beat-up co-worker and buy him his drugs.” He shoots her a quick glance as they get out on his floor. “I’m gonna pay you back for those, of course.” She doesn’t even acknowledge it, because they both know he can’t afford it.

 “It’s actually 12:30, and my partner needed my help. So there’s definitely nothing better to do with my time.”

 He mumbles something else as they step through the door, but she doesn’t catch it. She helps him slip out of his jacket instead, reminds herself to google a good tailor that works with leather as she notices the ripped shoulder while hanging it up and turns around to look at the blood-stained hoodie he’s taking off.

 “I don’t think that thing is salvageable.”

 “Damn, and it was one of my favourites, too.” He pouts, playfully, before remembering his injured lip.

 “All your hoodies are your favourite.”

 “Am I not allowed to love them all equally?”

 Amy is already in his kitchen not answering that, instead bundling the hoodie up and into a trash bag she’s pulled from a shelf. She’ll take it down to the dumpster with her when she leaves tomorrow, or else he might try and wash it.

 “You don’t have to do all this, you know.” Jake says as she walks past him to put the bag on the front mat. “I can take care of my clothes.”

 “Sorry.” She halts and takes off her own jacket and shoes, instead. It’s a strange situation - they’re both used to Jake being a lot more inhibited from medication or alcohol when she literally has to bring him home, usually hanging onto Amy’s shoulders and babbling nonsense while she shuffles him into bed. But now he’s standing up all on his own, silent again, looking around the place as if he doesn’t know what to do in his own home with Amy as a not-quite-guest. Neither does she.

 Another beat of silence passes between them before Jake clears his throat and bumbles on.

 “You should- ...do you want something to drink? I think I still have some of that herbal stuff you brought-”

 “You should-” Amy starts at almost the same time, silencing them both again for another beat. “You should change out of these” she gestures to his dirty clothes “and put the balm on your bruises and get ready for bed. You’re gonna crash from the adrenaline soon.”

 It seems like he wants to say something else, but the silence is deafening by now, so he only nods and grabs stuff out of the pharmacy bag before heading to the bathroom.

 “I’m gonna grab a spare shirt for me to sleep in, if that’s okay?” She calls after him and only hears ‘Sure!’ before the door closes.

 Amy realises, as she turns around for the dresser in the one room apartment he inherited from Gina a while ago, that she’s never been here before without some medical emergency clouding her vision. She knew his old place - from a few late evenings working on case files (which he illegally took home, but neither of them mentioned that), and a movie marathon when he was extremely sick and had begged her over on her day off because he was convinced he was ‘going to die any minute’ and didn’t want the neighbours to find his ‘decomposing corpse later in the week’ - and he’d been over at hers far more times than she could count (her place was nicer, she had actual cable tv,, and a working kitchen for him to rustle around in for random late night snacks).

 But this apartment? It seems strangely foreign now, without a drunk or medicated Jake needing her help, without the usual distraction of getting him into bed, getting his shoes and jacket off, forcing him awake to take some aspirin and then settling down on the couch to his snoring. She feels like a guest instead, someone who doesn’t know if they’re allowed to sit down or get a drink from the kitchen without being invited. That’s nonsense, she thinks - she’s here to help like always, and there’s no way Jake would care if she turned his entire kitchen upside down and re-organised it or fell asleep on the couch right then and there.

 Loud grumbling and ranting from the bathroom pulls her out of her thoughts, before she can even decide to pick up the spare bedding set for the couch she knows he keeps in his closet.

 “Everything alright?” She knocks on the door, but barely waits for the angry ‘No!’ before opening it. Her breath catches.

 Jake’s in his pajama pants, and - that’s it. She can see the muscles in his bare back flex as well as the reflection of his front in the mirror, as he tries to bend around in some convoluted way to reach the large, purple bruise that travels from his waist to his back.

 “Stupid doctors and their stupid lotions and stupid ideas for people who can’t do yoga or some shit to reach their own back-” he mumbles, but Amy doesn’t hear much of it. She’s seen Jake shirtless before - you don’t go on stake-outs or undercover assignments without catching each other in different states of undress at some point - and every time has been a secret memory, quickly stolen and hidden somewhere deep in her mind, to be dusted off and remembered at the most inopportune times or when she feels particularly alone after a drink (or maybe four). This time will probably be no different, she thinks as she notes the soft trail of hair under his belly button, down to the sweatpants that definitely sit lower than any jeans she’s seen him shirtless in before.

 She has to act, she reprimands herself, before he notices, before he sees her staring or realises she’s blushing, so she steps up to the sink and pulls the tub of healing balm from his hands.

 “It’s not the doctors’ fault you always get injured in inconvenient places.” She answers his rant while dipping her fingers into the lotion and carefully applying it to the bruise, trying not to rub or press too hard for it to hurt.

 Jake doesn’t breathe the entire time her fingers are on his skin.

 “There you go.” Amy closes the little tub and puts it next to the sink, eyeing his bruised face and completely ignoring the flush that is hiding underneath it. “Lemme change your bandages before you sleep, too. You already got them dirty.”

 “I can do that-”

 “You’re going to rip it straight off and disturb your stitches, most likely.” Her hands are already at the corner of his cheek, carefully prying off the tape and strips, and he forgets how to breathe again.

 She replaces the bandages just as carefully and leaves him to the rest of his night time routine, filling a glass of water in the kitchenette and coming back with a packet of Vicodin at the same moment he steps out of the bathroom, finally pulling a shirt over his head.

 “You should take some painkillers before you sleep. It’ll help.”

 “Oh goodie.” He quips and eyes the water. “Drugs! Because the injuries totally weren’t caused because of somebody off their drugs!”

 “These are prescription drugs. It’s different. You know that.”

 He still stares warily at the package in her hand, but another shuffle forward from her and he grabs them and pops one into his mouth, grimacing after downing it (whether that grimace is for the medicine or the water he actually has to drink, she’s not sure).

 “Good boy.” Amy jokes, and he’s glad he’s already swallowed so he can’t choke on his water from hearing that. “Now get some sleep in. I’ll be down here on the couch if you need anything, or feel worse.”

 “Don’t go-” He stutters and stares right past her head at the aforementioned couch. “I mean, you don’t- you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I know how uncomfortable it is- you can sleep with me- I mean, in the bed, with me in the bed, I mean- there’s enough space- with the extra blanket- I don’t-”

 He interrupts his own rambling with a deep sigh and a ‘Jesus, Jake’ before Amy can stifle another giggle. He feels just as awkward with her here as she does, and it almost makes the whole thing more comfortable. They’ll just have to power through the nonsense and get back to their normal friendly behaviour, she reasons.

 “If you really don’t mind. I’m gonna get the stuff from the closet.”

 He’s already bundled up under his own covers when she comes back with the heap of blanket and pillows for her side of the bed.

 It’s not her side, of course, it’s just the part of the bed he’s freed up from his own duvet, and that she’s going to sleep on now for one night, but it’s not like they have sides in their bed like-

power through the nonsense, she repeats as she settles down and stares over at him. His eyes are closed, his breath already slowing down into a sleepy pattern, and despite all the bruising and bandaging, his face looks so soft when he’s asleep. It’s a sight she could definitely get used to.

-*-

 She remembers waking up the next morning, far too early for the late night they’d had. She remembers how wonderfully warm he was, hurt face buried in her shoulder and softly breathing across his shirt that she’d borrowed. She remembers her heart racing as she tried to untangle herself from the cuddling position their sleeping bodies had found themselves in, and she remembers the soft, quiet, confused ‘Ames..?’ when he woke up a few hours later and found the bed empty, with her already sitting at the tiny kitchen table she was sitting at right now.

 Looking back at the report of the night she just remembered, the little line of her name and phone number at the top seem to glare at her, scolding her for her stupid question about emergency contact changes. She can hear Jake quietly laugh before she looks up.

 “What, did you genuinely think you weren’t my first pick for emergencies?” Jake is still smiling at her, and she realises he obviously didn’t go down that little trip down memory lane with her. Maybe he was even still at the point of their conversation where Stevie Schillens was a viable option for an emergency contact as well. “Like, even without everything else going on with us… You love filling out forms, you’re responsible enough to actually take care of an emergency situation, and you know about all my stupid medical info better than me, because you keep driving me to the hospital from work.”

 “You’re saying you made a serious decision like this based on actual logical evidence instead of one of your ‘gut feelings’?” Amy’s eyebrow raises almost involuntary. Present-Jake, maybe. Past-Jake? Definitely not.

 Present-Jake can only shrug before scratching his nose, a subtle tell that she's identified by now for when he’s embarrassed, as if he’s trying to hide his face before speaking again.

 “Might’ve also liked the idea of having you in the ER with me... instead of a freaked-out Charles or something.”

 She smiles at what sounds like only half-explained truth and decides not to push it. She knows what he means, anyway. She knows, by now, that he would always ask the nurses for her when he was being treated, would always ramble on about her when blissed out on extra-strong painkillers, about how smart she was and how much she would help him and how much he hated hospitals, but not quite so much when he knew she was outside the room waiting for him.

 “Okay, but when exactly did you put me in as your emergency contact?” She puts down the last file and maneuvers around the stacks of yet unsorted papers to get over to him and the couch.

 “Eh, ‘bout two months after we were partnered up.”

 “Two- we didn’t even like each other then!”

 “Wrong. You didn’t like me.” Another nose-scratch before Amy can sit down next to him, cradling his face in her hand and smiling again at how quickly he leans into it.

 “Aw, babe. I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

 “I mean, I didn’t like-like you then. Just for the record. I wasn’t that desperate, okay? I just thought you were... neat. And really good to have around for emergencies. Probably should’ve asked you. For all I know you would’ve stranded your annoying new partner at the hospital and pretended like you never heard of me.”

 “I would have never done that!” Amy glowers at him. “Just for the record as well. I would’ve absolutely taken care of you, even though I didn’t like you or found you super annoying.”

 “I know you’re trying to be nice right now, babe, but you’re really not doing it well.” Jake grins at her again, and she can’t help but pull him towards her to kiss that snarky grin away. It reappears as soon as her lips leave his, unfortunately, but it is decidedly less snarky and far more dopey.

 “And I did show up when they called me after that drug addict attacked you, remember? I was so worried when I got that call, because I didn’t even know I was your contact, and I thought something horrible must’ve happened that they had to call me. And then it was just a fist fight.”

 “Sorry.” He mumbles. “It was a really stupid reason to call an emergency contact. Shoulda filled my forms out better.”

 “Maybe.” She smiles as she strokes across his cheek, noting the tiny scar that is still there from the stitches he had to get. “But I’m glad they did, anyway. You would’ve tried to drive yourself home and clean your wounds with mouthwash, or something.”

 “Maybe.” He echoes with an equal smile. “You do make a better home-nurse than I would, I guess. Even though you were missing the sexy outfit.”

 He earns himself a punch to the arm for that before she goes back to playing with his hair, soothing him enough that he drops the joking facade.

 “I was really happy you showed up, by the way. And took me home. And didn’t leave.”

 “Again: I would’ve never left you or not taken care of you. We’re partners, for God’s sake. What would the Captain have said if he found out I left you home alone with a concussion after you asked me for help?”

