#sam's post today almost made me fall to the floor

[texas-bbq-pringles]

i have a confession 🧍‍♀️

[antigone-ks]

Lantern of Evil

It's been almost 5 years since I posted this on AO3, so I thought it was time to clean up some typos and put it onto Tumblr.

MASTERLIST

Summary:

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

***

Or, Steve gets de-serumed and falls in love over art, old movies, and taxi dances.

Rating: E for Explicity, Eventually

Tags: Steve Rogers/Reader; Plus Size Reader; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); Tony Stark; Sam Wilson (Marvel); James "Bucky" Barnes; background Bucky/Nat - Freeform; Skinny Steve Rogers; Pre-Serum Steve Rogers; Post-Serum Steve Rogers; De-Serumed Steve Rogers; all of the combinations of serums and Steves; Slow Burn; Awkward Flirting; Awkward reader; Awkward Steve Rogers; neither of these goobers know what they're doing; shameless Letterkenny reference; False Identity; horrible misunderstandings; love in art galleries; love on bridges; love on front porches; will earn rating in later chapters; I hope; inappropriate use of a history degree; Short Reader; Profanity; Fluff; Angst; Fluff and Angst; Smut; Oral Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Making Out; definitely third base; not all-the-way parking but pretty close; Biting; Cunnilingus; Fellatio; Vaginal Sex; Steve wants to be clear that this isn't fucking; Making Love

Chapter One: The Greens of June

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

____________________

You settled onto the bench, bag on the floor. The museum had barely opened – a bad sign; it meant you were either blocked or stir-crazy. Or both. Both was bad. You’d had the museum on your list of things-to-do-if-you-had-time, but when you’d first come to town you’d expected that there would never be time. You were getting the change of scenery and relief from responsibilities that you’d always wanted, so of course you never imagined that the same old problems would plague you.

Namely, writer’s block. Imposter Syndrome. “Every word I write is trash and I should sleep in the dumpster”-itis.

You’d gotten this amazing opportunity to take a sabbatical, move half a continent away, and just research the hell out of your magnum opus, a stroke of historical genius. Or what would be your magnum opus, if you could get the damn thing off the ground. Right now it was stuck at brevi opus.

Opus minimis.

You had piles of research, and a good starting point, but you either got stuck on the writing of it or spent days on end organizing the data until the sun coming in the curtains made you feel like a Morlock crawling out of its hole.

So you’d hit the museum.

It’d actually been working pretty well for you, the last few weeks, and you’d started making it part of your routine. Rather than wait for the Bad Times to force you out of the house, you’d come down every two or three days and just . . . pick something. A painting, a sculpture, whatever caught your eye, and you’d study it until your mind felt clear. Sometimes your mind would wander far enough afield that it circled back to your work, and you’d excitedly jot down a new avenue to explore or a turn of phrase you liked. Sometimes you got nothing but a peaceful feeling. Either way, it was good for you, and the initial guilt you’d felt at not being Productive At All Times had faded.

It sort of was productive, anyway. You told yourself so.

For the last couple of visits, you’d sat with Hamilton’s Joan of Arc and the Furies. It was Shakespeare’s Joan, about to be captured by the English and burned for heresy. It’s not . . . good . . . you think, you don’t like it, but there’s something about it. It’s like two different paintings in one, dark and bright, overbearing and reticent.

There aren’t many people around yet, no kiddie camp visits today, so you’re alone in this part of the gallery. The docents are used to you by now, and don’t bother eagle-eyeing you. You lean your chin on your hand and stare hard at Joan, at her Merveilleuse gown, which, like, didn’t Hamilton know she wore pants? Like, famously? But anyway.

“You know,” a deep voice said, “I’ve always wondered what’s going on with the light down by that first fury. What does it symbolize?”

You look over your shoulder at the speaker, a slightly-built blond man with a sketchbook under his arm. He’d shown up a couple of times before, wandering around with more purpose than the average tourist, like he knew which pieces he liked and why. He had a delicate face and serious eyes with just ridiculous lashes. You smiled uncertainly.

“Like, where even is it coming from? Under her skirt?” you ask, and he looks down at you and whoa nelly those are very blue eyes and chuckles.

“Is it the lantern of justice?” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Probably not in Shakespeare. Maybe a lantern of evil.”

“She keeps a lantern of evil in her skirt?” He’s smiling openly at you now, and it’s a really nice smile, and that’s the only excuse you have for what comes out of your mouth next.

“Lantern of evil – in my pants!” you chirp, grinning.

His eyebrows shot up and he gave an incredulous hah.

“Like, like the game?” you say hurriedly. “Where you add ‘in my pants�� to a quote, or a movie title?” You can hear your voice rising nervously and fiddle with your glasses to avoid looking at him. “One ring to rule them . . . in my pants?”

He’s laughing now – probably more at you than at the joke – but it’s enough to relax you a little bit.

“I have never played that game,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I know just the person to try it with. I’ve seen you here before,” he went on, glancing back at the painting. The tips of his ears went very pink.

“Yeah, this is turning into my happy place when work’s not going so well.” You look at Joan again and clear your throat. “I think I saw you, too . . . maybe Sunday?” Not that I noticed you. I’m not a creeper. I notice nothing. I can barely see.

He nodded and shrugged. “Probably, yeah. I’ve been here a lot over the past week.”

“Work got you down, too?” you ask. He kind of purses his lips and nods. Taking a breath, you gesture to the empty half of the bench. “Want to share Joan with me? She’ll take your mind off it.”

His smile is a slow, gentle thing, and even though you say nothing more until it’s time to leave, you feel warmer for sitting near him.

***

“Because they’ll clog up the drain.” Tony’s voice is clipped.

