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castielmd · 23 days ago

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Heaven can't wait. | S9EP06 |

I anticipated this episode with a lot of excitement (?) before I knew all the context of it. I knew Castiel was human and I was curious to see him in a different light. But oh man, I did not know what I was signing up for. This episode is (almost) nothing but sad — and whilst I forgot a lot of what happened previously due to my sporadic watching, I cannot not talk about it.

Disclaimer: It won't be Dean friendly.

Usage of tone tags.

/s - sarcastic/satire

/pos - positive

————

Setting the scene: Castiel, told by Dean that he cannot stay at the bunker, after finally having reached this safe place, managed to land a job at a Gas'n'Sip. He notices a series of deaths as he unpacks the newspaper and calls Dean to let him know. Dean goes to investigate the case — and after some initial exploration of his own, goes to find Castiel at his job. He shows up behind a lady in line.

Scene proceeds.

Dean [smiling wide]: I'll have some beef jerky and a pack of menthols.

Castiel [taken aback]: What are you doing here?

Dean: Gee, it's nice to see you, too, Cas.

I'm seriously stunned that Dean looks surprised and a bit irritated at Castiel's question. Dean has kicked him out of the safe place that he offered to Castiel before - I can imagine without much of an explanation. Now, Dean shows up at Castiel's work casually, as if he'd stop by to visit a normal friend on a normal day. I'd go as far as to say that paired with Dean's irritation, he might feel a little offended in this scene. It gives off the vibe "I am happy to see you, why does it seem like you aren't?" What Dean expected here, to me, isn't reasoned at all since they haven't particularly parted on good terms. Nor is the situation Castiel finds himself in one that implies perfect normalcy.

An assumed explanation would be that Dean is hoping/thinking Castiel would simply gloss over the fact that he has been dumped. If so - upon seeing that this wasn't the case, an apology or explanation would've been due. Instead, Dean tosses the ball back to Castiel and denies him the expression of his confusion and perhaps resentment. Now, Castiel has to reason his - understandable - behavior and explain himself to Dean.

Castiel: It's Steve now. And, uh, yeah you surprised me.

Dean: Well, the feeling is mutual. I mean, I knew you had to lay low from the angel threat, but uh, wow this is some cover.

Firstly, Dean agrees that the surprise is mutual — so factually I can assume he hasn't kept tabs on Castiel whatsoever. That's not a lot of concern for your friend that is hunted by his family, previously homeless and having been killed due to everyone's neglect of the situation.

Additionally, what caught my attention here, is Dean's usage of the word "cover", when referring to Castiel's work. To me, a derogatory note swings with the statement — if it isn't clear here, it'll become obvious later.

He's admitting that Castiel needed to disappear from the angels radar and in the process acknowledges the active threat looming over his friends head. At the same time, his rather demeaning way of talking about Castiel's job gives the impression that Dean deems this work beneath his level [even for a "cover" - hence this job isn't even good enough to serve as a superficial hiding space]. That's a rather high horse to sit on for someone who uses/used credit card tricks to pay his daily meals.

The usage of "cover" also implies that he doesn't recognize Castiel's blatant need for a job. He has expenses to pay now — food, clothing, water, a place to sleep.

Castiel: My grace is gone. What did you expect? Do you have any idea how hard it was? When I fell to earth, I didn't just lose my powers. I-" [looks aside, then back to Dean]

Castiel: I had nothing. Now, I'm a sales associate.

Dean: A sales associate?

Castiel: [while signing the paper]: I'm responsible for inventory, sales, customer service. I keep this place — thank you — clean and presentable. And when my manager is busy, I even prepare the food.

Dean: Wow. So you went from fighting heavenly battles, to nuking taquitos?

Castiel [nods]: Nachos, too.

Castiel picks up on the apparent image Dean seems to harbor: He takes away Dean's illusion of this being a cover by reinstating that losing his grace does not just involve losing his powers but everything else too. In my opinion, by asking Dean what he expected, he voices his disdain about Dean's blantantly ignorant behavior.

It's sad, but the thought that Castiel needs food, water, clean clothes and real money seems to have barely crossed Dean's mind. Add all of the emotional components to it: the loss of one's family, being hunted by it — and having death threats (!) on one's head + the guilt Castiel carries for being the one who caused their suffering.

In this scene, he has quickly assessed (by Dean's behavior and what he's said) that his friend hadn't spared his situation any thought below surface level. He expresses that he's faced hardships — and ultimately shatters the "cover" illusion by stating the obvious. Falling means having nothing. It means having a body to nourish at the same time. Essentially, he's lost a fundamental part of his identity.

But Castiel doesn't only stick to that resentment, grief and bitterness. No, he goes on and explains the upside. He takes away the demeaning aspect Dean has brought into the conversation by contrasting his past situation with his current standing. He has managed to land a job as a sales associate.

To him, it seems even more than that. He's lost everything - but now, he is making something of himself again. He states that he is a sales associate - it is a step towards building up his identity again - renewed. He's trying, and managing(!), to find himself again. [Note: I don't think Castiel wants to be a human/doesn't want to be an angel; but I am convinced after effectively being exiled from your home and your own species/family, you'll need to try and adapt to not fall into a dark pit. Castiel, imo, is coming to terms for now and trying to make the best of it.]

Dean, of course, can't believe it. He repeats what Castiel has said back to him — either in disbelief or in doubt. It seems as if Dean is questioning the worth Castiel is assigning his position. He seems to be questioning whether the title of a sales associate really is something Castiel is proud of — or if his job is being worth that high title. He's just a Gas'n'Sip employee after all (/s). But that's only the mean interpretation. Best case, Dean just used it to keep the conversation going.

Castiel, however, doesn't let himself be deterred. He continues to explain and list all his responsibilities: selling, tending to customers, and over all keeping this shop tidy and something customers enjoy going into. For him, to be in charge of the food whenever his manager is busy, even seems like a cherry on top. It is important to him — and really why shouldn't it be? He has achieved a structure, he is trusted in a position of power: to take care of the shop and its visitors.

Despite his attempts to show Dean that he has built something for himself, that he dragged himself out of what was essentially hell, Dean shoves the opposite in his face. Dean contrasts Castiel's past achievements to his achievements now, which are in stark contrast to one another. This is also an unnecessary reminder of what Castiel lost.

Why was there no "Wow, that's a lotta tasks. How long did it take you to learn them?" or "Nice job at landing this job."

No. The list of Castiels achievements gets torn apart in the air and replaced with underlying contempt: "You've been great, look at what you've become."

And yet Castiel persists on the importance of his tasks by not paying the comment much mind and instead adding onto it.

[Note; I am biased and reaching but: Making food, running a store - are both tasks that help us as a society and are needed. In a sense, Castiel is still helping others. Yet, this way doesn't align with what Dean deems a worthy cause. Therefore, it is a downgrade.]

Next scene.

Dean: This is not you, man. You're above this, come on!

Castiel: No, Dean. I'm not. I failed at being an angel. Everything I ever attempted came out wrong. But here, at least I have a shot at getting things right. I guess you can't see it, but there's a real dignity in what I do. A human dignity.

Here what I mentioned earlier comes into play: Deans derogatory note on Castiels job. What exactly would Castiel be above? Working? Or just working this job in particular, that doesn't suit Dean's taste because it isn't a high-end job?

For once, Dean mentions something that is partially right: that this isn't Castiel. He surely means it different than I do when I say I agree. It is, in fact, Castiel, but he's lost an integral part of his identity. He's experienced unimaginable loss, grief, and guilt. What he's doing now is what I mentioned earlier: adapt as much as he can and this way - find himself again. [However, the work (what Dean is referring to), rather speaks of who Castiel is /pos. That's where Dean would be wrong to say this isn't Castiel.]

Castiel himself corrects Dean on the second part — he isn't above this. Not this job, not this life, nothing. He's hit rock bottom and now makes do with what he can, successfully so. It is so heartbreaking that all Castiel can see are his failures. Not the kindness that sparked action — even if said actions had dire consequences. He also picked up on Dean's attitude towards his job; and denies that vision. This is work. This has dignity. What he does here matters.

I also think he's trying to come to terms with the loss of his angel identity (at least for the time being) by adding the last statement about this dignity being human. But that's just personal speculation.

Nora: Hate to interrupt you guys, but Steve, a customer had an accident in the men's room.

Castiel: I'm on it.

Nora: Oh- and, tonight, 7 at my place work for you?

Castiel: Great.

Nora: [smiles] You're the best.

Dean: [turns] That's what this is about.

Castiel: What?

Dean: The girl.