 “Yep. Holt’s imminent disappointment. Definitely the only reason I hoped you’d stay.” His smile is crooked, but Amy only continues stroking through his hair, and it quickly turns the uncomfortable smile into a content sigh. “I was so… nervous. Because... you can probably guess that I did like-like you by then. Like, you were right here in my apartment, and I wasn’t out on painkillers, but I also wasn’t awake enough to like, entertain you or anything, and I was so worried that you were already annoyed because of the whole situation and I would do something or say something stupid, but you were still there, and then you helped me with the bandages, and the, the lotion, and I think I remember the worst invitation to my bed I’ve ever given anyone, and when I woke up I thought you’d finally left, but you were just in the kitchen, and I-” He sighs again, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I was always torn between wanting to kiss you and wanting to apologise for being so much trouble.”

 “God, we really were hopelessly lost on each other, weren’t we?” Amy chuckles, her hand now carding through the hair on his nape rather than the curls on top.

 “I was definitely hopeless, in every sense of the word. I think I’d rather describe you as oblivious.”

 “Ooooh, good word!” She happily praises him, before realising just how sad that statement of his actually was. He lifts his head again to look at her. “I... actually, I wasn’t really oblivious at all. I’d say I was just as hopeless as you. I just hid it a bit better.”

 “But you were always there.” He smiles at her, his head sideways now, leaning against the back of the couch, and it’s so soft and comforting and homely she wants to sink into him. “For every hospital trip I needed. Maybe that’s kinda why I made you my emergency contact too. I knew you’d come no matter what, and I knew you wouldn’t leave. Whether I annoyed you like crazy or we barely knew each other or we were already good friends or we were not quite on speaking terms due to all the awkwardness.”

 She leans her head next to him, her hands wrapping around his folded in his lap.

 “I’ve got your back. Always.” She whispers, and it’s a lot more than the supportive, yet simple promise of work partners. She thinks of the many times people had left him, the many things he’d been through alone, the lonely walks to an empty house or quiet cab rides back to a dark apartment, the dinner’s in the microwave notes and the sorry, can’t tonight texts, and the few times she has actually left him alone too, not knowing yet that when he was running off scared, what he really needed was someone to run after him and tell him it’s okay.

 Their relationship is only a month old, officially, but she knows that it’s far older than that. She knows that it’s been growing and changing for years, and she knows, in that moment, that it will grow for many, many years to come. For forever, maybe, if they’re lucky. But no matter what it will change into in the future - she also knows, without a doubt in her heart, that she’ll be there. The way he knows she would, the way he’s known since two months after they met.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Three [Pt. 1]

Part Eighty-Three [Pt. 2]

A/N: There's 2 parts to this chapter because the post was way long. Part Eighty-Four will be posted tomorrow night. I love yall and hope you enjoy, goodnight!!

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: Explicit language, drug abuse, violence, verbal abuse, domestic abuse, explicit sexual situations

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"The ambulance is on the way." I hear someone say over the noise of the running water and the blood throbbing in my ears from my mind racing. 

My heart feels like it's about to burst, my lungs feel flat, like they don't have the muscle to expand and let me catch my breath. 

Duff's t-shirt that I'm wearing is soaked with freezing cold water, Nikki's grayish-yellow skin now blue… 

We've been trying to get him to wake up. 

Slash is passed out, being knocked out by his girlfriend, Sally, once he realized what was happening and had a drunk meltdown. 

Me, Sally, Duff and Steven get Nikki from the cold shower and get him back in the living room floor, tearing at his shirt and the buttons fly off. 

"Holy shit." Steven says just under his breath as I go to start cpr but I'm stopping when my hands hit something like ice.

I quickly see what it is and I nearly fall back. 

It's my crucifix that I thought I had lost when I left it in Duff's hotel room a couple months ago…

TWELVE HOURS AGO

"Nikki's getting home later than the rest of the guys." Karen informs me as I finish wiping down the kitchen counter. 

"Why?" I ask and she sighs. 

"He told me he missed the flight." 

"Of course he did." I mumble and she sighs. 

"Well, after that stunt he pulled, I'm surprised he's even getting to come home." She states and I furrow my brows. 

"What stunt?"

"Doc didn't tell you?" 

"No?"

"...Nikki and the guys were on a bullet train and something riled Nikki up and he threw a bottle of Jack at a window and it busted and got all over the passengers, then when they got stopped and the cops got ahold of him, Tommy punched one of them so they'd take him, too." She explains. 

Am I surprised, no. Shocked, no. Disappointed, no. Annoyed? Yes. 

"They are so freaking embarrassing." I sneer to myself.

"Oh, the worst part is what he told the police chief, in Doc's words, 'if my balls were on your chin, where would my dick be?'" 

I widen my eyes, blinking slowly. 

"He said the man couldn't understand exactly what he said so the translator told him Nikki said he was very sorry and they got off." She adds.

"Of course they did." 

She just looks at me for a moment before letting out a soft breath. 

"Vivian, do you think...even the slightest chance you two can--"

"--If there was a chance, I would've gone to Japan with them." I tell her.

She's quiet. 

"I need to feed the dog." I say to her, dismissively, and as if on cue, Whisky is darting in here. "Hey, baby!" I pipe, excitedly, still feeling Karen's gaze on me before she steps out of the kitchen. "Mommy's trying not to kill Daddy." I tell him, pouring his food in his bowl. "She's really trying."

A couple hours later, I'm putting makeup on to go meet Duff when the phone starts ringing. 

"Hello?" I answer it in the bedroom, sitting on the bed. 

"Hey, beautiful, it's Robbin." I hear from the other side and I roll my eyes, chuckling. 

"Hey, beautiful, what's up?" I reply in the same tone. 

"Nothin'." He replies. "I was wondering if your daddy was home, yet?" He asks in reference to Nikki and I scoff. 

"My father is at home with my mother, probably praying or reading the Bible or secretly listening to The Cult records in the garage." I reply. 

"You know who I'm talking about, c'mon." He laughs. 

"No, Robbin, your boyfriend isn't home yet." I tell him. 

"Do you know when he will be?"

"Not too long from now, probably."

"Well, when he gets in, tell him to gimme a call." 

"I might not be here but I'll leave a note." 

"Where you going?" He asks. 

"Out."

"With who?" 

"Robbin."

"Why don't you ever come see me anymore? I haven't hung out with you in months." 

"Because I don't party and that's all you like to do at night." 

"Well, bring your ass with Sixx when he comes tonight."

"Robbin--"

"--Please, for me?" 

"I'll think about it, alright?" 

"Okay, just don't forget to get him to call me." He reminds me and I nod.

"I will."

"See you later...maybe." 

"Later."

We hang up and I groan and fall back on the bed, looking at myself in the mirrored ceiling, before calling Duff to postpone our plans by a couple hours so I can go hangout with Nikki and Robbin.

Once I'm dressed, I fall back on the bed, waiting for Nikki to get in…

I turn over on my stomach and reach for the little radio clock on his side of the bed, my finger pulling the switch on. 

Dopey Christmas music filters through the room and I turn it back off, sighing. 

Whisky jumps up on the bed with me and I sit up so he doesn't lick my makeup off, giggling at his happy-go-lucky demeanor, but something's off in his eyes. 

"He'll be back tonight, baby." I promise, scratching at his chin. "I miss him, too, you know? I know that's hard to believe but I do." I admit to him and he blinks at me. "And if you tell anybody, I won't give you table scraps anymore." I add, the corners of my mouth tugging. 

I kiss his head, leaving a smudge of lipstick and I wince, forgetting I even had the stuff on. 

"Oops." I go to the bathroom and get a wet washcloth, srubbing it off his fur as best as a I can. 

That's when I hear the door open and slam, and I exhale, standing up, tossing the cloth aside and peeking my head out of the bedroom door to see if it's Karen or Nikki. 

"Hey," I say to him and he looks at me. 

He looks like absolute hell. 

"You can stop looking at me like that." He mumbles and I try to speak but can't find the words. 

"Sorry." I finally get it out and he goes to the bathroom and shuts the door. 

I hear the shower start and I thank God because he smells horrendous. 

I light a few scented candles while he's in there, trying to clear out the smell. 

Then I try to search his suitcase for drugs, to no avail. 

"I threw them out before I got to the airport." He says and I freeze up, sighing when he reaches past me and grabs the suitcase, tugging it to the floor before grabbing at my waist, making me turn around to face him. 

I just try to keep my expression neutral, not knowing if he's in a mood or not. 

"You smell better." I tell him to avoid an awkward silence as we're uncomfortably close. 

"Yeah, so do you." He replies and I roll my eyes, about to move out of his grasp. "Wait, wait, no, no, c'mere." He grabs at me tighter, holding me still, chuckling boyishly and I give a sharp breath. 

"You're high," I state, trying to nudge him away from me to give me some space. 

"Hey, I'm being nice." His expression shifts, eyes cutting at me, mouth snarling. 

"Nikki--"

"--No, when I'm pissed you get bitchy and when I'm in a good mood you get bitchy. You're just a fucking bitch. Always have been. Always will be." He snatches himself away, kicking the suitcase out of his way. 

"I'd rather be a bitch than a junkie." I reply as he goes to the bathroom and he's turning around in milliseconds. 

"Fuck you!" He shouts, grabbing my jaw, forcing my back down to the mattress, "fuck you, you condescending, manipulative, evil little witch!" He barks in my face and I keep myself as calm as I can, not wanting to make it worse. 

I shouldn't have even called him a junkie to begin with. 

I knew how he'd react. 

"Don't you ever call me that again, Vivian, do you fucking understand me?! I'm tired of it! I'm tired of your shit and your endless whining when I started shooting up because of you in the first fucking place and I keep shooting up just to escape from the reality that I'm fucking married to a twisted, sick, sneaky cunt like you!" 

My eyes water, a lump in my throat…

"Then divorce me." I let out weakly, my voice cracking. "If I'm so awful then just leave me, Nikki." 

He looks at me, tears in his own eyes, before he gets off of me and goes to the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

NIKKI

I thought couldn't do that. Even when I was miserable with her, I was in love with her. That's contradictory to how I acted and treated her but it wasn't necessarily an endless doting, constant lovey-dovey, in love, thing. It was a poisonous, constant merry-go-round and anytime I would try to get off she'd pull me on again without even realizing it. She'd wear a hot dress, or laugh, or smile, or do something for me, or just say 'Nikki', and fuck, I'd be on her again. The Duff thing wasn't even on my mind that night. I got home, saw she was there, went inside and saw her and it took everything in me not to fall to my fucking knees...only for her to call me a junkie. I shouldn't have grabbed her like that, but at that point I was tired of the going around and around, spinning, dizzy, exhausted from puking...she wouldn't leave me. So I was trying to scare her off. 

I realized after my overdose that there was no scaring her off. She was as sick as I was, she needed help like I did, and until we got it we would still be on the ride. That's when I filed for divorce. I thought of it as my final, "I love you," because I really did it for her, knowing she wouldn't file after I OD'd. We were torturing ourselves at that point. We both needed to just get away from one another. And we did.

"You coming or not, Vivian, c'mon!" I call into the house when the car gets here, rolling my eyes as she takes her sweet, precious time, deliberately, staring me in the eye as she slowly steps to the door, her brow raised, red lips keeping restraint from curling at the sight of me. 

When she walks past, I'm tempted to rear back and hit her ass as hard as my hand can muster, just to see her look at me with her unamused, pissy little look she gives me when I'm being an asshole. 

We get in the back of the limo and she sits as far away from me as possible. 

It's silent on the way to town, the light flittering, through the windows in the back cast light over her face every now and then...we'd be in the floor tearing at clothes by now if this was three years ago. 