“They get rid of odors,” Natasha points out.

“So it was you.”

“You think I drink that light roast nonsense?” She looks up as Steve enters, the light of battle in her eyes. Well, the light of annoying Tony. It’s not hard. “Weak.”

“Now you’re a coffee snob, Romanoff? You – “ Tony points a pair of tongs at Steve “ – do some reconnaissance, rally the troops, whatever it is you do, and catch this villain.”

Steve clucks his tongue and fails to hide a grin. “Coffee grounds again? You know, we could just get a Keurig and solve that problem easily.” He ducks as both Tony and Natasha turn on him, allied in outrage.

“Just for that,” Tony says, “you get whichever steak I overcook.”

Steve eyes the barstools at the island. He can get into them now, but it involves just enough scrambling that it hurts his dignity. No one said anything the first time he did it, not even Tony, and that was somehow worse than teasing would have been. He’s not broken, for God’s sake. He’s a man of temporarily reduced stature. It’ll be fixed in no time, Bruce and Tony and Helen have promised, but . . .

He’d read a book once that described a gnome as a person whose ‘belligerence was compressed into a body six-inches high and, like many things when they are compressed, had an inclination to explode.’[1] Steve didn’t consider himself belligerent – although he had the urge to cross himself in penance and hope that Bucky was in a different building when he thought it – but he did feel like every human emotion was currently packed into a body too small to hold it all. This body didn’t fit, except that it did, and Steve honestly wasn’t sure which feeling was worse.

He leaned against the counter with – he hoped – an insouciant air and nodded at Tony. “’s long as I can gnaw through it.”

“Are you impugning my grilling skills, Rogers?”

“Wait, you’re gonna grill those?” Sam and Bucky entered the kitchen, apparently fresh off a sparring match. Sam’s skin glistened with sweat, and Bucky wasn’t much better off. Sam might not have super serum in his veins, but he wasn’t a pushover in the ring.

“How else d’you cook ‘em?” Bucky asked, wrinkling his nose at Sam.

“You sear ‘em on the stovetop in a cast-iron skillet,” Sam said, holding up one finger, “finish ‘em in the oven,” two fingers, “serve with a garlic-herb butter.” Three fingers, waved in Bucky’s face.

Natasha leaned on the counter next to Steve and pointed her phone toward the argument. “Every time,” she whispered, hitting "record."

“Every time,” Steve answered.

“In the oven? Cook like a man, Sam!”

“Grill makes ‘em too dry,” Sam insisted.

“Hey!” Tony snapped his tongs at Bucky. “My meat. My rules.” He straightened his shoulders under Sam’s withering look. “On the grill, flip once a minute for the good grill marks.”

“That’s overhandling.” Sam’s tone suggested he was heading straight to church to light all of the candles for Tony’s soul.

“Wait – everyone, wait,” Steve broke in. Natasha quirked her lip at him, annoyed that he was ruining the show. He winked at her. “The real issue here is, aren’t you gonna season those things?”

“Yeah, where’s the salt and pepper, bud?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t start with me,” Tony warned.

“Where’s the steak spice,” Sam asked, rummaging through the cupboards. “I made you a steak spice months ago. My own blend, Tony. I gifted it to you. I’m not eating one of your bland-ass steaks again.” Tony abandoned the meat in favor of bodily hauling Sam away from the cupboards, giving Bucky time to grind at least a little peppercorn on each of the steaks.

“ – my steaks alone!” “ – killing the flavor, man. Killing the flavor!” “ – oversalting!” “ – can’t cook ‘em right, you leave it to someone who can!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Natasha commented, holding the phone steady as Tony and Sam devolved into a slap fight. “Haven’t seen you smile this much since, y’know.”

“This is quality entertainment,” Steve said. “You don’t get this every day.”

“No you do not.” She turned the phone toward Bucky, who whistled as he sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He looked up, winked directly at her, then tossed the rest of the seasoning like a long-haired Salt Bae.

“But you already seemed pretty chipper when you snuck back in before the show started.”

Steve’s eyes were wide with injured innocence. “Snuck? Back in? I –“

“Can it. I don’t care – probably no one will recognize you – but if Tony finds out he’s going to turn into Chicken Little about security.”

“Tony can go lay an egg,” Steve said firmly, making Natasha snort with real laughter.

She sighed. “As hilarious as this is, I’m getting hungry." her voice carried across the kitchen. "Knock it off of or I’m calling Rhodey in.”

Tony straightened, Sam’s arm still around his neck. “Betrayal, Romanoff. I feel betrayed.”

“Yeah, no calling in the brass,” Sam complained. “We can settle this on our own.”

“Better settle that meat on the grill before the others get here,” Steve said. “Want help?”

“Excuse me,” Tony said, affronted. “I can handle the meat.”

The words left Steve’s mouth before he could stop them “ – in my pants?”

Natasha dropped the phone.

____________________

[1] Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant

case/lang/viers – “Greens of June”

And all the greens of June/ Come blowing through the door/ They make me want to live/ Like I never have before

Read Chapter Two

[aro-pancake-writes]

WIP Wednesday! \o/

And I finally have something to post! Bonus, my new OC!

He's my baby boy, Hector. Yes, like the prince of Troy, because I still have Epic playing on loop in my head.

Anywho, enjoy me breaking my character like a glow stick!

Night was falling as Hector noticed the storm approaching. The Frontier too far to reach right now, so he opened his scanner to look for shelter. And luck was on his side today.

“Got something?” Sam asks, making him startle.

“Yeah. A cave, not far from here.” He says, making his way there. A short comm to warn the Frontier that they found shelter and would wait out the storm, and they're inside.