Castiel: No Dean, it's not.

Dean completely misses the point of anything Castiel has said before: losing everything, having responsibilities here, having hope to do good things here — and focuses only on the woman. Likely this is his attempt at making sense of why Castiel would be working such a job (he needs to) - but that doesn't make sense given Castiel has provided a detailed explanation. Dean's outright refusal to merge his perception of Castiel with reality. I have no clue why he is that deep in denial - I appreciate any theories.

Anyway scene goes on.

Castiel: Nora, she's a very nice woman. I'm pretty sure she's not a reaper intent on killing me, and she's asked me out. Going on dates, that's something humans do, right?

Dean: Yeah, I mean, my dates usually end when I run out of singles but eh, yeah, yeah that's something that humans do.

Not much to say on this except Castiel trying so hard to fit in, to make things work. He keeps reassuring himself — this job has /human/ dignity, going on dates is human, and so on. I think he's trying to come to terms with the fact that this is how it is for now. Maybe he is trying to make some positive experiences.

Next scene.

[Phone rings.]

Dean: This is Agent Lee Ermey. I'll be right there. [hangs up.] There was another kill, over at the highschool. You coming?

Castiel: I wouldn't be much use. I don't have my powers.

Dean: So? I've never had powers.

Castiel: You are a hunter.

Dean: And you are a hunter in training, remember?

Castiel: Yeah, I remember. And you said I sucked.

Dean: I didn't say that. I said that there was- uh- you know- room for improvement. Come on!

Castiel: [sighs] Alright, my shift's over in 5 minutes, and my date's not until later so-

Dean: Attaboy; I'll go get the car.

Castiel: Not just yet. I have to clean the bathroom.

Two things. It's so heartbreaking that it has come to the point where Castiel assigns his value only to the powers he possesses. And now that they are gone, he cannot see what contributions he could possibly make. Hm, I wonder how that came. ["He's fried.", *left in a mental health clinic with a demon neither brother trusted after becoming "a broken angel"*, "Call in another halo.", "Without your powers you're just a baby in a trenchcoat!" and so on.]

It is very important to me personally, that in this scene Castiel is shown to harbor resentment. He is perceptive and notices when someone's being mean to him. He rightfully reminded Dean that Dean said he sucked. ["You were bad everything."] Dean, best case jokingly (worst case seriously doesn't pay Castiel's grief any mind) denies that and shifts it into a more harmless version. This effectively invalidates Castiel's memories and feelings. Now he might've done so because he knew Castiel was right in his claim and he is put into an awkward position of having to admit it [which implies an apology would have to come too.] But Dean cannot face his mistake. He pushes it aside, giving the claim a "funny" twist and puts the blame on Castiel. Message sent "You're exaggerating." Message received.

Lastly: Dean is not listening to a word Castiel says unless it is agreeing with him. Castiel says his work finishes in 5 minutes — Dean immediately wants to leave.

Yes, I'll admit, in casual talk this can be interpreted as Castiel saying it's only five minutes left, so I might as well leave with you now. But given the context of the scenes:

Castiel told Dean he has responsibility in this job.

By highlighting that this job has dignity, that he wants to get things right, Castiel shows that this is important to him.

Castiel told Nora, in front of Dean, that he will clean up the mess.

The logical conclusion is to assume Castiel wants to finish his work and then leave.

Well, this is whatever. Miscommunication happens. [too often in their case.]

————

TL;DR: Castiel can explain himself however he wants to, it'll never be received.

I was going to analyze the whole episode but this has gotten too long and I don't want it to rot in my drafts forever. So I'm finishing it up and I'll get to take apart Castiel's and Ephraim's scenes later. Maybe I'll also look into Dean and Castiel's phone call at the start of the episode.

See you in a few months.

#castiel #spn #supernatural #episode analysis #supernatural season 9

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stuffeddeer · 1 year ago

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haii deer i hope you are able to get all your assignments done on time! was reading your tags and aro dazai?? big brain.

so how about aro ace darling? never been in a relationship and never really want to, their friends are more than enough for them !! honestly i just wanna be aro buddies with dazai 🥹

but damn just being weirdo coworkers together, im,,, willing to look past many red flags for him 💔

YOURE JUST LIKE ME FR dazai and i are best friends and we are aro you can ask him yourself also weirdo coworkers.. you get it

"Oh, wait, so you were the latest person hired?" Atsushi's head cocked to the side, looking at you with curiosity. "How long have you been here?"

"My dear here has been with the agency for three months! You know, I was the one that brought them on board," Dazai gloated, a smug smirk on his face and a dramatic hand over his heart.

You were quick to play along, throwing a dramatic hand over your forehead as you leaned back. "Oh, my hero! What would I do without my lovely Dazai?" The sarcastic lilt in your tone didn't go unnoticed by the newest agency member, but he decided not to comment on it.

"Was it like what happened with me? Did you find Dazai drowning?" Apparently a common occurrence, Atsushi had pieced together.

Dazai denied, a smile on his face as he replied with a simple, "Nope!" A few moments of silence passed before the junior realized he wasn't going to elaborate.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask for more information, you decided to take pity on the poor soul and fill him in. "I bailed him out of a holding cell."

No one bat an eye. Atsushi looked around the office, trying to see if maybe someone was holding back laughter, but not a single one of his new coworkers were phased. Did they not hear what you said?

"He got detained for public disturbance in the middle of a case. I told Dazai he'd have to find a way to get out on his own, and he shows back up not even thirty minutes later with them in tow," Kunikida explains, frustration evident in his voice. "I was trying to teach him a lesson."

"I was in the area," you shrug.

"Yeah, being detained as well..."

"I was being released from detainment, actually!" You correct Kunikida, a proud grin on your face. "And Dazai said I should follow him, so I did."

Atsushi laughed awkwardly. He knew you seemed similar to Dazai in your hedonistic pursuits, but this was baffling. "And the president hired you?"

"I had an entrance exam, but pretty much! I had just been fired from my old job the day before so Dazai helped me get set up here. And before you ask: I was fired because I told the boss' kid I wouldn't date him. He got all upset and told daddy to can me," you huff in frustration, still annoyed at your wrongful termination.

Kunikida rolled his eyes. "Don't act like some martyr; You also deserved to be fired. You just messed around on the job like you do here. You barely got any work done."

"You want me so badly it makes you look stupid—"

"I told them to sue and say it's discrimination because they're aro," Dazai cut you off, a pout on his lips like he's annoyed you didn't take his advice.

"What's... arrow?" Atsushi cocked his head to the side. He was unaware of the terminology, having never come across it in this context during his studies at the orphanage.

"Oh, it's shorthand for aromantic. It just means, like, experiencing little to no romantic attraction to anyone. It varies, of course..." You try to explain simply.

Atsushi nods, understanding the basic idea. "But it'd be wrong to lie about your sexuality, right?"

"I'm aro, actually," you shrug. Everyone at the agency is well aware, so Atsushi will likely find out eventually.

"Oh!" The younger employee's cheeks turn pink, feeling a little sheepish for assuming. A moment passes as Atsushi thinks before furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "I thought you and Dazai..?"

"We're both aromantic," Dazai rests his chin on his hand, elbow on his desk and an amused smirk pulling at his lips. "I've dated a lot in the past, but I realized it's just not for me."

"I've never been in a relationship and never want to," you add in yourself. "Aromanticism is... much more complex than how I explained it. Dazai feels romantic attraction, but doesn't— Is it fine if I tell him this?" You suddenly ask, realizing it really isn't your place to speak on his experience, even as his best friend.

"Oh, I don't care. Saves me the trouble," Dazai waves his hand dismissively. "But yeah, I feel romantic attraction, but lose it when it's reciprocated."

Atsushi nods slowly, beginning to understand. "Oh, okay. So you two are just close friends, then."

"Are we just not going to ask what you were doing in a holding cell when Dazai got thrown in?" Tanizaki asks from his desk.

"I just got too silly, you know how it is."

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randomfoggytiger · 1 year ago

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"Mulder Will Be Back"

(Fictober, Day 24)

Giving a side character some limelight today~.

****

Fox Mulder was a scourge.

For some inexplicable reason, he’d been allowed to run without restraints, make a mockery of the hardworking men and women of the FBI, and involve the Bureau in embarrassing scandal after scandal for five long years. Reprimands fell through the cracks, career ending punishments disintegrated into raps on his knuckles-- the closest chastisement he’d ever been given was that his waste of space and taxpayer dollars office was taken from him, twice. (He’d had very unmanageable declarations before review boards both times, daring to rail against the decision of his superiors while snidely making a mockery of the whole proceeding.)