Fuck.

How the hell did we go from not getting enough of each other to fucking despising each other? 

Again, like I've been doing all year, I remind myself it's because I fucked up with Vanity.

I hope she doesn't tell Vivian I called her in Japan...It's  like I really miss her or anything, I was just lonely and Vivian wasn't taking my calls. 

She was under Duff, the demon in my ear laughs out and I look at Vivian again, seeing her quickly look away from me as if she'd get caught for staring. 

I wonder what she's thinking about right now...I wonder if she really has been with Duff this whole I haven't been home. 

Not that I have room to bitch, I spent my whole time in Japan with my head in drugs--which might as well be a fucking mistress. 

I give her one last glance before clearing my throat and leaning my head back to rest my eyes for a moment. 

Soon, we stop, and the door flings open, Robbin, Slash, some chick, and Steven all pile in, Vivian scooting over so there's more room for everyone to sit. 

I go to the other window, letting Slash and the girl I'm assuming is with him get beside me. 

Vivian's between Robbin and Steven, and it's evident they've been having some fun before meeting us. 

"Sixx!" Robbin lets out, kicking the seat I'm in.

"King!" I reply, kicking his seat, and he chuckles. 

"How was Japan?" He asks, rubbing his nose. 

"I barely remember." I admit with a laugh and he joins me, nodding. 

"Nikki, this is Sally." Slash tells me next and I lean over him to see her. 

She's pretty hot. 

"Nice to meet you." She tells me.

She's Scottish...interesting. 

I hear Vivian giggle and I peek out the corner of my eye and see Robbin whispering something in her ear, and she elbows him, jokingly. 

"You are, just saying." He says to her and she rolls her eyes. "Just get more and more beautiful the longer I go without seeing you." He adds. 

"Shut up." She nudges him. 

"You are." He chuckles. 

"Sleepy is what I am." She states as Steven tells me something, and I try to hear him, but I'm too focused on what Robbin's going on about. 

"Here," he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a baggie of coke, grabbing his keys and getting some on the tip of it, holding it up to her nose. 

She wrinkles her nose and shoos him away. 

"No, no, no." She shakes her head. 

"C'mon."

"No." She keeps her voice light but stern and he lowers it and looks at her with a smirk on his lips. 

Next thing I know, she's laughing out, "Robbin, stop," while King's dumping the dab of coke on the smooth skin of her tit that's pushed up slightly in her strapless dress. 

She squeals and laughs as he snorts it off, I guess because the scratch of his five o'clock shadow tickles or she just gets off on making me mad, then he starts quickly trailing little kisses up her cheek to her ear and she tries to put her ear to her shoulder, laughing more when his other hand tickles at her stomach…he's nearly got her laid out on the seat. 

My foot makes contact with his stomach and I'm nearly barking when I say, "sit your ass down, Robbin," sharply, making it clear I'm not bullshitting him.

"I was just playing, Sixx, damn." He sniffles, wiping his nose.  

"You don't 'play' like that." I throw at him. 

An intense silence falls over all of us and Vivian just brushes what's left of the coke off of her chest and straightens her dress before giving him a soft, reassuring smile. 

Great. Is she fucking him, too? 

When we get to the Cathouse, Vivian stays close to Steven and eventually Sally when the two of them warm up to each other. 

We make it up to V.I.P. and Viv makes a point to try to avoid sitting beside me. 

But I wait for her to sit and I'm sitting right beside her with a smug smirk while she glares at me. 

"What's wrong, baby?" I lean into her ear and ask over the loud music and she just shakes her head. 

I pat myself on the back when she eventually gets up, mumbling about the bathroom, and leaves us. 

After a few (several) lines of blow, I head to the bathroom to piss, deciding to stop by the women's restroom to see what the hell Vivian's doing. 

She probably snuck out of the window. 

I hear the very faint but distinct sound of Vivian crying, guilt stabbing at me. 

I think I took it too far earlier when I called her those shitty things. 

I just go to the men's bathroom and splash my face with water, the buzzing of coke beginning to numb my mind, thoughts of my imploding marriage, band, and life, being locked up and discarded into a black sea of, "it can wait." 

One thing is retrieved, though, thrown a life line and brought back from the depths. 

I look at myself in the mirror, staring myself down as if saying, "don't you fucking do it." 

Once the high kicks in, I can just feel Sikki scrape me from control, locking me away momentarily. 

Next thing I know, I'm standing in the women's bathroom, Vivian still sniffling in the stall...I don't think she knows I'm in here. 

"I got you this far, you fuck." The demon snarls in my ear.

I swallow and clear my throat, making Vivian go silent. 

"Viv, what the fuck's wrong, now?" I ask and she sighs, staying quiet. 

"Nothing, Nikki." She says and I scoff, rubbing my jaw. 

"It's clearly not 'nothing' because I heard you blubbering the past ten minutes." I point out and she opens the stall, door, looking me dead in the eye before pushing past me. 

"A lot on my mind, alright?" She mumbles, going to the sink and I lean against the stall, crossing my arms. 

"Like what?" 

"I don't wanna talk about it, Nikki." She tells me, trying to wipe the smeared mascara away. 

"Well, I can't read your mind, Vivian, so if you're upset with me about something th--"

Her head hangs low, a small sob coming from her throat, tears dropping into the sink, her hands white-knuckling the side of the porcelain…

"I'm upset with you about everything." She admits to me, sorrow lacing her words. 

I haven't seen her like this since Vanity aired our dirty laundry out. 

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? Why didn't you act like--" she cuts herself off, and I realize she's referring to me telling her I loved her while I was in Japan. 

"Where were you, Vivian?" I ask her out of nowhere, getting defensive. 

"Where was I?" She turns to look at me, wiping her tears, rolling her jaw. "Where were you?" She snaps at me. "Where have you been the last four years?" She asks me. 

"I'm not doing this shit here." I grumble, turning to go. 

"You asked me what was wrong, Nikki, and I'm telling you what's wrong because you asked--"

"--I also asked where you've been while I've been out of town, Vivian!" I turn on my heel, snarling. 

"I've been at home, Nikki!" She yells back. "I've been here, and I've been here for six years! Thinking you'd be right here with me but you're not! That's what's wrong! I've wasted six years of my life on someone who--" 

"--You wasted six years of your life?!" I laugh out humorlessly. "How the fuck do you think I feel? How many things I've missed out on because, 'oh, nah, my wife wouldn't like that'?!" I scream. 

"Must not have been too bad because you sure as hell weren't passing up the opportunity to have a year and half long affair with Vanity!" She wretches and it takes everything in me not to tell her I know about her little thing she has going with Duff. 

"Ya know what, I felt bad for calling you an evil bitch and a cunt earlier but fuck it, you are." I reach for the door and I feel something hit at my back, her heel hitting the floor by my boots. 

I turn at glare at her, her emerald eyes lined black, thick lashes blinking slowly, lips parted slightly as she takes in a heavy breath.

I take a step to her, then another and she steps back to the sink. 

When our lips meet, I'm putting her on the sink, wasting no time to get her dress pushed up her legs. 

"Wait, wait, wait," she gasps out, nudging me away while I unbuckle my belt. 

I catch my breath as she gets off the sink and turns around, looking at me in the mirror. 

I just lift her dress and bend her over, pulling her panties to the side before--

"God, you are so high." She grumbles, pulling me from my imagination, picking her heel up and shoving past me.

Damn her. 

I follow after her back to the guys, and within another hour, once she realizes she's just going to be babysitting us--since she's not fun enough to participate in the coke, pills, and booze--she stands up.

"I'm about to head home." She tells us, and the boys groan. 

"Oh, c'mon, Viv!" Steven complains as she leans down to hug him and tell him bye. 

"I'm tired, Stevie." She states, chuckling, wrapping her arms around Slash's neck from behind him, and he pats her hand. 

"See ya," he tells her. 

"Bye." She says. "It was nice to meet you." She says to Sally, next. 

"You, too." Sally replies. 

"C'mere, c'mere, c'mere!" Robbin calls over the music and she raises a brow and stand behind him, leaning over to see what he wants. 

He just grabs her hand and puts it over his heart. 

"You feel that?" He asks her. 

"Yeah, it feels like you're about to go into cardiac arrest." She comments. 

"It's because of you." He dopily replies and she rolls her eyes and pushes at his chest, shaking her head. 

"You're a mess." She tells him and he kisses the top of her hand. 

"Goodnight, Viv, it was good to see you again." He tells her. 

"It was good to see you, too." She replies, smiling, before pulling away. "Bye, Nikki." She says to me in passing. 

"Fuck you, too!" I call after her as she heads to the stairs. 

The next time I'd see her, she'd be trying to help Sally, Duff, and Steven resuscitate me, and eventually trying to throw herself from the balcony in an attempt to not be left behind while I moved on to where ever the hell we go when we die, begging me not to leave her. I didn't, thanks to adrenaline...but even if I did die, if I had anything to do with it, I still wouldn't have left her.

[supernatural-freek]

Heartbeat Highway

Dean x Sister!Reader, Sam x Sister!Reader

Synopsis: I have a little sister reader request. Could you do one where the reader has a heart condition and has to go to the cardiologist for her yearly check up? And the reader hates going because she feels like she’s not normal because of it. And the brothers comfort her through the entire appointment/tests. I personally have Pulmonary Atresia so if that could be the condition the reader has that’ll be great.

NOTE: If anything about this is wrong, I apologise. I did some research, but I don’t have the medical condition, so I may have gotten some things wrong.

REQUESTED

MASTERLIST

.

You’ve never been more terrified to go to a clinic.

Well, okay, maybe terrified isn’t the word for it. Because you aren’t scared. You’re actually stuffed full of loathing, and loathing doesn’t equal fear. Loathing is much more fun. Loathing is what makes you dig your heels in before your older brothers could usher you inside.

Dean sighs. “Y/N, come on. You were doing so well.”

“I’m not going in,” you say stubbornly, wrapping your arms around your torso and scowling. “C’mon, let’s just turn around and go back to the Bunker-”

Sam’s hand claps down onto your shoulder, pushing you forward another step. “You’ve gotta go in, bub.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We know.” Dean’s voice is gentler this time. “But you can’t skip this check up. Your condition isn’t something we can treat lightly, okay?”

Your frown deepens, but you’re no match for your brothers. Sam herds you forward a few more steps while Dean ducks inside to get you checked in. Once you’ve checked in, you know there’s no escape. “Why couldn’t Cas just heal me?” You grumble.

Sam’s sigh is sadder than Dean’s, stretched thin by years of clinics and doctors and that one memorable time you had to go to hospital in the back of an ambulance. “You know he’s tried,” Sam says. “You know he can’t fix something that was wrong when you were born.”

“He can fix Dean.”

“We both know that’s not the same.”

No it isn’t. And it’s not fair of you to put the blame on Cas. You know your condition isn’t something that can be treated with a flick of his fingers. You just wish it didn’t mean you had to be poked and prodded at every check up, wish you didn’t have to be careful about your blood pressure or monitor your breathing, or be careful not to sleep too much.

You let Sam lead you inside, finding Dean in the waiting room. It’s dangerous, having your brothers both here given that most of your family members are considered murderers and criminals, but it’s like Sam and Dean said.

You can’t just not go to the check up, and the only way to have the check up is to be yourselves.

Legally.

“See?” Dean says when you sit down next to him. “Nothing scary here.”

