#my intention was drawing him kind of dead/vacant

[hakucho-art]

I heard we‘re redrawing the neki owo

[maliland]

RESENTMENT: PT. 2

"how could you lie?" part one angel(s): e-42 miles morales & black fem reader includes: angst, infidelity, homewrecking, depressing themes, & heartbreak (men being disappointments per usual) synopsis: you used to describe your experience with love as one of complexity and simplicity all at once, but after you learn what your boyfriend did at a party with another girl while you were at home and sick, your heart is left with irreparable damage and an abundance of resentment. wc: 6.7k divider by @/cafekitsune a/n: this is gonna be my last sv fic for a hot min (or forever) 😭 savor and enjoy. ik the tag has been dead and you all have been malnourished, so yw! <3 icl, idk how i feel about it but y'all can lmk 🫶 (p.s: before ppl start nothing non-pg ever happened in this fic at any point in time. just kissing. ion get down like that 👍 thanks.)

when you arise in the morning and before you lay your head to rest at night, one thing is always definite: you are human.

humans are imperfect, so they make mistakes. genuine ones. honest ones. you’ve mixed up salt and sugar while baking chocolate chip cookies. you’ve hit your best friend square in the face while trying to spike a volleyball. you’ve missed assignment deadlines, forgotten about chores, and left the grocery list at home, all honest mistakes. a boy pressing his lips to another girl’s, though he has another he calls his own, is not a mistake. if it were up to you, it’d be a crime punishable by execution. between miles and yourself, no mercy was shown for the loyal one of you two, so why should he be granted any? infidelity; the act itself is the murder of the most important, sacred muscle, so why not return the favor?

you know your intentions before you give into the temptation of them. you knew miles knew. he knew from the moment that girl pulled him over to a vacant bedroom. did he think they’d simply exchange pleasantries? even so, why partake in such with someone who clearly has a taste for you? a taste for insulting the one you love most just as easily as she breathed?

these are all questions that would never be answered truthfully. you’d have to make peace with the reality or the only peace you’d know was the eternal kind that followed after death. and to think that you once believed in those stupid children’s fairy tales. miles made you believe that that kind of love could be real life. he almost made you believe you could attain the happy ending you always dreamed about. you were so close to it too. to have your bubble burst like that by the person you love most..? cold. way colder than the shivers repeatedly sinking down your spine.

it was a stupid idea to leave your window open.

the medicine you had taken for your cold had you knocked out in the warmth of your bed and you slept soundly. the chilly air would blow through the curtains now and then. the wind was only a light breeze at first. it felt nice, maybe even comforting, but when night finally fell, the current picked up. you were woken up by an icy blast hitting your face.

you groaned and slowly rose up, pulling the covers off of you before you swung your legs off of the bed. you drowsily staggered to your window and forced it shut, drawing the curtains closed only seconds afterward. you would just have to hope the mishap wouldn’t make you any sicker than you already were. you mindlessly carried yourself back to your bed and submerged yourself under the covers. you grabbed your phone, which was lying face down beside you.

you unlocked your phone and went straight to instagram, tapping through everyone's stories. most of the people you knew were at the party. parties weren't your cup of tea, so you couldn't really say you wished you had gone. you were more of a homebody than you'd like to admit.

you eventually got to miles' story. all he had posted was a single picture of him and his group of friends, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. seeing your boyfriend happy made you happy. you smiled to yourself before switching to your messages app. you had notifications from both miles and your friends who were also at the halloween party. you opened miles’ messages first.

9:37pm

miles: hey ma (9:37 pm) miles: i know you’re probably sleeping right now, but i wanted to lyk that i got here okay (9:37 pm) miles: i’m with my friends (9:38 pm) miles: ima go now but i love you 💗 i’ll text you soon (9:39 pm)

10:23 pm

miles: yooo just checking in 🙌 miss you a lot (9:36 pm) miles: hope you’re enjoying that nap ❤️❤️(9:37 pm)

you: hey i’m up now 😈😈 (10:52 pm) you: i saw your ig story 🙃 looks like you guys are having fun so i’ll leave you to it (10:52 pm) you: text me later, i love you so much more 💓 (10:53 pm)

you swiped out of your text thread with miles and opened your group chat with your three best friends, sasha, lani, and nae. while you met sasha and lani not too long ago, you’ve known nae for damn near your entire life.

dollz 💘 9:13pm

sasha: how’s my bedridden baby? 🫶🫶 (9:13 pm)

lani: she’s been unconscious for mad long 👎(9:14 pm)

nae: we should ditch this party n go to her place instead i’m BOREDDD (9:16 pm) nae: and what if bro’s dead (9:16 pm)

jana: girl (9:20 pm) jana: she ain’t dead 🤦‍♀️ please. (9:21 pm)

sasha: ofc not (9:23 pm) sasha: nae's right.. this party lowk boring asf🧍‍♀️ can we leave soon? (9:25 pm)

jana: yes 💋 (9:25 pm)

nae: thought you’d never ask. (9:26 pm)

10:57pm

you: y’all i’m up damn! 😭 (10:57 pm) you: is it really that boring? miles seems to be having fun (10:57 pm)

nae: he buggin then cuz it's been like two hours and this party is STILL boring as shit (11:01 pm) nae: i tried to give it the benefit of the doubt but nvm. (11:01 pm) nae: my niece's fourth birthday party was x100 more turnt than this (11:02 pm) nae: i’m stuffing all the good snacks in my purse nd then we outta this bitch 🏃‍♀️ i’ll be in the car y’all (11:02 pm)

jana: bruh🧍‍♀️ (11:03 pm)

sasha: nae beloved, you already put hella snacks in the passenger seat (11:03 pm) nae: so? 🥱 (11:04 pm) sasha: you don’t need no more tf 😭😭 big backed hungry ass (11:04 pm)

you: yes she does (11:10 pm) you: she’s thinking of me, duh (11:11 pm)

sasha: damn you right.. maybe 🤷‍♀️ (11:15 pm) sasha: or maybe she'll eat up all the snacks and i'll laugh in your face and say i told you so 🤌 (11:16 pm)

jana: uh huh... anw girl can we come over? (11:18 pm)

you: i’d say yes but miles is coming over soon (11:21 pm) you: y’all can come over first thing tmrw morning tho 💋💋(11:21 pm)

right as you sent that message, your phone began to ring and you were met with your own puzzled reflection on the screen of your phone. it was a facetime call from nae. you couldn’t come up with a reason why she’d ever need to facetime you from a party when she could text or call. nevertheless, you picked up. you forced yourself up and out of you warmth of your bed, throwing your comforter and many, many blankets off of you.

you answered the facetime call as you turned the knob to your bedroom door to leave, making your way downstairs to the kitchen so you could raid the pantry for food. when nae’s face popped up on your screen, you noticed that the interior of sasha’s car surrounded her, but neither sasha or lani were anywhere to be found.

“hey danae, what’s up?” you said into the phone as you shut the microwave. you'd settled on instant ramen since you were feeling lazy. when you caught a glimpse of your best friend's face on your phone screen a second time, you clocked that she looked worried and that made you worried too. it didn't help that she was dead silent. you raised an eyebrow. “you alone? where’s lani and sasha?"

“something happened,” nae spoke slowly, disregarding your question. her eyes were bolting back and forth between her phone camera and sasha’s car window.

“what?” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. you set your phone down on the counter, propping your elbows onto the surface while you tried to decipher nae's expression, but that got you nowhere.

“i’m gonna send you something. just hold on a sec.”

“nae, what’s going on?” you inquired, a puzzled expression painting your face.

she didn’t reply. you pressed your lips into a thin line and closed your eyes in both confusion and frustration, strings of air passing through your nostrils. whatever nae was about to tell you was obviously nothing good. you didn't anticipate anything but the absolute worst. you opened your eyes again when your phone dinged. it was photo attachment from nae. you furrowed your brows blinked a few times before tapping it, pulling up you and your best friend's text thread. your entire body went limp when your brain registered the monstrosity on your screen. all you could do in the moment was stare in shock. it was a clear shot of miles and arielle at the party making out in some random bedroom upstairs. arielle who wouldn’t quit making moves on miles. miles who would shut down her pathetic attempts every time. arielle who’s always hated your guts without reason. miles who swore on everything that you were the only one he loved. 

it was all so ironic, truly. arielle was dressed as an angel, a sparkly halo hovering above her head as if she wasn’t concomitantly sinning—shamelessly home-wrecking. and you could see it now: the embodiment of your relationship, or the so-called home you and your boyfriend shared. in your mind, it was ablaze and you were curled up all alone inside of it. you were left to succumb to the searing flames, burning to nothing ash while all that you and miles share burned beside you. 

the boy would come home to the walls still burning and in the process of self-purging. he wouldn’t find you, rather the remnants of what used to be you. the ash would slip through his dirty, unfaithful fingers as they trembled in horror. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. he’d desperately try to grasp you. he’d try to save you and scoop debris into his sweaty palms so he could salvage what was left of you. still, there was nothing. there wasn't a single thing in the universe that could aid the way you felt in that moment.

now, miles would have to mourn you, for he killed you. and he didn’t even know it yet.

your eyes were squeezed shut because they had to be deceiving you. you must not be fully awake yet. the medicine must be making you hallucinate. you were dreaming. you were a hundred percent dreaming. that wasn’t miles. 

how could that be miles?

“i was looking for lani and found… them instead,” nae muttered. “i don’t know if he saw me take the picture, or what. i left to tell you right after.”

you swallowed hard. though a million different thoughts were racing through your mind, none of them came to be verbal. you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, because what do you even say when something like this happens? would anything you said be enough? would any quantity of words in any given order be able you place the way you felt? unlikely. highly.

your eyes continue you gape at the photo, even though the sight was making your stomach churn. you couldn’t look away. your eyes were fixed on miles' hands on arielle's hips, then her hands cupping his cheeks. nae was still on facetime explaining whatever it was she was explaining, but you weren’t listening. her words were static to your ears. there was a pit in your stomach and it was growing deeper and deeper, your wounded heart subsiding along with it. you set your phone face down on the kitchen counter and began to clutch your stomach. you swore you were going to convulse and vomit from how ill you felt.

“[name]!” nae snapped her fingers into the mic. “yo, you still with me? i’m coming over. i’m gonna call an uber right now.”

you blinked and shook your head, flipping your phone back over and taking a deep breath. you couldn’t just shut down, not now. you had something you needed to confront. someone.

“no,” you sniffled. 

you didn’t even notice the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you quickly swiped them away with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie. the realization that it was his hoodie you had on made you freeze up again for a few seconds, and then you buried your face in the palms of your hands.

“what do you mean ‘no?’” nae frowned, bringing the speaker up to her ear in case she heard you incorrectly.

your phone dinged three times. in your notification center were text messages from the devil himself.

miles: hey ma, i’m leaving now (11:25 pm) miles: the party was okay at first but it got boring (11:25 pm) miles: i’ll be there in like fifteen ❤️ (11:26 pm)

you just stared at the messages, biting your bottom lip until it began to draw blood as a plea for you to stop. the taste was metallic in your mouth, but your teeth didn’t budge. you didn't want miles over anymore, but it was far too late to tell him to turn around. it's not like he'd check his phone while he was driving, anyway.

“i keep losing you, girl."

you had forgotten all about nae for a second, her voice grounding you back to earth. you exhaled, your breath coming out unsteady. “miles is on his way over. after i talk to him, i’ll call you and you can come over then.”

“okay, babe,” nae nodded with a gentle sigh. 

“do… lani and sasha know?” “no, they don’t,” nae denied. “i wouldn’t tell them before you.” 

you pressed your lips together and silence engulfed your kitchen. you let your mind wander some more. after all this was over and done with, you'd have to explain to all of your loved ones that miles cheated on you. the very thought of having to tell everyone—your family, your friends, your dad—it embarrassed you. you couldn't stomach the very thought, so you exhaled deeply, opting to take it one step at a time. nae spoke again. “listen, if you don’t call or text me in, like, an hour, ima come over there.”

“okay," you nodded.

“remember that you deserve nothing but the best of the best. i love you so much, okay?”

“i know,” you tried to convene a smile. “i love you more.”

you hung up the phone and rid of any stray tears on your face. after nae's face vanished from your screen, you were left staring at you and your boyfriend's message thread. without putting much thought into it, you began to type.

‘cool, i’m jus—'

your fingers froze. you couldn’t text miles. he didn’t deserve anything so little as acknowledgment. you repeatedly hit backspace until the bar was blank and shut off your cell.

you sat idly on one of the kitchen stools behind the counter, your instant ramen long forgotten about. in the moment, you were feeling indifferent as a result of shock. still, you knew yourself better. when miles finally confessed his sins, you’d want to scream. you’d bombard him with a million questions at once, only to angrily invalidate any explanation that passed through his adulterous lips. you’d want to burn every handwritten love letter, every piece of clothing, and every gift, because they all meant nothing now.

he was a liar, and he knew it. if you could kill a man and face no consequences, miles might’ve been gone before he even walked through your door.

while you waited for him, you sat there and tortured yourself in thought. you couldn’t help it. was this planned? was this the first time? had he always thought of her like this? did he wish you were her when he was with you?

when you’d exhausted all of those questions, you began to think back to your own actions and behavior as you scrolled up on your texts with him. 

maybe i said something that upset him? but i think he would've told me... right..? or have i been distant? no, that’s not possible. we talk every day. is he bored of me? is that it? am i boring? none of these texts are showing signs of boredom, so what is it?

you'd soon resorted to flipping through the pages in your diary. you were really good about documenting your day-to-day life. if something happened with miles in the past that your brain wouldn’t let you dig up in the moment, surely you would’ve written it there. the pad of your index finger slid across the rough pages as your anguished eyes skimmed the entries. ten minutes in, you still couldn’t find a thing. you'd give anything for a straightforward answer, but you knew it wasn't going to come from miles himself.

when you heard a key grinding into the keyhole of the front door, you slammed your diary shut and jumped off of the stool, knocking it over in the process. you sprinted upstairs to your bedroom, shoving the journal under your pillow. as you trailed out of your room, you closed the door behind you and braced yourself for the worst. 

you shuffled back to the kitchen and picked up the stool from the floor, setting it upright. you caught a glimpse of miles unlacing his jordans at the front door. this was real. 

“hey. i thought you’d still be in bed,” miles grinned as he approached you, spreading his arms for a hug. he wasn’t in his costume, but in a red hoodie and black sweats. he must’ve gone home to change. his costume probably smelled like arielle’s designer strawberry-scented perfume, the one everyone compliments her on. she never shuts up about it.

“hi,” you whispered, accepting his hug in an attempt to seem normal. “i was, but i got hungry. how was the party?”

miles smelled like his favorite cologne, except the scent was unusually potent. it wasn't faded in the slightest like it normally was after he'd been out and around other people. the deplorable amount of effort he was making just to mask the truth infuriated you. it angered you even more that he clearly wasn't planning on telling you anything. if you hadn't seen it yourself, you might've never known.

“it was ight,” he shrugged, loosening his grip on you after a couple of seconds. you hated yourself for wanting to hug him for just a little while longer. he sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but for all you knew, that was the last time you’d be in his embrace. he let his hands fall down to your waist instead and it made you shiver on contact knowing he had his hands on arielle's waist not even a full hour ago. “would’ve been better with you there, y’know. you feelin’ okay now?"

“mostly, yeah,” you responded blandly, your throat tight and your voice fairly groggy. “still a bit tired.”

you didn’t know how to bring it up. this wasn't something you could beat around the bush about. you found yourself deep in thought. so deep to the point where you didn't notice that miles had started talking. you were busy staring off into space with half-lidded eyes, way past his gaze. he clocked it and moved his head so that your eyes were boring into his by force, his eyebrows lowering in concern.

“is everything okay?”

you cleared your throat and gently pushed his arms off your waist, stepping back as you began to blink back tears. there was no easing into it. standing there in front of miles pretending like everything was okay was already bad enough. it felt like you were twisting the knife that he plunged into your chest. eyes glossy, you swallowed hard and batted your lashes a few more times, desperately trying to rid of the tears that threatened to spill.

“i know you kissed arielle at the party,” you barely managed to speak the full sentence, your voice cracking when you spoke her name. “and i’m confused.”

miles’ eyebrows knitted to be one as if this news stunned him. you wished you could hear all his thoughts from start to finish after you spoke. you wanted to know whether he was planning to lie or tell the truth. would he gaslight you or admit to his wrongdoings? you wouldn’t find out now because you didn’t give him an option. this already hurt enough and it would end the same either way.

“nae told me. and she sent me pictures.”

silence fell between the two of you. it felt like it was eating you from the inside. the chirping of the crickets outside and the noise from the refrigerator running slightly compensated for it. not much.

“i just wanna know why you did it. and why her? why the girl that hates me with every last atom in her body?” you broke the silence, shrugging your shoulders. you were hugging your arms, rubbing them in an up-and-down motion as if you were cold.

miles was dumbfounded, guilt painting his features. he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. you wondered what you would say if you were in his shoes, but it didn’t give you any insight because you knew you'd never do this to him, so you gave up. instead, you stared at the neat middle part in between his two signature braids that cascaded down the back of his head, down to his shoulders. you’d braided his hair only a couple days ago, back when nothing seemed impossible—nothing like now. 

though he wasn’t, miles’ hair still looked clean, freshly done even. what if arielle had redone his braids for him? she did say she was practicing, and she'd made it a goal to practice on him. you mentally cursed yourself for worrying about something as minuscule as miles' braids at a time like this. you didn't want to give yourself another reason to freak, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest. not even in silence. if miles wasn’t going to give you an answer, you’d send him on his way and come up with one by yourself.

“i don’t know why i did it,” he finally retorted.

“oh, word?” you laughed humorlessly. you were trying not to slap the hell out of his shamefully beautiful face. “it happened not even two hours ago. you know why you did it. your memory is sharp, it always has been, so tell me.”

miles exhaled, rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead. “look, she came onto me while i was grabbing a soda. it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing! it didn’t mean any—“

“that’s what they all say, morales,” you cut him off with a scoff. “it didn’t mean anything but somehow you traveled from the kitchen downstairs to a spare bedroom upstairs so you could swap spit without anyone catching you?!” miles tried to speak, but you cut him off again. “were you even gonna tell me? because you came up in here acting like shit was sweet as if you weren’t just making out with the girl you swore i’d never have to worry about, meanwhile, i was home, sick! a fucking cold, miles!”

“i wasn’t gonna keep it to myself. i didn’t wanna hurt you,” miles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “it wasn’t gonna happen again, i swear.”

none of the words miles spoke were convincing enough for you in the slightest, so you disregarded them.

“did i do something to you? are you holding a grudge about something and trying to get me back?!” you yelled, your voice trembling.

“no, it has nothing to do with you!” he hollered back, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was stressed out. he had no right.

“so then why the fuck would you go and do this shit?!” you were silent for a few seconds, chest heaving up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. your breath was sprinting away from you and you were trying to catch it. "it's bad enough that you kissed another girl, but arielle?"

miles pleaded, “it was a mistake.”

“damn right it was!” you narrowed your eyes to slits. “i can’t believe i trusted you, like, seriously. you’re sick.”

“i let you down, princessa, i know, i’m—“

“sorry?” you finished his sentence, folding your arms. you were far more angry than sad now. “miles, you weren’t sorry when you were kissing her. don’t be sorry now either. you were gonna kiss me with her bright pink lipgloss dried on your lips like it was nothing. you were gonna sit here and play me like i'm stupid. you were never gonna tell me!”

miles couldn’t counter that. he knew you were right, so it was back to uncomfortable silence apart from your hefty breathing and sniffles. miles had never seen you so angry. you'd never seen yourself so angry. there was no one else to blame but miles. you had no idea where to go from there. it was only after you asked the question that you were about to ask on impulse that you realized you should’ve wrapped this up many minutes before.

“is this the only time this has happened?”

miles was hesitant, his eyes growing wider. “yes!” he spat.

miles had a tell—not just his disinclination to answer your question the way he normally would, but also the way his eyebrows would position as if he wasn’t so sure himself. his teeth would clench behind his sealed lips, but you could tell because his jaw was tight and he swallowed hard, and he wouldn’t know what to do with his hands. 

you knew all of this about miles, yet you felt like you were gazing into the eyes of a stranger. 

this wasn’t the miles you fell in love with.

you muttered under your breath, “you know what? i’m wasting your time... and my own. you won’t have an answer that’s both truthful and something i wanna hear. we’re done, you and i. give me the key and get the hell out.”

“mami, come on—“

“nigga, deuces! i said leave!” you snapped as you backed away from him, holding your hand out.

miles dug deep in the right pocket of his black sweats, handing you the key. you flinched when your skin made contact with his. you didn't hesitate to trap the key in the palm of your hand, dropping your arm back down by your side. miles sighed to himself and trudged to the door to lace his shoes back up. you didn't even watch him leave, opting to turn around and battle the tears threatening to spill from your eyes instead. when you finally heard the front door shut, you rushed to lock it. you turned around and pressed your back to the door, face twisted in pure disbelief. 

this was real.

you slid down to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest, your cries echoing through your empty house. you’d never been more grateful that your father was gone for the weekend. miles wouldn’t have heard the end of it. at least now you had time to make up some lie to cover for miles' ass, and it'd be the last damn time.

not even five minutes passed before someone knocked on the front door three times and you sniffled. miles was going to drive you insane. “go the fuck away!”

“it’s me, baby,” a muffled voice said from outside, but it’s one you recognize, and it’s most definitely not miles.

you wiped your tears with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie and stood up, twisting the lock to open the door for your best friend. she was holding a box of pizza in her hand with a tote bag strap over her shoulder.

“you’re early,” you mumbled, one of your hands pressed against the rim of the door.

“i ubered home and got my car. when i got here, i just parked and waited,” nae pushed past you. you closed the door and locked it again, following her to the kitchen, where she set the box of pizza down on the countertop. “you wouldn’t have called me either way. i know you.”

she was right. you weren’t mad at her for being there though. she had always been so good to you.

nae walked over to the dining table and placed her tote bag in one of the chairs. “i brought your favorite type of pizza, and i stopped by the store to grab some snacks and soda. those are still in my car though, so—”

“i don’t think i can stomach anything right now,” you stated as you rubbed your arm. “i broke up with miles.”

saying that out loud felt weird. and final.

“oh, my love,” nae’s brows lowered and she shuffled over to you with open arms. she wrapped them around you and you did the same, sighing into her shoulder. you really didn't want to cry.

it hadn’t been long and you were already over feeling the way you did. you wanted to fast forward to the part where you got over miles for good. as an attempt to console you, nae was rubbing your back in a circular motion. 

“you did the right thing,” she spoke lowly.

you withdrew from the hug and slightly opened your mouth, fixing to ask nae a question only god knew how to answer. “why did he do it though?”

she led you to the couch in your living room and sat you down, massaging her thumb over yours in a back-and-forth motion as your hand stayed clasped in hers. you stared down at your lap, sniffling every couple of seconds and swiping away stray tears.

“boys are just greedy, babe,” she shook her head. “so very greedy. they want it all. there are so many different reasons why people cheat. it’s difficult to pinpoint just one. my random guess is that… miles has issues?"

“issues?” 

“mm-hmm,” she hummed. “internally. maybe he's insecure about himself, i don't know. whatever it is, it doesn’t justify infidelity. you were more than enough, it was him who was lacking."

“i don't get it. i mean, none of this makes any sense… unless i'm blind or stupid, it came out of nowhere. literal thin air. and when i asked, he said he didn't know why he kissed her,” you muttered.

nae sighed. “even if he isn't lying, he still did it.”