It's as cold as outside, but at least they're protected from the wind here.

Hector pulls out the sleeping bag and heater from his bag, setting up a makeshift camp.

“Hey, can I bend your ear for a moment?” Sam says, making Hector look up curious and hopeful.

“Sure.” He says, bringing his hands closer to the heater.

“There's something I gotta tell you, about my past.” Hector's hope deflates. “I… uhm… had a really dark spot in my youth.”

“I know.” Hector finally says something. When will they be this alone again?

“No, I mean, it's not like ‘we all did things we regret’ issue. It's-” Sam tries to articulate and explain himself. The new member of Constellation being a riddle wrapped in a mystery to him. “My father set me up with a job and-”

“I know, Sam.” Hector tries again, this time stronger. “I was there. I was born in Neon. Spent most of my life there.”

“But I'm not-” Hector gets up, pacing around the cave.

“You don't remember me, do you?” He says, squaring up to Sam. Upon seeing the confusion in the blue eyes, he chuckles. “Of course not. How could you?”

“What do you mean, Hector?” Sam looks back at Hector's red eyes, a proof of his time on Mars, hoping to find anything. Only to find heartbreak and tears.

“I was nineteen years old back then. Black hair, no tattoos, no beard, and my eyes were green.” He pulls the emerald Sam gave him the other day from his pocket. “You showed me how to enjoy my life, what it felt like to be loved and cared for. And what true heartbreak feels like.”

Sam scours his mind, the deep dark corners of his memory, only to find a spot of light. It was warm, and safe.

“How could I have broken your heart?” He asks, watching as the bigger man falls to the ground in a boneless heap.

“You promised me you'd take me away from that place. That I'd never have to go back unless I wanted to.” His once booming voice now a barely audible whisper. “You said you just had to finish that trip, and then you'd come back to get me, that you'd show me the stars. And I was foolish enough to believe you'd keep that promise, to actually wait, and hope that you'd come back for me.” Hector cleans up his tears on the sleeve of his coat, trying to find anything to distract himself. It's been fifteen years. It shouldn't hurt like this anymore, but it did.

Sam can't bring himself to say anything. Hector had seemed almost unbreakable when they first met. An unyielding tank, strong enough to protect those he cared for. And to now see such man so small and crying on the floor of a random cave…

Sam wanted to run. To find somewhere empty enough he could scream at his younger self.

He made a promise, one that he couldn't keep. There's a small voice on the back of his head, one that he knows too well: Lillian.

You don't need anyone else right now, she said, I'm right here with you, Sam. You don't need to go back to Neon. There's nothing left for you there.

The memory, being in stupor of going cold turkey, the feverish dreams, the tight hand on his…

Only to be replaced by laughs shared in bed, the neon lights coming in from the window of the room, a heavy warm body pressed against his as they rest. There's movement, and he's faced with emerald green eyes and black hair. On his lips, a genuine smile, followed by the scars on his cheeks.

It couldn't be Hector. He's… different. Broken. With turquoise hair and red eyes. And he doesn't have the forced smile scars.

Hector feels a warm hand place a blanket over his shoulders, and dares to look up to find Sam sitting down next to him.

“I didn't want to remember that time.” He finally said, removing his hat. “But there's one other thing I got to know.”

Hector cleans up his final tears. He knows what's coming. The one thing he clearly had as his own defining feature back then.

“I have a beard to hide the scars.” He mumbles, bringing his face closer to the light so he could show Sam the still present smile on his cheeks, before forcefully getting up. “Look, Sam, it's been a long time, ok? I don't want to force you into anything you're uncomfortable with. I don't even know why I'm still broken about this.”

“Hector, I'm-” Sam stutters. Maybe looking to apologize or make up excuses, but he can't go on.

“It's late, and I'm tired. Can we please just go to sleep for now?” Before waiting for an answer, Hector toes off his boots, removes his coat, and lays down on his sleeping bag.

Sam watches him attentively. The way the shirt latched on to Hector's skin, showcasing his strength and power, made Sam's stomach fall.

He wanted to be caught in those arms, yes, but at the same time, he could have had it for years now, if only he kept his promise.

Following in on Hector's example, Sam also goes to bed, finding himself unable to sleep properly. His dreams are haunted with emerald green turning to bright red.

Sam wakes up, guilt eating him up inside as the cold settles on his bones. The light of the heater gone almost out in their sleep.

Across from him, he can hear a sniffle.

“You ok?” Sam asks, hoping to get Hector to turn.

“Peachy.” Hector hisses, curling up in himself. “Just cold.”

Not really thinking, Sam gets up, moving to Hector's sleeping bag.

“Let me in with you.” He says, and Hector finally turns to him. “We can keep eachother warm, ok? Now move, I'm freezing my ass out here.”

Processing, Hector tries to occupy as little room as possible, watching as Sam dexterously enters the sleeping bag with him.

He never thought they'd be this close again, sharing the same air as Sam curls himself against his chest. Unsure, Hector wraps his arms around Sam's waist, pulling him closer.

“How long did you wait?” Sam finally asks.

“Three years, four months and seventeen days.” Hector says, eyes lost in the emptiness behind Sam. “Not like I was counting, you know.” He shrugs it off, like he wasn't a mess about it minutes ago. “But I got out on a contract to mine on Mars. Apparently, my size made me a good choice.” And that explains the red eyes.

“I'm sorry I don't remember you.” Sam whispers, enjoying the oddly familiar warmth and comfort.

“I shouldn't expect you to.” Hector's grip on Sam loosens. “It's been too long. You got married and had a kid since. Not like a fling while high would be of importance to you in the long scheme.”