Transcripts of his long speeches into black and white terms showed what a lot of other people missed in civil conversation: it wasn’t ego that drove him, or even strictly pride-- it was hubris.

For all his heroic professions of finding “the Truth”, Mulder didn’t care to look for, grasp, or investigate anything that didn’t fit his dangerously erroneous personal beliefs. It wasn’t just aliens-- that might be tolerable, though wincingly embarrassing-- it was the people who believed in them: sick people who needed a shrink and medication, not a couple days of being catered to, batted around, then left with nothing more concrete than a “well, we tried.” It was all in the files, this lack of care or interest. It was appalling.

Agent Fox Mulder had to know these infuriating facts given his collegiate and BSU training, not to mention the years he’d spent in the VCU. Agent Scully knew, even had a reputation for trying to talk down her partner’s wilder assumptions; but she always went along with his angles, his theories, as much as she professed to being a scientist in need of evidence or proof.

If Jeffrey Spender had any doubts as to the motives of his fellow agents, the disappearance of his mother-- their explicit involvement despite his warnings, despite his mother’s obvious mental incapacity, despite his later vindicated anger-- and, most gallingly, their lack of care afterwards-- Fox Mulder sardonic and sarcastic, Dana Scully denying and defensive-- showed that their reputation and his early assessments had proven him, as always, correct.

Now, he had a mother missing-- a fact which Agent Mulder should have understood, if the few bits of memorabilia recovered from his hallowed-out office were to be the judge. And he had a father-- a fact which still struck Jeffrey as a cruel twist of fate, forcing him to wrestle with the abandonment he and his mother endured at the hands of this shadowy benefactor.

The X-Files were supposed to investigate unsolved cases with the intent to provide answers, perhaps even closure. That was a blatant lie: Jeffrey Spender had read enough-- files on files with nothing but a few days’ vacation in Loo Loo Land and a short report notating little accomplished-- to thoroughly understand that if he seriously considered this post, these witnesses, this job, he’d have to go as mad as Spooky Mulder.

And he was not willing to lose himself, too. He had a mother to find.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

#txf #fic #Fictober #2023 #Day 24 #mine #Jeffrey Spender #S6 #Mulder #Scully #xfiles #x-files #the x files #xf fanfic #xf fic #randomfoggytiger's fic

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angst-king · 3 months ago

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A man by Many names pt 9

(( CW mention or rape, drinking, child abuse & neglect. Also I'm adding something (F/n) = friend's name.) Today was the day, today was the day his plans would finally come together. Dabi, toga, and he had been causing more and more casualties and chaos than usual. Eliminating some of Charge and Switch’s friends one by one, planting gossip here and there about their circumstances that circulated the internet not only in Japan but also in other places. Rumors and whispering had people glaring and acting with caution around the two pro heroes. Some suspected they killed their child and disguised this as a missing child case to cover it up or for publicity. Some think they sent their child to the commission. Some thought that the child had run away-which they weren’t wrong but Izuku couldn’t confirm nor deny that till today.

Today he would out these low lives publicly for what they had done. With some testing, he hacked into his city's stations and large outdoor TV and projected a darkened silhouette of himself on the screen. Many people on the streets and in their homes stopped what they were doing upon this sudden change.

“Pardon the interruption terrible etiquette I know but I’ve waited long enough. I’m sure many of you know about the disappearance of the child of two pro heroes Switch and Charge. I’ll save you detectives and civilians the time. Your two oh-so-lovely pro-hero couple’s child did not die, oh no they are very much so alive and well! The poor thing was so frightened when I found them all alone burned and bruised up in an alleyway! And you’ll never guess who did it! It seems like mommy and daddy dearest aren’t the loving doting parents they pretend to be!” Izuku let out a chuckle as he spoke, he sounded sarcastic and playful as if he were enjoying exposing them, and he was, he was bathing in it!

“The poor dear was shaking in their sneakers when they told me mommy and daddy kicked them out. I know it may seem hard to believe that two people in such a position of saving you pathetic civilians who smile in your faces with promises of safety would do such a thing but! I wouldn’t come with just ‘here-say��. So why not show my receipts~” Izuku said with a wide smirk displaying on the screen. Then the audio Toga had gathered from the car ride was played for many of Japan to hear. Izuku sat back as it played, even if he couldn’t see anyone’s reactions, Toga and Dabi could, they monitored the public’s reactions and texted him back everything they observed.

Many had looks of disbelief and horror on their faces, some people froze in their tracks, and some were whipping out their phones. Some of the news stations were figuring out how to shut Izuku down. But it was too late when the recording had finished Izuku let out a venomous cackle and leaned into his mic.

“What a shame, and here I thought heroes were supposed to be loving and caring! And protect others from harm! Are those two really someone you want ‘protecting’ your children? Someone who would actively encourage the rape and physical abuse of their own child!? If not, then I suggest you take action or step aside and let me handle it~” Izuku stood from his chair holding the microphone as he finished.

“Oh! And to the two shit stains you all call heroes, listen very fucking carefully. I wasn’t joking when I told you I would teach you what the feeling of fear is, and what it means to be a burden. I will make sure you understand exactly how the lil one felt when you kicked them out of your house with only some money and a backpack just so you could get laid and drink. I will make sure you feel what they felt when you let your so-called friends rape them, or when you beat them so badly they collapsed at my feet with burns and deep bruises. I will make you suffer until I think it is enough! You better start believing in a merciful god because I will not hold back!” He growled out the last line through gritted sharp teeth.

“Oh and if you’re wondering who the hell I am? You can call me ‘devour’ if you so wish~” Finally he finished and the screens all went back to their programming. He checked his phone and smiled to see Dabi and Toga’s reports and knew as time went on things would slowly start to fall apart for the heroes.

As days went by the news took Izuku’s debut and ran with it. The fact he played the recording of the pro heroes’ confessions only made things more controversial. People debated left and right about what should be done about them. The PR teams had to delete their social media due to the hate messages, but that didn’t stop angry fans from giving their expressions through hate mail

Deku reveled in their misery, every other week the news would show the couple bouncing from hotel to hotel after it had been vandalized by fans who stood in solidarity for the hidden villain’s cause. When they finally got a new house Izuku had decided to tell Toga and Dabi to leave them be for a little while.

“Lead them into a false sense of security, let the fans handle it for now, I want to see where they take it!” For now, he had to get creative with his hunting. The police and heroes patroling in the area were cracking down. Thankfully he kept his identity well hidden. Katsuki had no way to link him as any sort of villain let alone as Devour. He would be fine, everything would be fine!

Izuku could still take you out of the house since no one could really find a detailed picture of you. Most pictures your ‘parents’ had were very doctored, or low quality. Not to mention you were growing, your hair has gotten longer. So he decided to take you to the park again. Izuku couldn’t help but smile at how much you had grown since the first time he saw you. First, you were a tiny scared child who would shake and tremble at the sound of your name. Now you were smiling and playing on the playground.

As you ran around on the toysets you met someone who you hadn’t seen since you ran away.

“(F/n)?!” The small child turned to look at you their big red eyes meeting yours and you both grinned, they ran at you and hugged you tightly.

“(Y/n)!” You two were so happy to see each other again, time wasn’t an easy concept for kids so it truly felt like forever since you had seen one another.

“Where have you been!?” “I’ve been with a new dadda, my mommy and daddy weren’t being nice to me so I ran away!” Your friend looked at you in surprise and asked to meet your Dadda, so you took them by the hand and led them down to Izuku. You walked them over to the bench and called out for Izuku who looked up from his book with a smile.

“Hey (y/n) is everything okay?” He asked, You nodded grinned widely, and introduced your friend.

“I found my friend and they wanted to meet you!” Izuku looked over at the kid warmly, though as soon as he got a good look alarm bells rang in his head. Soft blond hair and bright red eyes that looked all too familiar.

“Hello lil one, what's your name?”

“I’m (F/n) Bakugou” Maybe it was just a common surname, right no way nope totally not his kid-

“Do you wanna meet my Papa?” “Su-sure” Next thing Izuku knew the small child raced off somewhere and came back dragging Katsuki Bakugou over to him by the hand. Izuku was about to have a heart attack right then and there. His head pounded in his chest, his blood was cold his eyes were wide in horror.

“Who did you- D-deku?” Both adults were staring at each other like two deers caught in the headlights.

“Dadda, you okay?” You asked him while tugging on Izuku’s hand, it took him a moment to come back down to earth but when he did he was still face to face with Katsuki. No hee wouldn’t allow him to make him feel afraid anymore, those days were long behind him. He promised himself he would never allow himself to be intimidated by him! After a long and hard deep breath, he shot the blond a subtle glare while greeting him.