“i know,” you nodded. “and i'm sure it wasn't the first time. that’s why i left him.”

“and i’m so proud of you for that,” nae gave your hand a tight squeeze. “walking away isn’t easy for anyone. it takes forever for some people, but you did it just like that.” 

“yeah, well, i kinda had to. it’s bad enough that arielle is gonna rub it in my face until we graduate, and even after that, she’ll probably find a way to .”

“there won’t be any of that,” nae promised. “miles isn’t going to take her seriously—if he even takes her at all. he lost you because of what he did with that bitch. he won’t even be able to look at her without feeling guilty.”

“she can have him, i don’t care either way,” you scoffed. that was a lie. you did care. you cared more than you’d let on if you ever even admit it.

“yeah, you do,” nae raised an eyebrow as if she had effortlessly read your mind. “let yourself feel. it’s how you’ll heal.”

“oh, i’m feeling alright. i’m weighing the pros and cons of murder,” you shakily exhaled, balling up your fists and closing your eyes. “i can’t believe this nigga. seriously.” 

“i’d help you, but i’m not going to jail for him and neither are you.”

you let out a soft sigh, your gaze now fixed on your lap. the tears welling up in your eyes were beginning to cloud your vision. how someone could throw away so many years of loving one another so easily was so far beyond you.

“nae, i’ve been with miles for so long. he’s always been there—i don’t know how to be without him. he’s why i gave love a chance after swearing not to... now he’s shattered my perception of it. the worst part is i should hate him, but i don't. somehow, i still love him and—”

“hey,” nae cut you off. “that’s normal. how you feel is normal.”

you sniffled. “is it?"

“pshh, girl, yeah,” nae assured you, flicking out her wrist. “listen, breakups are terrible. you’re gonna cry and scream. you’re gonna wish you never met him. you’re going to go through old texts, swipe through old photos, and mope in his hoodies. all of that is okay. the worst thing you could ever do to yourself is force yourself not to feel,” nae paused. “if this is who he really is, then it's not your loss. i know it doesn't feel like that right now, but trust me... it just takes time. i don't know how long, but i know my best friend, so no matter how long it takes, you’ll be better than good without miles. i promise." "i'm still gonna miss him," you muttered, sniffling and drying your tears as they fell. nae wrapped her arm around you and exhaled. you sobbed into her shoulder, releasing all the pent-up frustration you'd been concealing in the name of keeping your cool. you'd never felt so inconsolable in your life. "i know, babe. i know."

❤︎₊ ⊹

it was late. 3:28am. time had never moved so slowly. you were genuinely considering calling 911 and telling them you were suffering from a heart attack. you were thoroughly convinced that this was damn near the same exact thing.

the moon wasn’t full tonight, but a waning crescent. it reflected you and how soulless and dejected you felt. the moonshine bleeding through your curtains was also the only source of light you would tolerate, the rest of your bedroom completely dark. you lay on your side facing the window, allowing the icy gusts of wind to hit your face. you were practically drowning in a sea of blankets all while still being in miles’ black hoodie.

nae was gone. she’d left about two hours ago, but not before suffocating you in countless hugs and forcing you to eat a slice of pizza and drink two glasses of water, despite your not wanting to ingest anything due to your unwavering nausea. you told her you’d be okay alone. you knew you wouldn’t and so did she, but you wanted to be alone, so she gave you your space and promised to check in on you when the sun rose. you loved nae dearly and you'd never take her for granted. you felt lucky to have such a kindhearted best friend.

you'd been in a 1v1 with your thoughts for a while now. your phone was powered off and shut away in one of your nightstand drawers to help resist urges. you hated that you wanted to call miles, but you did. you wanted to scream at him. belittle him until you just couldn’t anymore. and you wanted him to sit there and watch you do it without protest. you wanted him to be honest and tell you the truth. you wanted him to promise it would never happen again, and then you wanted to curl up under the covers of your bed with him and sob in his arms while he planted kisses on your forehead, apologizing profusely. you wanted him to tell you he loved you until you believed it again.

you couldn’t do any of that—you wouldn’t. it’d mean you have no respect for yourself. it felt like you hardly had any now, so you needed to keep the scarce amount that remained.

your thoughts were blank and sporadic all at once. you’d never been through a breakup, but you had a rough idea of how these things go, so you spent some time mapping it out in your head.

you'd eventually have to meet up to exchange one another's belongings. maybe rio would apologize on miles’ behalf and say she’d always love you. she’d call you a couple times a week. the calls would eventually come slower and grow more infrequent. soon, the calls wouldn’t come at all. even if there was the acknowledgment that rio’s arms were always open for you, they’d still feel closed. you'd treat them as such.

you'd barely eat because you couldn't stomach a single thing. you'd rot in your bed and binge all your favorite movies and shows. you'd go to war with the urge to run back to miles. you'd read old diary entries where you were gushing about how much you loved him and how amazing he was to you. you'd look back at old photos and videos. you'd reread old texts until you were sobbing so hard that you couldn't breathe.

you'd write letters that nobody was ever going to see and all the tears you shed would smudge the black ink and ruin your fancy penmanship. you'd lie to your dad and tell him that your relationship had just run its course and that you and miles needed to work on yourselves. your friends would check in on you, and of course, you'd tell them that you were okay every time, even if that was the furthest from that.

word gets around fast. when this dreadful weekend was over and monday crept up on you, you'd have to return to school and deal with the piercing stares and shameless gossip. you weren't ready for any of it, because now, everyone at school would know you as the girl who got cheated on by her long-term boyfriend for arielle. rumors would spread. words would be twisted and lies would be told, both about you and miles. in retrospect, it was all the more embarrassing for miles, but you still felt utterly humiliated. not to mention that you had no doubt in your mind that arielle was ready to run to his defense, preferably by kicking you when you're down.

sometimes, just for a fleeting moment, you'd forget about it all and your mind would go quiet. your heart wouldn't swell in longing and you wouldn't feel sick to your stomach. it never did last long before the same thoughts you desperately wanted to leave you alone started to pester you again. "but you two seemed so in love!" nosy girls at your school masking their prying motives behind what they thought were "supportive words" would soon tell you. the worst part is that you'd never know how to respond, because you thought you and miles were in love too. he was your sun and you were his moon. how could you so quickly forget that the sun didn't need the moon to shine, it was the other way around? you thought it was and always would be your heart tethered to his, but now you were left with a broken chain and a heartache.

you thought things would be different with miles. you truly did. now you knew that anyone could screw you over even if they crossed their heart. there weren't any exceptions, not anymore. miles proved that you can do everything right and still get done wrong. it wasn't fair. you should've known you weren't exempt from something like this happening, yet you still let yourself believe you were. maybe you jinxed it, or maybe you thought your case was special. maybe you thought this would never happen because you believed you were special. you only did because he made you feel that way.

you were sick and tired of brooding over your misfortune. you rolled onto your back with a frustrated groan and gaped at your ceiling, the cold air from outside still blowing against the side of your face. as exhausted as you were, sleep just wouldn't grant you sanction in its assuaging embrace.

what hurt the most is that you were so sure that you'd bagged a kind of love that was for the books. the kind of love you thought you could only dream about. though you weren't searching for him, the stars sent you miles morales. in your eyes, he was perfect. you loved and adored him, and swore he was your soulmate, made just for you. he was godsent and you never wanted to let him go, until tonight, when you learned that you were never the one who needed to hold on to begin with.

you came to the humbling conclusion that maybe the reason people told tales of faultless love was because real love was far too sickening to bear. it was merely a way to cope. nothing more, nothing less. maybe "happily ever after" had been a hoax all along. all the fairytales you had read growing up always began with “once upon a time”, but your story with miles ended with it, because loving him was easy—once upon a time.

maliland ©

[twdbegins]

when you can, can you do a Simon age gap smut, where the reader keeps turning down all the boys her age that try to get with her because she likes older men, can older men do it better and cuz ya know Simon is breathtaking, please and thank you

This got lost in my inbox somehow! So sorry for the wait!

__

Preferences

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Language.

Word Count: 1,651

“Are you saying it’s because I’m attractive?”

__

Being in your early twenties is a hard time for anyone. You’re now out of your adolescence years, being thrown into the deep end of adulthood and trying to navigate your way through life. Being thrown in a zombie apocalypse doubled your struggles.

“How many times do I have to tell you no?” You snapped at the puppy eyed guy that had been following you around for the whole day.

Travis was a sweet guy. He meant well and he was always kind to you, but you simply weren’t interested. He was rather persistent that you go out with him or even at least give him a chance. He tried to keep up with your fast pace as you whisked through the hallways.

“Come on, [Y/N]. I’d just like to go out with you sometime,” He attempted to persuade you; “It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. That’s what they all said. It always ended up being a romantic thing, and you weren’t sure how many different ways you could turn him down easily before having to get aggressive.

“Travis. I said no and I mean no.” You said, stopping your fast walk and hoping he’d catch the sharp edge in your tone.

Defeated and dejected, Travis let out a heavy sigh and hung his head. He pushed past you to go sulk for the rest of the day. You didn’t like hurting anyone’s feelings, but sometimes the men around the Sanctuary just couldn’t take a hint. You leaned against the nearest wall, rubbing your forehead stressfully.

There weren’t many younger Saviors here. There were maybe 15 or so that were actually close to your age, and you had turned down probably about 8 of them over the course of your time at the Sanctuary. You just didn’t feel attraction towards any of them. You heard heavy footsteps approaching, accompanied with a low whistle.

“Damn, sweetheart. That’s the third one this week you’ve turned down.” The familiar voice bellowed.

You looked to see Simon striding towards you, his hand motioning to Travis who he had just passed by. You groaned.

“He’s the most stubborn one yet.” You announced, feeling a slight blush as Simon took the vacant spot next to you on the wall.

Truth was, if there were any man at the Sanctuary that you wanted the attention of, it was the infamous right-hand man. Simon was a real man. He was built, strong, intelligent, charming, and devilishly handsome. You had a gut feeling that he knew his way around a woman. If only there was a way you could put your theory to the test.

“Travis is a great guy.” Simon noted.

“Yeah, and so is Alan, Ron, and Cedric,” You said, referring to the other guys you had shut down; “I’m just not interested.”

“You know, most women would be flattered at the amount of attention you get.” Simon pointed out, crossing his arms and looking over at you with his dark brown eyes.

You could smell his cologne. It was faint, but it was heavenly.

“Yeah, but is it because they’re actually interested or because I’m the only available woman around?” You questioned aloud.

You were well aware that (other than Negan’s wives, who were strictly off limits) you were pretty much the only young, spry woman around. The Sanctuary was of male majority, and most of them were incredibly sexually frustrated, especially the younger ones.

“I was that age once. Trust me, there’s other reasons.” Simon said boldly, a grin appearing on his face.

You scoffed, but hid the deepening blush on your face. He was one smooth charmer.

“Are you saying it’s because I’m attractive?” You suggested, really hoping that’s what he meant.

He shrugged.

“Maybe. I mean, if I were in their shoes, I’d try like hell to even get you to spare me a passing glance,” He admitted; “I’m not so sure you’d want to get involved with me though. I’m not exactly 25 anymore.”

You felt a spark of thrill. You had a chance. This chance was too good and too perfect to pass up.

“You might be surprised.” You flirted, trying not to sheepishly smile.

He was surprised. He turned his frame towards you as realization washed over him.

“You saying that you have a thing for older guys?” He pondered.

“Maybe.” You repeated what he had said slyly.

He smirked, a dark chuckle erupting from his chest. He leaned his arm against the wall, drawing closer to you. He was dangerously close. Your lips almost touching.

“I thought I was crazy for thinking that you’re always eye fucking me,” He chided; “I guess my old intuition is still in working order.”

You laughed, slipping just your fingertips into his waistband. This is what you were interested in.

“I wonder what else of yours is in ‘working order’.” You hinted.

He hummed lowly.

“You sure you want to go for it?” He asked for consent.

“Hell yes.” You replied immediately.

His lips crashed into yours, rough kisses that were hungry and unexpected. His hands were under your ass in seconds, hoisting you around his waist and carrying you to his room that wasn’t too far from the hallway you were in. You were making out like a mad, horny teenage couple that hadn’t seen each other for a long summer. You had never been in his room before, but you didn’t care much for looking around at his decor.

He tossed you onto the bed, earning a squeak from you when your back hit the mattress. Both of your clothes were strewn across the room, your naked bodies pressed against one another warmly. His lips were hot on your neck as he sucked harsh hickeys, the slight pain and immense pleasure were a perfect mix. Your moans and the sounds of his lips on your skin were the only sounds in the room.

“You’re already so wet.” He said, reaching and rubbing slow circles onto your clit.

You whimpered out, his fingers working magic on your sensitive sex. He slipped two of his fingers inside of you, his fingers curled and massaged your inner walls, feeling how she was coated with slickness. You had almost forgotten that this was supposed to be about him, but that didn’t stop you from rolling your hips as you began to grind into his fingers.

“Shit. Oh...” You breathed out as he pumped his fingers and curled mercilessly.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He growled into your ear; “You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of seeing you like this. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing to make you feel good.” He said, bringing you close to the beginning of your climax.

But you didn’t want to finish just yet. You stilled his hand, making him withdraw his fingers. He looked you dead in the eyes as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You felt prideful when he did so.

You purposefully moaned in his ear, sending him over the edge. He was between your knees, having your legs around his waist in seconds. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you firmly around him. He scanned over your naked body that was sprawled out on the bed.

Seeing you laid out underneath him, squirming with expectation was arousing and maddening. There were so many things that you did (some intentional and some not) that drove him absolutely wild. You way you bit your lower lip whenever you caught him staring at you, only using your imagination to wonder what he was thinking when he looked at you.

He pushed his shaft through your folds, relishing and groaning at the feel of you once more. Your alluring sigh signaled him to start moving, pulling out and back in at a rapid pace. Your inviting sounds were music to his ears.

You pushed your body down to meet each of his thrusts, allowing him to hit just the right spot. You could feel the pent up tension that he had built up with each rough entrance back into you. He held your hands above your head, his other hand pinning your hips to the mattress.

He pulled out again and one particular slam back into you caused you to moan louder than normal, causing Simon to speed up even more. Your chest bouncing with his every thrust. You were completely focused on the feeling of him dragging in and out of you. He let out a noise that resembled a growl that sent vibrations all through your body. Every cell in your body felt like it might combust with pleasure.

“You’re such a good girl. Taking me so well,” He said thrusting hard and pounding back into you; “I didn’t know what I’d been missing out on.”

Your face was contorted with ecstasy and pleasure. He watched how your breasts bounced every time he railed back into you, your loud sounds were music to his ears.

“You feel so fucking good. There’s no way Travis could’ve fucked me this good.” You praised, meeting his thrusts halfway.

Simon moved your leg over his shoulder and pounded into you even harder now. You almost cried out at the new angle. Your other leg tightened around him, his dick twitching deep within you.

You involuntarily clenched around him with a pitchy cry, releasing and hitting your high. He felt his own spiral, thrusting a time or two more and spilled his release into you. He groaned in solace, pulling out of you. Your hearts were pounding and your minds were racing. You looked up at him and smiled with joy as the look of euphoria in his eyes. You persuaded him to fall next to you so he didn’t totally collapse.

You grinned at him breathlessly.

“Yeah. I am definitely into older guys.”

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

[dex-xe]

Regarding the ficlet ideas :)

You don't have to do all or even any of these, these are just the things that popped into my head when I was scrolling through! Also if you want to write them romantically you do it, we love and support youuu!!!

Fluff: 7 (Mary and Robin, probably platonic) & 10 (Mary and Kitty, also probably platonic)

General: 18 (Julian and literally anyone, it'll be hilarious)

And General 45. With Alison and Cap (and maybe all the other ghosts) becuase I feel you'd write it really sweetly and honestly it's a scene I'd really like to see

Alison & Captain General #45: “Are you afraid to die?”

So there’s still one more prompt from this person (the Julian one) but I’m combining it with other ideas so expect that soon!! The others have also been done here:

Fluff #7

Fluff #10

But yeah,, this got no interaction at all on AO3 but that’s okay cause I actually really enjoyed writing this one there are some good lines I think. Let me know what you think either here on on AO3 I don’t mind. (Also there is a Doctor Who reference in here but I can’t remember which episode it’s from so if yall find it let me know XD)

TW:// in depth discussions of death.

The dark ceiling of Alison’s bedroom swirled in front of her as she listened to the soft rumbling of her husband’s snores beside her. The glowing red lights of her alarm clock served as a warning to her impending sleepless night: 2:15am.

Worries of life and family and the hotel and the unusual presence of 20 odd dead people inhabiting her home raced through her head as she begged for some kind of distraction from her thoughts. She tried not to set too many rules for the ghosts: whenever she did, they would work even harder to break every written order she laid down - and also every unwritten rule that common sense laid down. But one rule Alison was strict on was their nighttime curfew: do what you want around the house (as long as it doesn’t make too much noise, mess or irritance) but do not, under any circumstance, enter the master bedroom.

She’d originally given them the usual “only in emergencies” protocol but, after Robin had scared Alison out of bed at 4am having deemed a fat ginger cat on the front lawn an emergency, this had quickly been scrapped. But watching the dust flow through beams of moonlight while contemplating every life decision she’d ever made, the prospect of some inconceivable disaster interrupting the ghosts’ eternal deaths was seeming ever more pleasurable.

Alison sighed and sat up to look over Mike deep in sleep, jealous of his peaceful snoring. She swung off the bed being careful not to jostle the sheets but flinched at the freezing floorboards touching her bare feet. She tiptoed slowly through the empty corridors occasionally stopping to listen at the doors of the ghosts’ bedrooms: quiet snoring from Pat’s, mumbled sleep talking from Kitty’s, total silence on behalf of the others.

Every common room lay vacant, excluding Robin curled up in front of the dying fire, so Alison continued on to the kitchen - taking Nigel’s advice to fetch some milk when she’s stressed.

Upon entering the kitchen, she was taken aback to find it was not as empty as the rest of the house would suggest. Leaning back against the far tiled wall with his eyes shut and head resting back on the cold surface, the Captain looked as if he could be asleep standing upright. His eyes snapped open and settled straight on Alison frozen in the doorway. He blinked slowly before darting towards the corner of the room in his usual long-legged, gangly run.

“Captain?” Alison called as he turned away from her. “No, no! It’s alright!”

The Captain stopped. Still. Silent. In a moment of alarming quietness.

“Sorry for disturbing you, Captain. I’ll only be a moment!” Alison said quietly, making her way over to the fridge. “God, I hope Robin isn’t in here.” She pulled open the door with great gusto, fleetingly thrilled by the presence of broccoli, strawberry yoghurt, and half a pasta bake rather than the shouting menace of a caveman.

She shut the door with the milk carton in hand and turned to find the Captain still facing the wall, breathing heavily in what appeared to be a WW2 remake of the Blair Witch Project.

“You can just go back to… whatever you were doing, now,” Alison took a swig from the carton. “Plotting your latest hair-brained scheme to get rid of me?”

“Now, now, Alison,” the Captain said, turning back around to face her and swaying ever so slightly on his heels, stick gripped tight behind him. “I’m less inclined to dispose of you nowadays.”

“Yeah?” Alison raised her eyebrows with a knowing glance and took another sip. “Well, I appreciate that, Cap.”

“Hmm,” the Captain agreed.

“Why are you awake then? Are you awake or do ghosts sleep upright against a wall? Is this some mechanic I don’t know about? Do ghosts have to sleep?” Alison asked rapid fire.

“Of course we sleep! What did you think we do during the night?” The Captain pointed to Alison’s milk and frowned. “You shouldn’t drink it like that. That’s how disease spreads.

“It’s only me that uses it, just don’t tell Fanny, yeah?”

“Mum’s the word,” he murmured.

Alison smiled. “So why are you up, then? Shouldn’t you be getting that beauty sleep?”

“Sometimes it’s a little difficult to drift off, I’m sure you understand that being awake at this hour too.”

“Oh yeah,” Alison said quietly. She lifted her carton up in a small gesture of cheers and made a move to leave. “Well, got my milk. I guess… I’ll just head back to bed then. Good night, Captain.” She had barely made it out of the door before the Captain spoke up once more.

“You could stay for a while,” the Captain said. “If you wanted to. I mean, if you didn’t want to just lay in bed gazing at the ceiling.”

“I’d like that,” Alison pulled out the chair closest, scraping the legs across the tiled floor and interrupting the silence of the house. She left the chair open for the Captain and moved to sit opposite him, settling into the quiet comfort.

“Isn’t it weird to think the dead sleep?” Alison commented. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? Cause sleeping is a bit like being dead only without the commitment so it’s like you’re kind of double dead.”

“Death is nothing like sleeping, Alison. Don’t talk to me about death if you don’t understand it.” The Captain sniffed at her and leant back in his chair maintaining his usual stoic exterior.

“Sorry,” Alison said. “I didn’t mean-,”

“It’s fine,” the Captain said quickly. The pair fell back into silence, they had never exactly been the closest of friends and Alison certainly wouldn’t describe him as her best (undead) friend but they were friend-ly, for sure. Certainly more now that he’d ceased trying to drive her from the house at every opportunity that presented itself. Then again, death does strange things to people, Alison thought, her friends had proved that much. They showed little regard for the lives of the living, thinking very much of themselves and the Captain was surely the embodiment of that.

“It’s not awful, as such,” the Captain interrupted the quiet. Alison looked up from the table to find him watching her intently. “Death. It’s not as terrible as you might think. I know that’s what you were going to ask.”

“Oh,” Alison said. “I wasn’t- I wasn’t actually going to say anything.”

“I know. But you were thinking it.” The Captain said. “You’re in a rather unique position, Alison, I must say. Not many people can say they have a good understanding of death before it happens, but you know more than most.”

“I still don’t really get it, though,” Alison admitted drawing lines across the table with her fingers.

“If I’m telling the truth, neither do I,” the Captain confessed. “I don’t remember it too well. It was like- like falling asleep and then immediately waking up again. You know that plummeting feeling  that happens right as you’re about to drop into sleep, like everything is calm and then suddenly you’re losing grip of reality, and then you’re wide awake again.”

“A hypnic jerk,” Alison quipped.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“That’s what it’s called, that falling thing. A hypnic jerk.” Alison said. “We did it in science class, I think. Your body thinks it’s dying so it does the jerk to make sure that you’re still alive. Makes sense that’s what dying feels like, I guess.”

“Are you afraid to die, Alison?” The question took Alison by surprise, it was unlike the Captain to be open about his emotions and even more unlikely for him to ask about others’ feelings.

“If I have to stay with this rowdy lot for eternity, then yes definitely,” Alison joked with a small laugh.

The Captain smiled and hummed in agreement: “Oh I’m sure I’d have agreed if given the choice before death. Not exactly the most peaceful post-death existence.”

“I’m a little bit scared,” Alison admitted.

“You shouldn’t be too worried, it’s not all that bad,” the Captain said with a shrug.

“Yeah, because you seem to be having a blast with your afterlife, Cap. Happy as Larry,” Alison said sarcastically, she threw the now-empty carton into the bin beside her and settled back towards the table, leaning forward closer to the Captain - their faces barely inches apart.

The Captain paused, his eyes boring into Alison’s sleepy face before he leant forward to match her and whisper in secret confidence.

“It is rather bad,” he reneged. “You should fear it, well done for being scared.” Alison chuckled. “Well thanks, Cap! I feel so much better now!”