“I’m not scared of the clinic,” you shoot back under your breath. eyes flicking over the other couple of people in the waiting room. “I just hate being here.”

Sam sits next to you, his overly large frame swallowing up the tiny seat. It’s almost funny. “Why? You never used to mind when we were younger. Is it because Dad isn’t here any more?”

Ah, John. To his credit, the man had been dutiful with your medicine and monitoring your physical well being. He hadn’t let you hunt for years. He’d taken you to every check up. He’d cared. 

But once that demon had come back, and he’d taken off and left you with Dean, the invisible injury didn’t exist.

“This isn’t about John,” you say lowly. “And I would appreciate it if you kept your assumptions to yourself until you know what you’re talking about.”

Sam’s knee knocks against your in a wordless apology.

You legs twitches and jumps while you wait, belying your nerves. Dean and Sam are both content to just sit, but you can’t stop fidgeting. It’s not like you have to be here. You had the operation as a baby. You should be fine. You haven’t had any incidents.

You’re fine.

“Y/N Winchester?”

You jerk at the sound of your name, startling both of your brothers in the process. "Christ Y/N,” Dean hisses. “Tryna give me a damn heart attack?”

Sam reaches over and whacks him in the back of the head before you can respond.

The cardiologist runs a critical eye over the three of you before nodding and leading you down the hallway. You follow silently, pressing your hands to your stomach and pushing back into Dean’s space. His hands settle on you shoulders gently, steering you into the room and then lowering you into the seat.

The cardiologist clears his throat and smiles. “Hello Y/N.”

You manage a small, “Hi.”

“You’ve come in for your yearly check up?” The cardiologist, whose name tag reads Jameson, clicks rapidly on his mouse, eyes darting across the computer screen. “Yes, it says here you were born with Pulmonary Artesia, is that correct?”

“Yes sir.”

Jameson hums, clicking some more. Dean’s fingers settle on top of your head and you lean into his side where he stands. “Now, your file says you had a surgical correction procedure done, but you were in hospital for laboured breathing, dizziness and sleepiness a few months ago.”

Sam inhales slowly. “The hospital cleared her though, said she was alright.”

Jameson nods. “Yes, her records say that she shouldn’t be in any particular danger. You were both present during her time in care, yes?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “And we were right there when she went through all the tests.”

“They said it was because her heart was beating too quickly,” Sam adds, glancing down at you. “Her body couldn’t keep up with the adrenaline and blood flow.”

“I see,” says Jameson and then he starts desperately clicking again.

You lean harder into Dean, biting your lip to stop it wobbling. You don’t like Jameson, don’t like how disinterested he is, how dismissive. He seems like the kind of doctor who’ll put you through more tests just because that’s something he can do, and then he’ll send you on your way.

Dean gently runs his hand down your hair. The tension in your shoulders eases only slightly.

“Doc, not for nothing, but my sister really hates these check ups. Do we have to be here long?” 

Sam shoots his brother an irritated look, but Dean simply looks down at you in answer. Sam’s face tightens in understanding.

Jameson stops clicking and stands, a bland smile on his face. You shrink back into Dean. “Her records say she doesn’t need any tests, so I’ll just take her blood pressure and check her heart beat, and she should be good to go.”

Thank fucking god.

You sit still and silent as Jameson does his thing, trying desperately to keep your eyes on the poster of a cartoon woman and her sick baby. You hate this, you hate this, you hate this. It’s one of the easiest check ups, but you hate it.

You shouldn’t have to go to check ups. You shouldn’t have to be so careful with your life. You shouldn’t have to pull your brothers into this too. This isn’t their problem. They don’t need this extra weight on their shoulders.

“One more thing,” Jameson says once he’s entered his results into the computer. “Y/N, you aren’t doing anything in your day-to-day activities that may cause you to feel overly stressed or anxious?”

Dean and Sam very suddenly seem to find the posters on the walls rather interesting.

You manage a tight smile. “No, doctor.”

Jameson returns the look. “Okay then. Have a great afternoon.”

.

The Impala rumbles to a halt on the side of some nowhere, backwater road where the trees are taller than most mountains. You’re in the front, like you usually are after appointments, and Dean is driving. Sam is in the back, headphones in and eyes closed.

“Spit it out,” Dean says once the Impala is turned off. 

You frown at the dash. “What?”

“Each year, you get more and more upset about your appointments.” Dean squints at you. “Tell me why.”

“You’re seriously quoting Back Street Boys at me right now?”

“Y/N.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands and you twists your fingers around each other. You’d hoped you could avoid this talk, like you do usually, but Dean seems strangely insistent on talking about it. God this family sucks sometimes.

Sam stirs in the backseat before you answer, taking his headphones out and blinking at the both of you. “What’s up?” He says blurrily, yawning hard enough to crack his jaw.

Dean never takes his eyes off of you. “Sis is about to tell us why she hates her appointments so much.”

“I don’t hate the appointments.”

“That’s not what it looked like from where I was sitting.”

“Dean...”

“I just want a simple answer.”

You lick your lips, a nervous tick you developed when you were three that never went away. It’s a fair question, and they deserve the answer, but it’s hard, okay? It’s hard to admit that there’s something wrong with you as a person, that there’s something fundamentally flawed.

Sam leans forward. “Y/N,” he says gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you, you know that right?”

Dean blows out a breath. “Is that what this is?” You flinch, but he doesn’t sound mad. He just sounds so very sad. “Baby girl, your condition isn’t a flaw or a problem. It’s just a part of who you are.”

“Then I’m broken,” you say miserably, splaying your hands slightly. “Okay? I’m not normal.”

“Normal is overrated,” Dean says fiercely. You scoff and start to turn away, but he leans over and pushes on you cheek insistently until you’re looking at him again. “No, Y/N, you listen to me. This doesn’t make you broken, or bad, or unnatural. This doesn’t make you a bad thing. You’ve seen bad things. You’ve seen monsters. You’re not one of them.”

“But I’m not a hunter.”

“You’re our sister,” Sam says softly. “That’s good enough for me.”

[skzandateezwrecked]

THANK U (part 3)

Genre: angst, fluff

Group: Ateez

Member: Jung Wooyoung

Summary: Badboy!Wooyoung asks you to be his fake girlfriend to make himself seem less available to others. Would you accept it?

Word Count: 1.6k words

(a/n) part 3 is finally here! i am so sorry for the long wait. i’ll do my best to be more consistent with my writing and posting from now on. thank you all for the support! i’m so sorry if this part seems kinda rushed; i wanted to get it done asap but i promise the next part will be worth it! enjoy!

tags: (idk how to do this, i’m still fairly new hehe) @pou-noikiazeis-to-oneiro 

part 1, part 2

Not going to lie, you were nervous. It’s 2:00 PM and you were supposed to meet this person at 3:00 PM and you had just finished taking a shower. Why are you so worried about what he thinks of you? Why are you picking out a cute romper to wear from your closet? Why are you putting on makeup? To top it all off, why are you so nervous? You have not seen this dude in over a year, surely your feelings for him should have diminished by now... right?

It’s now 2:30 and you had just left your house to walk to the park. It only takes 15 minutes to get there but you decided to arrive a bit early just so you can mentally prepare yourself. You don’t know why you’re being like this. It’s not like you guys ended your friendship on a really bad note. It was just a mere argument that led the two of you to ignore each other and eventually drift apart. You don’t even remember what it was about.  

When you arrived at the park, you looked for the big oak tree which had leaves that formed a heart shape through its shadow. That was the spot. The spot that held so many good memories, laughs, and late night conversations. You smiled to yourself at the bittersweet memory.

As you were approaching the tree, you saw that someone was already sitting down and leaning against the base of its bark. The closer you walked to the tree, the more you can make out that person’s face. He was here early as well.

He was wearing a navy blue sweater and black pants with a beret to match. His camera strap is wrapped around his neck as he is looking down on his phone.

Damn, I’m really going to talk to him again, huh? You thought.

“Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin looked up from his phone and locked his eyes with yours. 

“Y-Y/n... Hi, how’ve you been?”

You smiled and sat next to him. You and Hyunjin met at a work party hosted by your parents back in elementary school, but didn’t start talking to each other until the both of you entered middle school. Hyunjin’s father is the president of JYP Enterprises and is good friends with your parents.

“I’ve been good, how about you? I see you brought your little Hyuncam with you,” You chuckled. “Hyuncam” is the name you gave Hyunjin’s camera back in middle school. “Hahaha, yeah. You know I can’t leave the house without it,” He replied. 

“So um, what is the exact reason that you wanted to meet with me? I know that it’s not just to talk about the uh, deal. You could have approached me in school about that,” You said.

“Do you really want to know?” Hyunjin asked and you nodded.

“I just wanted to see you. I miss you, like a whole lot. I miss the times we have spent together and I’m not sure if you feel the same way about me, but life has been kinda boring since you and I stopped hanging out. I guess, when I found out about the agreement you have with Wooyoung, I thought that it would be a good excuse for me to talk to you again,” Hyunjin replied. 

“I miss you too...” You whispered, just barely enough for him to hear. “Wait, how did you find out about that anyway?” You asked.

“Right, about that. When I saw you and Wooyoung holding each other’s hands at the hallway the other day, I knew something was up. You’ve complained about him and Ateez so many times before, it was strange to see you and him together. alsoimighthavebeenkindajealousbuthat’snotthepointrightnow ANYWAY-” 

“Wait, what?”

“Hm? Oh nothing. Anyway I kinda followed you two to the librar- yes I am aware that it’s very Joe Goldberg of me, stop looking at me like that!” Hyunjin rolled his eyes playfully and continued on to his story. “I stood behind the bookshelf that your guys’ table was in front of and I um, heard your conversation,” Hyunjin finished and looked up to meet your eyes. 

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” You finally said. It was silent for a while before you spoke up again. “Can we talk about how uh, our friendship kinda... ended? Like what happened, dude? You and I were doing so well and having so much fun.”

“How badly do you want to know?” Hyunjin asked. 

“Bad enough to the point where it’s been eating me alive and I can’t even count the amount of times I stayed up at night thinking about what went wrong,” You looked at Hyunjin with sad, pleading eyes. 

“I caught feelings,” Hyunjin admitted. “I don’t know when exactly, but I was afraid about what could happen if you found out and... I don’t know, I thought that if you and I stopped talking for a bit then I would lose those feelings for you,” Hyunjin continued and looked down. “But I never did...”

“Wait, are you saying you liked me? Dude! I liked you too what the hell,” You said. You were completely oblivious to the last sentence he had said. 

“Hold on, we liked each other at the same time?” Hyunjin asked in confusion.

“That’s literally what I just said my dude,” You laughed. You didn’t want to tell him that you are currently unsure about you felt about him, romantically at least.

You two started smiling to yourselves, each thinking about what could have happened if the both of you had acted upon your feelings. 

“What do you say we get out of here and get some boba? For old times sake,” You suggested.

“Let’s do it!”

Two hours later and you and Hyunjin were both on your fourth cup of boba. How your guys’ bladders could handle that much liquid whilst laughing your butts off is still a mystery. You and Hyunjin spent those two hours to the fullest; exploring the city and revisiting favorite spots that brought back fun memories. 

It was getting dark so Hyunjin decided to walk you home. The two of you started to talk the memories you had missed out together.

“Dude! Remember that time last year when the entire freshmen broke into the campus pool? That would have been a BLAST if you and I had gone together,” You said.

“Holy shit dude you’re right! OH! And do you remember whe-”

“Y/n?” You heard a familiar voice interrupt Hyunjin.