“Hello, Bakugou.” That sure seemed to surprise Katsuki even more, he straightened up his stance and replied.

“H-hello, Midoriya” Izuku could tell that saying his last name left a sour taste in Katsuki’s mouth….Good! It should after the hell he put him through, he hoped it tasted horrible.

“Ooh Papa do you know (Y/n’s) dad?” Katsuki gave an unsure look and a heavy swallow as if he were swallowing his guilt.

“Y-yeah, though not very well, we used to go to school together it all.”

“Oh like how (Y/n) and I did?” “Y-yeah, kind of. Hey why don’t you two go play some more, since Midoriya and I already know each other.” Katsuki suggested, his kid nodded and took you by the hand and you both ran back to the playground together. Katsuki plopped down on the far side of the bench with a grunt, unable to keep his glances off of Izuku who put his nose back into his book.

“S-so-”

“Shut up.” Izuku hissed out annoyedly, but that didn’t stop Katsuki from talking.

“Don’t tell me what to-” “I’m reading, shut up.” “Would you stop that!” Izuku rolled his eyes got up from his seat and moved to another bench still within view of the children so he could make sure you were okay. Izuku wasn’t going to get himself involved with him, he wasn’t scared he just didn’t want to, not this soon, not like this. Not while he was internally spiraling and biting his tongue to keep himself from having panic attacks from seeing his childhood abuser. If Katsuki remembered that night before then he might ask him about it and he didn’t want to talk about it, and he wasn’t sorry either. Izuku could see the bandage on Katsuki’s wrist, he knew that was because of him. Good. There’s plenty more where that came from if he decided to fuck around again.

Now here’s praying Katsuki would keep his mouth shut and not ruin his plans.

#king's fanfic #mha fanfic blog #mha parent scenarios #villain deku au #cannibal villain midoriya #parent villain deku #toga himiko #mha dabi #bakugou katsuki #reader is gender neutral #child reader #mha fandom #mha fanfiction #villain deku fanfic

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regicidal-defenestration · 2 years ago

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KaF3Countdown - A Client and A Case

He hadn't expected actual fairies.

Oh, sure, the little ginger man in the big coat - he'd introduced himself as Cain maybe? - had warned him that they'd be dealing with magic. He'd said there was "probably" no danger, with the "don't sue me, I can't afford the legal fees" heavily implied. He'd even - fuck, it was spelt weirdly wasn't it? Kane, then? - given him two small silver coins for protection, which he'd taken to show willing.

But Feels hadn't expected actual, real life, fairies living in an old lady's garden, curdling her milk and scaring the neighbour's cats.

Kane had been called up by her to have it exorcised, although, as he was keen to point out, exorcism would have likely made the fairy problem even worse.

Feels had come along because he'd seen Kane's advert in the paper - wanting a partner in his "paranormal detective agency".

It had sounded interesting, or something that'd make a good story at least, and more than that it paid well, well enough to have gone out with him after for a meal at an actual restaurant.

"Is this, like, your day job?" he asked around mouthfuls of chicken vindaloo.

"God no!" Kane laughed, then at least had the grace to look embarrassed about it.

"Do you know how many people think I'm just conning old ladies out of their life savings?"

"I thought it was a front for selling drugs," Feels admitted.

Stopping with a forkful of korma halfway to his mouth, Kane gave him a baffled look.

"And you still came?"

A shrug.

"Didn't have anything else on today. Anyway-" Feels pointed at himself, then back at Kane. If Feels was built like a solid log, Kane was barely a twig.

"- I reckon I could take you in a fight, magic or not."

Kane paused, barely.

"That's exactly why I want to offer you a job."

That's exactly why he-

What?

Feels couldn't deny he'd enjoyed the day. Or, enjoyed was possibly the wrong word. Worried for his health and/or sanity, maybe. Enjoyed bargaining with the fairies to get them to leave in the same way you enjoy coming face to face with an unexpected bear, but only afterwards when you live to tell everyone about it.

He'd definitely enjoyed the food. Even enjoyed Kane's company when the man wasn't being a prat, which amounted to approximately half the time they'd spent together, rounded up generously.

And instead of saying any of this, Feels asked instead:

"A job?"

"I can't promise it'll be safe," Kane said quickly.

"There's no guarantee we'll even find clients, or that they won't all be dead ends or pranks."

"Job in the loosest sense of the word then?"

It hadn't meant to have come out so sarcastically, and Feels felt bad at Kane's grimace.

"If it doesn't work out, you can forget I ever existed. But I know… I know there are people out there who need, actually need the kind of help we can give."

Kane spread out his hands.

"So, what do you think?"

And Feels realised he didn't need to think about it.

"What's our next case?"

#kaf3countdown #kane and feels #this was a last minute swerve jdfhgk like. i had something else written then was like 'wait exactly fits shaman and the rock and i just put #the word case in there for it to be less of a reach'#so instead you get this!#writing

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nachoaveragejoe234 · 1 year ago

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OK, so one of the weirdest people who is pro-racebending is Tommy Ross. The only thing I like is how he defends redhead rep in another video (his Peter Pan video), saying that the racebenders need to stop removing the red hair which is good. And yes the casting for Lilo and Stitch is wrong.

youtube

I have a few problems with him that make him one of the worst.

When he shows a picture of Danish people and asks sarcastically if they look oppressed. Firstly, there is no such thing as an "oppressed look" idiot, secondly, they have technically been oppressed. The world likes Scandinavians but Denmark and Norway were two of the countries the Nazis invaded, so technically YES. Because the Nazis commited atrocitices against Danes and Norwegians. Secondly, as much as Ariel doesn't have many indications to Danish culture, Danish culture is real and it's just as rich as anyone elses. So you're inherently saying "Danish culture doesn't exist".

When he gets mad at POC who think racebending is leftovers. He's literally invalidating POC opinions and trying to GUILT and manipulate the POC who disagree into becoming part of the cult. It's gaslighting. And the irony of this here is that it's coming from a WHITE BRITISH MAN, so a WHITE BRIT, you know, the ENGLISH, some of the most oppressive people in history, is trying to speak for a certain group of POC to brainwash them into becoming internet idiots. Hmmmm, as the POC bigots say, "white saviour check your privilege".

I wonder what he really would say if they racebent Merida or Anna and Elsa in live action Frozen remakes. I hope he believes Europeans have culture, but that thing about Denmark makes me suspicious he'd mock and invalidate Scottish and Norwegian culture and say they're not oppressed. That would especially be disgusting in Merida's case because Scottish people have absolutely been oppressed and still somewhat are, just Google it or look at the Scots who want independence and keep their culture alive (same with the Irish and Welsh), as well as the fact that he's again, from England. England is the county that oppressed the Scots in the FIRST PLACE so for him specifically to deny Scots because of "POC" he's ultimately continuing England's attemtps to destroy Scotland and Scottish culture.

He retorts to the original content request with "you don't go and see it", when in reality, a lot of people do and will. The problem is not the audience but Hollywood and creators not promoting them enough, or when they're not at fault, it's when a bad situation is happening that is out of control such as a virus outbreak or strike or boycott.

He defends Rachel Zegler.

wow you really are an idiot aren’t you? no dipshit, they’re not making tiana white because that is /racist/. tiana is based on a real life black woman. changing the little mermaid, a fictional blonde book character, to a black girl for a new version of the story is however /not/ racist. y’all can let black girls have more than one (1) token princess without losing your shit you know.

Dude NOBODY has a problem with POC characters.

What people have a problem with is the INTENT. Disney did this with an ulterior motive. They changed Ariel to Black because they knew the Disney live action remakes are always horrible and never measure to the original. They knew if they changed her race and anyone (even other Black people) criticized the remake, they could always deflect to calling critics racist and guilt people into seeing the film. It was the exact same strategy they did for Wrinkle in Time and everyone saw through it, which was why the movie flopped.

When Tiana was created it was with genuine effort and WITHOUT this sort of ulterior motive. And guess what? Everyone loved her. Nobody cared when Finn from Star Wars was Black except for trolls. Nobody cares when movies with Black characters like Moonlight and Get Out are made, because in those stories there was no ulterior motive behind them being Black.

Also there are so many African stories existing. They could have made an animated movie with an African story instead of lazily changing the race of an existing character. All that implies is original Black characters can’t exist and you have to change someone’s race to put Black people in stories. If you ask me that’s more racist.