“Now, you know that’s not what I mean,” the Captain said slowly, unsure of where he was going next. “As long as you die here, you have no reason to be afraid. We’ll care for you in death as you have for us in life. Be sure, Alison, we’ll teach you all we know.”

“You know, Julian has told me the ‘teachings’ you gave him when he died,” Alison chuckled.

“Somebody needed to give that scoundrel a good telling off; heaven knows no one in life ever did. Julian died much as he lived: with an air of superiority.” The Captain coughed and smirked across at Alison. “He waltzed in here as if he owned the place, demanding authority and respect and, as far as I’m concerned, those are qualities that are earned.”

“Like you?” Alison said pointedly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Did you earn the authority you have over the others?”

“That is beyond the point.” The Captain stated. “You’re rather lucky, Alison! You’ve met a somewhat tempered version of Julian, he’s actually rather bearable these days, likeable sometimes, you wouldn’t believe him in the early days.”

“Oh I can only imagine! And I’m better then, I assume? Seeing as I’m deemed worthy of your afterlife teachings?” Alison laughed.

“Indeed,” the Captain said.

“Were you afraid?” Alison asked. “Of death, I mean? Obviously like, before it happened.”

“No,” the Captain shrugged, finally heeling away from Alison and breaking their close eye contact. “A soldier is never afraid. When you enlist to serve for your country, you relinquish any right to fear your death. Service kills many who enter, you cannot fear the inevitable.”

“But you didn’t die in service?”

“I was a soldier. No matter if my demise happened during the war or 60 years later, I lived a soldier and I died a soldier.” The Captain said certainly. Whenever he spoke of his time in the military he straightened right up and masked any kind of emotion he had allowed to trickle through.

“Now that you’re not a soldier then, are you afraid of… you know, moving on?”

“Of being sucked off?” The Captain clarified.

“I refuse to say that,” Alison shook her head. “And frankly it’s cruel that Julian has kept this joke up. But are you scared?”

“I am still a soldier, Alison. I’ll always be a soldier.”

“Time has moved on, no more fighting and no more soldiers but you know that, Captain.”

“Doesn’t change anything. Time.” The Captain said, matter of fact. The darkness of the kitchen mostly shrouded his face but Alison could easily make out the outline of his sharp features and piercing eyes.

“Time changes everything.” She stated. “You should know that better than most.”

“I’m a soldier.” He repeated, mumbling it under his breath like a reassuring mantra. “For King and country.”

“Queen.” Alison corrected.

Allowing himself, for just a moment, to relinquish his solid, iron-clad grip on the past, the Captain softly whispered: “For Queen and country.”

[hardyimagines]

Captain’s Daughter

Part 1

On one of the expeditions, you’re forced to tag alongside your father. He doesn’t want you to come along, but with nowhere else to go and no willpower to leave you on your own, he brings you. Will it be trouble with you constantly butting heads with the most stubborn man of the bunch?

———————————————————————

Wednesday

“The proper thing to do would be to finish him off quick.” Fitzgerald grunted as he slumped against the bark of the tall tree behind him. He had a wooden pipe clamped between his lips, smoke escaping his mouth as he spoke. His tone was careless, firm. He was always full of bright ideas. His boots crushed the snow beneath him when he shuffled, the audible crunch drawing your attention to him. You were stood a few feet away, trying your best to tune him out. He’d always had such a huge problem with Glass. You weren’t exactly sure why, but all the anger and hatred and venomous words he spewed at the man left you gawking. He always started a scene. And he always eventually had to say something about Glass’ son, he was part Indian, always referred to as a half-blood.

Anderson was watching the scene take place below. Glass was laid in the dirt, at the bottom of the steep hill. His skin was covered in the dark grains, cuts and wounds sprinkled with dirt in the blood that gushed from his injuries. “He’ll be dead in less than an hour.” Anderson assured Fitzgerald. He was the only one of the group that tolerated Fitzgerald and his loud mouth.

You rolled your eyes toward the men before watching intently as your father, Henry, the leader of the group, tended to the wounds Glass had endured. Glass’s son, Hawk, was hunched over, teary eyes spilling over with the salty droplets as he worried about whether or not his dad was going to make it.

Your attention was once again pulled to John Fitzgerald. The man lifted his hand and momentarily adjusted the bandana that was wrapped around his head. The long strands of brown hair tickled his chin, blending in with the heavy amount of facial hair that covered his upper lip and chin. “Yep, we’re all gonna be if he doesn’t quit wailing like that.” Fitzgerald pushes off of the tree and made movement to step around the gents that had gathered. He was going to the edge of the cliff to relieve himself. His bladder had been ready to burst for fifteen minutes and he figured it was the perfect time to piss.

You snatched his arm when he made movement to move past you. The cold air tickled your cheeks, making your skin all the more icier. The beanie you wore did it’s best to protect your forehead, but your skin was growing agitated and itchy and your ears were numb despite the cloths attempt to shield them from the wind. You couldn’t imagine how painful they’d be if you didn’t have the hat — much like the surrounding men. Staring up at the man when he came to a halt in front of you, you narrowed your eyes. John Fitzgerald butted heads with everyone in this group, including you. He’d seen you only a handful of times without the big bulky coat and the beanie on. He’d, at first, found you to be extremely attractive. He’d pondered flirting with you. But you were just as outspoken as your father and just as stubborn as himself. John let out a low growl when you took your time to speak. He knew you were going to say something to him about what he’d been babbling about.

“You’re pathetic.” You informed him. Your breaths escaped in visible clouds. “He was just attacked by a fucking bear and you’re standing here saying it’s best to finish him off.” You pulled your lips in, rubbing the cold, pink flesh before you released his arm. “Grow up, Fitz.” Your arm hit his when you moved past. Heading for the edge of the cliff so you could descend it and assist your father in tending to the wounds, you barely lifted your foot before John spoke up.

“Not very ladylike to eavesdrop, is it?” John adjusted the rifle in his hands. Hooking the strap around his strong shoulders, he lifted his brows. Wrinkles formed along the length of his forehead as he ogled you.

“It’s not considered eavesdropping when you’re talking as loud as you were. You wanted Glass to hear you.” You sighed heavily. This man was a waste of your time. Pursing your lips, you began to climb down the hill. The wind whistled loudly, drowning out any response the man may have had.

Glass’s wounds weren’t going to be fixable. Bridger had helped disinfect the gashes. Henry had done all he could to soothe the man laid in the dirt, doing his best to assure him, along wirh his son, that they were going to do all they could to save him. Men scavenged for wood, trying to find something sturdy they could tie his body to. They couldn’t leave him lying here, but they couldn’t very well sit in one position for too long either. The entire group was under constant attack, hunted by the Indians that resided in the woods, constantly trailing them, ready to kill them and steal their pelts. You did your best to avoid using a weapon. You hadn’t killed anybody yet and you didn’t intend to. When the group was under sudden attack, you were always protected by someone. It partially annoyed you. You knew it was because you were the youngest, and because of your gender, and because of your father’s leadership over the group. But just once, you wanted it to be because someone cared about you.

Before long, Glass was attached to a wooden board and hoisted up by the men. They did rotations, each one having to carry a part of the board for a certain amount of time until their hands were numb and their backs started to ache. You tried your best to have your own turn, an attempt to participate in some of the heavy lifting. You grabbed an available corner when it was vacant, but the second your fingers curled around the wood, Fitzgerald stepped up behind you, his broad chest grazing your back. “Leave the heavy lifting to the men, girl.” His hand swatted at yours. You sent him a glare, ready to elbow him and insist you could handle it, but your father summoned you.

“Y/n.” He pointed to the pelts in the center. “Grab some. Let them carry Glass.” His words were dismissive. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of anything and start an argument, he just wanted you to help carry the smaller necessities.

You heaved a noisy, defeated sigh. It was a sound that made Fitzgerald smirk. Poor little princess couldn’t have her way. He took his corner, swiftly lifting his end of the board. He carried it with ease and he didn’t do it to make sure Glass was safe, he did it so they could get a move on. He didn’t want to be stuck out in the open when darkness came.

—

Thursday

Everyone was tired. Their limbs ached and their muscles complained. Each man was stood around the board, the heavy wood was set on the ground, Glass no better than he was a few days ago. Fitzgerald was leant against a rock, his heavy breaths filling the silence that settled between the group. You were stood in the corner with your arms folded and your feet shuffling, listening as the man converse over the fact that the rest of the journey was steep, uphill, and they’d never be able to carry Glass all the way. Your father did his best as Captain to ensure Glass wasn’t mistreated. Some men, Fitzgerald, suggested putting the man out of his misery. That wouldn’t work though. Henry would never be able to pull the trigger. Others suggested the group divide, whoever wanted to carry Glass the longer route home, until his recovery or inevitable death, would be rewarded. Hawk, of course, volunteered to go with his dad. The remaining men were quiet, all waiting impatiently for someone else to speak up.

“I will too.” You said nonchalantly. Every man looked in your direction, amusement sprinkled in their gazes. You? Their eyes said.

Your father straightened. “No.” He said simply before looking back toward the gents, his lifted brows speaking what his lips didnt. ‘Nobody else?’

“It wasn’t a question.” You told your father bluntly before pushing yourself off of the tree and moving toward the block of wood. “You won’t let me help hunt. You won’t let me help spot for ree.” Your brows creased. “And you won’t let me watch the man, let alone carry him.” The frustration in your tone carried over to your eyes, sending them rolling.

Henry turned toward you. His eyes were narrowed and his tone was stern. “I said no. You can defend yourself all you want, it has nothing to do with what you’re capable of, Y/n. You’re my daughter. You don’t get to split up from the group, you weren’t even meant to come in the first place.”

“You either let me go, or pitch a fit when I refuse to tag along with the rest of the group.” You were in your early twenties. You were determined to do this. To prove to your father you weren’t a child. If he didn’t want you volunteering, he shouldn’t have dragged you along.

At your so generous offer to assist in Glass’ remaining days, two more men volunteered. Henry eyed them with a look of uncertainty, positive that they weren’t doing it to be of any help. He couldn’t bear the thought of any of the men being alone with you. Nobody apart from Anderson or Fitzgerald. Anderson was kind to you, always looking out for you. He was like an older brother — or uncle because of the age gap. Fitzgerald, he was annoyed by you, never too eager to spend too much time in such close proximity.

Henry clenched his jaw before twisting toward the pair. “Either of you?” His blue eyes searched the men. “I’ll pay triple.” He frowned.

Hawk shifted. “And my share. They can have my share.” His English wasn’t horrible, but his voice was slurred because of his crying.

You folded your arms across your chest and pushed your tongue into your cheek. Let it be Anderson, let it be Anderson. You begged silently.

Anderson’s eyes shimmered apologetically. “Captain, I have a wife.” He sighed. “And a new babe, I can’t hang about. I have to get home to them.” His hand lifted to pull at the loose strings on his coat, ashamed that he couldn’t be the one to volunteer. But his family.. he missed them. Henry nodded once before looking to the only man left.

Fitzgerald shuffled on the rock. He took a few puffs from the pipe in his hand, smoke surrounding him as he adjusted his spread thighs. He looked toward you before back to your dad. The offer of extra money was incredibly tempting. “Yeah, I’ll do it.” He stood. “But she ain’t comin’ along. She’ll slow me down.” He informed Henry before looking toward you. His heavy footsteps smashed the snow as he departed from the group. Your eyes settled on your dad’s before you twisted on your heel and followed the man. He was climbing down the hill, ready to study the surrounding woods in order to determine which way to head. When he reached the bottom though, he halted at the sound of your soft feet, stumbling along behind him. He could tell it was you, nobody else walked as softly. “Go on back to your Daddy.” He grunted.

“Will you stop being an ass for one second?” You sighed heavily. Stepping around his still form, you came to a stop in front of him. Tilting your head back so you could peer up at his bored expression, your arms folded across your chest.

“I need this, Fitzgerald. I volunteered first. Please don’t fuck this up. I’m trying to get away from him for once.” You told him quietly. The trees stood tall around the two of you, shaking beneath the heavy blows of wind. The trees were like skyscrapers, they’d be the tallest buildings if this were a city. You fidgeted momentarily, waiting for him to speak.

“What will you do?” He grunted harshly. “Carry the pelts? I’ve got shoulders for that. You won’t be of much assistance in carrying the man, so that means I’ll just be babysitting you and guess what,” He paused long enough to rub his pink lips together before he stepped around your small form and began to walk to nowhere in particular. “I don’t want to have the weight of getting my boss’s daughter home safe. You’re not my responsibility.”

Your jaw clenched. Your stomach swarmed with disgust. He was so vile, so rude. You sped along behind him, only halting when you’d moved quick enough to dip in front of him again. Placing your hands on the soft coat he wore, your fingers curled in the fabric, gripping him. “Fitz, please.. I’ll stay out of your way. I can lift a block of wood.” You murmured.

“That ‘block of wood’ is carrying a two hundred pound man.” He growled. The tension around the pair of you was increasing the longer you argued. He studied your features. Your eyes glimmered with desperation and your feet wiggled in the cold snow, pleading for him to change his mind. His eyes rolled to the white sky above. He didn’t know why that last little flicker in your gaze had made him consider saying ‘fine’ but god he spoke up reluctantly after what felt like an eternity. “I ain’t taking frequent breaks. No moaning, no groaning, no complaining. You get thirsty, you wait till we all drink. Hungry, we all eat at the same time.” His hand lifted, finger pointed in your direction. “And we see any Indians, you’d better run like your life depends on it, because I’m not gonna be there to rescue you. You have to be able to hold your own.”

Your head bobbed softly to each of his rules. As if they were anything new.

—

Friday

The days were endless. Time flew by when you had been in a much larger group. The men’s conversations had pulled you in and your father was always close by for you to ramble to when you needed a distraction. The sun would bid the world hello before fading in the distance. Now, it seemed to be glued to the sky, surrounded by the fluffy, white clouds, never ready to fade.

A heavy huff fell from your lips as you adjusted your grip on the wood. Your knuckles were white from how tightly you clutched on to the thing, trying to hold up your end of the block. Glass was asleep, covered by a heavy pelt as you, Hawk, and Fitzgerald carried him through the stream of flowing water. Your father had taken forever to finally let you go, but when he had, he’d told the other men who’d volunteered that Fitzgerald could handle the situation. And he knew, if John became heated or hot-headed, you would cool him down. He didn’t know how, but he knew you were capable.

The water was freezing as it swept across your calves, dragging you harshly with the tide. You stumbled now and then, partially because of the uneasiness that the flowing river left you with, but also because of the large rocks residing beneath your boots. The big, rocky, uneven stones tripped you up every now and then, effectively causing you to nearly drop the heavy weight of the board. Fitzgerald would send you a glare each time you’d let out a soft sound that signified your struggle. You’d then send him a hesitant smile in apology before regaining your balance and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

By the time the four of you reached the land on the other side, the three of you lowered the wood to the snow and set Glass down so you could give yourselves a momentary break. It was harder, with less people to carry each side and no people to swap places with in carrying the man. You heaved a soft sigh, reddened palms pressing against your stomach to try and soothe the burning numbness that lingered. You were still stood in the water, the ice cold liquid licking at your trousers. You shifted, head tilting back in the slightest. It was strange to be completely numb and shivering from how cold it was outside and then also sweating from the heavy-lifting.

Fitzgerald adjusted the cloth tied around his head. Scratching at his irritated flesh, he looked to Hawk, who was checking on his father, before letting his eyes slip to you. He didn’t know why you were still in the river.

“You’re gonna catch your death standing in the water when you don’t need to.” He informed you before taking a slow step forward. He crouched down at the edge of the water and sunk his raw hands under the cool surface. It soothes his red palms, easing the rough skin that was sore from carrying the weighed down wood. You sent him a squint before rolling your eyes and taking a step forward. You were about five steps away from climbing out.

“I’m cooling off. Is that breaking one of your stupid rules?” You inquired, continuing to step toward him. Your steps were slow, knees bending almost all the way to your chest so you could step over the water instead of trying to drag your leg through it. You huffed, shying away in the slightest beneath his unwavering stare. “Don’t you have anything better to do than watch..” Your voice faltered as your foot slid perfectly between two rocks. The stones were close together, the small crevice being a perfect fit for your foot to slip into, but because of your bulky boot, you couldn’t pull it out. Your eyes widened, a sharp gasp escaping you at the shock of being caught.

John lifted a brow. His blue eyes slid from your features to the water, attempting to see through the murky river so he could inspect what had happened, but the rapids were moving too quickly. The water was constantly flowing. He opened his mouth to bite out a cocky reply, but you let out a sharp wince before he could.

“John, my foot..” You whimpered. Dipping your hands beneath the water, you curled your hands tightly in your trousers and pulled harshly at your leg. The current was pushing you, guiding you to wherever it wanted. And with each moment that passed, your ankle was twisting further and further.

At first, as he pushed his palms against his knees so he could stand up straight, he thought you were just messing with him. Maybe trying to lure him into the water so you could shove him down and soak him, but when you lifted your frantic eyes to his, his feet drew him forward. “I can’t see anything.” He sighed, as if this were the biggest inconvenience in his life. Stomping through the water, he stopped directly in front of you before leaning over. His hands pushed beneath the water, skimming your own as he looked for your foot. His left hand found the back of your leg, holding it rather tenderly. You laid your hand on his broad shoulder, steadying yourself as he used his right hand to study the rocks. He was testing to see if they were loose so he could just pull them apart and drag your foot out, but they didn’t budge. “Christ. Leave it to you to slow us down.” He murmured, large hand circling your ankle. He wasn’t aware of the discomfort you already felt, he thought you were just scared. Your hand curled tightly against his shoulder and your eyes pricked with tears instantly.

“John,” Your brows drew together, a pained expression was in place on your face. “My ankle is twisting..” You didn’t want to seem like a baby so you tried to keep your shaky voice steady. He lifted his gaze to you, crouched down much lower than you were since he was trying to wiggle your foot free. He adjusted himself in front of you before looking back down at the water, as if that would help. He slid a little further to the side, doing his best to be discreet as he tried to prevent the water from knocking you around so much.

“Lean on me.” He grumbled. He made sure to let the heavy puff of air leave his lips for a few seconds. He wanted it to be clear that he didn’t care about whether your ankle snapped in half or not, he was only helping because you needed to get a move on.

You pulled your lip in and suckled on it, unsure of how or why he had suggested that, but you didn’t verbally complain. Letting your body hunch forward, your stomach pressed against his shoulder and your arms locked around his neck. He was trying to steady your body so the current didn’t pull you any further to the side. He could tell, as he brushed his thumbs along your ankle, that if it twisted anymore you were going to be fucked. It’d break. His free hand lifted to press against your back, holding you against him as he yanked and tugged at your boot.

“Alright.” He huffed. “You’ve got to lose the shoe.” He murmured. He didn’t give you much of a choice. His fingertips swiftly slid to the laces, pulling them undone in one motion. He held the boot still, shaking it as you pulled your foot out. You let out a groan of discomfort, injured ankle bent behind you and body still slumped against him. It was definitely sprained. You could tell right away. You’d sprained it once before when you were 11 and this pain felt too similar for your liking.

“It’s sprained.” You whispered to him shyly. You weren’t trying to be an inconvenience and you didn’t want him screaming ‘I told you not to come’. You kept your voice soft, light, hesitant. John closed his eyes. He figured it would be. His arms locked around your waist and as if you were a mere grain of snow, he picked you up. The edge of the water was so close and his grip on you was secure — but it wasn’t secure enough. When the pair of you were only a step away from exiting the water, a strong wave came bounding toward the pair of you. This was a stronger part of the stream and Fitzgerald hadn’t been expecting it in the slightest. His grip on you slackened accidentally, but no worry flooded him because he assumed you were close enough to shore. He’d managed to catch his balance, wobbling unsteadily for only a second before he extended his foot and climbed out of the water. His blue eyes drifted to the vacant spot in front of him. Where were you?

Hawk stood, big brown eyes following your body as you twisted in the water and begged for help. The current swept you away, as if you were a feather. Your body rolled with it, unable to stop. You were too far gone, sucked deep into the river’s strong pull. John, with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of, threw off his coat so that it didn’t weigh him down. Nothing could’ve stopped him from getting to you, not even the racing water. His boots thumped noisily against the snow as he took off running along the water’s edge, trying his best to catch up to you as quickly as he could. “Y/n!” The man bellowed, the wind sweeping his voice off in a gust. He watched as you sunk beneath the water, incapable of doing anything. He watched as your hands tried desperately to wrap around a stray rock or a tree branch that extended too far. Everything you touched was just barely out of your grasp. Fear crept inside your stomach and swallowed you whole. You were drowning as the water whisked you away, dragging you directly to the edge where’d you’d plummet along without the waterfall — a hundred feet down. You were choking, gasping, screaming pleadingly as you thrashed. John wanted to tell you to calm down, he was coming, but you wouldn’t be able to hear him over the roaring waves. His cheeks were reddening by the second and his breaths escaped him in loud, heavy pants. They were raspy, accompanied by low grunts. He ran as fast as he could, pushing himself to the point where his legs felt like they were going to give out. He was running out of time and he knew it. Without a second thought, he stepped up on to a nearby rock and leapt into the water. The ice cold river pinched every nerve in his body. It was enough to send him into shock, but the adrenaline that pumped through him forced him to keep going. Why he felt the need to save you — he didn’t know? He could rid of you now, let you drown. But the thought of that made his stomach churn in disgust. He emerged from the water, arms extending and large hands searching for your small body. He was blinded as the water splashed him in the face, current trying to drag him under. Your body was calm, unmoving. You were floating on the top, limp, and he could just barely reach you before you were pulled under. His hand wrapped around your own, tender and secure. He pulled you into him, assuring your head stayed above water even if it meant that he had to go under. He coughed now and then, his free arm doing its best to drag him back to the shore. It took a minute, a very long minute. He used all the strength in his body to grab a nearby rock. And he used the rock to lay his body against so the water was unable to pull the pair of you back into its grasp. He lifted your body up and out of the river, draping you in the snow before he clambered out and knelt at your side.

The world was moving in slow motion for him. He hadn’t realized you meant a thing to him until now, watching as you laid in the bunches of snow, unconscious. His hands lifted, brushing your cold hair out of your face. “Wake up,” He whispered breathily. “Please, wake up, I’ve got you.” He promised before laying his hands on your front. Tearing your coat open, he shivered, the wind doing nothing to help warm him up. His hands brushed along the zip on your second jacket, unfastening it before he set his palms against your chest. He was trying to make sure he put them in the right place, wanting to avoid hurting you in any way. But he had to push, he had to get the water out of your lungs. And with that thought it mind, he began to pump his arms, pushing down on your chest firmly. He counted, one, two, three, before watching as your body jolted with the force of his touch before stilling once more. He knew he would have to use his mouth, his lips needed to press against your own to push air into your body. It made him slightly uneasy, but this was a life or death situation.

John slipped his hand beneath your head, unbothered as your wet strands of hair tangled around his thick fingers. Curling his hand against your scalp, he adjusted your neck before lowering himself down. His lips pressed against yours, your icy, purple lips just the same as his own. His free hand followed the direction of his mouth so he could pinch your nose. His cheeks inflated with the oxygen he pulled into his lungs, before he poured the breaths into your mouth. His lips adjusted against your own, repeating the action once more and then again before he pulled back and pumped your chest. His blue eyes darted along your features, waiting for you to cough and sputter, to spit out the water that clogged your lungs.