“It wasn't just a fling, thought. Was it?” Sam pokes the bear, leaning closer and almost brushing his lips to Hector's. “You wouldn't react like that if it was.”

“I was a kid, Sam.” Hector tries to pull away, but is caught in the edge of the sleeping bag, tapping him in place. “Anything is way bigger in a kids head.”

“I'm only a year older than you.” Sam clocks an eyebrow, getting closer to Hector. “And a fling wouldn't hurt so much this long after it.”

Trapped, he does the only thing he can. Use of his size and strength to turn the tables.

“Maybe,” he says, taking Sam's wrist in his hand, “it was the broken promise that hurt.” Hector turns, pinning Sam under him with his weight. “Or the fact that when you didn't come back for me, I spent all my free time waiting for you, wondering if you had said it as pillow talk or I wasn't worth the effort. Can you imagine what it felt like, Sam? To believe you're stuck in your personal hell because you're not good enough to be saved?”

“Yes. I know.” Sam finally spits back, fighting against the hands restraining him. “That's why I allowed myself to fall in Neon. And then I was proven wrong! That's why I never went back!”

That's enough for Hector, feeling as all he had left of his heart breaking. He lets go of Sam's arms, turning his back to the man next to him.

“Good to know it's just me.” He says, cutting off the subject.

He can hear Sam mumbling, before wrapping his hands on Hector's waist.

“I wish I remembered you back then.” He hears, feeling the light caress where his shirt escapes his pants. “I wish I wasn't so high that I could forget about you. But there's nothing we can do about the past, so maybe, we can try the future?”

[beatrizamante]

First of all, I'd like to thank @renru @reesevernerlovebot @honeylemonbutte and Bee too (I believe I don't follow her ç.ç) for giving me the courage to start posting these. And @lacunafiction for thins wonderful story omg, I love her book.

_Fallen Stars

There were books sprawled all over the floor. Astronomy, physics, star charting ones. Papers and journals filled with equations that were almost impossible to read, covering up huge constellation maps made by hand. Doctor Yu used to joke that you'd write even on the walls of the lab, given the chance. 

Well, you're in your Pa's old apartment now, there's nothing stopping you. If you had some neon blue makers, you'd be sure to write down your chartings, it would look beautiful at night. Maybe people would lock you up in an asylum this time? You know that, if Dr. Yu ever hears someone repeat this to you, you’d fear for the person’s wellbeing. You got this style of brainstorming from Dr Kuiper, after all, and the trio of you were best friends since freshman years.

Dr. Lara de Armas, the astrophysicist. Dr. Sieben Kuiper, the mathematician. Dr. Morgan Yu, the engineer. 

You guys made some amazing discoveries and built amazing things together. You miss them dearly. 

But that's not important right now. Well, you did trail off a little bit... A portion of the wall south of the kitchen had some scribblings on. Huh, you gonna have to clean that later... Or not? It could be related to art, right? Right? 

The intention was to put a monitor in that wall, anyway. Nobody has to see this. Yes, good plan, big brain. 

The apartment was still getting its new decor. There were some boxes of new purchases you intended to use in this place. You've already asked for some midnight blue wallpapers. And the kitchen had some new utensils for you to use whenever you had another sudden craving for strawberry smoothies.

But where did you put your telescope...? Too many boxes! Too many boxes!! 

Your thoughts are derailing again, aren't them? Ugh. 

Focus! 

Today was a special day, after all... 

The wristwatch beeped and you stared at the time with a slight frown. There was still about an hour to gather your things and go. Getting up from the mess you were, you ask yourself how that marker ended up in your hands, but there isn’t much time to dwell on it. 

There’s a smile on your face. A happy one. The kind of happiness that Bee would instantly click a picture of. 

A meteor shower today was the cause for your happiness. You were the first one to discover it. Dr Yu even tinkered with your telescope for you to get a better view. 

You wish they were here. The bright smile on your face dampens a little bit. But there's no time to lose. So, you march around the mess in your apartment and gather your things. 

Telescope? Check

Chartings? Check

Camera for stargazing? Check

Something to sit on? Check

Time to go, Lara. 

Things were loaded in your car especially fast, even if with all the gentleness in the world. There was a humming beneath your breath, a soft melody, your body moving at your tune without much thought.

       " - Ok, Frodo, how are you gonna name it?   

- Just because you're taller than me, doesn't mea- 

- Hmmm, I'd called it the one ri-

- You're a brute, you know that? 

- Morgan, stop annoying my student! 

- I'm sorry, Dr. Kuiper. Now, now, Doctor de Armas, would you name it? You're the one who found its trajectory first, after all. 

- It already has a name... It's a perseid!  

- Are all astrophysicists this uncreative? Come on, give it a name. What would you call it?

- Uncreative? You called your arm bot "Morg_4rm".

- Better than perseid, still. Go on.

- Ugh! Possibly Ocean fall.? Ocean... drops?... Scintillans falls! 

- I like the sound of that. Keep at it, Sam.

- I detest Yu. 

       "  

Oh! You've forgotten something! There’s nothing to drink! That's why you stop at the diner, right...? Right? 

Well, it doesn't matter, you're parched and when the diner enters in your field of view, you don't rummage your brain as for the "whys". The fact that you have butterflies in your stomach doesn't register instantly. Did you eat something you shouldn't? 

Your pulse just spiked up? There was no physical activity today. Well, Mal did show you a beautiful place that he may not even know how much it meant to you. You can always bring him photos of the shower!

Why are you thinking of him right now, though? Oh, right! Because you're at the diner! And he's interesting! You like his company, even if can be really charged. The fact that your heart, at the thought of him, makes you feel like a little rabbit, doesn't matter. Must be the lack of sleep. Nothing about that cheek kiss? It can't be, right? It is because he knows too much about this town and you’re trying to understand what he is. Surely!  