#Youtube

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to4ix · 2 years ago

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Dating ville valo headcanons

Summary: just some Ville valo headcanons:) it is guitarist!reader but really only talked about in the beginning

A/n: there’s not enough (there’s absolutely non) ville vallo writing on here so I had to do what was very much needed and plus who doesn’t want to be Villes hot guitar player gf!

•. •. •.

So for starters you two met behind stage at a festival you both were preforming at.

You were sitting on the ground tunning your guitar before you had to go out and preform when ville saw you

What got him first was you were sitting on the ground rather than a chair, he thought it was kinda funny in a way.

Granted mige had to talk him into going an talking to you because honestly he was nervous. He’d forgotten all about the show he had in a hour and was now only thinking about you.

“Mige, do you know who that is” Villes deep voice rang as he was observing the way you fingers moved over the strings of your black guitar.

Mige glanced over at you then at ville, who was still looking at you. “Why?”He asked with his eyebrows pinched suspiciously seeing the look his friend was wearing.

Ville sighs

“no reason” tairing his eyes from your figure he looks back at mige who was now smiling. “What?”

Miges smile grows as ville tries to play it off.

“Oh don’t you act dumb, I see the way your staring at the poor girl.”

“You’re being ridiculous” looking away from his friend, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If you think she’s so pretty why don’t you just go talk to her?”

Ville didn’t deny the statement, he looks back at where you sit for a second. Its almost like he’s admiring you. The focused look on your face as your fingers dance across the strings, the way your hair fell in front of your eyes from time to time. He’d only seen you maybe 10 minutes tops and he was already picking out little things.

The headphones you wore over your head connect to a small amp so the sound wouldn’t bother anyone. But ville wanted to hear what you were playing, listen to what you were so focused on. From the way your hands moved across the frets he guessed it sounded amazing and he did not want to wait till your band preformed, hell he didn’t even know which group you played for.

Coming back to reality ville answers mige “she looks focused, don’t want to distract her”

“Fine, talk to her after she preforms then”

“I don’t even know what band she plays with”

“You’ll find out when you see her on stage” sarcastically midg said.

Ville thought for a moment breathing out heavily.

“What would I even say to her”

“Well you can tell her how well she played, I don’t know!” Throwing his hands up walking away from his stubborn friend.

And that’s how it started

And mige was right Ville did in fact see you get on stage and play.

Seeing as your band played first, before HIM, ville was already anxious to preform let alone talk to you

He watched you from the side stage mesmerized

Literally heart eyes

so after you had gotten off stage, you started to put your guitar gear away and clean up some stuff when ville offers to help

You look up to see ville and instantly got a funny feeling in your stomach

You swear he’s the prettiest person you’ve ever seen

Ville would say the same for you

You say yes of course

As you both work the two of you have the biggest smiles

He might be nervous but try’s not to show it

I mean who wouldn’t be nervous talking to a girl like you

And while helping he did in fact complement how well you played

“You we’re amazing out there, you know that” ville says looking up through pieces of his hair as he zips up the guitar case.

You blush at the complement a smile coming to your face as you both lock eyes. “I do my my best.”

You two instantly click

But time was cut short when ville had to go preform

At this point ville would rather stand there all night talking to you instead of going out and singing

But he goes anyways against his own will

Walking away Ville turns around to face you “will you still be here after the show”

His bright eyes stair back at you awaiting your answer. Hoping it would be yes.

“I think I might have to” your smile slowly growing

Villes eyebrows pinch together, your smile making his stomach flutter

“And why is that?”

“Well to hear that voice of yours obviously”

A light blush rises to his cheeks but he keeps up his appearance as he smirks.

“so be it then. I’ll be dedicating this show to you then rakas.” He throws a small wink at you and then he’s gone

As soon as he stepped on stage he becomes a different person

He’ll throw glances at you while singing once in a while

Which makes you blush

And after the show the two of you talked about everything and anything

He found himself drawn to you

When it was time to part ways he gave you his number and the rest was history

You guys talked every day after that night

And spent a lot of time together

It was just you two at one another’s house spending time together

Ville liked watching movies with you because you always fell asleep on him and you both would wake up holding each other

He also liked when you laid your head on his lap while reading so he could play with your hair.

You guys never officially said you were a couple but every one new

About 2 months went by. you and ville had gone to this small book shop you had found.

Ville had come up behind you while you were looking at the summery of a book you had found. He smiled at the focused look on your face, the same one you wore the night you had met.

He rest his chin on your shoulder as you continued to look at the book. He thinks about the small ring in his pocket.

It was a simple ring, small, silver, with a dark purple gem that sat in the middle. He had saw the ring one night and thought of you. It was beautiful and had an antique look to it.

His hand played with the ring in his pocket thinking about when he should give it to you. It wasn’t anything big, it wasn’t like he was asking for your hand in marriage, though one day he’s very likely to. It was just to show the love he had for you and to make things a little more official then they were, if you will. It was more like a promise ring of sorts.

“Find anything?” You ask, turning your head a little to look at ville. You laugh a little at the look of admiration his face holds while looking at you.

“No” a simple response which was sort of odd.

Sometimes you two didn’t share many words with how chaotic your lives were, just being around one another was enough but this was different.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you fully turn around as ville lifts his head from you shoulder.

He’s quiet for a moment, he bites his lip as he looks down at his shoes. He looks back up at you pulling the ring from his pocket. “I just wanted to give you this”

Your eyebrows scrunch a little “for me?” As you look down at the beautiful ring ville held in his hand

“Well who else would it be for” ville laughs a bit but the look of shock lingers on your face

“Why?” You search Villes bright eyes.

“Because I wanted to give you something that showed my love for you and as a promise that I will always love you”

“Ville it’s beautiful” you say breathlessly as he slides the ring on your finger

You look up from the ring, placing you hand on Villes cheek and kiss him.

Which he in return places his hands on your waist as he smiles into the kiss.

You pull away slightly from the kiss “I love you ville”

“and I love you”

When it gets out that the two of you are dating people go nuts

You two are literally the hottest couple ever

You two have done a few magazine covers together seeing as you both are in bands

There definitely are the jealous fans from time to time though

Villes favorite thing is when you two are laying down and you trace his arm tattoos

Sharing cigarettes all the time

As well as lightning each other’s cigarettes

Stealing his clothes because they smell like him and he has amazing style

You 2 for sure have matching tattoos

This man will write a hole entire album about you

What can he say, your his biggest inspiration

Always asks for your opinion on something

Doing each other’s eyeliner for fun

Make out seshes before shows

You’ve definitely gone on stage with hickeys before

You both still get nervous before shows no matter how many the both of you have done.

So to calm both of your nerves you listen to music together.

Always holding hands

He likes to trace his thumb over your hand from time to time

Playing with his rings before shows because of nerves

His favorite thing about after shows is getting to see you

Playing with his hair all the time

He doesn’t mind he actually loves it

Ville will come up from behind you and just connect his hands around you waist and rest his chin on your shoulder

He will put his head in the crook of your neck and just stand there

He’s pretty neutral on pda

He just wants to be near you at all times

Again, whether that’s holding hands or his arm over your shoulder.

I feel the way he shows love would for sure be physical touch

Forehead kisses all the time!

He’ll find little nik-naks an trinkets that he thinks you would like, and gives them to you

He loves listening to you play the guitar

Reading together

He dose his best to teach you Finnish but you two just end up on the floor laughing

Will let you paint his nails

His favorite names for you are darling and sweetheart.

If neither of you can sleep you’ll go to the living room and watch movies till the sun comes up then sleep the day away

Trying to bake together is very messy

You nor ville can take things seriously around one another

And end up covered in flower and sugar

You two have a vintage record player set up in the living room and will buy each other vinyls that you think one another would like

If you don’t have any shows coming up Ville will drag you to his, you don’t complain though

He likes having you near him

You both could go hours with out speaking to each other and be content

You both have very busy life’s so just being around one another is enough.

༒.• ༒.•༒

#ville valo #ville valo x reader #ville valo headcanons #him band #him vs bam #2000s #headconon #mood bored #jackass

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give-soup-please · 2 years ago

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How I write for the narrator (long post)

This isn't perfect advice, this is just what I do to make him sound canonical.

Every good fictional character has their own rhythms and cadences for how they speak. Word choice and pacing have a certain flow when spoken aloud. I notice in the script there are patterns that repeat. He has a tendency to do rapid fire "no"s, for example.

(ex. "Are you really just doing this for the achievement? Click a door five times? Is that all that you think an achievement is worth? No, no, no, no, no."

"Oh, no! Oh, no no no no no no no no no no no no, not again." (when the player re-enters the broom closet.