His lips covered your own again, hand pressing against your cheek instead of cupping the underside of your head. “Open your eyes.” He whispered pleadingly against your mouth before continuing to blow. It took a few more times before your head jolted up from the cold snow and your body rolled to the side. A mouthful of water escaped you, splattering along the ground as you rolled over and on to your stomach. You clutched a handful of the freezing snow, fingers numbing almost instantly as you coughed. John’s hand was on your waist, stroking it before he brushed his touch around to your back. He tried his best to ensure you were okay.

“Cough it up.” He spoke encouragingly. Your eyes flooded wirh warm tears from the fear you felt. Dropping your head against your arm as you slumped in a curled position on the ground, you shivered with a shaky sob. John slid closer to your small body. He didn’t have any coats to drape over you, his clothes were all wet. “Come here.” But he had body warmth. It was the most he could offer. His arm curled around your waist and without much help from you, he led your body up and slowly pulled you against him. His legs opened, allowing you to curl up in between them. Because of how much bigger he was than you, it was easy for your body to mold against his front and soak up what little warmth he had to give. Your features pushed against his throat, nuzzling into the facial hair that coated his skin. Your arms lifted shyly to slip around his shoulders, holding him as close as possible. You held him for the warmth and to express your appreciation.

—

Saturday

“Sit down.” John pointed to the small space on the board that Glass’s body didn’t cover. You did as he said. You weren’t good with pain and since yesterday, when you’d acquired such a needed injury, you’d been limping along with the group, trying your hardest to mask the grimaces and winces with soft coughs. You knew you’d start crying if Fitzgerald got all fussy and angry at you. You couldn’t handle it when people shouted at you when you already felt vulnerable. This was the sixth break in two hours — time certainly wasn’t on your side. Now the sun faded in the blink of an eye, careless that the four of you were hardly getting anywhere. The sun was setting in the distance, orange glow illuminating your features as you plopped down on an oversized rock as told to do. John crouched down in front of you, thick fingers curling in your wrinkled trousers. He rolled the end up to your calf before cupping your ankle and setting it on his thigh. “It’s still swollen.” He murmured. “Bruise is getting worse already too.” His thumb grazed the soft skin that was fading to a darker shade with every passing minute. “Not much to do about a sprain though, is there.” His blue eyes lifted to your own. He wasn’t trying to make the mood sour, but he was confused on how this job would be completed. He either had to ditch Glass or ditch you. And he couldn’t do that to you. “Least you’ve got a shoe.” He grunted before standing. “Right?”

He towered over you from his new position. Staring up at the bearded bloke, you hmphed softly before staring at your feet. Late the previous night, John had stumbled across a bunch of dead bodies, killed by who or what, he didn’t know. But he’d stolen a shoe from one of the men, so you were clad in your snug boot and an oversized one. “Thank god for that.” You exhaled noisily before pushing yourself up. “Come on. We can’t keep stopping.”

Because of your injury, Fitzgerald and Hawk were forced to tie some worn, torn rope to the ends of the board. They dragged the board through the snow instead of having to carry it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t weighing their backs down. You clumsily followed along behind, doing your best to keep up, but it wasn’t too hard because they were moving quite slow.

—

Sunday

“What did you do!” Your loud exclaim was drenched in disbelief. You’d just witnessed Fitzgerald stab Hawk. The blade was still embedded in the boy, not much older than you. The blood poured from the wound the second the tip pierced his flesh and it was only when John looked toward you that he removed it from his body. Hawk fell to the ground, his breaths loud and ragged. He clutched the front of his chest, his big brown eyes latched on to his father’s as Glass laid there helpless. The wood you’d gathered fell from your arms, clattering at your feet. Your eyes slid between the man’s, studying those big blue orbs for an answer.

“He was yellin.” Fitzgerald informed you. The blade in his hand fell to the snow. The red sprinkled across the white, staining it. Your big eyes fell, following the knife before you looked toward Hawk. You wanted to run to him, to assist him, to try and stop him from bleeding, but John must’ve pierced something important because Hawk already wasn’t breathing anymore. “The Indians are close.” He hissed, dragging your gaze away from the boy. “They’re gonna find us and I don’t know about you, but I ain’t waiting around to see what they’ve got planned.” He hunched over and began to gather his belongings. You couldn’t move. Your small hands fisted, curling against your trousers. Part of you wanted to run and grab the blade, but you’d never have the courage to stab anyone, not even the despicable man in front of you. You were positive he was lying. You didn’t hear any Indians.

Following your doubt, arrows soared through the air, loud and whistling. One flew directly past your head and stabbed Glass directly in the stomach. He was an unmoving target. An easy one. And he was dead the second it hit his chest. He’d already been recovering from a bear attack, he’d just watched his son die of being stabbed, and now, now he’d had to endure the final blow of an arrow. There was nothing you could do for him. Nothing you could do for yourself. Fitzgerald’s lips parted. He had a tough decision to make then.

He could either leave, run now, take the pelts and ditch the three of you in the small space. You were guaranteed to die from the endless amount of ree, shooting the arrows in your direction until you collapsed in the snow, joining the dead men. He could return to the huts, collect his payment, and explain that there was an ambush. Or. The other option was saying fuck you to the father and son duo and taking you with him. You annoyed him. You were nosy. You were stubborn. Opinionated. You were everything he considered leave-able. So when his body carried him forward automatically and he lifted you into his arms — he didn’t know what the hell he was thinking.

That seemed to be a reoccurring thought in the man’s head. And it was driving him crazy.

——————————————————————

A/N: this was only suppose to be one part! But I’m going to do two💛💛

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[nev3rfound]

leaving the guardians - chapter two : b.b

i’m actually pleasantly surprised by the amount of love for this little idea and thank you for the support 

one / part two /  three / four / five / six / seven / eight

“I can’t believe you’ve roped us into this.” Peter sighs as he glances across the table to me. Instead of giving him a quick comment I remain quiet, waiting for the core team to enter the room.

“So these people, they special at all?” Gamora asks as Fury stands before us as we sit around a large table with one handcuffed to a chair leg for our own safety.

Little do they know how easy it is to get out of any kind of handcuff with a bit of practice and having Peter Quill as your brother.

“They’re an elite team of Earth’s most powerful people.” Fury states and Gamora rolls her eyes to me and I try to suppress my smile. “You might wanna straighten up a bit.” He retorts and Gamora shuffles in her seat, her frown remaining adamant.

Before we know it several figures walk through the door. I recognise Steve, Tony and blue eyes trailing behind the rest, his metal arm glimmering beneath the yellow lights. “Sup?” Drax calls out, lifting his free arm up with a smile on his face. 

All of them merely look around to one another whilst I hold back my laugh. “Yeah, Drax I don’t think they’re as friendly as you’re anticipating.” I speak up and Drax sighs, lowering his arm back to his lap. 

Tony steps forward, standing beside Fury as he lowers his sunglasses. “All we want to do is find out more about you guys.” Raising his arms in defence Peter scoffs loudly and Tony raises an eyebrow to him. “Something funny to you Star Boy?”

“It’s Star Lord, actually.” Peter retorts and a loud gruff sounds from amongst the heroes. 

“Lord of Stars? Hardly.” A few heads turn as a large man stands amongst everyone with long blond hair. “A Lord of a patch of grass more likely.” 

“Okay before things get nasty,” I call out, leaning back in the chair as I ignore the dull ache spreading around my wrist. “what if I just tell you guys what’s what?” Looking around Peter shakes his head disapprovingly whilst Rocket hides his head in his paws, well, hands. 

“Nope.” Peter interjects. “Not happening, Y/n.” 

“Oh come on Peter, why not?” I question and he sighs heavily before meeting my gaze. 

“Because you’ll say somethin’ stupid. Tell them something they shouldn’t know about just yet or about the stones.” He mutters the last part, but he was loud enough for even blue eyes to hear in the far corner. 

Twitching I turn away, focusing back on Tony. “If you help my friends fix their ship I’ll stay put, tell you everything you want to know. Deal?” 

Fury, Tony and Steve turn around, heading out of the room, leaving a few of the Avengers to stand watching us as we all avoid one another's glances. “What’s with the rabbit?” The blond haired man speaks up and Rocket groans under his breath. 

“What’s with the hair goldilocks?” Rocket quickly retorts and the man laughs wholeheartedly before nudging blue eyes rather forcefully. 

“I like this one.” 

A short silent follows before Gamora speaks up. “So, you all have names?” The figures before us start to separate and stand in a line as if they were in a lineup, something I know all too well.

The woman with the dark auburn hair clears her throat. “I’m Natasha.” 

Beside her she glances up, smiling to the man beside her who introduces himself as Clint. Following down there is Sam, Rhodey, Thor and lastly blue eyes. 

He struggles to meet anyone's gaze, especially mine as his eyes focus on my hand, the red mark spreading around my wrist. His lips part and he lifts his head back up, his dark brown hair falling back, revealing those bright eyes. “I’m Bucky.” He mutters and Gamora laughs to herself.

“And here I thought you two had strange names.” She kicks Peter and smiles over at me. 

“Well,” Natasha steps forward. “you’re obviously Y/n, that much we know.” I give her a little salute and her frown refuses to budge as she turns her attention around the table. “Rabbit, Drax, Gamora, tree and Star Boy?” 

“Star Lord.” Peter sighs before glancing at all of us, evidently unimpressed. “Why’s that so hard to grasp?” 

“And I have a name.” Rocket shuffles in his seat, standing taller. “I’m Rocket, and that’s Groot.” 

“I am Groot.” Groot mutters and Rocket chuckles to himself.

“That’s hardly polite, but I agree.” He comments and I smile before hearing the door open and the three men re-enter. 

Closing the door behind them Fury pulls out a chair, sitting down as the Avengers follow suit and take a seat around all of us. Bucky moves and sit down beside me, a small smile meeting mine before he averts his attention back to Fury. 

“We’ll take you up on your offer, Y/n.” Fury states and I smile, but he lifts his hand up. “But you’ll need to be monitored at all times.” 

I let out a small laugh. “Is that supposed to be some kind of punishment? What do you think these guys do? Let me wander off?” I scoff and Peter exhales loudly. 

“It’s not a punishment, it’s a security measure. You may have come here with no intention of causing harm, but we don’t know who might be following you.” Lifting my head up I meet Gamora’s gaze, her eyes screaming for me to keep my mouth shut. “We’ll have an Avenger with you at all times, anyone like to volunteer.” 

Looking around I watch as they all exchange glances, and then I watch as his metal arm slowly rises. “I’ll do it.” He speaks softly and Steve smiles over to Bucky. “I mean if you don’t mind the company, doll?” His eyes turn to me and the little hint of an accent makes my heart flutter. 

“Can’t say I do.” I respond, smiling to Bucky before averting my attention back to Fury. 

“That’s settled then. We’ll escort your friends back to their rooms,” Gamora opens her mouth, but Fury lifts his hand up silencing her before she can comment. “actual rooms this time.” He turns to see her closing her mouth. “And will help you fix your ship whilst Y/n talks with us in private.” 

“Sounds fair to me.” I speak up and lift my arms to cross them, but feel the tug instead. “Since we’ve come to a conclusion, can we be released from these handcuffs now? You’re giving me traumatic flashbacks.” 

Tony rolls his eyes before motioning to Rhodey who walks over, unlocking the handcuffs and I grasp my wrist, trying to hide the redness from Bucky's gaze. 

Standing up we all began to depart from the room, I was lead in a different direction from everyone else and could hear Peter yelling. “Hey, sis!” He repeated once again and I turned around, seeing his face soften. “Make us proud.” He smiles and I feel an arm lightly ghosting my back, guiding me away from those I had grown up knowing, the only people I can call family. 

*

After hours of sitting and talking, hoping to explain how things worked for us I felt drained. It seemed no matter how much I told them, tried to explain in simple terms nothing quite stuck. I had drawings, sketches and torn up pieces of paper around the room as I groaned loudly. “Why is it so hard to understand? You’re a team of superheroes!” I state as I motion to Steve, Tony and Bucky behind Fury. 

“True, but we aren’t friends with a talking racoon and tree, Y/n.” Bucky interjects and I raise an eyebrow to him and cross my arms. 

“They have names, you know.” I retort and Bucky sighs before rising to his feet. ���Don’t act like you don’t know ‘em twinkle eyes.” 

Bucky opens his mouth, but no words follow causing Steve to suppress his chuckle that tries to sound. “Anything else you can tell us?” Tony asks, crossing his arms as his eyes zone in on mine. 

All I can hear in the back of my head is Peter, his voice telling me not to say anything. But then again, Peter isn’t here and these guys might like a heads up. “Well, there’s something coming,” I sigh loudly as I compose myself to tell them what I know should remain a secret. “we’re unsure what it is, but we were chasing a ship before we crashed. Whoever, or whatever they are, it’s powerful.” I explain and watch as their gazes flicker from one another, but they keep their expressions vacant. 

“Okay,” Steve is the first to speak up as everyone looks to him. “what can we do to help?” 

I let out a huff before sitting back down. “If you really want to help,” I meet everyone’s eyes, the drive, the passion and determination. “you can help me and my family leave Earth and deal with these things.” 

A groan comes from Bucky as he shakes his head. “Why’d I have a feeling you’d say that, doll?” 

Lifting my legs up I cross them over on the table, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t know what to tell you guys, thems the truth as dear ol’ Dad would tell me.” I roll my eyes at the faint memories of him, knowing he’s not much to miss. 

After a prolonged silence Tony pushes himself away from the desk, rising to his feet. “We’re not going to get any more from her today, might as well leave her be.” He walks out of the room, not even glancing my way before he disappears out of sight. 

“This isn’t over, Y/n.” Steve states before meeting Bucky’s eyes and he nods in response. 

“Come on, doll.” Bucky motions for me to follow him and I rise to my feet, quick to be by his side as we leave the room and wander down endless corridors. 

As we walk neither of us speaks up, Bucky merely keeps his eyes dead ahead, his arms tight to his sides whilst I look around anywhere I can. “How did you end up here then?” I finally break the painful silence and watch as Bucky’s shoulders fall, tension loosening. 

“Me and Steve were best friends as kids,” He mutters. “and some bad stuff happened, I wasn’t a good person and Steve helped me out of it.” 

“Bad stuff happened? What’d you do, rob a bank?” I laugh but his eyes shoot over to me and I stare back. “What? Is that supposed to intimidate me?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not afraid of me?” 

I focus on him as we walk now, observing how he’s clenching his jaw too tight. “Why would I be?” My voice is soft, hoping to ease him out of whatever bubble he’s trapped in. 

“I’ve killed people.” His words cut the air as if I were to run away, back down or hide from him. 

Yet I shrug my shoulders. “Who hasn’t?” I retort and he scoffs lightly.

“But these people didn’t deserve it, they didn’t deserve to die.” Now his voice is getting louder, more powerful as his fists contract. 

“I blew up an entire planet.” I close my eyes, allowing the truth to hover around us. As I open my eyes his hand is resting on my forearm, the two of us stood still in this corridor, no one else to hear the facts I’m not proud of. “They didn’t deserve it, not all of them.” 

“Did you mean it?” His question is cold as I lift my head up, my eyes meeting his as I remain perfectly still, perplexed by his question. 

Never has anyone asked that usually I’m asked why. 

Why did I do it? Why I didn’t try to save the innocents? Why didn’t I try to stop it all from happening?

Slowly, I force myself to nod. “Yes.” I state bluntly, the single word hanging heavy around me. “Sometimes, I wish it hadn’t happened. But I knew if it didn’t, none of us would’ve survived.” As I blink I can see it all now, I can hear their cries for help as Peter is dragging my body back onto the ship. How in my delirious daze I watched the planet disintegrated into nothing, but their screams and cries never left me. 

Tearing my eyes from his I begin to walk. Despite having no sense of direction I walk straight ahead, hoping the sound of my feet against the cool marble will ease their pain that lies behind my eyes. “But you’re not like them,” Bucky speaks up as I hear him lightly jog until he’s by my side once again. “you’re more human.” 

A scoff escapes my lips as I lift my hand up, brushing through my hair. “Maybe it’s because I am human?” I sarcastically comment, hiding the pain that lingers just under the surface, but I can tell he feels it, he’s not ready to move on from this just yet. 

“No, I mean, yes,” He sighs loudly, his shoulders rising as he tenses. “you’re the first person I’ve met who isn’t scared of me.” 

I raise an eyebrow to him as he nods. “Well, as cute as I find your metal arm Bucky, I’m not afraid.” Nudging his flesh arm lightly I watch as a smile plays on his lips. “And whatever anyone else thinks is irrelevant. It’s the opinions of those who care about you the most that matter.” I tell him as I smile to myself, picturing my Aunt telling me just days before I was taken. 

“Are they your family?” Bucky asks and I nod. “Interesting family.” He mutters and I laugh quietly.

“You could say that again,” I mutter to myself. “but after everything, they’ve been there for me. Even if I didn’t want to be at first.” 

“Trust me,” Bucky scoffs. “I know the feeling.” 

Slowly Bucky stops in front of a large white door with a silver frame. He places his hand on the door and it opens before us. “This me?” I question and he nods softly. “Now what?” 

Bucky leans against the door frame as I walk into the most normal looking apartment I’ve seen in years. An actual sink, a sofa that isn’t made out of old wires and a floor that doesn’t hum from an engine. 

As I lift my head I watch his smile grow. “I guess you can relax until Tony calls for you, FRIDAY will notify you.” I nod, barely able to focus as I close my eyes and sit down on the ground, smiling at the quiet, something I haven’t had in a lifetime. “I’ll leave you to it, doll.” 

“Wait,” Standing up I watch as he turns back to face me. “would you mind keeping me company? I’m not good on my own it,” I sigh quietly. “brings back certain memories I’d rather not resurface.” 

“Course,” He walks in, closing the door behind him. “anything for you, Y/n.”

taglist (thank you for the endless support)

 @iheartsebastianstan @vgirl10123 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @hour-to-hourglass

[eddycurrents]

The Crooked Man & Others: “The Crooked Man”

Words: Mike Mignola | Art: Richard Corben | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: The Crooked Man #1-3 | July-September 2008

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 10: The Crooked Man & Others | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 4 | Hellboy: Complete Short Stories - Volume 1

Plot Summary:

In 1958, Hellboy travels to the Appalachian Mountains where he and Tom Farrell try to weather a storm of witches to bury Farrell’s father on consecrated grounds and beat the devil.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is solely in reference to the story itself and is not indicative of anything found within the issues or collections.)

pg. 1 - I love that during this period of Hellboy stories, where Duncan Fegredo became Mignola’s stand-in for the tales set in the present, the main visuals for the past tales was Richard Corben. Corben is a master of horror and weird tales himself and the collaborations with Mignola, Dave Stewart, and Clem Robins on Hellboy legends were gorgeous. Here in the opening, he and Stewart wonderfully set the rich detail of the nature in this story.

pg. 3 - It’s kind of interesting as to how simple the set up is to get Hellboy into the story. Just checking in on a poor girl who’s been hexed.

pg. 5 - Tom Farrell is mostly a stand-in for Manly Wade Wellman’s character Silver John, a veteran with knowledge of the supernatural, albeit without lugging around a guitar. The little bits and pieces Mignola throws in of Hellboy’s past in passing conversation is nice.

pg. 6 - Chekhov’s church being set up here.

pg. 7 - More witch balls confirms their suspicions. I think these ones are pretty interesting, looking more like sea urchins. 

pg. 9 - The empty skin sure is creepy.

pg. 10 - I love the silence before Hellboy goes into asking Tom a question about his past.

pg. 11 - Never trust the naked girl luring you to the devil. Never. Though, to be fair, it’s interesting the parallels to Eve’s temptation of Adam, if Adam were a lustful fifteen year old boy. Sometimes, I wish, though, that they didn’t necessarily trade off a woman’s sexuality as a taboo.

pg. 13 - Corben’s design for the Crooked Man is amazing. Just creepy and frightening all in one. It’s also neat how Mignola weaves in some backstory for the area, building up the lore of the Appalachians by telling another tall tale within this narrative.

pg. 10-15 - I quite like how these flashbacks are presented. Other than the panels with the Crooked Man’s death, there’s really only a minor softening to the colours, but the indication of a flashback is through a simple rounding of the panel border’s corners.

pg. 16 - This raccoon is adorable. Sure, I know it’s Cora Fisher as an animal crawling back into her vacant skin, but adorable little raccoon.

pg. 17 - The death of her husband and her kids does at least make her sympathetic.

pg. 19 - Effie Kolb, on the other hand, just seems nasty.

pg. 22 - The bridle turning Tom’s father into a horse is a pretty neat trick. Horrifying, yeah, and debilitating for Tom to see him that way, but it’s a kind of evil of these witches and the devil that you didn’t necessarily expect. A way to drive a needle into Tom’s side in an unexpected fashion.

pg. 23 - A good set up for the quest up the mountain, and Hellboy’s inclusion.

pg. 24 - I like Tom’s intent on getting Cora free from her deal with the devil. These pretty much never work out, but it’s at least a nice sentiment.

pg. 25 - Tom’s father as a burden that he must carry himself is representative of one of the themes that often appear in these kinds of Americana tales, in that you have to own your own foibles and face the consequences. Lest things turn worse for you.

pg. 29 - This mixture of American folktale, history, and what I believe is largely Mignola’s own invention to give us another little side story is wonderful. It’s always impressive to see him embellish little details into the broader narrative. Also, Corben’s designs for these witches are terrifying.

pg. 30 - That they’re calling Cora by name just adds to the creep factor.

pg. 31 - That the passage of time seems to be affected by the presence of the devil and the evil that’s seeped into the land is interesting as well. That their presence could essentially fix darkness at noon is kind of neat.

pg. 33 - There’s a bit here that you can’t outrun fate, that you still have to pay for the evil that you’ve done.

pg. 35 - Hellboy versus these frogs and bugs makes my skin crawl, just showing how effective the storytelling is. Corben is a master at drawing these creepy crawlers.

pg. 38 - That’s some nightmare fuel. The vision overall, reinforcing the idea that the devil can’t set foot in a church put forth in the first part of the story, again seems to foreshadow something that might occur.

pg. 39 - Clem Robins’ font for Effie’s laughter has a nice haunting effect.

pg. 40 - Even with what they’ve faced so far, I love the feeling of dread that Corben and Stewart instill through the art, just through a simple moon shot.

pg. 42 - This is at least a little comfort. Despite her death, Cora still escaped the clutches of the devil.

pg. 44 - I think it’s interesting in a lot of horror and fantasy fiction that treats witches almost as though they’re a different class of being. That whatever it is that they become, they’re not quite human. At least, not any more. I suppose it could be a way to essentially other them, to make it all right when the heroes in the stories ultimately kill, burn, and/or destroy them utterly during the course of a story. Rather than thinking that someone can be redeemed of their wicked ways.

pg. 45 - Two neat things here: first, Corben’s designs for the witches are nice. Love the variety and detail among them. Second, I like the question of faith and belief in regards to whether or not magic will or will not work.

pg. 47 - The Crooked Man come to collect his due is an amazing visual.

pg. 48 - Wonderful little cut away on how to make a witch ball. This is both hilarious and frightening when you look at that cat closely.

pg. 49 - Just as there’s the idea common in folklore that the devil always tells the truth, there’s a certain logic and fairness to what the Crooked Man is saying. A deal was made, services were rendered, and now he’s here to collect on his end of the bargain. It is ultimately weighted unfairly in his favour, given that the immortal soul is a real quantity in Hellboy, but there’s the idea that he’s not really wrong planted here.

pg. 50 - The idea of a witch siege of a church is different.

pg. 52 - The witches essentially punking Hellboy is funny.

pg. 53 - The reverend not taking any guff from the Crooked Man is one hell of a mood. Also, trying to bribe him in order to get Tom out of the church and off the consecrated ground is really a tell.

pg. 55 - There’s a nice parallel to Job in the reverend’s temptation and acceptance of his tribulations.

pg. 56 - Taking a different approach of raising the dead within the consecrated ground is something new. The Crooked Man and the witches can’t seem to cross, but their magic does seem to still be able to cause things to manifest and change. Which kind of makes you wonder why they don’t just whip up some kind of spell that whisks Tom off to their clutches. You get the impression that maybe he has to willingly give up.

pg. 57-60 - I like that through this we still get an almost standard Hellboy fight sequence. It’s weird with the raised corpses from the church graveyard, but it looks great.

pg. 61 - Cute little young Hellboy. Also, the Crooked Man trying to get to Hellboy through his destiny is definitely going to wind up in a backlash.

pg. 63 - Consecrating a holy shovel sure does beat all.

pg. 65 - Defeating the devil with a shovel, that sure is something. I love how this panel of the strike basically just goes all white.

pg. 67 - Gorgeous panels from Corben and Stewart. Also, time appears to be working again.

pg. 68 - Interesting that despite fulfilling the quest of burying Tom’s father,  they realize that their job’s not done and they still have to really kill the Crooked Man.