You find yourself inside the diner, your mind still wandering to a certain lake, the brightest smile on your face. Except when those hellish creepy spoons sound like an undead knocking in the glass. You hate those, sparing them a murderous glare. 

Clyde welcomes you, mimicking your smile, and you go instantly to ask for some tea and energy drink to pack while your eyes wander. You're just taking in the diner. It's not like you already had the whole blueprint of the building in your mind. You're just taking the ambient in, right? 

Right!

Must be nothing aside from that.

"Someone seems extra bright today, Ms. De Armas!", Clyde comments from his place at the cooking top, cleaning his spatula from some leftover batter. He's cooking some pancakes? The smell makes your stomach rumble. Haven’t you eaten today? Well, it doesn't matter, you can eat later. 

"Nighty night, Clyde! Today is a special day, after all! I'll bring you guys some photos from a phenomena that only happens once a year. And we've managed to get some cobalt reading in this year's batch, so-", you stop suddenly when you see confusion in the chef's face. You manage to breathe in a little bit, slowing down your thinking process to make sense for the middle-aged man, a softer smile on your face. "Pardon me, Clyde. I got a bit caught up. But there will be a meteor shower today, in about... ", you stop to look at your wristwatch, pouting a little bit, "40 minutes. It's going to be to the west, and it will look like ocean blue stars."

The old chef returns your enthusiasm, smiling back at you with energy. "Then you'll need these as fast as we can make it. Maybe a special someone can make the tea just the way you prefer and you can take him with you?", the suggestion in his tone takes you off guard for a moment and you fumble with your words, blushing hard. 

Wait, he means the drinks! Yeah, totally the drinks! Hundred percent sure... You think? 

It wouldn’t make sense otherwise, right? 

Ugh, some social cues are hard to read.

"I'd... love that!", your eyes sparkle with delight. If you manage to make it to the spot you encountered earlier, you for sure will have a great view of the event. Your hands tremble in excitement. There’s also the need to go fast, though, it’s a thought you don’t quite enjoy.

That’s when you feel it. It begins as a featherlight sensation in the nape of your neck and travels down. Your hair stands up at the end and a shivering sensation crawls beneath your skin. The bright smile vanishes from your face, replaced by an intense focus. Your gaze rests in every exit of the diner, trying to understand where the sensation comes from and where you can take cover, if needed. There’s a slight pressure in the back of your neck. Annoys you so deeply that you can’t understand why this is happening. You stand below a hanging cupboard, it acts as a protection for your thoughts as you analyze the diner. If you can pinpoint the direction it comes from, maybe yo - 

“Hey there, Charmer.”, the voice comes from behind your left. It’s a honeyed tone, slightly hushed if not amused, as if you both were sharing a secret. You didn’t notice him coming. Not that this is abnormal. Is his modus operandi, after all. But you were not expecting to be taken off guard, so his sudden awake gives your body a slight jump and you hit your head in the cupboard, releasing a pathetic “Yiiik!”. You instantly protect your slightly throbbing head, looking back at him with watery eyes. 

 “Mal? Hey!”, your eyes abandon the diner and are naturally drawn to him. You don’t stop to think about how it is always like this. Exits, covers and possible weapons forgotten, shoved back to the back of your mind. The shivering sensation, though, intensifies. You wonder if it’s the cold coming from the fridge. You can hear its motor in the back of the diner, and the place where you are can be an air duct for both cold and hot air masses to meet. He is dressed in his diner uniform, holding a bag in front of your face. There’s a very disarming smile on his lips. Lips that you're so not staring. Shaking your head slightly, you smile up at him, flushing heavily. “Something could’ve fallen from the cupboard, so be careful, please? But it’s ama- great! Great to see you!”

His smile becomes less disarming, and a touch more genuine. His eyes are hypnotic to you, so you decide to stare at the diner bag. Maybe you should take some medicine for your heart, something is surely not right. But the shivers stop, replaced by a warmth you don’t quite understand. Weird. 

Especially because Mal didn’t move a muscle. 

“Something falling would be the least of this place's problems, wouldn’t it?”, you slightly narrow your eyes as his mysterious words, opening your mouth to say something, but he just continues. “Besides, having something falling for you wouldn’t be so bad.”

Oh! Oh…  Ok. Remember. Night sky. Ocean Blue meteorites. Don’t stare too much. You have other things to see tonight… And he’s just being friendly, right? Right! 

DON’T THINK ABOUT THE NOTE HE TUCKED IN YOUR BACK POCKET. I SAID DON’T! 

Friends do that, right? Is it a normal thing? 

And the way you felt about it… You weren’t expecting any kind of slap, it wouldn’t make sense. Who likes to get slapped? 

Not that you liked his hand in… You know what? You’re not going there.

Is it a social cue? You know your lack of actual romantic relationships makes it harder to navigate these things… But Mal doesn’t see you that way… Not him, and not with you…

… You think. 

The way he phrases things, though? Why does it slam you with so much strength? It confuses you a bit… He barely knows you, you don’t even know his full name yet. 

Then why do you feel like you’re lying to yourself?  

“I - I… Well, thanks for bringing me these. I told Clyde about the meteor shower tonight, would you like some photos? I wish you could see them first hand…”, you say, a dreaming look in your eyes fills Mal’s vision. Something passes through his expression as his jaw sets, your curious look isn’t answered, as per usual, so you just let a soft smile take place in our lips. Pushing is something you don’t enjoy when it’s done to you, so you won’t do it to him either.   