“Oh, hey Wooyoung! What are you doing here?” You asked. Wooyoung’s car was parked right in front of your house. It looks like he’s been waiting a while.

“I came to pick you up. There’s a party at Seonghwa’s and I heard that Clarissa’s going, so I need you. You weren’t answering your phone so I figured you were out so I’ve been waiting for you,” Wooyoung said. His glare towards Hyunjin was barely unnoticeable. You finally checked your phone which you didn’t realize you haven’t been using since you arrived at the park a few hours prior and sure enough when you opened it, there were tons of texts and missed phone calls all from Wooyoung.

“I’m so sorry, I haven’t been checking my phone,” You said.

“Yeah, clearly,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes. Why in the world was he so pissed? “So, are you coming or not?”

“I’m exhausted Woo, maybe next time?” You suggested.

“We have a deal, Y/n. I’m not sure if you remember it. Also, you can’t go out running around town with other guys. That’s going to make people suspicious,” Wooyoung said. 

“I was with an old friend! And for the record, you don’t own me and you can’t tell me what to do.” You started to argue.

“Alrightttt I think this is my cue to leave,” Hyunjin finally spoke up, breaking the tension that was lingering in the air. 

“No, Hyunjin. Stay. At least for the night. My parents are out of town and you still have some clothes in the guest bedroom. I don’t want to force you, though,” You said. 

“Oh, yeah sure. My parents are out of town as well and I could use the company,” Hyunjin agreed.

Wooyoung looked back and forth between the two of you and scoffed. “Alright, I see how it is. Enjoy fucking each other all night since you guys apparently have the house all to yourselves,” And with that, Wooyoung went back inside his car and drove off.

“What’s up with him?” Hyunjin asked.

“Who knows?” You answered. “Let’s head on inside?”

After eating Chinese take-out for dinner, you and Hyunjin decided to get ready for bed and spend the night watching movies and playing video games.

“So... what do you say we act on Wooyoung’s suggestion?” Hyunjin smirked.

“Wait what.”

“What.”

It was now 11:30 PM and you and Hyunijn were on your 9th round of UNO. You two had planned to binge-watch The End of the Fucking World, but that was now long forgotten and only contributed to background noise. 

As you were about to scream “UNO” since you were down to your last two cards, your phone started ringing. You checked to see who it was and it was Seonghwa.

“Yes, Seonghwa?” You said. It’s quite late, why would Seonghwa be calling you?

“Y/n? It’s Yunho. Seonghwa is in the ambulance right now with Wooyoung. We’re headed to your house right now to pick you up and go to the hospital,” Yunho sounded like he has been crying.

“Wait what? What happened? Are Seonghwa and Wooyoung okay? Why are they in an ambulance?” You asked. You started thinking about all the different kinds of scenarios that could have happened, but nothing could prepare you to what Yunho was about to say.

“Wooyoung got stabbed.”

[realm-sweet-realm]

Close Call

Okay, so this is going to be heavier than the stuff I usually write. If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t worry! I have something much more fun and visceral in the works and I plan on dropping it next Wednesday (nine days from now).

---

It was the early morning hours when Shawn returned home from a night of drinking like any other. He and Grant and Lacie had played cards, pool, and darts (the latter they'd played in such a state of intoxication that it was lucky they hadn't hurt anyone). Shawn was glad that Grant had showed up this time. They'd been dating for several months now and probably still were. It was hard to tell. Grant hadn't had the time or "hadn't been up" to going out anywhere in a month, and it had Shawn wondering if he'd just tapped out of the relationship. He had seemed worse for wear lately and of course things at Joey Drew Studios hadn't gotten easier on anyone, so maybe he wasn't lying. At very least, this night had been great, just like things had been before (well, before Grant left a bit early in tears. Sometimes booze just did that to him and he needed to sleep it off), so maybe everything was about to go back to normal. On that comforting note, Shawn dragged himself to bed.

Shawn was awoken by the ringing of his phone. The voice on the other side struck him with fear- it was Grant, and he sounded terrified.

"Shawn, get over here right now. I did something stupid. Please, come here. Help me."

"I'll be right there," Shawn promised.

The door to Grant's house was unlocked. The house was deafeningly silent.

"Grant?" Shawn called. Nothing. Shawn checked around the house. Once he came upon the bathroom, which reeked of alcohol and vomit, he knew he'd found the place. Clicking the lights on, he found his boyfriend passed out face-down on the floor, surrounded by empty or half-empty bottles of pills.

The next twenty minutes were an absolute blur, not helped by the substantial amount of alcohol still in Shawn's system. Shawn remembered calling an ambulance and waiting for it to arrive with his boyfriend unconscious in his arms. He remembered picking up two sheets of paper, which he'd vaguely identified as a suicide note, from the floor. He remembered crying, and panicking, and confusion. Soon enough, though, Shawn was being reassured by a paramedic that given how recently he'd consumed the pills, Grant would almost definitely make it.

The next day, Shawn took out the letter. It had clearly been written ahead of time, unless one of Grant's hidden talents was managing such neat handwriting while heavily drunk. Shawn wondered if that meant that Grant had planned to do this. Slowly, he forced himself to consume its contents, line by line.

If you are reading this letter, I am dead of suicide. I promised myself that I'd never do this. It's been a temptation at the back of my mind for long enough, however, that I thought I should get out what I would want to have out, just in case. I feel like if it ever does happen, it will be in a moment where I'm barely in control of myself.

The first thing I'm going to do is to write out why I promised myself I wouldn't. There are three reasons why. The first is because my mother is the kindest, most loving person in the world, and I know she'd be devastated if I killed myself. There's a good chance she'd end up dead of suicide as well in that situation, and I would never want to cause that. The second reason is for the light of my life, Emily. She has so much promise in her. She has my eyes, the curiousity I had when I was younger, and thankfully just a touch of my sensitivity. She loves me, and I'm trying to be the force for good in her life that my mother was in mine. I would never give her the pain of losing a parent, and I want to see her grow up. The third reason is that I have friends that make me happy, and days when I genuinely want to be alive. Sometimes it feels like life is drudgery, but that's when I most need to remember that it isn't always like that.

Unfortunately, because this will be written ahead of time, I won't be able to say what specifically caused me to go through with this. What I will say, though, is that my life feels like it's falling apart, even when it isn't. My worries about losing my job aren't completely unfounded, given that working at Joey Drew Studios is most often like bailing water out of a sinking ship. I don't know how realistic it is to believe that my career in this industry will be over after that, since I'll have two failed businesses on my record and nothing else. It's hard to tell when I'm being realistic and when I'm letting pessimism get the better of me. I worry constantly about losing the people in my life that make it tolerable, and I don't know if that's realistic either- whether they're getting sick of me or not. Sometimes, it feels like like life is a pointless struggle against the inevitable. I have better days and worse days of course, but, well, if I didn't feel like this a substantial amount of the time, I wouldn't be writing this letter.

Whoever it is that's reading this, you could not have prevented this, it is in no way your fault, and I'm sorry for putting you through it.

—-

There was a banging on Lacie's door. "Lacie! Lacie, open up!"

Lacie, groggy and still in her pyjamas, opened up. "What?"

"I need your advice. Badly."

Lacie could see how distressed he was. "Come on in."

A few minutes later, They were sitting across from each other in Lacie's living room, Shawn had explained what had happened the night before, and Lacie had read the note. It might have been a violation of privacy to show it to Lacie, but he needed her advice.

"Wow, that is serious. Is he okay?"

"Yeah, that's the way they made it sound. I'm going to see him as soon as there's visitin' hours. Just... what do I say to him after this?"

"I don't know."

"Well, if it were Abby what would you do?"

"Abby wouldn't put me in this situation." Lacie saw Shawn getting indignant. "Calm down, I'm not saying 'because she's so strong and he's so weak.' But we've been together for two years, we live together, and we're at the stage where we owe it to each other to look after ourselves and be honest if we're going through issues like this. So, yeah, she'd never catch me off guard like this. Clearly, you two aren't at that point, or at least he doesn't think you are. So, here's my advice: make sure he's getting professional help, and then ask yourself if this is the person you want a partnership with. Also, to temper your expectations: whatever his problem is, you can't solve it, it won't go away immediately, and it's ultimately his responsibility to fix it. If he won't be honest with you about stuff like this, you're under no obligation to help him with it. Honestly, if you do stick with him, chances are that nothing in your relationship will change and in a couple weeks this'll just be an awful memory."

"Well, that's a bunch of heartless nonsense. But you're probably right." Shawn honestly didn't know how to feel about any of it, but he felt like he had to say something. He didn't find it terribly useful since his problem wasn't that he didn't know whether to stay with Grant, it was that he didn't want him to die or to want to be dead.

Lacie shrugged. "I mean, I'm just an untrusting old sea hag. If all you want is dating, or if you honestly think a partnership with him is possible and a good idea, knock yourself out, I guess."

"Okay." Shawn got up to leave.

"Hey. Best of luck, Shawn. I'm always here for you. No matter what you choose to do, here."

—-

Grant was still asleep when Shawn was allowed in to see him, but there weren't any obvious signs of physical damage on him. Shawn gently shook him awake. "Hey... ah just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay with you. Ya gave me quite a scare last night."

Grant turned to look at him. His movements suggested that he was feeling pretty weak from whatever he'd taken last night. "Oh. Hey, Shawn. According to the nurses, I'm fine. I have to stay a few more hours to get tested for organ damage, but that's it. What... happened last night? I remember I was with you for a while. How did I end up here?"

Oh, Shawn did not like this situation. He didn't like it at all. "How much do you remember?"

"I was drinking with you and Lacie for a while. And... I had a dream last night where I killed myself. But it had to have been a dream, see? I woke up for a minute and I felt you holding me. You must have come home with me after we went to the bar, right?"

"Oh, well, yes. That's what happened. But you... you got alcohol poisoning."

Relief rushed over Grant's face. "Thank God. That's all it was?"

"Yeah. You were trying to keep up with me shot for shot." Shawn gave Grant a little jab with his elbow in a sad attempt to act casual. "Ya really shouldn't do that. I'm a professional, after all."

Grant forced a smile. "Got it."

"Umm... listen, Grant? I love you, and I care about you, and you said some pretty concernin' things last night. Is there anything you need to talk about?"

"No, I'm okay. Sorry for worrying you."

"No. It's fine. Ya want company?"

"Honestly, I'm feeling pretty sick. Can we catch up another time?"

"Okay. See you then."

"Okay. I love you, Shawn."

Shawn got up and left. In the hallway, he dug the note out of his pocket and looked at it one last time, trying to wrack up the courage to go back and admit everything. Instead he crumpled it up and threw it away. Nothing had happened last night. Soon, Grant would go home, find the empty pill bottles on his bathroom floor, connect the dots, and knowing him, probably keep that revelation to himself. And that was okay, right? As Lacie said, it was his responsibility to take it as a wake-up call and deal with whatever it was that had made him do it. Lacie would think this was okay, right? Shawn hoped so. It felt so wrong.

[zoxiqwritesstuff]

This short fic is based on the amazing Mamabear Au by @elisaphoenix13. Go check her out on here and AO3. She is a true master story teller!

Heroes don't always wear capes 

Summary: For the first time, Peter can save someone's life without Spiderman. 

Before Peter could step off the elevator,  Stephen was there with a worried expression on his face. FRIDAY had alerted him that Peter had seemed a bit distraught upon his arrival to the tower. 