Also, that Cora is still there is somewhat sad. You would hope that she’d have moved on.

pg. 69 - The appearance of a stately mansion in the middle of the Appalachians is weird. It just reinforces the idea that the Crooked Man, in life, lived one of opulence and extravagance.

pg. 70 - And his “true” appearance, hoarding his gold, is both pathetic and creepy.

pg. 72 - A humorous and fitting end to Effie Kolb.

Final Thoughts:

In part it was due to giving a lot of lead time to Duncan Fegredo in order to wrap up the present-day Arthurian trilogy in The Storm and The Fury without too incredibly long breaks in between issues, but I quite liked the somewhat parallel approach to the final three volumes of the original Hellboy series and the Plague of Frogs narrative cycle for BPRD. Both features two volumes that focused on the past before diving into the grand finales.

As per his introductory statements to this story, Mike Mignola wears the influence of Manly Wade Wellman on his sleeve. Not just through the feel of the Silver John stories, but the overall feel of his down home weird Americana within the Appalachians. More so than similar stories from Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ambrose Bierce, and Robert E Howard, Wellman’s stories exhibited a kind of matter-of-factness that’s missing from the others. The supernatural and oddities in the world are almost accepted as a given, something as normal as the sun rising, which carries over well into Hellboy stories since Mignola has developed a similar aesthetic. So witches running around as raccoons and devils who appear as a dead, greedy landowner that used to cause problems for the area.

d. emerson eddy has danced with the devil in the pale of the moonlight.

[heather1815]

My little test subject: Chapter 13

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, and chapter 12

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

Warning! This fic contains: Foul language, scenes of torture, use of medical tools, drug use, self-harm, suicidal tendencies, violence, self-neglect, blood, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

Matt narrowed his eyes as he glanced out the window. The days are getting shorter. He observed, taking note of the sun’s position in the sky. And the nights are getting colder. Soon winter will be here. It was hard to believe that it’s been exactly eight months since Tom’s untimely demise. He never would’ve thought he and Edd would be able to cope with the pain they had felt back then; but they are moving on. Slowly, but surely.

“Matt? You alright in there?”

The sound of Edd’s voice coming from his living room snapped Matt out of his thoughts. He opened the microwave and pulled the freshly-made bag of popcorn out. “Coming!” Reaching toward the cupboard, Matt poured the salty treat goodness into a bowl. Before leaving, he stopped by the fridge and grabbed a can of coke. He bought a boxful the day before and left it in his freezer just on the occasion Edd would come over to his place. This will surely keep Edd in a cheerful mood.

“Have you picked a movie yet?” Matt asks, stepping out of his kitchen and into the living room. When he didn’t get an immediate response, his gaze landed on his friend; who is currently sitting on the magenta couch with his legs crossed. He’d invited the brunet over to his apartment in hopes of rekindling their shaken friendship with a casual movie night. Edd was fumbling around with his phone, staring at the screen intently and a little coy smile on his face.

“Edd?”

The brunet looked up startled, almost as if Matt had caught him doing something wrong. “Wha- what?”

Matt jumped back started, careful not to let any of the bowl’s contents spill over. “Whoa easy there!” He laughed, albeit a little uneasily. “I asked if you picked out a film?”

Blinking rapidly, Edd shook his head. “No- sorry. You were taking some time, and I guess I got distracted.” He rubbed the back of his head apologetically. Matt didn’t miss the way the brunet’s eyes flicked briefly to his phone screen.

“It’s fine.” Matt shrugged it off. “What you doing anyway? Are you talking to someone?” He tried to peer closer to get a good look at the phone, but Edd swiveled out of his range of sight.

“It’s nothing.” Edd replied briskly. He must’ve realized how odd his reaction was, and immediately relaxed and added with a sigh. “It’s just some prompt requests and offers. Nothing tremendously exciting.”

“Oh right, yeah…” Matt chuckled half-heartedly, trying to lighten up the mood again. He sat down next to Edd on the couch, setting the bowl of popcorn between them. “How’s the- how is the art coming along?”

Breathing an exasperated sigh, Edd stuffed his phone away and leaned back on the sofa. “Not very good.” He admitted. “I haven’t been able to draw anything worthwhile for some time now. I just can’t find any motivation to do so.”

Matt patted him on the back and offered his friend the coke. “Ah cheer up! Maybe all you need is something to relax over and refresh your head.” He reassured. “A good movie afternoon with some snacks will surely do the trick!”

Edd regarded his words and smiled. “Guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am!” Matt laughed. “Just you wait, you’ll be back to drawing in no time.” He clasped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. “Now; what are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road!”

He handed Edd the remote control for the TV. They started flicking through the various movies available, searching for something they’ll both enjoy.

“We’ve watched plenty of horror films in the past. How about an animated one for a change?”

“Sounds good to me!” Matt agreed enthusiastically, grabbing a handful of popcorn and stuffing it all into his mouth.

They navigated through the large selection of movies displayed on-screen, occasionally expressing their thoughts to each other whenever they pause by a possible choice before moving on with their search. Being a lover of all things animated, Edd isn’t picky when it comes to animation. He has some preferences, sure; but he isn’t about to turn up his nose if a particular style doesn’t appeal to him. He likes cheap, crappy horror movies for Christ sakes, his taste isn’t exactly refined!

After nearly half an hour of browsing and discussion, they eventually settled with a stop-motion flick. It was on Edd’s watch list since it first came out, though he never got around on actually watching it, and Matt was a sucker for the awkward movement and, in the ginger’s opinion, “cutesy” animation. So they shrugged their shoulders, decided “why not?” and selected it for their afternoon movie section.

Edd pressed play, sat back, and took a sip of his cola as the logos came on screen.

After what he’s been through lately, watching a film with Matt of all things really never crossed his mind. Probably because it seemed so mundane and… out of the norm from how he usually spent his days. Moping around, and doing nothing particularly exciting with his time until night fall. Mostly because all his attempts of performing tasks that usually brought some sort of emotion out of him, whether it be a positive or negative one, was replaced with empty numbness despite Edd’s best efforts to cope.

They duo sat there, watching the movie play out in silence, save for the occasional comment here and there and the sound of munching popcorn.

About twenty minutes into the film, when the main character was attempting to converse with their dead relative for guidance before being chased down by evil ninja-witches, and Edd’s attention was fixated on the screen with interest; loud noises could be heard coming from right outside of the apartment. Although obnoxious and kind of distracting, Edd didn’t pay them much mind.

Just lousy neighbors. He figured dismissively, eating more popcorn. They’ll leave soon enough.

However, the sounds hadn’t eased- quite the opposite happened, in fact. The noises coming from the hallway outside only grew louder in frequency, followed by voices that weren’t even trying to keep their tone down.

Edd shifted in his seat with clear discomfort. He debated with himself whether he should go out there and outright tell them to be quiet, or try his best to ignore and pay attention to the film. He shot a questioning glance at Matt, wondering what he preferred but the ginger didn’t turn to look at him as he raised the volume of the TV to its highest setting.

Upon closer look, Matt seems uncharacteristically stiff and rigid for some reason.

Edd brushed his doubts away, and turned his attention back to the screen. He tried his best to focus on the movie but every time he felt even slightly immersed in the story and characters, his mind would drift away back to the noises. A familiar tingle of dread made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but Edd couldn’t tell why. Something in particular about the voices outside set this feeling off in him, however he could not put a finger on it for the life of him.

The loud bumps and knocks that accompanied them didn’t help matters.

Growing increasingly restless, and unable to keep his curiosity down and neither the alarm bells ringing in his head; the brunet finally conceded.

“The hell do you think the neighbors are up to out there?” Edd prompted with feign nonchalantness as he took a sip of his beverage.

“Meh, who knows?” Matt shrugged indifferently while grabbing a chunk of popcorn. “Probably nothing exciting.”

Edd wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He couldn’t help the lingering suspicion that Matt might be hiding something from him, and it might be connected to the neighbors out there in the hall.

A tremor coming from his pocket jolted him out of his thoughts. Taking the phone out, Edd read the message.

(RF): So can you make it tonight?

He went to unlock the phone in order to reply when his eyes briefly flickered over the date displayed above the message:

Friday, 6th of July.

There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary for this date. However, something seemed to finally click into place in his head. The loud noises outside. The neighbors who wouldn’t stop talking. Matt’s stiff posture. It all made sense now.

It’s moving day! Edd deduced with a start. The people making so much noise are our new neighbors; and they are moving in to the apartment next door. Tom’s apartment. His posture deflated with a pang of sadness when he realized what it meant, but quickly brushed it off. He shouldn’t feel sad- he already knew this was happening one way or another, and leaving the apartment vacant to gather dust won’t change the fact that Tom is dead. It’s best to put it to good use for someone who actually needs a place to live.

Even if it meant-

Edd grimaced at the following thought.

Even if that the person leaving in the mornings to check the mail wasn’t his grumpy, eyeless friend; Edd knew this was the best course of action to take.

He breathed out a heavy sigh. Taking a second glance toward his orange-haired friend with this new information in mind, it’s no wonder Matt looks so stiff and uncomfortable. He thinks I’ll get upset if I figure out what’s really going on out there. Edd resisted the impulse to bristle at the insinuation that he may be too emotionally weak to think rationally. He couldn’t hold this against Matt. Tom was still kind of a sore topic to touch upon whenever he was mentioned between them, and Matt was just doing what he thought was best in his own anxious way. Edd can’t really fault him for that.

A loud bump disrupted his thoughts. Edd shifted his focus to the noises coming from the hallway, trying to hear what they were saying. Funny enough, the voices stirred an itch of familiarity within him; though he couldn’t quite place it. He’s definitely sure he heard these voices before… but where?

Edd shook his head. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this, and he is fairly sure he lost some pivotal plot points from the movie. “Alright, that’s it.” He jumped to his feet.

Matt looked up at him, startled. “Where you’re going?” He asks worriedly through a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’m going to tell our neighbors to pipe down. They are making too much noise, and I can barely hear what’s going on in the film.” The brunet crossed the short distance between the couch and the door.

“Wait, Edd! It’s fine- really!” Matt cried out, scrambling from his seat to try and reach out for him. “I- I don’t wan- I don’t really mind the noise all that much. I can try to-”

“Matt!” Edd abruptly cut him off, an edge of impatience in his voice.

The ginger instantly clamped his mouth shut, and fixed his worried blue gaze on his friend. Realizing he sounded harsher than he’d intended, Edd shot him an apologetic glance over his shoulder; his posture sagging as he released a tired sigh.

“It’s fine, Matt.” He tried again, this time with a much softer tone. “I mean it, really. I know what’s going on and you don’t need to hide it from me anymore. It’s okay!” Matt ducked his head down in shame, his gaze downcast. When he lifted his eyes again, Edd was surprised to see sorrow and guilt brimming in his friend’s stare. It honestly unnerved him in a way. What’s the big deal?

Figuring Matt was just upset he got caught trying to keep things from him; Edd shrugged it off as him simply being overly emotional.

“I know things haven’t been exactly the same between us since… you know. But you don’t have to keep every little thing that has to do with Tom a secret from me.” Edd continued uneasily. “I know you mean well, but I am not unstable. We’ve discussed about renting out Tom’s apartment, and I might’ve been upset at first, but we both agreed it was the best course of action to take.” He grabbed the door handle as he spoke.

Matt’s eyes widened. “Wait, Edd-!”

“Calm down, it’s fine.” The brunet opened the door just a crack. “I’m just going to tell the neighbors to quiet down a little, nothing worth so much drama. Maybe greet them into the complex while I’m at it.”

“That’s not what I-”

“I won’t lash out at them over this. You worry too much, I’m telling you it’s fine!” Edd insisted. He opened the door before Matt could make another protest, and he peered out into the hall.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know you guys are new but could you please keep the noise down a bit? We’re trying to watch a movie and-”

He froze. His words instantly dying out on his tongue when he saw two men he had never thought he’d see again standing before him; their belongings scattered around the hall whilst in the process of moving to their new apartment.

One of them was leaning back on the door frame of an apartment on the opposite side, sipping on a can of coke- diet coke, Edd noted with vivid disgust; while the other man was half-way through removing their belongings from a crate. They don’t appear to have changed much since the last time they’ve seen each other.

Edd stared at them in disbelief. After all the crazy adventures he’d gone through, he had thought nothing else could shock him, but for a heartbeat he forgot how to breathe.

Staring curiously back at him, both looking perplexed and mildly confused, were none other than Eduardo and Mark.

“Eduardo?”

“Loser-? I mean- Edd?!” Eduardo blinked at him in disbelief. “You live here?”

“Uhhh, yeah?” Edd answered, highly uncomfortable with the situation that he’s gotten himself into. Edd isn’t exactly sure what their current stances are now. Are they still rivals? Are they… cool now? It’s hard to tell after a whole year of not seeing each other. Doesn’t help that the last time they crossed paths ended up being a terrible tragedy for both groups. “What- what are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?” Mark retorted, dusting his hands as he settled the crater down. “We’re moving in, of course.”

Edd’s blood ran cold, and he gulped apprehensively. What did he expect? There is literally no other reason why they would be here now, today of all days, with their stuff all over the place. After a second to recompose himself he prompted. “You- you two are sharing the flat together?”

“What? No. There isn’t enough space for the two of us in one apartment.” Mark clarified, surprising Edd with his assertiveness.

In the past, Eduardo had always been the more vocal one of the group. But now the dark haired brunet was just standing in silence with his favorite beverage in hand, his face giving nothing away.

“Eduardo’s taking the vacant apartment adjacent to yours, while I’ll be living in the one across from his. Simple as that.”

Though he’d already guessed, hearing his suspicions being confirmed out loud only made his blood run cold with dread; chilling him to the core. Out of everyone in this town looking for a place to live, Edd internally winced. Why did it have to be Eduardo of all people to move in Tom’s apartment?

Sensing anguish welling up fast inside his chest, Edd decided it was best to end this interaction immediately. It’s bad enough running into them when he wasn’t even sure what their relationship is; he doesn’t need the humiliation of showing vulnerability in front of them on top of that.

“That’s, uh, great I guess.” He choked out stiffly; attempting to clear his throat to mask the uneasiness that he felt. “I’ll be heading back inside now. Sorry for interrupting.”

He was half-way behind the door when Eduardo called to him.

“Wait, Edd.”

Edd stopped, but didn’t step out again. Instead he merely peeked from the remaining gap of the door, his heart growing colder by the second. He could hardly stand to look at the other man. He’s always so cocky and arrogant and pleased with himself. . . . He recalled with nagging frustration.

Then Edd realized that he seemed different now from how he had been before the incident. He hasn’t made a single snarky remark to me… yet.

“We heard what happened to your friend.” Eduardo murmured, seeming uncertain of his own actions. It was weird to see the usually brash and arrogant man be so hesitant and act sympathetic. But he held a look of genuine sadness in his eyes. Edd grit his teeth at the indirect mention of Tom. You weren’t supposed to know about that! “I’m sorry.”

Edd stared at him, unsure how to respond. He tried to choke out a “Thank you” because he knew that was what he was supposed to say. But his throat felt as if it was full of ash, and his grief rose until he felt it might burst out of him.

Still, he kept his emotions in check. His eyes blurred with sadness, Edd only gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement and headed back inside.

The door clicked shut behind him and his strength vanished, leaving only a familiar numbness that he’d grown so accustomed to the past days. Edd’s shoulder’s sagged and his gaze was downcast.

“Edd?”

He looked up at the sound of his name. Matt was still sitting on the couch, movie paused, his knees hugged to his chest with his face half-hidden as he stared at Edd with wide dismayed eyes. “Are you okay?”

Edd’s mind was whirling. He couldn’t think beyond this moment; he only suspected his best friend’s involvement in the situation. He narrowed his eyes. “Did you know?”

Matt let out a long sigh, closing his eyes briefly as if he had to nerve himself for what he was about to say. The he faced Edd again.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but there was never a right time.” His blue eyes were seared with guilt.

In other words; you were afraid to make me upset. Edd couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his thoughts. Although he appreciates the sentiment, he would’ve appreciated more if he’d been warned ahead of time to better handle the situation. Doesn’t Matt know by now that keeping things from me don’t make them go away, but make them worse?

Edd took a deep breath. “Why did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Matt prompted, clear confusion evident on his features.

“About Tom!” Frustration made Edd hiss through gritted teeth. “Why did you have to tell them what happened?”

“I didn’t!” Matt’s eyes were genuinely mystified, and Edd realized the ginger was telling the truth; he hadn’t revealed Tom’s terrible fate to their so called former rivals. “The landlord must’ve probably mentioned to them or something. I would never say something so personal to those guys! I promise!”

For a moment that lasted a heartbeat or perhaps a full minute, Edd simply stared at him. Tension easing off his shoulders, Edd finally decided to relent and spare Matt from further distress. He looked away and sighed; running a hand through his hair as he went to sit back on the couch.

“Edd?”

“I’m fine, Matt. Just press play on the movie.” Edd leaned back with arms crossed over his chest. He kept his gaze on the screen, but could still sense the ginger’s gaze on him.

He heard Matt sigh in defeat and the film resumed; though neither of them appeared to be paying any real attention to the rest of it, now that tension was thick in the air between them.

Edd stared at the screen blankly, admittedly enjoying the aesthetic of the animation but never getting quite sucked in to what’s going on; when a slight tremor coming from his pocket caught his notice.

Edd pulled out his phone to see another message, realizing with a start he’d forgotten to reply to the message before.

(RF): Eddie?

(RF): Oi! Don’t leave me hanging bud!

He began to type back, glad to have something to distract him from the awkward occurrence that he’d just gone through.

(EG): Sorry!

(EG): Got kind of sidetracked…

(EG): But yeah, I can make it!

An instant reply popped on screen.

(RF): Splendid! :D

(RF): Same time and place sounds good to yah?

(EG): Yup

(RF): Great!

(RF): Till then

Edd closed his phone with small grin, feeling moderately better than he did now that he has something to look forward to at the end of the evening.

(Meanwhile…)

Wind swept across bleak and icy mountains, carrying with it flurries of sleet. Dark clouds blocked out the sun entirely from view, casting the landscape in shadows that only subsided for a split-second by the occasional flash of lightning that ripped through the sky.

Patrick stood firmly still amidst the storm, umbrella in hand, as he watched the soldiers work about the runway. His eyes squinted against the heavy rain and the strong, howling winds buffeting both his hair and uniform wildly in the air.

A pair of white lights appeared in the distance, heralding the approach of a helicopter. The steady sound of the rotating blades reached Pat’s ears above the clamor of the storm, and before long, the aircraft itself came into view.

He observed in silent anticipation as the helicopter neared the helipad. One of the soldiers stood right in front of it, acting as a marshall, and used the glowing batons in each hand to signal the aircraft forward to land.

The helicopter’s door slid open before the craft could even fully touch the ground, and a figure jumped out, seemingly not caring about the horrible weather he exposed himself to. If anything, he appeared to relish the freezing sting of the gale and rain against the injured side of his face.

“Home sweet home.” He sighed contently.

“Welcome back, Red Leader.”

Patrick greeted him with a courteous dip of his head, extending the umbrella over his leader’s head to shelter him from the rainstorm. “It’s good to have you back, sir. Hope you had a pleasant flight despite the dreadful weather.”

“Indeed.” Tord regarded his surroundings with a wistful glance.

After having to travel to four different bases in a matter of months, dealing with the idiocy of some of his soldiers and putting them back in line, Tord had longed to return home and resume his work on more important matters that actually deserve his time and attention.

He raised one hand and flicked his fingers, signaling for the soldiers who had been accompanying in the helicopter to move out. The soldiers exited the aircraft at his silent order, bringing with them a sealed tight crate. It was labeled “confidential” on the side with big letters, and etched in red.

“Should I know what is it that you got there with you, sir?” Patrick inquired, his gaze following the mysterious box with curious intent as the soldiers carried it inside.

“All in good time, Pat.” Tord smirked. “Although frustrating at times, my time away has also been very fruitful. I managed to gather information that will prove to be most pivotal for our research.”

And that’s all he would say in the matter.

Tord headed for the hangar’s exit, Patrick following right behind him, walking at a brisk pace. The Red Leader, although acknowledging the presence of his soldiers with a curt nod as they walked past him, barely paid them any mind. He has more pressing affairs to attend to, and he was eager to see his test subject’s development up close after being gone for so long.

“So, how’s subject #1826 doing?” Tord brought it up as soon as they got into the elevator, and out of earshot from the other Red Army members.

Patrick shot him a side-glance as he pressed the -3 button. “I thought you already knew the answer to that by now. We have been updating his progress all along after all.” He said, closing the umbrella and letting it lean on the side of his leg.

“Yes, well, the last update you sent me was nearly a month ago and I want to know all the precise details.” The Norsk stated, a hint of impatience edged in his voice. “Did he behave?”

“Yes, sir. He behaved exceptionally well in your absence.” Pat replied. “Perhaps you should consider leaving again to keep on Tom’s good graces?” He teased, a small smirk forming on his face.

“Oh ha ha! How clever of you!” Tord fake-laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes. “Astounds me how you didn’t become a comedian instead of working in this dump.” He paused, his tone softening. “Still; it’s good to know he wasn’t being difficult with either of you.”

Sighing, he ran one hand through his partially wet bangs. “How is he otherwise?”

Patrick shifted his feet. “His physical condition has improved drastically since we first acquired him. His body mass and weight are back to normal measures, all his injuries have healed, and there is no trace of sickness in him. Truly, he is in the best shape possible and I think you’ll be glad with the end result.”

“Is Paul putting him through more advanced exercises now that Tom’s faring better?”

“Yes; and I believe they are in gym as we speak, sir.” Pat continued. “We also altered his diet plan. We are serving him three meals a day, with small lunch breaks in between like fruits or crackers.”

“And his mental condition?” Tord pressed.

Pat’s gaze drifted away. “I’m not entirely sure. Thomas is very closed off, and it’s hard to read him.” His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against one of the elevator walls.

Tord blinked at him with surprise. For the first time in a long while, perhaps because he hadn’t seen the Polish soldier in months, Pat looked genuinely tired.

“Pat?”