“Mal, why don’t you take some hours off? Ms. De Armas may need some help carrying those bags!”, the line cook shouts from his spot at the cooktop. There’s a huge smile on his face as he points at the duffel bags resting on the table you’ve put them on, when you’ve arrived at the diner.

Again, Mal’s expression shifts. You were too busy listening to Clyde’s offer to notice. His jaw tenses and the customer service smile in his face dies. He looks at you, giving nothing away. Is he expecting your reaction? Is he angry at Clyde for offering? You know something always stops Mal from spending any time with you unless late in the night, but you don’t understand or know why. You want to ask, but you know you won’t receive an answer. You’re still pulling the puzzle pieces together. Maybe when you get the whole picture, it will make sense. 

“Well, uhm, do you want to come? You don’t need to, I have… 22 minutes to get there. It’s around 15 km, so I can get there in time if I get a constant velocity o-... Oh, sorry. Again, you don’t need to go, I won’t be sad or anything, I always go alone on these. And I can bring photos!”, you stumble. You have to stop being too specific about things. Is something you got from Dr. Kuiper. 

“What a server wants isn’t really ever questioned in our line of work, Charmer.”, Mal smoothly replies. You glance at him quickly, a trace of sadness in your face. You wish you could help him. He doesn’t seem happy with his role. Truth be told, behind all of that confidence, there’s a deep sorrow, for what you could detect. You won’t overextend here, you don’t want to burden him. As you did with Bee. What if you have to leave, and he expects you to come back, like Reese and James did. What if you put him in danger, as you did to Silas. 

No. You won’t pile up your list of wrongdoings. 

Giving him a soft look and smiling in a way that draws his eyes, you nod. The waiter rests his left hand in the cupboard above you, his knuckles turning white. You take a step forward with intention towards the exit, looking at your duffel bags after taking the drinks from his hand with the same delicateness that you would use to take care of your telescope. There’s a slight movement from him, as if he wanted to reach out, but you don’t linger in that. “I care about your wants, Mal. So you don’t need to do anything on my behalf. Tell me if you need anything, ok?”  

“Lara…“, he speaks in a hushed voice, staring at the increasing separation of your personal spaces with a hard expression. His customer service smile isn’t coming up so easily at this moment, you wonder why. You collect your things and wave at Clyde, smiling. The line cook looks between you and your bags, giving a sad smile. You thought Mal would’ve already disappeared, but he stays there, holding the cupboard like it’s the only thing he can hold onto right now. You lift the diner bag in his direction and give him a smiling farewell.

Your steps are wide. Well, as wide as they can be, given your height. There’s somewhere to be, after all. Even if there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind wishing you were sharing this with someone. But you always did this alone, so why change now? Reese passes through your mind, and your heart beats a little faster at him sharing this with you. But is it him that you wanted to share this so badly?

No, you’ll do it alone, as it has been done for so many years. It brings you peace. Something needed right now.

The drive is free of any danger, as it always is with you in the wheel. Bags are unpacked with efficiency and speed, setting everything up is a matter of a few minutes. You’ve noticed this cliff surrounded by a bed of flowers and overlooking a lake some days prior, and knew this would be the perfect spot for your “Scintillans falls”. The trek was eventless and gave you some time to enjoy the nature around Fernweh. Even with everything awful that happened in this town, you can never deny how beautiful it is. It makes you wonder, if these things didn’t happen, this place would be a haven.

The night was unusually dark, even with a half moon illuminating the surroundings. You brought a small blue weak lantern and laid it within the towel beneath you. The wristwatch beeped again. It was time. Setting the camera and fixing the telescope, you began stargazing. 

A soft wind blew around you as the stars fell down, painting the skies in a blue hue. The colors of the ocean on a sunny day brightened it, as if hundreds of bright blue fishes jumped down from a huge waterfall. It was mesmerizing. 

How would this starlight frame Mal’s face? 

No, uhuh, not going there. 

Then your mind finds another thought that you shouldn’t linger… But it's there, anyway.

You wonder if your family is between them, traveling through the skies, watching over you with the love they always had. You miss them. More than you care to admit. It should’ve been me. 

You hear a faint noise in the distance. Maybe a motorcycle? But your mind is too occupied right now to pay attention. There’s a lone tear lining your right cheek that you fail to notice.

Blinking against it, you start to take pictures. 

It’s beautiful tonight. 

[eloquent-vowel]

I have had a few bucky x read fic ideas bouncing around in my head and i cant write! So here is one,

Sam find a person who stairs and doesnt talk a whole lot because they uses ✨telepathy ✨. So Sam think they would be a good fit for Bucky, but he doesn’t know they have that power he just thinks they are mute. Then there is a thing where the reader is telling Buck how it works and they if they have something to connect them together like an object *reader motions to dog tags* they can have an unbreakable mind link. Then they fall in love or something. This is dumb, thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Hey! Thank you so much for this request, it wasn't dumb at all. I really enjoyed writing this. I may have gotten a bit carried away, this may sit close to 4000 words but we vibe. I hope this is what you had in mind! Please enjoy! <3

Click here for my masterlist of other fics and check in my bio for requests if anyone wishes to ask!

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Bucky had been enjoying a moments peace, he loved working with Sam but sometimes all he wanted was to put his feet up, put on some vinyl and enjoy a good cup of coffee all while reading a brilliant book. He had been trying to get into Game of Thrones lately, on Sam’s insistence, and he had been enjoying it. With the crackles of Glenn Miller from the turntable he missed the clunky footsteps coming up the stairs.

The sight that greeted Sam needed to be photographed. Bucky was lounging back on his ‘old man armchair’ feet up, hair in a towel, in a bathrobe, coffee in hand and facemask on, this was definitely one for the family album.