"NO! No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! This isn't right at all! You're not supposed to be here, yet! This is all a spoiler! Quick, Stanley, close your eyes!" (adventure line when it leads you back to the monitor room)

Another pattern he has is switching between really short sentences and longer ones.

"Stanley waited. Hours passed. Then days. Had years gone by? He no longer had the ability to tell.

But the one thing he knew, for sure, beyond any doubt, was that if he waited long enough, the answers would come. Eventually, some day, they would arrive."

There are other patterns he has too, but they're kind of hard to put into words.

The narrator is also a dramatic MF, so when emotions run high, he really amps up what he's talking about.

"The moment he entered his manager's office, Stanley froze in his tracks. Not a living soul anywhere. Could he really be all alone? This was too much for Stanley to take; too much for any man to take. He fell to his knees, bursting into half-moans, half-sobs... the guttural retching of life from a man denied any hope, any reason to keep going." (Narrator, what the f*ck. we're- we're just standing here)

and

"No! He refused to believe it. He couldn't accept it; his own life in someone else's control? Never! It was unthinkable, wasn't it? Was it even possible? Had he truly spent his entire life utterly blind to the world?" (narrator~, your showmanship is, well, showing~)

He's also a sarcastic boi, which I usually downplay because I prefer the narrator's sweeter side. But it's still there.

"You too?! Unbelievable. I'm at the mercy of an entire species of invalids. Perhaps there's a monkey nearby you can hand the controls to? A fish? A fungus? Look, you can hammer out the details; I'm not particularly picky."

"Okay, I think we all know the drill by now. Blah blah blah, dark secrets, the keypad, Stanley pushes some buttons, oh hey, look, it's a new passageway! Quelle surprise!"

Another thing to think about is word choice. The narrator is someone I'd describe as erudite. He uses large words a lot. An example of large words that I can pull from the script include: "momentum, "warrants recognition", " examination of structural narrative tropes", "Physical malady", solace, catalyst, immense." And this is just from a quick glance at the script. I admit, it's a tricky balance. You want him well spoken, but not a jackass, unless you're specifically writing him to have maximum pretentiousness. Try and find words that not everyone knows, but can guess based on context if they're too lazy to look the word up. Eventually you can fine tune it.

The more you practice this stuff, the more intuitive it becomes. These days, when I write him, I can hear whether or not it sounds like something he'd actually say. and I think there was a post that modmad talked about when writing characters. There's a voice inside that will tell you whether or not what you're writing fits his character. "Listen to that voice, that's the character speaking" or something like that.

And a small confession: I keep the script open when I write these things in case I need to refer back to him or check in to see if what I'm writing fits. I don't have the entire script memorized (yet)

Again, this isn't a perfect system, but it's how I do it.

And if it seems like I've got a particular knack for it... I'm an english major who reads character analysis papers and looks at linguistic styles for fun. I love thinking about what makes characters tick. I have major original ideas that I'll one day write about. It's my dream to one day write professionally. I think it would be hilarious to be at a convention 10-20 years from now doing one of those author Q&As and tell the audience that I used to run a headcanon blog. I imagine the crowd would go wild at hearing that. I love writing, it's my other special interest/gen

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp #narrator #tsp narrator x reader #long post

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

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stormxpadme · 2 years ago

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Whumptober 2022 No. 21 - Coughing up blood

1968

"Thank you for stopping by, Hank. It is very much appreciated."

"Slow down, Charles." Hank reached out to his friend inconspicuously, placing his paw on Charles' back for a moment to try and curb his hectic pace to the stairs.

School hours were just being over; the number of children and teenagers, almost all of which showed at first sight already the physical anomalies that had led them to this house in the first place, were leaving the classroom one by one, looking startled by their Principal's hurry, the haunted look on his face. No matter how bad that supposed emergency really was, it certainly wasn't worth it scaring a bunch of already traumatized young people who'd only just begun living a somewhat normal life in this house. Started to forget how feared and shunned they were out there and that in most cases, they'd been cast out by their own families.

"Professor?" One of the few regular-looking teenagers with strawberry red hair and a strikingly deep voice was first to speak up, not easily fooled by Hank's calming, brief smile the pupils' ways. "Is it Professor Lehnsherr?"

'Is he doing worse?' a small girl next to him signed whose beak-shaped mouth had denied her the ability to speak since birth.

"It's just a cold, don't worry." Charles forced himself to stop halfway down the stairs and throw his charges a fuzzy-looking smile as well. "Not uncommon for the time of this time of the year, as you know. Temperatures are dropping quickly. All of you, check the heating in every room please, make sure we're ready for the winter. Beast here will make sure we've got all the medication we need in case someone else stays outside at night, training for too long next."

That was enough to have the pupils scatter, and the external teacher who was responsible for all subjects not related to STEM or English was still busy packing her things in the classroom hall.

Charles braced himself on the stair railing with a forced breath. "Thanks for making the way here, Henry. I know how busy you are, but he wouldn't let me take him to a practice or the hospital when it was still possible. You know how he gets with people."

"Yes, it must be a real hardship to hide powers that cause no physical features whatsoever for a few hours to get a bottle of cough medicine prescribed," Hank gave back sarcastically, tiredly raising his hand when Charles wanted to speak up again.

Yes, he knew. It was one of the reasons he didn't come around here too often and couldn't help but wonder how Charles put up with this guy in the first place. At some point, he'd silently wondered if his friend was simply using his powers half of the time to shut the guy up or override his vote in their business partnership when Erik came up with another exceptionally stupid and dangerous idea. Sometimes, he definitely should have if that hadn't been so damn unethical.

"You could just have called someone here. If his fever is as high as you told me, he probably wouldn't even have noticed."

"I tried, when it got worse." Watching the last of the young people leave, Charles allowed himself to drop that shaking mask of cheerful encouragement for good that he kept up for the mutants he was trying to prepare for a world that hated them as well as he could, instilling in them first and foremost the belief that people would change, eventually, that life would get easier for their kind soon, now that the world was more and more aware of them and what they could do. It was one of these days when it became harder to uphold that faith himself than on others. "But I needed to tell them of his nature. He's disorientated enough for his powers to go haywire. They would have found out when they got here and got suspicious about the whole school. And I don't have a lot of practice with wiping specific memories from people's minds yet. Luckily, I didn't need to worry about that." A bitterness Hank hadn't heard from Charles in a long time – maybe never – dripped from his tight, thin lips, sunken grey eyes flashing with aggression for a moment that only his deep feelings for a certain other mutant could provoke. "None of them would come when they heard what he is. Hospital would have been the next best guess, but that might have ended badly with how out of it he is. So … thank you. I know, you two aren't best friends."

"I don't have a problem with this, especially when it's as serious as you say." Hank nodded ahead towards the cellar, after squeezing Charles' shoulder for a moment. "It's him who treats me like I'm one of those people who refuse to see our kind even as part of humanity, just because I'm not as happy as some of you about my gifts."

"Well, it's either you or ending up in the newspaper if he rips half an emergency room to pieces by accident, so he'll have to suck it up." Charles' askew grin quickly slipped down his lips again when he rummaged in a pocket of his suit jacket, bringing up something that had Hank, too, forget about the last of animosities and frustration for the moment. Even about the fact that Charles hadn't said anything about his cynical remark on purpose, not least because in that regard, he very much shared Erik's opinion. For people whose power set was more suited to save the world than to scare little children as a bedside story monster, it was easy to preach acceptance. But those disputes could wait until there were no more bloody tissues involved. "Found it under his pillow this morning when he was in the bathroom," Charles remarked quietly when Hank looked up from the crumpled white cloth with Erik's initials in the corner with wide eyes. "No idea for long he's been hiding it. He knows exactly I wouldn't let his pride get in the way of his health. And now it's too late. Now his fever is at a point where I had to get him to Cerebro because he can't do the least involuntary damage there. I can't even sit him in a car without risking an accident. We're through all the meds I could get my hands on. I'm at a loss here, Hank. Just tell me, he'll be alright. Please."

"You're not one of your children, Charles. I won't make any promises to you I may not be able to keep before I've seen him." Hank scratched through the fur at the back of his head in agitation and hurried forward himself now, out both of patience and time to deal with a visibly scared Charles who was even too panicked for an answer he couldn't deal with. When his friend impatiently stopped at the digital retina scanner lock of that room that Erik and he had built in the last few years, one that Hank had never seen from the inside but from where a suspicious clattering and rattling of metal on metal could be heard, he took him by the shoulder once more. One more second of waiting would probably be alright. No one who could make that much noise with his powers, accidentally or not, would be dying anytime soon. "But what I can promise you is that I will never refuse a call for help if anyone in this house needs me. At least as long as you promise me, next time you're not hesitating until you've probably given him antibiotic resistance from all you messed around with." He patted his friend's back awkwardly when Charles hugged him for a moment and cleared his throat, raising his bag. "Now do me a solid and take him out for five minutes, will you?" He tapped his forehead with a claw. "Because I don't love you enough to get decapitated by some steel panel in your little pet project."