At the sound of his name, the Red Army general immediately composed himself with a tiny shake of his head. “Mentally; the results are still inconclusive. I need to perform a few more sessions to be sure.”

Tord regarded him for a moment longer.

“You think he might be ready for the experiments?” He demands. His eyes narrowed.

“Soon; but not yet, sir.” Patrick responded, clearing his throat. “Since we don’t know much about the serum’s nature, we have no way of knowing if it has any correlation to the subject’s brain activity.” He went on. “If were to start the experiments on Tom with the slightest chance of him being unstable, we have no idea how well that would translate with the serum.”

Tord looked at Patrick and solemnly nodded his line of reasoning. “Very well.” He conceded.

“Also-” The General added hastily. “The shipment of the purple stuff you ordered from our suppliers arrived last month. I took the liberty to store it in the lab for your use when the time comes.”

“Did Tom see it?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Good.”

The elevator’s doors slid open. Patrick stepped out; expecting his leader to do the same, but glancing back over his shoulder the Norsk remained unmoving.

“Aren’t you heading for your office?” Pat suggested. “Being gone for so long, I thought you’d be dying to return to your quarters.”

“Later. I want to check Thomas’ progress for myself first.” Tord answered briskly. He was restless to see Tom again, and how much he’s changed. “Contact me should you need anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

They both nodded curtly and the lift’s doors closed.

Alone in the elevator now, Tord raised the palm of his robotic hand and placed it over the panel in the wall where a scanner is situated next to the buttons. It is meant to read soldier IDs for clearance reasons. Not everyone is allowed to take the elevator, and some floors are off limits; especially the -5 level, where the serum experiments are being held in.

The scanner read the small screen that his palm displayed, and the confirmation sound rang above him. Tord pressed the button and leaned back as the lift set in motion once again. He was absolutely ecstatic to see the progress his test subject had made.

(Meanwhile…)

Breathless and sweating profusely, Tom sprinted as fast as his tired body would allow. He panted but kept on running despite his body’s pleas to stop. His heart was hammering against his chest so hard that Tom felt as if it lodged against the bottom of his throat, and nearly suffocate him. Blood roaring loudly in his ears.

He leaped over the obstacles standing in his path smoothly, regardless of his rapidly decreasing energy. Tom’s mouth felt parched, and it was tough to swallow. He was tired, and yearned for a pause to rest; yet the exercise felt rejuvenating to his being.

Using one last surge of strength in him to make it through the end of the lap, Tom pelted for the finish line. He felt eyes following his movements as he did so, and Tom risked a quick side glance to the far right of the tracks where Paul was standing. Although brief, he accidentally made eye contact with the Red Army commander; the latter even giving him an encouraging nod and a flashed a little, friendly smile.

Tom snapped his focus back to running, shaking his head dismissively. The world seemed to slow down despite his speed, and everything turned a shade darker. A sudden weight manifested on his back and coiled around his shoulders, like a snake constricting against its prey. Tom resisted the instinct to flinch when he sensed a cruel pair of sharp hands press up against his jugular.

“Don’t be fooled. ~” The voice hissed in his head. “You know they are after only one thing, and that’s why they are treating you so decently. ~” It reminded him sternly. “It’s all a ruse. Nothing more than an act for you to let your guard down. But now that you are onto them, they’ll start to get desperate to regain your trust. You better not forget that! ~”

I won’t.

The voice vanished; allowing him the chance to complete the rest of the circuit.

Upon crossing the finish line, Tom skidded to a halt and hunched over to his knees, panting to catch his breath. His forehead was coated with sweat and his face was flushed red with heat.

“44 seconds!” Paul exclaimed, pressing the stop button on his stopwatch. “You are 8 seconds slower than last time; but considering this is your fourth lap today, I say it isn’t all that bad.”

Tom did not respond. He was too busy catching his breath back to his lungs to properly process the results.

“Think you can do 2 more laps?” Paul prompted, handing him a water bottle.

Tom snatched it out of his hand, still not speaking, and tipped the bottle into his mouth. A little bit more desperate to quench his thirst than he’d intended to, he drank the water clumsily and some of it dribbled down the corners of his lips and dripped off his chin and onto his sweaty shirt.

“Sure.” He finally answered, breathless. “Just uh- just give me five minutes or so.”

“Still having the lungs of a pug, I see?”

The unexpected, and yet familiar voice made Tom stop mid-swig and choke on the water. Spitting out what remained in his mouth, Tom looked up with wide eyes; thinking perhaps it was just the voice playing another prank on him. But there was no dark haze clouding his vision, and no ghostly limbs holding him. Not to mention the speaker sounded smooth and cool. Sure enough, Tom’s fears were confirmed when his gaze landed on the imposing figure standing by the gym’s entrance. A coy smirk was plastered on the man’s face, hands folded neatly behind his back, and his one visible eye was glinting with what appeared to be a mixture of enthusiasm and interest.

Paul instantly straightened himself and saluted the Norsk as he strolled into the room. Tord acknowledged his commander with a nod as he approached, before turning his attention to Tom. “Hello, old friend.”

A wave of dread and resentment spiked through Tom at the sight of the Norwegian man. He narrowed his eyes. “F#ck, you’re back already?”

“Thomas! Is that any way to greet your leader?” Tord pretended to gasp, his eye sparkling with amusement.

“You’re not my leader, much less my friend.” Tom growled.

The Red Leader did not respond to his remark. Tord stepped closer to him, his gaze raking over the Brit with interest. Patrick wasn’t kidding when he said Tom made a full physical recovery. The test subject who had arrived in the base underweight, sickly pale, and gaunt all those months ago has made a miraculous improvement.

Tord began to circle him, taking a closer and more detailed look at him.

Tom’s skin tone took a healthier hue despite not getting any sunlight, and his frame is no longer frail bone and skin. He wasn’t wearing any bandages, and Tord could see that most of the bruises were healed except for a few faint scars. He’d developed a good mass of muscles too; most notably on his arms and torso. His legs and thighs have also grown sturdy and fit from the exercises, and the dark bags that had accentuated his eyeless sockets have disappeared. Despite being a sweaty mess right now, Tom looks generally better than he did since the last time they saw each other. The pictures certainly didn’t do him enough justice, and Tord was all the more glad he took his time to see Tom’s development for himself.

On his part, Tom was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the lack of personal space between him and the Norsk, and the intense gaze roaming his body didn’t make it any better. He kept his attention on Tord as he circled him, making sure to keep the Norwegian man on his line of sight at all times. Tom did not enjoy the way Tord was looking at him, and he found himself glaring at the man pacing around him.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” Tord murmured under his breath, nodding in approval as his gaze wandered Tom’s form from top to bottom, and back up again one last time. His gaze eventually settled on Tom’s unique black eyes, and he cocked his head to one side with a tiny smirk. “I see the life of a soldier is treating you quite well.”

Tom turned to him fully and narrowed his eyes. “Uh, I think you mean the life of a test subject? At least that’s the official term from what I’ve heard?” He pointed toward the number tag on his shirt, as if to prove his point. “Still; can’t say the same for you.” He gestured to the burned side of the Norsk’s face.

“Anyways, where were you before I interrupted?” Tord quickly changed the subject, and switched his attention to Paul; seemingly ignoring Tom’s comment altogether.

Prick. Tom fumed irritably, taking another sip of his water bottle. Commie’s been here for five minutes, and he is already grating on my nerves.

“I’m having test subject #1826 run laps around the tracks, sir.” The Red Army Commander reported, showing him the timer on the stopwatch.

Tord eyed the numbers with a critical eye. “Decent, but I wouldn't go writing home about it.” He hummed pensively. “Mind if I stay and watch? It would be a good way to learn where his strengths and weaknesses lie for when I begin his training.”

“Training?!”

For the second time that day, Tom spat out his drink. He wiped his face clean with the back of his hand, and shot the two soldiers an incredulous look. “What training? What are you talking about?”

The Red Leader pinched the bridge of his nose with sigh, his lips quirked upward in the form of a small grin. “Oh Tom, you mean to tell me you haven’t pieced it together?” He teased. “I know you’re dense, but surely you must’ve suspected something out of the intense exercises we put you through? All of this isn’t just for the sake of keeping you fit, you know. If that were the case, I would just have you running on a treadmill with a bottle of Smirnoff hanging on the other end and it would probably work just as well!”

“The hell you talking about?”

“What do you think? You are going to be a soldier, Tom.”

Tom froze with shock at his words. He felt as if he’d been hit in the chest by a ten-pound sledge hammer, and was standing there stunned and staring in disbelief at the f#cker who assaulted him. For a second, Tom hoped he just imagined or misheard what Tord said; however, judging by the clear satisfaction on the Norwegian’s face it was evident he’d heard correctly.

Anger soon replaced shock, and Tom clenched his fists with a scowl. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to say. What? Why? F#ck? No? Uh? Knowing he would make a blunder of himself if he attempts to speak, Tom resorted to follow his most basic urge at the moment.

He flung the water bottle at Tord’s face.

Foreseeing his moves, the Red Leader effortlessly caught it mid-air before it could strike him. Tord felt Paul shrink back in shock beside him, looking back and forth between him and Tom anxiously; anticipating the situation to escalate any moment now. But Tord was calm- in fact, he was amused by the eyeless man’s antics.

He looked at the bottle in his hand, then turned back to Tom. “I’ll let it slide, this time.” He warned.

His comment seems to stir Tom’s fury further, and the Brit marched up to him stiff-legged until they were practically nose to nose. “No. There’s absolutely no f#cking way I will ever be another one of your stupid soldiers!”

Tord frowned. “Your future is non-negotiable at this point, Thomas.” He pointed out matter-of-factly. “You signed your life over to the Red Army when you took the deal, remember?”

“To be a test subject for your stupid plans. That’s it. I didn’t know about this garbage when I agreed!” Tom snarled.

“Admittedly, at the time this wasn’t part of my plans either. But after giving some thought on the situation, I realized it’s the best course of action for you.” Tord reasoned coolly. “We can’t afford to transport you out in the middle of the battlefield. What’s the point of a super-secret weapon if it’s impractical? You’ll be of much better use in the front lines, where you may shift if we ever need to turn the tides of battle to our favor.”

Tom stumbled backward, hardly believing what he was hearing. Being the commie’s test subject was bad enough; but now he wants him as a soldier too? Tom shivered in disgust at the thought of being just another one of Tord’s stupid, brainless, and obedient pawns. The image of wearing the ridiculous red and blue uniform made him nearly visibly retch.

From the sidelines, Paul stepped closer to them. “Sir, I sincerely urge you to reconsider.” He spoke up. “All Red Army members joined by choice, and Thomas should get the same rights as they did.”

Tom glanced at him in surprise. He wasn’t expecting Paul to jump to his defense against his own leader’s judgement. However, Tom was quick to crush any presumption that Paul was doing this out of some resemblance of care he may have for him.

Tord turned to his Commander with narrowed eyes. “I already gave him the choice to join us, and he did so willingly.” You forced me into it you prick! Tom bristled at the reminder of the threat put over his friend’s lives. “I don’t see why I have to give him a second chance if he’s already part of our organization anyway.”

Paul shook his head, looking troubled. “Pat’s not going to like that, sir.”

“Then Pat can discuss this with me himself.” Tord retorted through gritted teeth, his patience running thin. Paul sighed in defeat, dipping his head toward his leader and stepping away again.

A sudden pressure increased inside Tom’s head and his gaze darkened. “Shouldn’t you be happy? You’re getting promoted from lab mutt to loyal hound! This is the greatest thing you will ever achieve in your miserable existence. Might as well commit to the position. ~” The voice commented ponderingly with a hint of a chuckle, patting his head forcefully. “Or… you should take this as a bigger incentive to go through with your plan. Whichever you prefer. ~” The hand patting his head grabbed a hold of his scalp, sinking nail like claws into his skull and pulling hard. Tom winced. “Vacation is over! Time to start acting, or else! ~” The heavy weight constricting his brain seemed to uncurl and release him, and his vision dimmed back to normal.

“Now then, if there aren’t any further arguments perhaps we should resume with your exercises.” Tord clasped his hands together, straightening his posture and with his chin raised to assume a more authoritative appearance. His one gray eye gleamed back at Tom mockingly, as if daring him to challenge his power.

Tom glanced back at him, muscles still stiff with outrage- or maybe it’s just from all the exercises he’s done so far. He wanted to argue. He wanted to keep on defying him for every little thing, and throw insults at the commie’s face. But what’s the point of any of it anymore? Not give Tord the satisfaction of obeying him? You would think with the constant desire to die floating around in his head, he would have gotten better on his priorities, but evidently not. Tom’s rivalry with Tord is not something easily brushed over no matter what circumstances they’re in.

Mustering all his self-control, Tom simply sighed and nodded briskly. “Fine.” He begrudgingly relented.

Catching Tom’s gaze, Paul cleared his throat and nodded solemnly. “Two laps.”

Tom took a deep breath and walked over to the starting point, well-aware of the Norsk’s gaze following him. He took position; standing with his feet about shoulder-width apart with his right leg just behind the starting line- and waited for Paul to give the signal.

From the corner of his vision, Tom could see Tord standing off to the side of the tracks next to Paul. Tom elected to ignore his presence, and pretend he wasn’t currently in the same room as him; or that he was standing in such a close proximity of the Norwegian man. He caught a glimpse of Tord’s robotic arm and remembering what happened the last time he’d been present on his physical evaluation, Tom stared at the device intently- silently urging it to glitch again to get Tord out of the room. It’s times such as these Tom wished he’d been given psychic powers along with the rest of his gifts.

“And… go!”

At the signal, Tom pelted away at once as Paul pressed start on his stopwatch. Tord watched Tom race through the tracks, his gaze pinned on the eyeless man as he leaped over the obstacles at a decent speed.

Not taking his eyes off the test subject, Tord addressed his Commander. “Anything unusual happened while I was gone?”

“Unusual, sir?” Paul echoed, raising one eye-brow in confusion.

“With him.” Tord nodded in Tom’s general direction. “Has he demonstrated any odd behavior changes as of late?”

Paul shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

Tord pursed his lips, unsatisfied. “Any more fainting episodes?”

“Negative, sir. Ever since his withdrawal subsided, Thomas hasn’t displayed any signs of fatigue or illness.” The Commander fidgeted. “Although he does get sluggish from time to time, and he often complains about headaches.”

Tord hummed thoughtfully, his hand trailing over the designs of his prosthetic one continuously. “And what are you giving him? Pat mentioned you changed his diet according to the improvement of his condition.”

“Normal meals. Mostly what the mess hall serves for the day, with the exception of red meat.”

The additional information caught the Red Leader’s interest, drawing his attention away from the tracks to look at the man beside him intently. “No red meat? Why is that?”

“Tom made his distaste abundantly clear when we served it to him the first time.” Paul admitted. “After that, he insisted on only fish and chicken.”

Interesting bit of trivia. Tord narrowed his eyes. He was brought out of his thoughts when Tom raced past them, panting profusely as he crossed over the finish line. His face was flushed red with the heat of the exercise, and his pacing was slow, if a little sloppy.

As soon as he reached the end, Tom collapsed to the floor; chest heaving as he fought to catch back his breath.

Tord looked over to Paul.

“50 seconds- slightly slower than last time.” He states, showing him the timer on his stopwatch.

Tord frowned. His stamina leaves a lot to be desired. He thought exasperatedly. Then his aggravation gave way to determination. But I know he can run much better than this!

Fortunately, Tord knows just what exactly he needs to bring out the best of the eyeless man.

He walked up to where Tom was splayed on the floor, still panting. Tord loomed over him with his arms folded behind his back and nudged the test subject’s body with one foot. “Get up.”

Tom looked up at him. “Yeah yeah- just uh- just give me a second.”

“It’s already been a second.” Tord stated firmly. “C’mon. The sooner you are done with this, the faster you can take a shower. You smell awful.”

At the insult, Tom’s gaze drifted from the ceiling to glare at the Norwegian man towering over him. Wincing at the effort in his tired limbs, Tom heaved himself to his feet. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” He spat.

The Brit walked back to the starting point and readied himself into position. He still occasionally swayed from side to side, having not fully recovered yet; however, he patiently waited for Paul to give him the signal.

Watching him intently, Tord managed to suppress the grin the threatened to form on his face as he played his plan over again in his head. Let him have a head start.

“And… go!”

Tom rushed away immediately. He pushed himself forward despite the constant protests of his body for him to stop and rest, but he’ll only be able to do so after he’s done with the dumb exercises. Tom’s chest tightened with the lack of breath, and he felt his lungs practically screaming. The world seemed to close around him, but he pushed onward, his vision narrowed to a tunnel, fixed only on the tracks.

Suddenly, the sound of thrumming and fast footsteps catching up to him reached his ears. Before Tom could fully process it, Tord appeared right next him; matching his pace effortlessly. Tom looked at him in bewilderment.

“What the f-?!”

“Why so shocked, Jehovah?” Tord taunted knowingly. “At the rate that you’re running, even a crippled turtle would outrun you.”

Tom scowled. “Give me a break, you stupid commie! This is my sixth lap today to your first – cut me some slack, will you?”

Tord smirked. “Grouchy much?”

They jumped over the obstacles standing in their way together, with Tord taking the lead by a few inches ahead of Tom. However, despite his lazy speed it was clear the Norsk was only pacing himself to stay in step with the tired test subject. He can ditch him any time he wants but opted not to yet just to aggravate the Brit further.

While Tord leaped over the barriers in his way with smooth precision, Tom was clumsy in his lack of energy and his foot accidentally caught the upper-edge of the obstacle; slowing him down as he staggered forward and knocked the barrier to the ground. He quickly put his hands out in front of him to prevent himself from face-planting the floor.

“Classic stupid Tom! ~” Tord laughed, leaving him behind as he raced on ahead. “Watch your step, or you’re just going to keep eating dust.”

Fuming with anger, Tom hared after Tord as fast as he could. No way he was gonna let the commie get the best of him.

“Take it easy!” Paul called after him. “It’s not a race, remember?”

Tell that to Tord! Tom raced harder.

“C’mon Thomas, don’t be like that. Second best is nothing to be ashamed of!” He heard Tord laugh way up ahead.

His lungs ached. A cramp stabbed his ribs. Tord was already halfway back. At this rate, the Norsk would be able to lap him by the time he reached the finish line. How can he run that fast? He’s a smoker! Tom thought incredulously. He forced himself to keep going. The floor flashed beneath him as he fought for each breath. Tord stopped running and stood next to Paul by the end of the tacks to watch him. Dragging in another breath, he hurtled the last few meters and skidded to a halt beside them.

“I- I did! Ha ha…” Tom cheered pathetically, throwing his arms up but giving up half-way to let them rest by his sides. “In your… face!” He pointed at Tord, jabbing him on his chest weakly.

“The best soldier is the one who’s still fighting at the end of the battle. Don’t use up all your strength in the first fight.” Tord advised coolly.

Tom frowned. “Whatever; just give me the damn water bottle.”

Deciding he had enough fun tormenting the poor Brit for today, Tord obliged to his request and tossed the bottle over to him. He turned to Paul. “How was the time this lap?”

“42 seconds! He did much better this time around.” Paul exclaimed.

Of course he did. Tord thought smugly. Tom would never let me best him without trying. All he needed was a little motivation. And though it was not his intent, he actually had a lot of fun racing Tom; even if it was just to nag him into hurrying up. It reminded him of the good old days when they had physical education together as children.

But Tom can still improve. He pushed the childish thoughts aside and shifted back to his leader persona.

“I think Thomas needs a little demonstration on how it should be done.” Tord decided. “Paul, will you please do the honors?”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul tore away, following the line of the tracks at a steady pace.

Tord beckoned Tom over. “Watch him closely.” He ordered as the Brit neared and stood beside him. Upon closer inspection, Tord realized how completely spent and unsteady Tom was on his feet. He placed one hand on the eyeless man’s shoulder to steady him. He immediately felt him tense in his grip, and Tom tried to brush him away; however, although his grasp was not firm, it was persistent and kept Tom from nearly falling over.

“See how much space he covers with each step. Watch how he stretches forward each time his feet leave the ground. Speed is vital, but you need to be in control of the speed.” Tord murmured.

Tom watched attentively how Paul curved his leg with each stride. The Red Commander was at ease with his movements as he raced through the tracks, and doesn’t appear to be the least bit tired by the time he skidded to a halt beside them.

“One last lap. Got your breath back?” Tord asked.

Tom sighed. “Yeah.”

“Don’t aim for speed.” Tord warned. “You need your strength later.”

Tom dipped his head and walked over to the starting line. As soon as Paul gave the signal to go he broke into a run, not pushing hard at first but gaining rhythm and speed as he crossed the tracks. He focused on each bound, reaching out with his feet a little farther before they touched the ground. He pushed harder with every stride until he was aware of nothing but the steady thrumming of his feet and the way his breath fell in time with his pace. He was suddenly moving with ease and hardly noticed any shortage of oxygen in his lungs.

“Much better! You got 32 seconds this time around.” Tord’s voice surprised him. He’d completed the lap of the running track already, so focused that he hadn’t seen him. He pulled up, slowing to a halt before turning and strolling back to his side.

“Nice work, Tom.” Paul acknowledged him with a dip of his head. “I think we’re done for the day. Go ahead and shower.”

“Yes!” Tom breathed in relief. “Thank god, I thought I was about to throw up my lungs all over the floor from so much exercise.”

Tord rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Thomas.” He flashed him a knowing grin. “You’ll get used to them in time.”

Merely scoffing in reply, Tom picked up a fresh change of clothes and headed for the restroom in the back of the gym. Tord watched him leave, getting farther away until he entered the bathroom and disappeared from sight.

“So…”

Paul’s voice jerked Tord out of his thoughts, and he blinked in confusion. “So?” He echoed.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were planning to make Tom a soldier?” Paul crossed his arms, staring at him as he patiently waited for a reasonably good explanation.

Tord sighed. “I had a hunch Tom might’ve grown attached to the two of you, and vice versa, in my absence. I didn’t want to potentially sour this little trust triangle you got going on by having either of you feeding him that information.” He admitted. “Tom has a tendency to take things a lot more personally than they’re intended to be. He’s… interesting that way.” He paused, running his organic hand through his locks. “He wouldn’t have taken it well had you or Pat told him. It’s best to have his anger target someone who already had plenty of experience in the past.”

“Hm, and have three people be disappointed in you as opposed to only one – yes, very good planning on your part if I say so myself, sir.” Paul muttered somewhat condescendingly. “You could’ve just ordered us to not tell him, if that were the case!”

“It wouldn’t have worked – Tom would’ve just taken that as a bigger offence.” Tord stated coolly. “Anyway, It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done, and now you know.”

Paul tsked, his eyes gleaming in anticipation of trouble ahead. “You’re the leader. But Pat ain’t gonna like this one bit. You know how he is with keeping vital information from the two of us.”

Tord shrugged stubbornly. “Patrick will just have to accept the decision.”

“If you insist, sir.” Paul frowned. “However, I must remind you that our schedules are kind of in a tight fit. Between dealing with the formal aspects of the base and evaluating Tom’s condition twice a week; it will be hard for either of us to find time to oversee Tom’s soldier training on top of all that.”

“Don’t worry, Paul. I already took all of that into consideration when I made my decision.” The Norwegian man dismissed his concerns. “Which is why I had my schedule re-organized to fit in time for Tom’s training.”

Had he been drinking, Paul would’ve surely spat it out all over the floor by now. “You’ll mentor him?” He sputtered, staring at his leader incredulously. “Is that a good idea, sir?”