At the sound of the phone shutter Bucky practically launched himself out of the chair.

“Oh, you are never gonna live this one down old boy, it’s going to haunt you.” Sam almost cackled evilly as he began to email the photo to himself- he had learnt the hard way that Bucky was very proficient at breaking phones.

“You better not upload that photo anywhere, Wilson, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Pfft, reputation, that’s funny.”

Bucky scoffed as he stood up, placing his book carefully on the side table, “Big scary super soldier, people hardly run-in fear from a guy in a bathrobe.”

“I disagree, a man in a bathrobe is definitely something you should run from. AH NOPE!” Sam jumped backwards, on top of a nearby chair, as Bucky lunged for the phone, towel turban falling off in the process. “You are not breaking this phone as well.”

“Fine. But you gotta promise not to post that anywhere.” Bucky huffed.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“As long as- “

“Oh no, I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Think of it as payment for the last phone you broke and insurance for this picture.”

There was silence for a moment as the two friends eyed each other up. Sam raised his eyebrows, Bucky’s eyes narrowed. It was an intense staring match between a guy in a bathrobe and a precariously balanced man. A clock ticked.

“Fine.” Bucky conceded. “What do you want?”

“For you to come to a meeting.”

“The families of Veterans ones?”

“Yeah.” Sam slowly started climbing down from the chair. “And before you get your old man pants in a twist, I’m not trying to force you to talk or anything, kinda.”

“Kinda?” Suspicion laced through Bucky’s voice.

“You know sign language, right?”

“Which kind?”

“American? I think?”

“Yeah, I know ASL, might be a bit rusty but I’m sure it still holds up. Why do you ask?”

Sam shifted slightly on his feet, “There’s this person, they come in every week and listen. I tried to talk to them, but they communicate through sign language, and I don’t have anyone there to talk with them.” He cast his eyes to the floor, “I feel bad. They were brave enough to come to the group only to basically be ignored ‘because we didn’t plan well enough.”

Bucky smiled, face mask crinkling around his smile lines, “You could have just asked me to Sam. You didn’t have to blackmail me into this, of course I’ll help. When’s the next meeting?”

“This evening. You gonna be ready or do you need some more ‘me’ time.”

Bucky simply chuckled at Sam’s teasing tone, patted his shoulder making sure to squeeze just a bit too hard before retreating to his room.

“I’ll be there, Wilson, and I will look so much younger than you!”

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It was frustrating to you, going along to these meetings and not being able to communicate. You could always speak into someone’s mind but all that usually accomplished was a very paranoid person. But just listening to other’s stories really helped the grief from losing someone so close to you. You related to most of the people there and even though they didn’t understand you a lot of the time, you were always made to feel welcome- with friendly pats on the back and the odd tissue thrown your way.

You bustled into the familiar building with a new sense of excitement as Sam had promised to bring a translator for you this week. It was finally time to say your thanks to some of the people there and finally let the group know about your brother, so that it wasn’t only you that remembered him.

You all but ran through the hallways until you caught sight of a familiar smiling man. Sam was facing you, talking animatedly to another man, the strangers back was to you. He was tall, broad shouldered and dressed in a vintage looking leather jacket and rather well fitted trousers. Now the debate was: does the tailoring make the ass, or does the ass make the tailoring. You were halfway through the arguments on either side when Sam shouting your name disrupted the intense debating in your mind. You blushed at being caught, then blushed some more when you caught sight of the stranger’s face. Twinkling blue eyes under a deep-set brow should have made him intimidating, but he was smiling, and his face was dazzling. There was an immediate fluttering in your stomach.

“Hey, I’m Bucky.” Dear lord even his voice was nice, what made you smile even more was the fact that he signed as he spoke. Well, Sam certainly knew how to pick them well. “Sam introduced me; said you wanted an interpreter.”

You nodded as you signed back, “Nice to meet you, thank you for helping out.”

“No problem, Sam has told me a bit about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Okay I recognise my own name, you two better not be conspiring against me.” Sam piped up, to be honest you had forgotten about him for a moment.

Bucky laughed, and it sent a little thrill down you, he really was adorable.

“No worries, Wilson, just letting them know all your dirty little secrets.”

“Right, you two get in there, before you make me sleep with one eye open.”

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You and Bucky caught each other’s eye, his eyes were twinkling with mischief, and you couldn’t help the smile that overtook you. You had a feeling that the two of you would get on just fine.

The meeting passed easily. Bucky translated your signs and you finally felt like you could actually take part in these meetings. Everyone listened intently when you spoke of your brother and when you had thanked the whole group for being so open to you a couple of people shed a tear. By the end of the meeting though you were tired and very accepting of Bucky’s offer to walk you home.

It was a lot of side glances and hidden smiles and you walked side by side. Drawn to each other under the moonlit sky, it was nice to just be in the presence of someone who had such a kind aura. You spent the walk trying to work up the confidence to sign something, anything but nothing came to mind and Bucky seemed quite content to just walk in comfortable silence.

You soon reached your home, you turned to Bucky with a smile on your face and signed,

“Thanks for today, Bucky. You were really helpful.”

“No problem.” He signed back,

You hesitated slightly before signing, “Would you be happy to have a coffee with me, tomorrow?”

Bucky went a little red in the face, and chuckled, “I would love to, I know a nice place, real cosy. I’ll text you the details.”

“You know how to text?”

“Hey! I get enough stick from Sam, don’t need you getting on my case too. I’ll have you know that I am very adaptable.”

“Sure, Sure.” You smiled at his flustered tone. “I’ll wait for your text then, have a good evening.”

“You too.”