"What's wrong cub?" Stephen asked as the teen shrugged his backpack off of his shoulders.

Brown eyes met the sorcerer's blue ones as he could see Peter trying to form the question in his head. Peter's face dropped as the question formed. The teen fidgeted a bit with the hem of his shirt before he looked up at the doctor.  

"How much do you know about the signs of depression?" Peter asked in a soft voice.

Stephen's eyes went wide as motherly panic began to fill him.

Was Peter depressed? And if he was,  by the Vishanti, why hadn't he seen it sooner? The sorcerer moves beside him, placing a hand on the teen's back as he guides him over to the couch. Once they are both settled, Stephen shifts his posture so he is fully focused on Peter. The teen however still kept his gaze low, as if he were still deep in thought.

"Peter, are you…" Stephen began to ask.

Beforehe could finish, it was if the metaphorical dam that was holding back Peter's thoughts burst.

"There's this girl at my school. We have Chemistry and Spanish together and she used to be on the Decathlon team too." Peter explained. "She's really smart and really nice to everybody, but then she quit the Decathlon team and I noticed that she wasn't as happy anymore. She used to try to answer every question in class but now she just sits in the back and looks so lost. She sits by herself at lunch and if someone sits at the table she's at she just leaves. I'm worried about her, mom. I just wanted to know the signs of depression so I could see if she is or if I'm just overanalyzing everything."

Peter finally took a breath after his word vomit explanation. Stephen let out a sigh of relief, the overwhelming dread that one of his cubs was hurting washed away. Peter was just curious to help another student.  He really was the best kid.

"While I may not be a psychologist, I was taught the basics to diagnose such mental disorders in patients to transfer them to the proper wing." Stephen stated. "And from what you've described, I do conclude that this girl is exhibiting signs of depression."

Peter's expression fell to one of deep concern.

"How can I help her?" The teen quickly asked.

"Have you told your school's counselor?" The doctor asked in return. 

Peter shook his head no. "I wanted to be sure first."

"I would start there,  maybe try and talk to her as well. She could just feel like she has no one to go to." The doctor suggested. 

Peter nodded in agreement before reaching out and hugging the sorcerer. Stephen smiled at the embrace, carding his shaky hand through the teen's unruly curls.

"Thank you mom." Peter's voice was muffled with his face being buried in Stephen's collarbone. 

"Your welcome cub."

***

The next day was supposed to be like every other day. Everything had been just like a normal day, but Peter couldn't help but feel like something was off. His spider sense wasn't going off, which only confused him more. The teen was so lost in his thoughts that he almost ran into a street lamp.

Almost.

Harley grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt, pulling out of the way of the potential collision. 

"Are you going for a record of how many times you can run into a pole?" Harley teased Peter.

"What? No!" Peter retorted, turning his attention to straight ahead. "I just can't shake the feeling that something is wr…"

The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up as they were about to their school. There was danger at the school. Harley was already around the corner before Peter rounded it. There was a large crowd gathered at the entrance to the school and several students had their phones out recording. Peter soon found Harley amongst the crowd. 

"What's going on?" Peter asked.

"You need to suit up Peter." Harley muttered to the teen, as he pointed up.

Peter followed where the older teen's finger pointed, his brown eyes widening in shock.  There was a person sitting on the edge of the roof but not just any person. It was the girl he had told Stephen about. The teen was formulating a plan as some teachers came out, one with a megaphone to talk to the girl. 

Peter looked at Harley before the two silently nodded to one another and the younger teen slipped away. 

Peter hurried around to the back of the building to an area he was sure there were no cameras. The teen took a deep breath before scaling the wall with his spider grip. Moments later, he climbed the side and was standing on the roof, his web shooters hidden but ready… just in case. He took slow steps toward the girl.

"Hey there. I'm Peter." Peter calmly announced.

The girl didn't even turn to face him nor was she startled. Silence hung in the air.

"Can I come sit by you?" Peter asked as stopped his movements.

Silence. His brown eyes glanced down, noticing how her fingers tensed. Maybe if he just kept talking he could get her away from the edge.

"We have Chemistry and Spanish together. That test last tuesday was pretty hard in Spanish." Peter just talked.

"Why are you doing this?" Sophie asked, her voice soft but trembling. 

The tone of her voice reminded Peter too much of how he was right after May had died. She sounded so broken, so alone. Peter had to help her.

"Because I'm your friend. We may not talk all the time but we had Decathlon together." Peter explained. "You're really great too."

Sophie scoffed. "I don't have friends so just stop… this is…"

Sophie stood up and Peter could hear the crowd gasp below them. She turned to face the teen behind her, her eyes red from crying.

"You feel like there's nothing left don't you?" Peter asked and for the first time, he saw the pleading look in Sophie's eyes. "The world feels really cold and you have this overwhelming feeling of nothingness that just consumes you."

"How…" Sophie croaked out as fresh tears threatened to spill.

"I felt that way when my Aunt May died." The teen explained as he inched a bit closer.

"B...but your so happy even when you're bullied… how did you make it stop?" Sophie cried, her trembling hands running through her hair. "My own mind tells me how worthless I am… how it would be better if I just… disappeared."

"It wouldn't be though. " Peter urged. "When you quit Decathlon we lost our only arts and literature person. You were the reason we won state that one year because we were all so clueless."

A laugh escaped Sophie's lips. So he was getting somewhere with her with these stories. Maybe a few more and he could coax her away from the edge. 

"Do you remember that time in Spanish when I fell asleep?" Peter inquired.

"You jolted awake and said some very odd sentence all in Spanish. You were so lost until I tossed that note at you with what was going on." Sophie smiled softly.

"I would have been so lost if you didn't help me." The teen chuckled, reaching a hand out to Sophie. "I want to help you now."

The girl just looked at his hand as tears ran down her cheeks. She reached out her trembling hand to take Peter's. Once her hand was close enough, the teen pulled the girl into a tight hug as his arms wrapped tightly around her. Sophie sobbed quietly as he hugged her, apologies flowing between hiccups. The two teens stayed like that until the paramedics came on the roof. The two men carefully guided Sophie through the school and into the ambulance waiting at the entrance. Peter followed closely behind them just so he could keep an eye on Sophie.

Once outside, Harley came rushing over to him just as he was waving to Sophie.

"Dude! Did you just do what I think you just did?" Harley asked the younger teen.

Peter just nods. "Yeah. I knew how she was feeling and I knew the only way I was saved was by mom and dad talking to me."

"Well, why don't we go out and celebrate my little brother being a hero." The older teen smiled and clapped Peter on the back. "School's been canceled for the rest of the day."

The two teens walk away from the school heading to the small cafe near the school. Harley's phone began to ring and the teen promptly answered it. 

"Hey dad." 

"Can you tell me why you two aren't at school?" Tony asked. "If you're playing hooky, I will get mama bear."

"There was an incident at school and classes got canceled." The older teen explained, looking at Peter. "If you turn on the news, you'll see Peter being a badass and saving the day."

"FRIDAY didn't alert me to spiderman being on the scene." The billionaire replied, confused as he turned on the news.

"Watch the news dad and you'll see. We'll be home soon dad. Love you." Harley ended the call.

Tony just stared at his phone before he turned the television on. As he took his seat on the couch, Stephen came out of the kitchen with a hot cup of tea and took a seat next to his husband. Both men were both in shock at the headline: "Not All Heroes Wear Capes". The news footage showed clips of Peter talking Sophie down as well as of her parents that were thanking Peter for saving their daughter. The two men just smile at the news story,  thankful that everyone was ok.

"Looks like our kid is two superheroes now." Tony smiled.

"Both equally strong and caring." Stephen included as he sipped his tea.

"Well I think this is cause for celebration! We can all go pick up Diana from school and then all go out for once." The billionaire suggested as he got up from his spot on the couch, scooping Valerie out of her playpen. "What do you think Val?"

Valerie just blinked up at her father before smiling widely. "Mama!"

Stephen stiffles his laugh as his husband playfully rolls his eyes, lips curled into a smile.

"I should have seen that coming." Tony snorted as he held Valerie. 

An hour later, Peter and Harley arrived to the family floor, both teens shrugging off their backpacks and slinging them onto the couch. Harley grabbed the remote as Peter walked to the kitchen to grab a soda for the older teen and himself. The whistling teapot alerted the teen that Stephen was also there, the sorcerer smiling as he saw the teen enter the kitchen. A look of knowing passed between the two before the sorcerer pulled the younger teen into a tight hug. Peter had his nose buried into Stephen's collarbone as the sorcerer kissed the top of the teen's head.

"We are so proud of you cub." Stephen muttered into brown curls.

"I just did what I thought you or dad would do." Peter replied.

"We're going out to celebrate your heroics after we all pick up Diana from school. She's going to definitely want to brag that her big brother is a hero." Stephen grinned as he pulled away to make his cup of tea. 

Peter grabbed the two sodas he had ventured in for and walks back to the couch, tossing Harley his soda. As Peter flopped next to his brother, the teen's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing it was a text message as he opened his phone. The message came from an unknown number but upon reading the message, Peter knew exactly who it was from. The message was two words, the only words of praise he needed for his deed.

"Thank you."

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Welcome to the Parkers’; Peter Parker x mutant!child reader

*Author’s note*

Alright guys here is yet another Peter Parker fic. As you can see in the title you reader have mutant powers which is airbending (no you’re not the Avatar but you are an airbender). Also I want to point out that there is CHILD ABANDONMENT!!! It is said in the fic so if this is a sensitive subject to anyone, you can skip over this story or just the beginning half of it. 

Not really any other warnings (that I can remember) but there is some fluff in this fic so I hope you all enjoy it :)

Taglist:

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@ixchel-9275​

@platawnic​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

_____________________________________________________________

It began like any other day, I was scouting the streets for something to eat when all of a sudden I heard screaming coming from an alleyway just a block away from me. Cautiously, I walked up and saw a young woman trying to hold onto her purse as a guy in a mask was trying to take it. She put up a good fight but she was then pushed so hard that I heard a loud bang as her head collided with the wall and she collapsed down to the ground. The man grabbed the purse and before he could kick her in the stomach, I waved my arms and let out a punch which sent a huge air current right at the robber knocking him down to the ground.

The robber got up and pulled out a knife and glared daggers right at me. He then began to come towards me then just before I could let out another attack, his knife was suddenly taken out of his hand by some sort of webbing. He was then shot against the wall with the same webbing and soon coming down was none other than Spiderman himself.

My idol and hero.

"You know the one thing that degrades a man is one who not only hits a girl but who's also willing to hit a child. You really outta be taught some manners pal". He then turned to me and asked me if I was alright which I came out of my star-struck shock and nodded. "Now then, the cops are already on their way so just make yourself comfortable," he then walked up to the girl and I walked up beside him and he said to me, "Can you run and get some help tell them that there's a girl who needs medical attention now". I nodded then took off running.

I knocked on the first door I could find and it revealed a middle aged man with dark hair and brown eyes. I told him about the girl who was injured and was mugged and as if by fate, he happened to be a doctor and he immediately grabbed his kit and I lead him towards the alley and he knelt down beside the girl and began to work on her.

I then took notice that Spiderman was now gone but he had left a note taped right along the robber's forehead and as the doctor told me to help him by keeping compression on her head while he tried CPR just as the police and ambulance came on the scene. Then before police could even take notice of me, I decided to take my leave so when no one was looking, I used my powers to fly myself up onto the rooftop and I leapt from rooftop to rooftop until I came to my makeshift house.