Tord crossed his arms. “Why shouldn’t I?” He asked, feeling annoyance beginning to sour his good humor. “This isn’t the first time I personally train soldiers; and Thomas is a special case.”

“Because you two don’t get along.” Retorted Paul matter-of-factly. “Leaving you alone with him is the biggest recipe for disaster I ever heard. Anything goes wrong, and you’ll immediately go at each other’s throats – you said so yourself! Wouldn’t it make more sense to have either Pat or I to mentor him? You know… someone he actually trusts?”

Tord hesitated. There was some truth in what Paul said, but Tord knew that he couldn’t give the task to any other person. He had to have Tom under his own guidance to keep a close eye on any signs of the serum affecting his performance, and make sure he stayed loyal to the Red Army. He knew the most logical choice would be to have either of his most trusted soldiers to train him. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tom to either of them. They don’t have quite the same extensive knowledge about Tom the way that he does.

“My mind’s made up.” He stated curtly. “He’s part of the Red Army one way or another, so he’ll have to get used to my presence eventually. We can’t keep delaying that, so might as well cross that bridge as soon as possible.”

A curious, and yet somehow teasing hum reached his ears. Tord turned to Paul, blinking in surprise when he noticed the Commander staring at him disbelievingly. He narrowed his eyes in return. “What?”

“Sir… do you still harbor feelings for him after all?”

Tord’s mechanical fist immediately clenched. Paul’s words have probed a Pandora’s box of emotions he’d so carefully locked away and abandoned in the deepest part of his subconscious; buried beneath an endless pile of duties and future plans he would so often lose himself to, in order to feed his ambition and aspirations as an army leader, and thus, keep him blissfully ignorant of their existence.

His mood turning stone cold, Tord was quick to grab a hold of himself before he could be swept back to the contents of that particular box, and fixed Paul with a deadly glare. “No, I don’t.” He snarled, straightening his posture to a more authoritative attitude. “Tom is nothing more than a test subject, who just so happens to be the key to victory to my conquest for world domination. Other than that, Tom means nothing to me. Are we clear on that fact?”

Paul opened his mouth to reply, when another voice cut in.

“Hey Paul! I think the ventilation system in the bathroom is busted – it’s way too hot in there!”

They looked up just in time to see Tom exit the restroom, wearing only pants as he dried the bare upper part of his body with a towel.

Tord’s face heat up at the sight of Tom’s shirtless form standing several feet in front of him, melting away all remnants of his anger as he stared at him in awe. His one-eyed gaze raked over the eyeless man’s features, tracing every detail of his well-built and toned chest. Tord realized with exhilaration that Tom was still wet and coated in water as the tiny specks caught the light and gave his appearance a more radiant look, and the Norsk watched as the eyeless man dried himself slack-jawed in amazement.

“Well, I can certainly see why you’re called the Red Leader.”

Paul’s teasing remark cut through Tord’s thoughts and he immediately blinked back to reality. With greater difficulty than he cared to admit, Tord tore his gaze away from the shirtless Brit, and glanced at his Commander who’s looking up at him with a smug expression.

Tord froze, feeling panic rise within him. “Was my staring really that obvious?”

“You were practically drooling, sir.” Paul replied simply, unable to keep the mirth out of his voice as he gestured toward the moisture coating the Norsk’s chin.

Flushing in embarrassment, Tord wiped away the dampness from his chin with the back of his hand. Despair seized Tord, as the terrible realization that Paul had been right dawned on him.

No… no! This cannot be!

What was supposed to be nothing more than a childish crush for Tom – something Tord had taken great lengths to get over and forget about in order to pursuit his goals, has come back to haunt him. The emotions he worked so hard to shoot dead and bury six feet under, have risen from the grave like a strike of lightning through his body.

He risked another glimpse of the eyeless man, mortified at the notion of Tom having seen his slip up and dumbfounded stare. Tord breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed Tom had been too busy drying himself to really pay attention to what they were doing. His stare lingered a couple seconds longer and watched the Brit put on a shirt; all the while despising the familiar fluttering sensation stirring in the pit of his stomach as he admired the sight.

Anger and frustration flared up inside of Tord, quickly squashing down these invasive emotions with an iron fist. I am the Red Leader, and future ruler of the whole world. He reminded himself solemnly. I cannot be distracted by insignificant emotions – they lead to weakness, and I am not weak! He’d already made an exception for Paul and Pat in his life, he can’t afford to be soft-hearted now.

“First you want Tom as a test subject, then as a soldier… next step I guess would be to have him as your-”

Tord did not let the Commander finish his sentence. He spun around, looking furious, and Paul instantly regretted his words as he was grabbed by the front of his uniform by the Red Leader.

“This changes nothing.” The Norwegian man stated, his voice deadly quiet and yet very clear. “Mark my words; if this ever gets out to anyone other than the two of us, the soldiers will be wondering why we haven’t had a taco Friday for the last two years, capiche?”

Paul blinked at him, more bewildered than afraid by his leader’s threat. “Yes, sir.”

“Uh… am I interrupting something?”

Tord let go of Paul at once, and they quickly composed themselves as they turn to address Tom; who’d been standing there for a while in clear confusion.

“Ah yes! The ventilation system. Right.” Tord cleared his throat, straightening himself. “Paul, would you be so kind to have a look at it while I escort Thomas to his quarters?”

“I can walk there by myself, you know.” Tom remarked dryly.

“Oh, I am sure that you can!” The Norsk grinned, his voice smooth and condescending. “However, there are some things that I must discuss with you.”

Tom groaned in exasperation and appear to roll his non-existent eyes, but remained quiet as he walked past Tord and headed toward the gym’s doors. Tord chuckled softly under his breath and followed suit, keeping pace with the huffy test subject.

Paul hadn’t uttered a word throughout the exchange, but Tord noticed that his eyes were glowing with amusement as his gaze followed the pair leave. His interaction with Tom was obviously entertaining the Commander greatly. Tord felt a self-conscious prickle ripple through his skin, and he looked away awkwardly; keeping his gaze anywhere else as he exited the gym with Tom.

As soon as the doors slid shut behind him, Tord felt instant relief flood through him.

Together, they trekked through the long corridors of the lab level. Tord appeared to have something on his mind, and Tom grew increasingly impatient.

“Alright.” Tom began with a weary sigh. “What’s so important that you just had to make me put up with you for longer than I would’ve liked?”

Stifling the laugh bubbling in his throat, Tord merely regarded the eyeless man walking alongside him intently. Tom already hasn’t taken the news of his soldier training very well, so imagine how he’ll react when Tord tells him that he’s going to be the one in charge of said training? Tord shrugged. No matter what way he goes about it, Tom’s anger is inevitable; so he might as well out with it.

“Paul and Patrick have done an excellent work with your improvement thus far. However, as their duties to the army come first, neither of them will be available to aid in your training as a soldier.” Tord paused and watched Tom’s expression shift slightly as he listened carefully. “So I will be personally in charge of overseeing your training.”

He waited for anger to spark in the Brit’s dark, empty sockets, and a resentful curse to be spat his way as he was pinned to the nearest wall by the neck. But Tom merely looked at him, took a deep breath and said: “Fine.”

Tord turned to him in bewilderment. “Wait… you’re okay with this?” He asked, genuinely stupefied by the reaction he got.

Tom shrugged. “What’s the point of getting angry over something that’s out of my control? Yeah it sucks, but it’s not like I can do anything to change it now.”

Who are you, and what have you done with Tom? Tord nearly said out loud, but curbed his tongue at the last second. Looking closely at the test subject now, he realized how miserable and defeated Tom appeared to be. Even after he’d taken a shower, Tom remained tired. Tord couldn’t help but frown in disappointment. He’d been expecting – anticipating even! – for Tom to revolt like the stubborn little spitfire that he knows and-

Tord slammed the breaks on that train of thought at once. Goddamn it, Paul! Frustration welled up inside of him. Why did he have to say anything? Tord had his emotions and thoughts well under control until he had them pointed out to. Now that he is made aware of their existence one more, Tord is struggling to keep cool and not acknowledge them at any given chance.

Doing his best in disregarding them, Tord jerked out of his thoughts and realized they were standing in front of Tom’s quarters.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss and Tom strolled inside, with Tord peering into the room from the entrance. He was surprised to find that Tom’s living arrangements have gained a lot more character since the last time he’d been here.

There were shelves attached to the wall opposite the doorway, with a limited selection of books. Tord guessed Pat had lent some to Thomas after the latter complained of boredom, and possibly to reward him for his good behavior as well. There’s a simple, cube-shaped, navy blue radio by his nightstand displaying the time and date in neon green numbering; next to a lamp. A stack of blank sheets of paper are kept in one corner of the room, with a few pens scattered around. And glued on the surface of a dart board, hanging on the bathroom door, was a crude drawing of Tord with darts stabbed all over the drawing.

Tord raised one eyebrow in amusement. “I can see you made yourself right at home.” He chuckled.

“Yeah yeah, laugh all you want; but I couldn’t stand taking naps all the time, and this was the best Paul and Pat could do for me.” Tom turned around to face Tord with arms crossed over his chest and sighed tiredly. “When… will we start training?” He hesitantly asked.

“In two weeks, more or less.” Tord murmured, making a quick mental revision of his schedule for the next few days. “You don’t have to worry about the specifics. I will come for you when the time comes.”

It dawned on him then that Tom wasn’t worried about missing the training, but rather, dreading it. Idiot. Tord berated himself for his mistake, then followed up with a chain of curses for even caring about it in the first place. Why should the Red Leader care whether or not his test subject is happy with his fate? It’s not his fault Tom hadn’t seen this coming when he signed his life over to him!

And yet… how come he felt melancholic all of a sudden?

It is then that Tord remembers how much he despises when Tom became curt and unresponsive, no matter how much he’d tease the Brit. Tom is no fun when he’s like that. Uh yeah! It’s boredom that I’m feeling – no way in hell this could be a sadness of any kind. He tried telling himself that, when an idea sparked inside his head and he grinned. And I know just the thing to get a reaction out of him.

“Ah! I almost forgot. I got something for you.” Tord practically purred. He fumbled with the inner pocket of his uniform, looking for something. Tom’s eyebrows shot upward in sudden interest, but he eyed the Norsk wearily; as if he were expecting the man in red to pull a dirty trick on him. “You behaved so well while I was away, and you did good today. I think you deserve a reward.”

Tom didn’t know what he was expecting to get, perhaps a box of dog treats because that’s how petty Tord is. However, as soon as the Norwegian man pulled out his prize from his pocket, Tom let out a barely audible gasp as he stared at the familiar teddy bear with the iconic unibrow in place of its of eyes.

“Tomee bear!”

Tord held the plushie out for Tom to take, and it took everything he had to not swipe his childhood bear immediately out of the Commie’s grasp. For all he knows, Tord is just setting a trap for him. How did he get this? Tomee bear is back at- Tom looked at his dear plushie for several heartbeats, his expression turning to one of confusion before settling on shock as he slowly pieced the pieces together and looked back up at Tord.

Horror welled up inside of Tom. “You… you went near them?!”

Tord regarded him with a curious gaze and cocked his head to one side. “Define: near.”

Horror gave way to fury, and Tom bristled with rage. There was nothing holding him back from attacking Tord right here and now. Tord broke his end of the deal, and Tom doesn’t have to obey him anymore.

He was about to launch himself at the Norsk and attack, but Tord had predicted his reaction and pressed a button on his robotic arm. Tom blinked in surprised when his body went rigid against his will, his muscles cramping at once, and found himself unable to move.

“Ah ah ah! Let’s not break your streak of good behavior now, Thomas. It would be a shame if I had to take away some of your privileges so soon after my return.” Tord tutted.

A muffled growl of frustration rumbled from Tom’s throat as he tried in vain to move any of his limbs, but they were all unresponsive and tucked close together against his body.

“Don’t bother. It’s another feature of the chip we have implanted on your spine, remember? Be thankful I hadn’t used a controlled shock this time! Your body is completely paralyzed until I decide to free you again.” Tord went on, messing around with the teddy bear in his hands whilst simultaneously mocking Tom, as if to say: I got your precious bear, and you can’t do sh#t about it! But Tom was more furious at the notion that the Commie went anywhere near the friends he was trying so hard to keep safe and was now parading freely in front of him without fear of any repercussions.

“Guess I can’t really blame you for reacting the way that you did. But to be fair; you never specified the meaning of “near” when we made our deal. So as far as I know, “near” could mean one meter of distance.” Tord reasoned with a shrug, stepping closer to Tom’s frozen form.

The test subject could do nothing but watch as the Norsk towered over him. He couldn’t even shrink back to put some space between the uncomfortable proximity they were in. Tom screamed internally when different types of hands, one made of skin and the other out of metal, cupped the sides of his face. Get off of me! Tom desperately wanted to slap the hands away from him but found himself still as a statue despite his attempts to struggle.

“However, though I know my word doesn’t mean much to you, I can assure you I did not interact with them in any way.” Tord continued speaking. “I admit, I did see them… but they were a well good ten meters away from where I was, and they had no idea I was there.” He paused, his tone softening. “It just so happens that they were visiting your grave at the time.”

Tom stopped his futile struggles and listened.

“They wanted to give your precious Tomee bear back to its rightful owner, and so they left it by your tombstone.” Tord went on. “Me, watching the entire scene from far away, thought to myself right then: “Hm… It sure would be a pity to leave my test subject’s most prized possession to rot here when all Edd and Matt want is to give it back. So why not fulfil their wish?” So I went ahead and took it as soon as they left.” He clarified, peering into Tom’s unique, dark eyes. “So you see? I haven’t infringed our deal at all! Even though you never specified the terms of “near”, I did keep my word and never interacted with them. Which means that our deal still stands in full.”

Edd and Matt are still safe. Understanding slowly dawned on Tom, and his temper cooled significantly. And they… miss me? He felt touched by the implication. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite appreciate the notion with Tord still holding his face and infringing his personal space like that.

As if he had been reading his thoughts, Tord pulled away from him, and Tom breathed a small sigh of relief. “Now that everything is cleared up, I am going to release you from your paralysis, and you won’t attack me.” He instructed carefully. “Then you can either accept the gift I so generously fetched for you or refuse it; whichever you prefer. But one wrong move, and you’re going to regret it. Am I clear?”

An awkward silence met his words. Tom couldn’t speak or nod, so they just stood there until Tord realized that for himself and face palmed. “Uh… make a noise if you understand.” Tord repeated.

He heard a low grunt from the eyeless man in response. Satisfied, Tord pressed the same button on his arm and set Tom free from his statue-like state.

“Ah! You f#cker!” Tom cursed loudly as soon as he could move again. Feeling his muscles were stiff, like he’d just been electrocuted, Tom made quick work to check all his limbs were working properly by stretching and gently massaging them.

Tord grinned, happy he managed to bring out the good old Tom he found so endearing to pester.

Endearing?

Fun! Tord corrected his thoughts, growing increasingly frustrated at himself at this point. This is getting ridiculous.

Choosing to ignore his traitorous thoughts for now and deal with them later, Tord offered the odd teddy bear out to Tom again. The eyeless man paused in his ministrations and regarded Tomee bear with a suspicious stare. He looks up at Tord with the same look; as if to ask him “no more tricks?”

Tord nodded encouragingly.

Tom narrowed his eyes but reached for the stuffed bear regardless. As soon as he had his cherished teddy bear out of the Norsk’s grasp and into his own, Tom was hit with an immense wave of emotions. Tomee bear had been a gift from his father, and since his death, Tom had taken great lengths to cherish the bear by keeping it close to him at all times. Now that he is stuck in this forsaken base, and will most likely die here as well, Tomee bear now serves as a reminder for his friends too.

Tom hugged the plush tightly to his chest and nuzzled it. He could care less if he was being vulnerable in front of Tord right now. The Commie has no emotional connection to the bear whatsoever, and by god, Tom is not going to be ashamed to cherish the hell out of it even more.

Tord watched the scene with growing fondness and a small smile on his face. Even after all these years… He thought warmly. He still loves that stuffed bear with all his heart. He felt a familiar, but not at all unpleasant tingle in his chest.

“Thanks.”

Tord snapped out of his thoughts when Tom spoke to him, albeit reluctantly judging by his low tone of voice. The Norsk flushed in embarrassment. “Oh! Uh y-you’re welcome?” He stuttered, and immediately cringed. Today is not going the way that I expected. He recomposed himself and cleared his throat, lifting his chin with an air of authority to him. “Yes- anyway, I have pressing matters to attend to at the moment, so I’ll leave you be to your peaceful solitude.” He said, recovering from his slip up with what he deemed sufficient grace.

“You do that…” Tom muttered.

Without another word, Tord quickly stepped out of the room and let the door hiss shut behind him. He let out a long sigh of exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it all! Tord cursed, his jaw clenched.

He began to put as much distance between himself and Tom’s quarters, quickening his pace in longer strides as he headed for the elevator, whilst continuously chastising himself for being caught off guard by his weak emotions.  

“This doesn’t change anything.” Tord kept telling himself under his breath. “I lived just fine with these emotions before, and that doesn’t mean I’ll go soft-hearted now. I’ll just have to stay as far away from Tom until his training begins; I can easily neglect these feelings again until then.” And maybe Paul, just in case. Tord isn’t taking any chances. He can’t go back to be who he once was – that version of him isn’t strong enough to face the future he’d planned ahead. Red Leader, on the other hand, is powerful. To lead his army to glory and achieve his goals, he must be more like the Red Leader he had envisioned, and less like the weak dork that he had vowed he would never be again.

Friendship and love are worthless to me in the long run. Tord reminded himself sternly. There’ll come a day when I’ll be so powerful, I’ll have no need for anyone else. And when that day comes, the world will bow down to me. He smirked wickedly at the thought.

However, his thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he turned the corner only to bump into a very livid looking Patrick. The General’s eyes flashed at him.

“What’s this Paul tells me?” Pat demanded. “Is it true that you are going to train Tom as a soldier without consulting us first?”

Faen. Tord cursed his luck.

(Meanwhile…)

Rain fell steadily, drumming on the hard pavement that led between unending rows of city blocks. From time to time a car thundered past, its headlights glaring, and people scurried along their merry way to escape the rainstorm.

Wearing the hood over his head and both his hands stuffed in his pockets, Edd looked both ways and hurriedly crossed the street when he deemed safe enough to proceed.

Harsh yellow light angled across him, and he flinched as a car roared around the corner, throwing up a wave of filthy water that reeked of rubbish. Edd let out a startled yelp as the water slopped around his feet and the spray splashed his clothes.

“Argh, great.” Edd muttered sarcastically, looking down at his wet clothes.

Despite his current condition, Edd was excited to be out here. When his disastrous evening with Matt didn’t go the way they had been expecting to, Edd was looking forward to meeting with Reagan and spend some quality time away from all his problems. He really needed to catch a break.

Barely visible through the clouds, the moon was at its height by the time the Harrybrook hotel came into view. Edd hurried his step, eager to get this night going. He reached the foyer of the hotel and looked around for Reagan but found no signs of him anywhere. Edd frowned. Is he getting ready still?

Pulling his phone out Edd quickly began to type in a text.

(EG): Hey!!

(EG): I’m here

(EG): Wh-

“EDDIE!”

A loud voice practically shouted in his ears and a pair of hands came down and clutched his shoulders in a tight, and sudden grip. Edd did not budge or react in any way. He raised one eyebrow, evidently not impressed and looked over his shoulder.

��Hey Reagan.” He greeted casually, not fazed by the Irishman’s attempts of scaring him.

Reagan frowned. “Wha- ? You didn’t get scared?”

Edd shrugged. “Meh. Kind of hard to get scared when you greet me the exact same way every time we go hang out together.”

Reagan placed one hand over his own chest, where his heart should be. “Are you calling me predictable?”

The brunet smirked. “Well, I’m not calling you original, so…”

The Irishman let out a fake, exaggerated gasp before narrowing his eyes. “So that’s how it is then? Well… I guess this means I just have to try harder from here on out.” His mesmerizing green eyes glowed with mirth. “That’s quite alright; I am always up for a challenge. But I’m warning you now – you’re going to regret it.”

Edd laughed. “Ooh! I am terrified!”

A large grin stretched across Reagan’s face. “It’s sure good to see you, buddy.” He chuckled, giving a tap on Edd’s shoulder so hearty that it almost pushed the brunet off balance. “What do you say we go to a pub and drink, maybe eat some fries, and do some stupid sh#t together?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alrighty then!”

Reagan looped his arm around Edd’s shoulders, bringing the Brit closer to him as they began to head down the street; jovially laughing along the way.

Following their initial meeting several weeks back, with Edd agreeing to be Reagan’s guide for the duration of his cryptic job; they began spending more casual time together. It mostly consists of them goofing about, doing stupid stuff, and Edd showing the Irishman around town.

They walked though the dim, rainy streets for a while, not caring for the bad weather going on around them. Occasionally Edd would stop and point out something about the town to Reagan, going over briefly about the locations they strolled past before carrying on their way.

They came across a bar and decided to settle there. Reagan burst in with vigorous delight, his green eyes bright like a child’s in a candy store as he sat in one of the stools at the bar stand. Edd followed suit a little slower. He checked his surroundings wearily, inspecting the other bystanders in the establishment before taking a seat next to Reagan.

Edd’s no stranger to bars. He just doesn’t go to them very often.

The bartender asked for their orders.

“Beer. Just beer. Any beer. Doesn’t matter just as long is it is beer.” Reagan told the middle-aged man behind the counter.

The barkeep raised one eyebrow, and then turned to Edd.

“Iced cola for me, please.”

Reagan appeared to scoff and throw him an incredulous look as the bartender left to go get their drinks. “Cola? Really?”

“What?” Edd turned to him in confusion.

“Dude, you now that I’m the one paying, right?” The Irishman continued. “You can have anything you want, and you go for cola?”

Edd shrugged. “I am not much of a drinker.”

The blonde man tsked. “Aiight, if that’s what you are most contented with that’s fine by me.” He nudged the Brit’s elbow with his own and sent a wink his way. “But hey, if you ever change your mind I’ll be glad to abide.”

Edd opened his mouth to reply when the bartender returned with their drinks in hand. Reagan immediately downed his drink in one swig and slammed the glass back on the table. “Another.” He licked his lips clean.

Edd chuckled quietly in amusement. Reagan sure likes his beer. He thought, taking sip of cola. He churned the dark beverage in his glass, his smile faltering. He’s a bit like Tom, in a way. His heart twisted with a sudden and terrible ache in his chest.

Thoughts of earlier events that day returned to the front page of his mind, and they soured any semblance of good humor he had. Edd sighed.

“Why the long face, Eddie?” Reagan asked, snapping Edd out of his thoughts. “You look as if you got plenty in your mind.”

“You have no idea.” The brunet mused bitterly.

“Would you like to share with moi?” Reagan offered, tapping one of his fingers against the marble table in a rhythmic fashion.

Edd bit the inside of his lips unsurely. Although they would tend to tap into heavier subjects once in a while; for the most part, these nightly outings served solely as a good distraction. However, its not like he has anyone else to talk to about these things. Matt is too gullible and dim-witted to comprehend what Edd’s main issue is. Reagan is an outsider who could perhaps have a better angle at things.

“Where to even begin?” He breathed out tiredly and rubbed his own face.

Through the gap between his fingers, he saw a glass of beer slide across the counter and stop perfectly in front of him. Edd blinked and glanced at the Irishman sitting by his side. Reagan nodded toward the beverage encouragingly. “Let’s start with loosening up a little bit.”  