"Oh please." Charles straightened himself with another deep sigh and closed his eyes, focusing on that other mind so deeply linked to his own behind that door. "You know as well as I do, Erik couldn't hurt another mutant if he tried."

Hank just waved him off and started searching in his bag for all he'd need while he waited for Charles to do his own job. Even when there would be many points in the decades to come when he would regret deeply ever answering his phone that day, he'd sworn an oath at some point, and that vow included even megalomaniacs who would rather see the world burn than budge one inch from their twisted views.

It turned out it actually was pneumonia, mild enough though to barely scrape by hospitalization. Thanks to the drugs Hank had wisely brought from the institute and to all that fascinating alien monitoring, scanning, and administering tech in the mansion's sick bay – that made Hank wish once more reluctantly, Erik and him could somehow overcome their differences enough for him to show up here more often –, he could leave Charles alone with his partner again a few hours later, with a map full of instructions and a bag full of blisters and bottles. At that point, they had the fever under control, and Erik was somewhat addressable again after they'd got two IVs against temperature and dehydration into him.

But for as much as a thank you, Hank waited in vain when he finally strolled to the exit with a tired wave Charles' way, ignoring both his apologetic murmur and that look of pure contempt from ice-cold bright eyes burning in his back, especially at that one bald spot on his neck where his fur had started to regrow recently, marking the latest failure of Hank's continuous experiments with a certain kind of cure that only mutants of his kind were desperately hoping for.

At a look back over his shoulder into that single patient room, the door already open, he saw Charles curled up in his lover's bed by Erik's side, with his eyes closed, days of a fearful watch without any rest overwhelming him.

Erik had one arm loosely around his shoulders, unmoving, his thoughts obviously miles from such shallow comfort. He'd drawn a scalpel from some instrument trolley close with his powers and twirled it in the air without even looking at it. His eyes were still on Hank, his very pale face blank. "How many did he tell you he called before you, McCoy? 20 bucks says, the ones I heard when I was more awake than he thought alone is five times higher."

"My job is not making him see that won't ever change, or convince you, violence is any answer to that, Lehnsherr." Hank tiredly took his glasses off that were no longer needed and searched for his car key in his pocket. "I just come by here occasionally to make sure none of you gets themselves killed keeping their preferred kind of illusions up. You know he'd take a bullet for you anytime, right? If it hadn't been me, he'd dragged someone else here, even if he'd had to sell his soul and zombify their mind before. I wish I could say I believed you'd do the same for him."

"I wouldn't need to," Erik answered grimly, in that almost toneless hiss that days of coughing his lungs out had left, but still loud enough for Hank's feral senses to pick up on. "In the kind of world I will create, there will be no place for anyone who doesn't accept us. Might keep that in mind, McCoy, before you give yourself the next shot of poison." When Charles stirred restlessly in his sleep as if he'd overheard the not exactly subtle thread, Erik carelessly let that scalpel drop and pressed his chopped lips to his lover's bald head, pulling him close finally, in a gesture that, too, looked more demonstrative than loving.

Hank left without another word. There were some diseases though for which there was indeed no cure. He thought, maybe with time, Charles and he would both start to learn how to accept that.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive

#no.21 #Coughing up Blood #x men #fic #everything after x2 didn't happen sue me #x men original timeline movies #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #hank mccoy #magneto #long post #stormys fanfics #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022

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heliads · 3 years ago

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Past Fears

Based on this request: "So this after TFATWS, The reader, Sam and bucky are a team they go on missions together. On a mission, While catching the villain, the reader falls down from a very high height Sam catches her but at last minute. And due to past bad memories and fear of heights she seems to get a panic attack once they reach the ground so sam stays with her, comfort her and doesn't leave her side until she tells him she is okay"

masterlist

It is dead silent in the briefing room, save for the electric hum of the air conditioning units just managing to function over your heads. This quiet is no small feat, especially considering the fact that you’re sharing the space with two Avengers who love to pretend that they hate each other.

This being said, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have been friends for a while, even if they deny it whenever you ask. They’ve been working well together for some time now, you’ve been around long enough to confirm it for yourself. At some point, they’ll have to admit that they’re more than just acquaintances, although you have a feeling that their sarcastic banter will continue long after that.

Right now, though, the two men are focused on the joint task of making sure you don’t die on an upcoming mission. You, Sam, and Bucky have decided to work together on future projects, especially after the success of taking down the Flag Smashers. The Avengers may never reform, or not in the same way without Steve, Tony, Natasha, and the rest.

Needless to say, if the three of you can work together, you should seize upon that opportunity and do what you can while it lasts. So, when you got word from your remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. contacts that some trouble might be cropping up, you knew just who to call.

Now it’s back to the three of you to save the day again. You, the agent who’s been killing her memories through a carefully monitored dosing of just enough missions that the bullets fired and lives taken blend together. Sam, the good man in a bad world, the one who just can’t seem to catch a break. Bucky, the soldier who’s so far gone from the person he used to be that he can’t even figure out who he’s supposed to become anymore. No one could understand each other better.

Maybe that’s why you work so well together, after all. The three of you are the same figure cut from the same bolt of cloth, albeit with ragged edges and fraying seams. That’s how you know that they can analyze the shoddy security camera stills in front of you and see the same things that you’re seeing right now. They always do.

Just in case, Bucky raises a hand to gesture towards the men in the photographs. “So these guys are what, mercenaries? Who’s hiring them?”

You lift a shoulder. “We’re not entirely sure. All we know is that they showed up during one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. patrols, and knew just enough about the schedule of the agents to slip in and out of a government facility unnoticed. We think they’re trying to steal secrets, but they didn’t come away with anything other than a chance to practice mapping out the corridors.”

Sam frowns. “They just showed up and left? Why would they do that?”

Your lips purse. “The only thing I can think of is that they knew we’d see them and they’re trying to see what kind of reaction they’ll get.”

Sam folds his arms across his chest, staring back at the security footage. “You think they’re trying to lure us out?”

“It’s not necessarily us that they’re trying to lure out,” you offer, “just whoever’s in sight. They don’t know who’s left now that the Avengers have retired, and so if they poke around and nothing happens, they know they’re all clear to plan a bigger raid.”

Bucky grimaces. “So if we stay out of it, things are bad, and if we go after them, we’re walking into a trap?”

You nod. “Sounds about right.”

Sam sighs. “Well, it’ll be dangerous. What else is new? I say we plan a strategic intervention in two days’ time. They’ll be planning on an immediate response, but if we wait just a little longer, we can throw them off their rhythm.”

Bucky flashes the two of you a thumbs up, the blue glow of the LED lighting panels reflecting off of the metal digit. “Seems good to me. I’ll start staking out their base.”

Bucky leaves the room. You go to follow him, but Sam calls after you. “Actually, Y/N, can you stay a moment longer?”

You turn around, facing Sam with a quizzical look. “Sure, what’s up?”

Sam’s studying you with the same troubled expression he reserves for his counseling vets or troublemaking nephews. “You know who these guys are, don’t you? I mean, more than it says in the files.”

You glance away, somehow unable to meet his gaze. “Something like that.”

You’re hoping that Sam will back off, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be the case. Instead, he walks closer. “Is there something that we should know? Few things have worried you like this, and that worries me.”

At last, you give in. “It’s not the intruders I recognize, but their masks.”

You jab a finger at the screen in front of you, pointing out the angular, metal coverings blocking the faces of the men from view. “I’ve seen those before. They’re very distinctive, and I’ve never found them anywhere else. A long time ago, a group of bruisers were terrorizing S.H.I.E.L.D., trying to target the organization with specific cyber and physical attacks. They were like a smaller version of HYDRA, but just as fierce. They called themselves the Dead Men.”

Sam’s brow furrows. “Wait a minute, I’ve heard that name before. Wasn’t there some problem a while ago where they managed to capture one of the higher up S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and no one could rescue them for years?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was me.”

Sam’s eyes widen with horror. “That’s why you’re worried, isn’t it? You see those masks, you think it’s the guys who kidnapped you?”

You rub your arm absentmindedly. Sometimes, you swear you can still feel the restraints, even though it was years ago and you’ve long since learned how to crush a cyanide capsule against your teeth rather than get captured again.