Oh I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is (y/n), just (y/n). I was abandoned when I was just 3 years old. My mom and dad drove me a few miles away from our house, left me in an alleyway while it was pouring rain and then they drove off and never came back.

It took me awhile to realize it but I think I finally began to understand why my parents abandoned me, when I was born I was born with these air bending powers. As the years went by shortly after my abandonment, I began to try and control my powers and using them only when I needed to or to help me dry off if my makeshift house gets flooded and I get soakin wet.

As I grew up, I began to hear about the famous Spiderman and I felt a connection to him that maybe I could help him fight crime or save lives before he arrives because he looked to be a few years older than me so he must be in school. Exhausted from the day's events, I settled down under some blankets and took a nap.

A few days later as I was walking along the streets eating a hotdog, I heard the sounds of firetrucks blazing down the street. I followed behind one of them and soon saw smoke rising up into the sky. I picked up my speed to see a crowd of people crowding a building that was engulfed with flames and people were running out of the building coughing and covered with soot.

I ran closer but kept well-hidden as I soon saw a man and woman running up to a firefighter exclaiming that their two kids were still inside but the chief kept telling them to get back and that the building would collapse soon. I then heard someone exclaim.

"It's Spiderman!" And at that moment, Spiderman swooped in and swung himself right into the burning building. Worried and knowing that I could help keep the smoke and fire away from him, I ran right inside without having anyone see me. I looked up and using my air bending powers, I flew myself up to where Spiderman was at.

I saw him carrying a young girl a year or two younger than me and leading a boy about his age across the hall with flames surrounding them.

"KAREN please tell me we got the fire extinguisher setting working!" I heard him say. After a brief pause, he then muttered "damnit okay, okay think Spiderman think". I could tell he was having some trouble and the building was just collapsing even more. He held the kids closer to him and it was then I used my powers to create a barrier around them while I pushed the flames away from them.

"This way come on!" Spiderman took notice of me and he led the kids and as I walked in front of them, any fire or debris that would fall or come towards us, I pushed it away with my powers until we finally reached the outside of the building.

At that moment, the firefighters all charged in and took the kids away from Spiderman and I collapsed to the ground once I saw them back with their parents. I coughed harshly and it was then Spiderman knelt down beside me and said.

"You okay kid? Wait a second—you're that kid from before right? What are you doing here?"

"I thought I could—help" I said through my intense coughing.

"We need to get you some help. Hey we've got another kid over here!"

"No.....no help.....I'll be fi--fine".

"That cough doesn't sound like you'll be fine. Please you need help!"

"No!" I cried out. But it was already too late. One of the firefighters finally took notice of us and I was taken away and put into an ambulance and taken to the hospital.

After the whole ordeal, I was put into a room slightly cleaned up now but now they were finally gonna see that I had no parents and they would soon put me in some orphanage and I've seen them around Queens, they aren't clean and all of the owners are either very rude or creepy like they just stare at the children all day and not move a muscle.

"Well you're looking better". I looked up and saw a teenage boy standing at my door. He had short brown hair and brown eyes. I raised my eyebrow at him and said.

"Yeah umm—who are you?"

"Oh sorry about that," he walked up towards me and sat down beside me and he said in a whisper. "If I tell you who I am, can you promise to keep it a secret?"

"Depends on what the secret it is that I'm keeping".

"Well would you believe me if I said that I'm Spiderman". I looked at him and began to put two and two together due to his voice. That and he also pulled out his web-shooters and fired the same webbing Spiderman uses at my wall. I looked at him wide-eyed and said.

"You are him".

"Yeah, so what's your name?"

"(Y/n)".

"(Y/n) huh? That's a pretty name". I blushed softly then he introduced his real name as Peter and he continued, "So (y/n) tell me about those powers you have".

"There's not much to say; I mean I've had them for as long as I can remember and I've been using them to help people out, all because of you. You're an inspiration to me".

"Really? Aww thank you".

"But there also the reason why mom and dad left me". I found myself confessing as I stared at my hands with pure hatred.

"Wait you mean—"

"When I was little, my parents dropped me off on the side of the road at an alleyway and then they just drove off. I never saw them again after that, so for 7 years I've been living on the street. That's why I didn't want to have any help, because if records show that I have no family, they'll throw me into one of the orphanages and I've seen what they really do behind closed doors". Peter looked at me with sympathy and said.

"I'm sorry (y/n) I—I didn't....."

"Exactly you didn't. So why are you apologizing, besides I knew eventually I would've been caught. Now I just gotta find another place to live". At that moment, the doctor came in and told me that I was gonna be alright but since I was a child and no parents had come to pick me up, they were gonna turn me over to the system till someone came for me.

But just as police officers were coming in to take me away, Peter stepped in and said.

"Actually and this may not be on the record, she's actually my little cousin. Her parents didn't believe in the system, they live off the land back in Texas, and they recently passed away from a car crash. So my cousin here big girl that she is called an Uber to bring her here to New York but while trying to find our apartment she got lost. We've been looking for her ever since". The doctor and the police looked at Peter suspiciously and for now they believed him but they were gonna check into it to make sure it was true. So with that, they left us alone in my room.

"You know they're not gonna buy it for long right?" I stated.

"Oh just you wait, I've got some connections that can help us out, but in all seriousness why don't you come live with me and my Aunt May. We can take care of you and you'll finally be under a real roof with warm food three times a day and a nice warm bed instead of a tarp and blankets".

"You'd do that, for me?"

"Of course. And I'm not doing it out of pity, trust me". I looked at him and finally let out some tears and thanked him repeatedly and hugged him tightly and he hugged me back.

Once I was released, Peter and I took a cab to his apartment building and once we entered inside, a young woman whom I suspected to be his Aunt came in from the kitchen and saw us together.

"Peter Parker you better have a good explanation for this!"

"I do Aunt May I promise". As we sat down, Peter explained to his Aunt my story and how I've been living on the streets all of my life. At the end of the story, Aunt May looked at me with tearful eyes and she said.

"Oh you poor thing, here why don't I make you a nice warm meal, is there anything you would like to have?"

"Well—I've always wanted to try those lasagnas that I see people eat in restaurants".

"Well sweetie you're in luck, my famous 4 layer lasagnas are to die for, why don't you and Peter come help me make it". And with that, Peter, May and I were in the kitchen and we all bonded over making the lasagna.

Later that night, the lasagna was ready to be eaten. With the table set and I was given the biggest piece, I sat myself down at the table with my food and a tall glass of (f/d), I took a bite of the lasagna and felt my taste buds going to heaven.

I chowed down until it was all gone and Aunt May gave me another slice and I ate that as well. After dinner, I had never felt so stuffed in my life. I helped clean up the table with May and she thanked me and even teased too Peter telling him that at least someone has enough manners to help clean up at that statement, Peter rolled his eyes and dragged out her name making me laugh.

After cleaning up, Aunt May prepared the guest room for me and she offered me one of Peter's old nightshirts I could wear as a nightdress until she went shopping for some clothes for me. After a long, and busy day I was tucked into bed by May and she said goodnight to me and even gave me a kiss to my forehead before leaving the room.

Peter then came in and sat at the foot of my new bed and he asked me.

"So you gonna stick around or will I have to wake up early enough to try and stop you?" I giggled softly and said.

"I never want to leave here, you both have been so kind to me than my own parents were, but—how will Aunt May take the fact that I have powers? Will she hate me?"

"No (y/n) never, though take it from my experience. Don't sugarcoat it, I didn't tell her I was Spiderman because I didn't want her to worry about me, that and I wanted to protect her from anyone who might know who I am and use her as leverage. Tomorrow we'll talk to her together, and don't worry she won't hate you. I promise".

"Okay, goodnight Peter".

"Goodnight (y/n)". As I lay my head down and closed my eyes, I felt Peter kiss my temple before walking out and softly shutting the door.

[iflostreturntosteverogers]

Please

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Loss of child, Medical terminology, Overdose, Sedation, Anxiety, Depression, Panic attacks *PLEASE HEED THESE WARNINGS*

A/N: This is the 4th chapter of It’s A Hard Knock Life, commissioned by @awesomesusiebstuff​. Beta’d by @fictionalabyss​ and special thanks to @sorenmarie87​ for letting me bounce this idea off you!

Series Masterlist.

      Sam nuzzles his nose behind my ear and wraps his arms around me, pulling my back flush against his chest. “Good morning,” he whispers. I stretch and snuggle into his warmth.

“Good morning,” I whisper back. Sam kisses my shoulder before turning over to get up. I whine in protest, rolling on my back and reaching out to him. “Do you have to go?” Sam helps me sit up and get out of bed before helping me into one of his flannels. 

“Yeah, I have to go, but it’s the last hunt before little miss gets here.” He places a hand on my belly, getting a kick in return. “Maybe I should stay,” he says frowning.

“No, you need to go with Dean. He needs you.” I cup his cheek and stand on tiptoes to kiss him. “Hadley and I will be okay, it’s just a couple of days.” He nods his head, we stay like that for a moment before he reluctantly pulls away. “I’m gonna make you guys some breakfast before you leave, go ahead and take your shower.” I button the flannel over my breasts, not even bothering to try getting it to button over my belly, and head to the kitchen.

      “I smell bacon,” Dean says popping his head into the kitchen, his hair a mess like he just rolled out of bed. I laugh and shake my head at him. 

“Making you guys some breakfast so you don’t have to stop later. Sammy’s in the shower now.” 

“You’re the best. Do you need any help?” 

“Nah, I’ve got it handled,” I say, putting the last couple pieces of bacon on a plate and setting it down on the table. He smiles at me and goes back to his room. 

I mix up pancake batter, spooning some out onto a hot pan. I do this a few times, flipping them when needed and removing the pancakes when they’re golden and fluffy. I get so lost in the task I don’t notice my audience until I turn to place the stack of pancakes on the table to see Dean grinning ear to ear and Sammy reading the paper. 

“Those look fantastic, sweetheart,” Dean says, taking the plate from me. Sam puts his paper down and scoots back to pat his leg. I sit on his lap, laying my head on his shoulder. He makes us each a plate and pours some juice for me before letting me up to sit in my own chair. I smother the pancakes in syrup, making Sam roll his eyes. 

After breakfast, Sam helps me clean the kitchen while Dean packs the car and checks over their equipment. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Sam asks, drying the last plate and putting it away. I dry my hands off, watching him. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine, baby.” 

He walks over, cupping my face in his hands and resting his forehead against mine. 

“I hate to interrupt but we gotta get on the road, Sammy,” Dean says, standing in the kitchen doorway. Sam kisses my lips hard before pulling away and grabbing his bag. Dean walks over to give me a quick hug. 

“Be safe, I love you,” I call out as they walk out the door.

      “Your Daddy will be home in the morning,” I say rubbing my belly. Hadley kicks me, and I wince. “You are definitely running out of room in there. Aren’t you?” 

I stand in front of the fridge, hoping something’s just going to appear in it. Sighing, I give up on that miracle. “Guess we gotta go to the store, baby girl.”

 I make my way to the bedroom and grab the only pants that still fit me, a pair of Dean’s sweats, and a black shirt. I slip on some shoes, pull my hair into a ponytail, and grab my keys. 