Edd raised an eyebrow skeptically. Again; he has had beer before, and although he didn’t dislike it was far from being one of his favorites drinks. However, the blond’s offer still enticed him. Surely one glass won’t harm anyone?

Making his mind up, Edd grabbed the glass determinably and tipped back his head and started to consume the bitter beverage.

“Chug! Chug! Chug!” Reagan chanted beside him, edging him on until Edd drank the entire glass. “Wooo!”

The brunet wiped away the foam from his face with the back of his coat’s sleeve, clicking his tongue to taste the remnants of beer in his mouth. Edd sighed. “It’s just… some stupid neighbors moved into my building today.”

Reagan raised an eyebrow, his attention peaked with interest. “Oh? What kind of neighbors?” He questioned. “The lousy type? Party animals? Junkies? The lewd type?”

A shiver of disgust rippled down Edd’s spine at the thought and he cringed. There’s no way in hell he is going to keep the imagery in his head for the reminder of the night. He gestured the bartender forward and ordered a beer for himself. Just in case.

“No. It’s nothing like that.” He explained. “My friends and I used to be neighbors with them before. But we weren’t exactly in friendly terms back then.”

“Rivals eh? Sounds fun.” The Irishman bent forward to listen closely. This information may prove useful, after all.

“Not really.” Edd muttered. “But the thing is…” How can he explain this next part without going into much depth? “There was a gas leak in both of our houses and they blew up.” He half-lied. He wasn’t going to admit the true events of that day to anyone outside of that incident. There were too many risks, and the memory still hurt. “We haven’t seen each other since that day, and now that we are neighbors again I have no idea what our current stand is.”

“Why would it have changed at all since then?” Reagan narrowed his eyes.

Edd flinched. He took a sip of his cola to calm his nerves, but dread was still eating away at him. Had he known his true nature then, Edd would’ve never allow him to return. “Because the gas leak was kind of my fault.” He gulped. “And one of my neighbors – there were three of them then – died that day because of it.”

He waited for a shocked gasp to reach his ears. Instead, Reagan stared steadily back at him and sort of nodded in understanding. “Awkward.” He took a sip of his beer.

Edd looked at him in disbelief. “Woah, you are taking this surprisingly well all things considered.” He pointed out.

“Meh.” Reagan shrugged unimpressed. “Accidents tend to happen all the time. I’ve kind of grown used to it by now, and so nothing really fazes me anymore.”

Truth be told, Reagan knows Edd just lied to his face. The guarded and uncertain tone in the Brit’s voice gave him away. Although he was curious to learn what really happened, Reagan wasn’t about to push his luck just yet. He needs to establish a stronger bond with his target before he can get to the juicy, tragic bits and use them against him. Though he assumes it has something to do with the charred ruins where he first made contact with the brunet.

Still, he’ll let that obvious little lie slide. For now.

“Well, anyway.” Reagan went on as normal. “Can’t say that I blame you for feeling the way that you do with them back in your life.” He grinned inwardly. “What about your friends, what do they think of the situation?”

The reaction he wanted was instantaneous. Although Edd didn’t outright flinch, Reagan did feel him tense up next to him, and it took everything he had in him to keep down the Cheshire-grin that threatened to stretch out across his face.

Edd’s breath wavered and he tried to steady himself. “Matt knew they were moving in.” In Tom’s apartment. He did not dare complete the sentence out loud.

“And he didn’t even tell you?” Reagan exclaimed, pretending to be shocked.

The Brit mentioned his ginger-haired companion to him before, and from what he heard so far, this Matt fellow wasn’t going to be a threat to his goals. But he needed to sever that bond in order to make Edd more susceptible to his manipulation. He doesn’t have to break them apart completely; but where was the fun in that?

Reagan shot him a sympathetic glance. “He doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me.” He observed. “I mean, what kind of friends keep things from each other?”

Edd felt a tinge of defensiveness at the Irishman’s words. After all, Reagan doesn’t really know Matt.

“He’s a great friend.” He responded. “But… well, things haven’t been the same between us since-” He bit down on his own tongue, holding the words before they could get out.

“Since?” Reagan prompted curiously.

Edd shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Could he really say something so heavy and personal to Reagan? The Irishman has certainly been a great deal of fun over these past few weeks; helping him move from his grief and let him forget his problems. But Edd wasn’t quite confident in entrusting Reagan with this information yet.

But I promised I would get over and move on. He recalled. If I can’t even say this out loud, am I doing any progress at all?

Edd tensed, his hands clenching into fists. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words seemed stuck in his throat like a hard piece of candy, and were just as difficult to dislodge.

“Before our friend died.” He admitted at last, thinking longingly of the time when he, Matt, and Tom went in all kinds of crazy adventures together. The tension in his shoulders relaxed as he let go of the long-held grief.

The blond man’s expression fell, and he cast his gaze to the ground. “Oh. I’m… sorry to hear.” He murmured sympathetically. “I didn’t mean to – I mean, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine.” Edd cut him off. “It’s been a few months since, but I guess neither of us really got over it.”

The Irishman was silent for a while, his green eyes staring at the brunet with a calculating gaze; whilst concealing his true face inside. Wonder how he would react if he learned that I’m the one behind his freaky friend’s death? He mused with mirth. As fun as the idea would be, Reagan can’t let him know that dirty little secret just yet. He needs Edd to join the Red Army first, or he would never get that promotion. Maybe a few years from now, when we’re both deep into the global domination schemes, I could tell him. Ha. He’ll probably laugh when all is said and done.

Recomposing himself, Reagan cleared his throat to stifle the bout of giggles that bubbled inside of him. “Anyways, about the neighbors…” He continued from where the main topic left off. “I understand how weird this situation is, but do try to play it cool and keep a low profile.” Edd turned to him, listening to his advice intently. “I mean, why should you have to feel guilty for what happened? It’s not like you intended to kill the poor guy!”

“Of course not!” Edd snapped. Then he paused, his humor deflating as he recalled encounter with Eduardo earlier. “When I crossed paths with them today, they weren’t hostile toward me. They were… okay? I guess? But the whole thing just felt weird to me, and I have no idea what it means for our stances with each other.”

Reagan contemplated for a second, his lips pursed. “Do you reckon that maybe they know what happened to your friend?” He asked. “And because of that they think you are on equal ground? Like a: “now you know how I felt back then” kind of deal?”

Edd tensed. The Irishman’s words filled him with apprehension. Could Reagan be right? Eduardo does seem like the type of person who would find justice in such situation. But surely even Eduardo wouldn’t find enjoyment in this? Edd shook the thought away. “I d-don’t know.” He stammered. “Everything’s so confusing at the moment.”

Reagan chugged down his third glass of beer. “Don’t sweat it, buddy.” He gestured toward the untouched beer Edd had ordered a while ago. “Just tip back your head and drink your worries away. You seriously need to relax.”

The Brit glanced at his drink then back to his companion. “God, I’m so sorry.” A flash of guilt flared up inside of him. “We came out here to have fun and I spoiled the whole evening by rambling about my problems.”

He was about to apologize again when a finger came up to his lips and shushed him. “Less talking, and more drinking.” Reagan told him playfully stern.

They clinked their drinks together, sat back, and drank their fill of the bitter beverage. By the time he got all of it down, Edd was feeling tipsy and he swayed a little from side to side.

“By the way, you never quite told me what your job actually is.” The brunet pointed out, his words slurred.

“I haven’t?” Reagan put his elbow on the table and leaned against his hand, looking at the Brit though half-lidded eyes as the alcohol started to take effect. “I am an entertainer. I thought that much was obvious by now.”

“Oh! Like a comedian or a magician?” Edd asked, taking a sip of his cola next to balance out the alcohol in his system.

Reagan grinned slyly. “Not that type of entertainment, silly Eddie. I mean that I am a stripper.” His smile grew wider as Edd choked and spat out his drink. He burst into a fit of laughter and slammed his hand repeatedly on the counter. “Haha! Oh man, you should’ve seen the look on your face! Haha!” He wiped away a stray tear from his eyes.

“H-ha- haha yeah.” Edd laughed weakly whilst coughing. He could feel his throat burn badly from the intensity of choking on soda. He beat his own chest a couple of times to clear the airways. “G-good one.”

Reagan’s laughter died away. “But seriously though, I can’t tell you what it is.” He told the brunet. “I would if it were up to me, but since it is kind of a work policy not to reveal it out in public, I can’t.”

“Woah, are you a secret agent of some kind?”

“Can’t quite answer that either – It goes against the company’s policy, remember?” Reagan shrugged and laughed, teasing the Brit further.

They went back to drinking and chatting merrily. Reagan kept urging Edd to drink more and more, making the brunet relax and put down the sealed tight, steel walls he surrounded himself in. The Irishman payed very close attention to Edd’s ramblings about his life; especially the part concerning his friends and his fears of losing every single person he ever cared about, and how he won’t be able to stand if anything happened to the ginger doofus.

All that vital information Reagan saved away for later reference.

[scribeofred]

Mirage on Open Plains

Reflection, found on AO3 or FF.net, originally was due a full five-part sequel titled Diffraction that spacespirit and I only partly completed. This one’s done, though, so enjoy!

It isn’t often with a family like Scott’s that he’s subjected to silence. Most of the time he loves the noise, the chaos, the life that comes with being an older brother. But there are times he longs for quiet. Times he leaves just to find it, times he’s bit through the inside of his cheek to stop himself from demanding it, times he’s regretted what he’s done to get it.

Now he’s shrouded in a silence that should be natural, cultivated specifically for a place of rest and healing. But it’s not natural, not this time. This is a silence so perfectly handcrafted by John it’s become a third presence in the room. John’s still staring at the ceiling, waiting. That’s the worst part.

Scott can’t stop staring at John. He sees his hand, the way the white gauze spirals up the length of his forearm, the way his opposite shoulder is strapped so tightly it hurts to look at. He sees how all healthy color has seeped from his face, leaving behind shadows of gray and muted purple, and the way his movements are far too stiff for someone who wears efficiency like gloves on his hands. With every breath exhaled through flared nostrils, every half-blink, every bead of sweat darkening red-gold hair to mahogany, Scott becomes increasingly aware of his brother’s pain.

“Just take some damn morphine, would you?”

It isn’t supposed to come out as a growl, but it does. Because it’s been half an hour since the others left to get food, Virgil dragging the noise away with him. Since then, John’s sat here with his lips drawn into a tight line, staring at the ceiling with more interest than he grants his brother.

Green eyes narrow in his direction before flicking away, reducing Scott to an irritant.

Fine. If that’s the way he wants to play it, fine.

The dubbed-as-such irritant leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, and welcomes the silence. He’s been sitting here for so long, with blurred intervals of sleep, that the chair has probably left grooves in his back. He should be comfortable by now, but he’s still on edge. Without Virgil next to him, it’s even worse.

In fact, the whole room feels overly vacant with just him and John. What was once compact, with brothers precariously balanced on either side, is now sparse and open. Words need to fill the space left behind, but they don’t exist and won’t until Scott can find the right ones to say.

He gives in, as he often does in this situation. “John, just...” His feet tap gently on the laminate, tap, tap, tap, in want of some kind of noise. “Come on, you’re in pain.”

Two of John’s fingers twitch, creasing the bleached sheet drawn up to his waist.

“It doesn’t make you weak if you take something for—”

“I’m not worried about that.”

Scott doesn’t find the right words to say, but he does find something to make John slip. A flash of irritation comes and fades like a wisp of evening mist, before his face settles, blank, devoid of not just pain but everything readable.

“It numbs the mind,” John continues, head weighted with none of his usual grace as he tries to lift it. Even though his eyes are ever-sharp, fighting dullness with a focused intensity that makes them gleam fever-bright, he looks tired. Exhausted, really. “I’d rather be able to think.”

“But—”

“Scott, stop, you don’t have to sit there waiting for me to crumble in agony.” John’s upper lip curls, fingers gliding to perch just below the thick pad of bandages taped over the middle of his chest. “Virgil does a better job of it anyway. I’m telling you, I don’t need it.”

“Fine.” Scott’s fingers pinch into his palms, but he lets it go. Lets the frustration dissolve with the fact it’s very John to want his body to heal without any help. It’s useless fighting him here. It’s useless fighting him at all. So Scott reaches for something that will unite instead of draw them apart. “Well, hey, what do you know, Virg actually got some sleep last night. At least a couple of hours.”

“That makes one of us,” John mutters, visibly unimpressed by this attempt to lay planks over disturbed water.

Scott tilts his head and aims for casual to hide his bemusement, since he really is happy about this and John should be too. “Yeah, couldn’t believe it myself. I’m glad, though, he’s been walking around on nothing.”

“I wonder why.”

“Well...” Scott’s hand finds its way to his polo shirt’s collar. He only just catches himself in time to stop from pulling at it, reroutes the movement to rub the base of his neck instead. “Yeah, okay, so it’ll do him good to get out of this place. I’m just saying that—”

“Do him good?” The outside corner of a fine, arched brow rises.

“Yes.” Scott’s fingers dive to grasp the armrest with every intent to gouge through to the wooden frame beneath the navy suede. “It’ll do them all good to get out of here. I swear I heard Alan yelling last night, and Gordon’s barely eating...” Nails scrape back and forth, criss-crossing dark and light streaks in the fabric.

John doesn’t have the decency to look surprised. In fact, he doesn’t look at Scott at all. Instead, he rotates his hand on his chest so the bandaged palm is facing upward, admiring his own movements, flexing his fingers just to prove he can. The way his teeth graze his pale lower lip is a voiceless cry that it’s not without pain.

Without warning, words fill the silence again. “And what about you, Scott? How are you sleeping?” They give the impression of triviality, but behind them Scott catches every slice of condemnation he’s been fighting with on his own. “Will leaving this place do you good?”

“I...” Scott swallows back a stammer and takes a stab at the triviality game too. “Well, I’m okay at the moment, actually—”

“Really? I suppose you don’t have to dream about your eldest brother yelling at you or raising his fists or throwing a glass at your head.” John delivers the words so lightly they should float like feathers in the air, but they don’t. Instead, they drop like dead leaves to a cold floor.

Silence threatens to ensnare them again, but not before John can finish, words winged like an arrow slicing toward its mark. “So maybe you should be sleeping well in comparison.”

A sudden lack of oxygen in the room makes Scott’s breath hitch in his throat.

John finally raises his eyes from his hand. A second ago Scott was able to meet them with strength; now he can barely hold his gaze. Those green eyes are laser-focused, burning straight to the core of him and threatening to cut through the walls of bronze he’s tried so hard to build. Remorse swirls and eddies through him to the point where his hands unwillingly shake.

It’s now Scott needs Virgil at his side for reassurance. He can handle hating himself, maybe even John hating him too, but he could never handle if Virgil felt that way.

“John, he...” Scott can’t bear the weight this silence brings, nor can he bear the way John’s looking for answers. He doesn’t have answers. He has torrents of guilt and a black spot in his vision where everything was limned with red, but nothing valuable enough to make sense of it all. “You were... dying...”

“And?” If there was any warmth in John, it evaporates like moisture in the dead of winter, until even the sight of John is frigid enough to make the back of Scott’s eyeballs tingle. “What was it you said the other day? Oh, that’s right: grief shouldn’t be an excuse for people’s actions. So why is it an excuse for yours?”

“It’s not, I just—” Scott turns his head away in an effort to escape the burning cold in John’s relentless stare. He doesn’t want to start this again. “Yeah, okay, I don’t have an excuse. You’re right, things went too far and—”

“You went too far.” John’s tone is as icy and rigid as his posture. “You blamed Alan, Scott. Blamed him for... for this.” Fingertips tap the center of a pristine bandage twice. “He did nothing but try to help. And that’s not all—you almost hit Gordon.”

Scott’s reply is weak, built on nonexistent foundations. He can’t help but think back to his shaking hands, to the fact he was blind yet able to see with absolute clarity how much Gordon looked like John in that moment. “But... I didn’t.”

“You might as well have. You hurt our brothers in my name. If anyone else ever did anything like that, you wouldn’t stand by and accept that things went too far. You’d tear them apart. Maybe I would too. So why does it make a difference that it’s you?”

Scott’s blinks are slow as he turns his head back to John, burdened by words that carry too much truth. He’s not often reduced to a whisper, especially not when confronted by a brother, but he couldn’t muster anything more if he tried. “It doesn’t.”

John wastes strength he can’t afford to spare on learning forward. “What was that?”

“It. Doesn’t.”

“Doesn’t what?”

“Doesn’t make a damn difference that it was me!” Scott’s palm stings as it slams into the unforgiving wood of the beside table, fingers splayed wide. “All right, John? Is that what you want to hear? That you should tear me apart? Because yes, maybe you should. Maybe that’s what I want to do. But it happened, and I can’t reverse time. Even if I want that more than anything.”

“It happened, so we shouldn’t talk about it? Is that your motto here?”

“No, John—”

“Because Alan’s too afraid to tell it to you straight now, Virgil’s too kind, and Gordon wants to avoid thinking about what happened as much as you do, so it falls to me to tell you you’re a damned idiot for losing control. Okay? You’re not a cruel person, Scott, or a violent one.”

“No...”

“Then how could you have let this happen?”

“It was just... it was everything. It was last year, it was the other day, it was every failed rescue up till now, I don’t know—”

“That’s right, it was everything we should have already figured out. They needed you to be strong. You should have been strong.” A familiar protectiveness flickers through John’s eyes that sets his words in stone.

Scott stops. Stops the defensive words he’s got lined up, stops trying to justify it to himself, stops fighting this uphill battle. He lets his shoulders drop, lets his chin lower, and breathes out an answer that’s more genuine. “I... I should have been, and I’m more than sorry that I wasn’t. Sometimes it’s...” The word barely escapes before his throat swells shut. “Hard.”

“I know.” The corner of John’s mouth flickers upward. It’s the tiniest of movements but changes the entire shape of his face, softening too-sharp angles into something capable of warmth. “You know who doesn’t need you to be strong? Me. So you’re also a fool for thinking I’ll buy the fact that you’re all right after everything that’s happened.”

Scott grunts and attempts to repair his walls. “Well, maybe I am all right, John, who knows? I’m not... I’m not in a hospital bed and I’m not at a funeral. The only reason I might not be okay is because everyone else isn’t sleeping or eating—”

“No offense, Scott.” John lifts a pale finger, and somehow that small appendage commands all of Scott’s attention. “But that’s rubbish. Yes, you care, so do I, but right now it’s just you and me. Your feelings are not built on how our brothers are feeling. I know that as a cold, hard fact, because you existed before they did. Maybe if you tell me what’s going through that mind of yours, I’ll be able to process it all a little easier.”

It’s Scott’s turn to fall quiet, only this time he’s given the reins to control the silence. Where John’s was sharp and tense and condemning, Scott’s trickles with unease, a hesitance to even think back on everything that’s happened. Because perhaps—in his mind—the images are worse than they actually were, dark illusions to fuel an anger that’s been banked and smoldering for too long.

Or perhaps he remembers everything exactly as it was, and somehow everyone else is better at dealing with it than he is. That’s what scares him: that he’s become the incompetent one. Because that memory of John lying on the ground—blood on his chest, on the floor, on Scott’s hands—well. He was short nightmare fuel anyway.

“I’ve never heard you scream before, John. Not like that.”

Words of truth always have a peculiar ring, solid and resonating like the toil of a bell, but Scott finds these morph into the echoes of what haunts him most. John’s eyes widen like he’s hearing the same thing. Somehow, Scott’s words have the power to draw images from the ground and play them before their eyes, distorted by light, on a loop that threatens to twist into infinity.

“You were just... beneath my hands.” He stares at John’s chest, the shard of glass still stuck there in his mind’s eye, unyielding, capable of killing his brother with the slightest wrong movement. “You were screaming and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop any of it.”

“Maybe you couldn’t stop it, but you helped.”

Scott is so entranced by the image stuck on replay that he barely hears him. “Virg stopped it, but he is so... And Alan, I just... left him there, standing, because I forgot about him. I—I forgot about Alan, and he was shaking, John, oh hell...” Scott finds his head in his hands and his heart on his tongue. “I have you screams stuck in my mind, and no, it’s not an excuse, it’s never an excuse, but—”

“Maybe it is,” John says, quiet, and it’s that which lifts Scott’s head from his palms. “Who knows what I might have done if things were reversed.”

Scott chews on the end of his tongue before he releases it, searching John’s gaze for some sort of resentment. “It should have been me, John, that’s the thing. I want it to have been me. You wouldn’t be hurt and none of this would have happened with the others. You would have been strong for them—”

John’s abrupt, bitter laugh cuts through Scott’s fury. “Don’t kid yourself, Scott. I might have been as cruel as you were. Worse, even—I might have left.” The hard edge is fleeting as he looks back at him, eyes shimmering with something that might be pity. “Scott, you really think it would have been any different?”

“It might have been. It might...” Scott struggles to grasp the right words and finds his hand rubbing at his knee through his jeans. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t have to see you like that for one thing, like this...”

“I think you would have fallen sooner.”

It takes Scott a moment to realize John’s joking—or at least he thinks he is. “Ah... what?”

“If it was you up there, he would have pushed you sooner. You were as annoying as hell down below, can’t think what you would have been like up top.”

A reluctant smile tempts Scott’s lips, but before he can reply, John sighs, pressing his head back into the pillow. “You know what I saw after I fell?”

“Uh... stars?”

That earns him the scoff it deserves. “You. You told me I’d be fine and, stupidly, I believed you. Mmm. Maybe not so stupid, considering I’m alive.”

Scott rolls his eyes. John somehow smirks without changing his expression and continues. “You might not have stopped anything. We left things too long—we didn’t evacuate, we didn’t have the right words to say to Orson, but seeing you? That helped. Even if it seems insignificant.”

Scott tilts his head, trying to get to John’s words.

John’s hand shuffles along the sheet, and he reaches out, resting his fingertips on Scott’s hand, stilling them over his knee. “You know, you being okay is going to really help the others.”

Scott fights back a tremor, because those words, those he can get to. Even if he can give off the visage of strength, then maybe it will spread, maybe they’ll know they have someone to come to. “Yeah...”

“But... when you’re not okay, in those times, bring it to me. Please?”

Scott can’t help but smile at his brother, strapped up and broken, who somehow stays more upright than the rest of them. “And what about when you’re not okay? What happens then?”

“Well...” John gives a half-shrug without so much as a wince. “Then everything goes to shit.”

Scott snorts and guides John’s hand back to the bed, rests it gently on the sheet and gives his fingers a quick squeeze before letting go.

John’s eyelashes flutter gold against skin smudged purple by stress and pain and too little sleep. He’s quiet long enough that Scott wonders if he’s finally given in to his body’s demands, but then, “So Virgil’s not sleeping, huh?”

You’re one to talk. “No, not really.”

“And Gords isn’t eating.”

“Only a little...”

“Then what are we going to do about that?”

Bright green eyes open to study Scott, and there’s a moment of warmth that spills through him, maybe because of the we, or maybe because John does understand the only way Scott can truly be okay. He doesn’t have to answer—they both know what they have to do, and it’s something they should have done a long time ago. So quiet falls, but this time it’s free.

It isn’t often with a family like Scott’s that he’s subjected to silence.

But maybe over the last year they all became quieter, and maybe Scott and John didn’t recognize that like they should have. Or maybe they just didn’t want to. Now Scott won’t let things lie—he knows the danger of willful ignorance. So does John. Maybe together they can bring back some of the noise.