“I don’t think it’s the guys who kidnapped me. Those guys are literally dead men now. No, I think they’re wearing the masks to emulate the former organization, or in the hopes of messing with anyone who recognizes them.”

Sam whistles under his breath. “Well, if they wanted to make a stir, they’re doing it now. I want them gone.”

You chuckle. “So do I, Sam. One piece of advice, though? Don’t get lost in somebody else’s fight.”

Sam shakes his head. “They hurt you, and you’re a good friend of mine. I’d say that’s close enough to my fight that I want to get involved anyway.”

You smile in spite of yourself. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m alright. Trust me on that. The only thing we can do to make things better is to stay emotionless and take these guys out, regardless of what kind of masks they’re trying to wear.”

Sam nods, although you can tell he’s still thinking about it. “Sure, sure. See you then.”

The day of the mission arrives soon enough. According to Bucky’s reconnaissance work, the new gang has started moving, either out of fear of retaliation or to in the hopes of getting back to their base. You have a chance to intercept them at a small airway a couple miles north from here, and that’s where you find yourself the morning of the expedition.

Sam hasn’t stopped thinking about the conversation, you can tell. You can’t blame him; it was traumatic enough for you, and people seem to react worse to bad turns of fate when it happens to someone close to them, or when it has the chance to happen to themselves.

Still, you don’t think Sam’s thinking about himself. Sam Wilson is quite possibly the most genuinely good person you’ve ever met in your life. When he says he cares about you, he means it. When he says that he’ll do everything he can to keep you safe, you know that you’ll be alright.

You, Sam, and Bucky park your car about half a mile away, hidden under low hanging branches so enemy spies can’t spot it, then head out. When you reach their base, you split up without another word- you, heading into the transport facility, and Sam and Bucky taking out the guards.

You tap your comms unit once you’re inside. “They’ve got a helicopter primed for flight. I think they’re planning their escape now.”

Sam’s voice crackles over in your ear. “We’re seeing guys traveling in packs of two or three, all ferrying equipment inside.”

You frown, forgetting they can’t see the expression. “I thought they didn’t take anything from the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Why are they packing things up?”

Bucky speaks now. “I don’t like the looks of this. Whatever this stuff is, it’s small enough that it can be packaged into containers about the size of a suitcase.”

That’s not telling of anything. S.H.I.E.L.D. can make bombs the size of an eyelash that have the blasting power to take down an entire city. You slip closer to the chopper, then make your decision.

“I’m going to go stalk the inside of the helicopter, see if I find anything. Radio me if you get word that they’re taking off.”

Once you hear affirmations, you check one last time to make sure no guards have been posted nearby, then cross the empty hangar to head inside the helicopter. It’s large, with several sections sized to hold many people. You check each corner and compartment methodically, but you’re not turning up a whole lot out of the ordinary.

Bucky’s voice pierces your radio, startling you. “Y/N, get out! They’re headed inside.”

You glance up, but it’s too late. You can see figures moving in the hangar, and by the time you climb out, they’ll see you. You whisper back to Sam and Bucky that you’ll be hiding on the helicopter, then hurry to the back, tucking yourself behind tall stacks of the mysterious packages.

You’re not a second too late. Just as you’re pulling the tips of your shoes out of sight, a group of four or five of the gang members start climbing on board. They aren’t wearing the masks, although you think you see the dreaded coverings carefully stacked in a corner nearby.

A few moments later, the helicopter takes off. It flies surprisingly well, and you don’t hear much noise despite the blades whirring above your head. You wonder if they stole this aircraft from S.H.I.E.L.D. as well, and how much you don’t know about them. No group of wannabe Dead Men should have access to this much impressive equipment.

Then, they start talking, and things start clicking into place very quickly. They have this stuff because they’ve been slipping things away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for years, thanks to a well placed mole. What’s more, they’re on their way to do it again, and you have to stop them before they do. The S.H.I.E.L.D. facility they’re attempting to crack has Fury’s latest weapons developments, stuff even these guys don’t know about. You can’t let it fall into their hands.

You silently send your location to Sam and Bucky, just in case something happens, then burst into the main section of the chopper. You fire a few quick shots, taking out about half of the gang members before they realize what’s going on.

The rest converge on you almost immediately. You’ve been trained in S.H.I.E.L.D.-style martial arts ever since you became an agent, and you’re grateful for your instruction now. These guys are good, and it’s taking everything you have to stay on top of things.

One falls, knocking open the door to the helicopter. Instantly, a strong wind rushes around the inside of the chopper, and you just manage to grab hold to the side before you fall out. One man isn’t as lucky, and you hear his screams as he falls.

You grab for your gun, aiming at the men trying to kill you. The pilots are on to you now, though, and they’re weaving the helicopter around, trying to shake you out.

You yell something over the comms, doing your best to be heard over the screaming of the wind. “This thing might blow up any moment. I’m going to try to land, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage it.”

Sam says something about how he’s converging on your location, but you have no idea if he’ll get there fast enough. You force yourself to the front of the cockpit, forcing the door shut between you and the rest of the assailants.

You point your gun at the head of the pilot. “Take this thing down or I’ll kill you and do it myself.”

A savage grin splits his face. “Take it down? Sounds good to me.”

He pulls a weapon from his jacket, but he doesn’t fire it at you. Instead, he forces a lever down, shooting the controls so they stay locked.

You gape at him. “What have you done?”

The pilot just laughs. “I’d rather die than betray our order. They’d make my death a thousand times worse.”

Before you can stop him, the pilot throws open the door, and you see him disappear out the side a second later. His parachute expands, the off white cloth billowing in the breeze.

That doesn’t save you, though, and this helicopter is still very much going down. You head back into the main center of the helicopter, but the other soldiers are still gunning for you. One fires a shot right next to your head, and when you dodge it, he takes advantage of your lack of balance to shove you, hard. One moment, you’re standing on the lip of the aircraft, and then you’re gone, over the edge.

You didn’t realize how far up you were until you start to fall. The helicopter quickly shrinks into a dim blur up ahead, even as it breaks down. The ground seems ages away, but grows every second. You have no parachute, no way to slow your fall. In a minute or less, you’re going to smash into the ground, and that’s going to be it. No shootout you can survive, no puzzle you can solve. After everything, you have no choice in how you die.

The fall seems to last forever. Just before you hit the ground, you squeeze your eyes shut, but the impact never comes. Instead, when you dare to open your eyes again, someone has caught you, someone in a suit with metal wings that are ferrying you to safety. Overhead, the helicopter explodes in a fiery cloud of steel and smoke, but you are alright.

You can hear Sam ask Bucky to make sure any survivors have been rounded up, but you scarcely understand it. Your feet touch the ground, but that doesn’t mean you feel any better. Your breath refuses to come to your lungs, and your hands shake so badly you can’t even hold on to Sam anymore.

Sam looks terrified. “Y/N! Y/N, are you alright?”

You don’t think you could answer, not at all. Sam realizes this, and pulls you close. You can hear his heartbeat against your terrified chest, the calm, collected beat. Slowly, surely, you manage to piece yourself back together.

Only then, once you’re certain that you’re alright, do you force yourself away from Sam’s touch, but even then, you miss him the second that you do.

Sam’s gaze is still worried, though, as if he can sense that something still isn’t okay. “What happened up there?” He asks, although it’s kind of pointless now.

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I had to stop them from reaching the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, so I did. Guess I forgot to plan an escape route for myself, though.”

Sam nods. “And what happened down here?”

You force yourself to take deep breaths. “Remember how I was telling you about that time I was held by the Dead Men? They planned to kill me once they realized no one was coming for me. They took me up on one of their planes, said that if I didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, they would throw me off. I stayed silent, and they forced me out. I should have died that day, but S.H.I.E.L.D. just managed to catch up to me in time.”

You still feel like a live wire, too shaken to make much sense. You can only hope that Sam understands what you’re saying. “When I was falling, I thought that this was it, that I couldn’t escape fate forever. I didn’t think you were coming. I thought I was going to die.”

Sam shakes his head. “I was, though. I’ll always come for you. Y/N, I promise, you’re going to be alright. There is no way I would ever leave you.”

Looking at him, you realize that Sam believes every word of what he says. At last, you let yourself smile. “You actually mean that, don’t you?”

Sam smiles as well. “Absolutely. You’re a good person, Y/N, even if you don’t realize it. I’ll spend forever trying to convince you of that if I have to.”

You think that you wouldn’t mind that, a forever with Sam. As he takes your hand to walk back with you to the car, you think that he wouldn’t mind it either.

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