Walking up the steps to leave the bunker, my foot slips and I topple forward. It takes me by surprise and I’m too late to catch my myself, landing hard on the steps. I scream in pain, rolling over onto my back and cradling my stomach. Blood begins to stain the grey material of the sweatpants. “No, no, no,” I beg, breathless. “Please.” I fish my phone out of my pocket with a shaking hand and dial 911.

Sam POV

      Dean and I sit in the booth of a diner when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number and place it back on the table. “Did you tell Y/N we’ll be home in a couple hours?” 

“No, I want to surprise her.” I furrow my brows as my phone rings again, the same number. I go to lay down it again, but something in my gut tells me to answer this call. “Hello?” 

“Is this Sam Wesson?” 

“It is,” I say cautiously. 

“Your wife was brought in by ambulance to Grace Hospital.” My heart stops and I nearly drop the phone. 

“I’m on my way,” I say, hanging up. Dean looks at me concerned. “Y/N was taken to the hospital. We have to go.” My voice is frantic, panic bubbling up. I can’t lose her. Dean flags our waitress down and hands her cash. We rush out of the diner and into the impala. Dean taking off as fast as he can. 

We make it to the hospital in record time. I jump out and run into the emergency room.  I skid to a stop in front of a nurse. “Please, my wife was brought in. Y/N Wesson.” 

“She’s in emergency surgery and should be out soon.” She pauses, a sad look on her face. Dean comes up behind me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “It seems she fell in your home, landing on her stomach. It caused a placental abruption, meaning the placenta separated from the uterine wall, cutting off oxygen to the child and creating a hemorrhage. I’m sorry, Mr. Wesson, but the baby didn’t make it. Your wife is receiving a blood transfusion and due to the damage caused by the abruption, her uterus is being removed, but she should pull through.” I sink to my knees, my world knocked off its axis. “I’ll come find you when she’s in recovery and you can see her. Again, I’m very sorry.” Dean thanks her and helps me to my feet, guiding me into a chair.

Y/N POV

      A beeping sound wakes me from a dreamless sleep. I open my eyes slowly, trying to fight the fogginess I feel. Sam is asleep in a chair, his head leaned over onto my bed, my hand in his. Everything rushes back to me; the fall, the blood, an ambulance. My free hand instinctively reaches to my belly, only to find it deflated and empty. I jerk my hand from Sam’s, waking him. My body starts shaking, panic taking over. “Where is she?!” I nearly scream. Sam sits in front of me, his hands gently gripping my shoulders. 

“Baby, you have to calm down. Take deep breaths with me.” I frantically look around the room, looking for her. “Listen to me, love. Please”  I search his face, concern marring his handsome features. Taking deep breaths, I slowly regain control of myself. 

“Sam, where is she?” I whisper. Tears well up in his eyes, his hands dropping down to hold mine. 

“Sweetheart, when you fell it caused your placenta to detach. Hadley didn’t make it, you barely did.” A sob chokes me, tears falling. She’s gone? I can’t wrap my head around it. “Y/N, you lost a lot of blood and had a transfusion. The abruption damaged your uterus severely and they had to remove it or you would’ve died.” My world crashes down. Hadley’s gone, my sweet innocent baby girl is gone. I don’t get to be a mother, I don’t get to hold her or love her. And it’s all my fault. 

The beeping picks up as my heart starts beating faster. I sob loudly, shaking and crying. I’m barely aware of the nurse and doctor that runs in and says something to Sam. He nods his head, a fearful look on his face as he watches me. Everything begins to go dark. I fall back against the pillows behind me, begging “Please” over and over until I go under.

      After a couple days in the hospital, Sam brings me home. He helps me down the stairs into our room. “You need to rest,” He says quietly as he undresses me. I nod my head, trying not to look at my broken body. Sam grabs one of his shirts, handing it to me to put on. I do so quickly, wincing at the pull of the stitches in my abdomen as I move. He gives me a sad look, pulling the covers back so I can lay down. “I’ll be right back.” 

Sam returns with a bottle of medicine and a water bottle. He pops one of the pills into his hand, giving it and the water bottle to me. I take the medicine and settle into the bed. Sam sits next to me, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “I love you, baby. It’s gonna be okay.” I close my eyes, holding back the sudden tears. He kisses my forehead before standing. “I’m gonna clean up the bunker and make some dinner while you nap, okay?” I just silently nod my head. 

Sam leaves the room and I lay in silence waiting for the pain medication to take effect. My mind races a million miles. It’s almost deafening. The guilt and grief eating at me. 

I look over at the nightstand where Sam left the bottle of pills, an idea forming. I take my phone out, writing in the notes for Sam before I empty the pill bottle in my hand. I use the water bottle to swallow down the handful of medicine and lay back down. My mind suddenly at ease as I fall asleep.

Tags:  @hoboal87​, @wayward-gypsy​

[peantutbutter]

validated parking (fahc/criminal masterminds fic)

summary: You're a Los Santos woman just doing your best to get by.Your day takes a turn for the bizarre when your car gets rear ended by the Vagabond in the county coroner's office parking lot.

word count: 1.5k

notes: 2nd person pov. set during one of the failed attempts during the doomsday heist crimmies part trash.

[ao3 link]

Los Santos is a bitch of a city. It’s crowded, it’s dirty, it’s violent. It’s home. And for all the crime and misery lingering like a storm cloud over the lives of everyone who wasn’t rich or famous, there’s nowhere else you’d rather live. For better or worse, this is your town, and no one can tell you otherwise. That’s the Los Santos way.

You took every opportunity you could while doing your best to avoid the city’s seedy underbelly. It wasn’t that you morally opposed to petty crime — anyone who had anything worth stealing almost certainly fucked someone else over in order to get it — but rather, you just didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught. Nothing destroyed a resume, or college application like being arrested. Or killed. So, you put your nose to the grindstone until it bled and then you kept grinding through the shitty inner city public school system until you were one of the lucky ones who graduated.

You went to college (Go USALS!), graduated with crippling debt and a medical degree, and managed to snag a job working for the Los Santos county coroner’s office. Life still sucks, but you have a job, stable income, an apartment you share with your significant other, and most importantly, your own car.

It’s a shitty little thing. You got the ten-year-old model for cheap, and it came with 150,000 miles on it, but despite the dings in the side and scuffed paint, it’s yours, and yours alone. You affectionately name it Greg and take care of him to the best of your ability. Aside some issues with the coolant, he’s served you well. You love that car more than you can say, and you joke that if anyone stole it, that would be the thing to push you over the edge. Good thing Greg is so dumpy looking, no one would want to steal him.

It’s a typical Monday. You wake up at 7:30, eat breakfast, brush your teeth, take a quick shower before hopping in your car and heading to work. The drive itself is slow and grueling. Accidents on the freeway cause backups, and you sip your coffee as you wait. Traffic inches along at a snail's pace, but by the time the morning radio newscast is finished, you’re back to driving without interruption.

You manage to make it just in time, pulling into your usual space, the middle spot on the front left side of the building. You’ve barely climbed out and locked it when an ambulance screeches into the parking lot. It turns sharply, coming so close you stumble back in shock. You watch in wide-mouthed horror as it rear ends Greg so hard the windows shatter.

The part of your brain that reacts to things like a normal person fights with the part of your brain that was born and raised in Los Santos. Do you run away and get help, or do you run towards the driver and give them a piece of your fucking mind? The Los Santos in you almost wins, but when you look up, lips curled in a snarl to start tearing into the driver, you have a very fast change of heart.

You don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but the paramedic uniform isn’t fooling anyone. Not when the face paint was still on. For some goddamned reason, the Vagabond, of Fake AH Crew infamy, is sitting behind the wheel of the ambulance looking just as startled as you. You both stare at each other with wide eyes, blinking dumbly in shock. Fuck, if the Vagabond is here, then you need to be literally anywhere else.

You turn on your heel and run, body working on its own accord. The scream you unleash isn’t something you’re proud of, but you just looked the Vagabond square in the eye. He’s killed people for less. If you make it through this, then you’re gonna have a hell of a story.

Heart racing, you duck and hide behind a tree near the building, hoping he’s too busy trying to adjust his parking to pay attention to where you went. Your stomach knots horribly, aching painfully with just coffee to fill it. With trembling hands, you pull out your phone. Not to call the police, but rather to record the whole thing. No one is going to believe you without proof, and you don’t trust the LSPD to find their own asses. The Fakes have killed and evaded the cops for as long as you remember.

You shift behind the trunk, trying to get a decent shot at the parking lot without being seen.

What happens next is entirely baffling.

A purple and orange car pulls into the entrance, and Rimmy Tim (also in paramedic uniform) runs out and joins the Vagabond in the ambulance. He’s in there for only a brief second before both of them emerge. They start racing towards the entrance to the coroner’s office and you have to clap your free hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp. What the hell do they want in there?

But before they reach the doors, they both double back towards the ambulance. You assume they’d forgotten something (guns or knives or some other weapons, probably), and were returning to get them, but Rimmy Tim climbs back in the passenger side. Maybe they’ve been compromised? Maybe they got a sudden call from the Kingpin? You have no fucking clue.

You’re expecting the Vagabond to enter the cab of the ambulance, but instead he wrenches open the passenger door of your car. You have no idea how he managed to rip through the lock like nothing, but he slides in and you almost drop your phone. The Los Santos in you almost wins again at that. Were you not so stupefied by the transpiring events, you very well might have said “fuck it” to your survival instincts in favor of trying to beat the shit out of the Vagabond for stealing your car.

You hear the distinct whooping of sirens approaching. Someone must have called the cops. The suspicious behavior, the face paint, one of the many cars owned by Rimmy Tim at the scene, it doesn’t take a genius to deduce something criminal is afoot.

The Vagabond slides over and exits through the other side of your car and you have no fucking idea why he did that. He dashes around the front of your car and pulls a goddamn gun out of nowhere. The handful of people still in the parking lot let out terrified shrieks at the sight, and you’re equally frightened that he’s going to shoot up your car.

Mercifully, he doesn’t. He runs back to the ambulance and disappears into the cab. It begins to reverse out of the parking spot, and it pulls out of the parking lot, flipping on the sirens just in time to speed away from the arriving cops. You carefully emerge from behind the tree, watching the flashing lights disappear down the road. Someone at the entrance runs up to one of the squad cars and points down the way they went. You make out the faint crackling of a radio, and the squad cars at the tail end of the procession peel off in pursuit.

You begrudgingly give your statement, more concerned about dealing with the damages done to your car. That’s really an expense you don’t need right now. You talk to the tow truckers who come to take away Rimmy Tim’s car to see if they can take your car into a mechanic as well.

By the time you finish talking with the police you’re over an hour late and desperately need a beer, or a cigarette, or something to calm down. You go through the motions of your job for the rest of the morning, vacant look in your eye as you keep replaying the events over and over.

You call your partner just before lunch and by God they’re the light of your life. They take their lunch hour to drive over and eat with you.

The two of you are sitting on the steps of the building with your lunches in your laps. You stare blankly at the empty spaces where your car and the Vagabond’s stolen ambulance had been just a few hours earlier as you stab absently at your salad. “So,” your partner says after a few minutes of chewing in silence. “What the hell happened, exactly?”

Their voice brings you back to the present, and it takes you a moment to process the question. You lick your lips, trying to figure out the best way to explain what happened. “So you know the Vagabond?”

Their eyes go wide and they lean forward. “Yeah,” they say carefully, not entirely sure where this is going.

You actually have to bite back a laugh as you realize just how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth really are. “I think he almost accidentally stole my car?”