The two of you stared slightly awkwardly at each other, neither wanting to be the first to turn around. You shuffled your feet away slowing, smiling awkwardly once more at Bucky before turning. You heard his footsteps start to fade away as you walked towards your home. You were but three steps to the door when a large figure in a hoodie slammed into you, you raised your arms instinctively to block them when you noticed your shoulder was lighter. The bastard had stolen your bag.

You immediately took chase, chasing around the corner you just walked down but they were fast, faster then you at least. As you rounded the corner you caught sight of Bucky walking ahead. The thief wouldn’t stand a change against him. Without a second thought you cast your thoughts towards Bucky,

“Bucky! Thief! My Bag! Behind you!”

You saw Bucky flinch slightly then turn bewildered, his eyes widening when he saw you hurting towards him, chasing the hooded figure. He caught on and launched after the thief as well, with barely any effort he knocked the thief to the ground, grabbed your bag and whipped out his phone to call the cops.

Well, that was hot.

You took your bag back, immediately checking that you brother’s lucky coin was in the zippy pocket, to your relief it was still there. You looked up to see Bucky staring at you with a very puzzled look on his face. You sighed before casting your thoughts to his head once more,

“I’ll explain later.”

Bucky let out a strange, decompressed noise of shock, it made you giggle. The two of you waited in silence until the police came and took the thief away. The police car had barely driven away when he turned to you.

“Did you just, talk in my head? Or did my conscious just suddenly get really loud.”

“I did. Hi. Sorry about that.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “Believe it or not, not the weirdest thing I’ve encountered.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So,” You started, resorting back to sign language, it felt less invasive, “Still down for coffee?”

Bucky smiled, “One hundred percent. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Bye Bucky. Thanks for getting my bag back.”

“No problem, see ya.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The coffee shop that Bucky invited you to, was tucked away, it was the kind of place that you would stumble over on accident. With a simple door and a big window out the front, that lead soft orange light filter out onto the alley. There was the faint sound of jazz leaking out of the building, you smirked. It was such an old fashioned place, of course this was where Bucky frequented.

The bell tinkled slightly as you entered the café, where you were greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. You caught sight of Bucky’s broad shoulders sitting in the corner, and you made your way over to him, smiling at the barista as you passed.

As if sensing you, Bucky turned to smile and wave. He was dressed in casual clothes like last time, but this time his hair was loose around his shoulders. You smiled back before settling into the seat opposite him.

His hands moved hesitantly as he signed, “What would you like? I can recommend their hot chocolate, its very warming/”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

You could tell he wanted to ask you a million questions but to his credit he walked slowly to get the drinks, he even took his time carefully carrying the tray of drinks back to your table. He placed a delicious looking hot chocolate in front of you. You watched as he took a sip.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1-

“So,” Here we go, “What is it you can do, you can speak in peoples’ heads, can you,” He lowered his voice and leaned in, “Can you read people’s minds?”

You giggled slightly, his eyes were basically sparkling, he was definitely nerding out about this.

You set the hot chocolate down before casting your thoughts to his head, “I can speak in peoples heads relatively easily, it’s how I talk most of the time to people I know. I guess you could call it Telepathy.”

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, “So you can’t read thoughts, only… speak them?”

“I like to call it casting, makes me feel like a sorcerer. I can read thoughts, but it takes a lot of energy. I used to be able to talk with my brother from across the house. That usually requires some kind of connection.”

“Oh, so like a blood or family connection? Do you have to know the person very well?”

“That certainly helps but it’s not always necessary. If I have a personal object that belongs to that person, something I can hold and connect to them it isn’t hard to make a two-way connection. Especially if that person is willing to open their mind.”

Bucky seemed to be caught in thought for a second. “So, if I were to give you something of mine, we could both talk in our… heads?”

“Well yes, but Bucky we have only just met. Letting me into your head is a lot. I try not to pry but sometimes I’ve found that thoughts just burst through. Let’s get to know each other a before that happens.”

Bucky smiled at you before speaking and signing, “You’re right. Let’s get to know one another. I find you fascinating.”

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It happened on the fifth date. Bucky was just walking you home after a lovely dinner at a small Italian that he claimed he went to back in the 40s. Just outside your door, under the glow of a lamppost he turned to you and took a deep breath before speaking.

“I know this may be a lot, but I wanted to give you these.” He reached around his neck and pulled off something silver. You gasped slightly as he held out his dog tags, immaculately preserved after all these years.

“Are you sure, Bucky? This is a lot.”

“I know and if you aren’t comfortable with it then just let me know but I want to give them to you.”

“You know what this means Bucky?”

“Yeah, I know, I just figured that you’re already in my head all the time anyways, just can’t seem to get you out of it.”

“You cheeseball.” You smirked at him before taking the dog tags and placing them around your neck. You gripped the cold metal for a moment, concentrating on the man in front of you. Taking everything, you knew about him and stretching out a connection, like a hand reaching out to clasp another.

“Testing, Testing, Testing, one two, one two, can my Telepathic partner hear me?”

You laughed, “Yes I can Bucky, you big dork.”

Bucky whooped out loud before sweeping you up in a big hug. The two of you laughing under the lamp light. His joy was infectious, and you couldn’t fight the smile off your face.

“Oh, we are going to have so much fun messing with Sam.”

“You’re evil.”

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Of course, the two of you made a pact not to tell Sam until he worked it out, which wouldn’t be anytime soon according to Bucky. It led to some very memorable moments and Sam refusing to play any form of card or board game with either of you because you always managed to win, somehow. Not to mention all the times you had spoken in eery unison around him.

“I swear, its like you two can read each other’s minds sometimes.” Sam threw his hands up in frustration at another lost game of charades.

You smirked at Bucky across the room, “Should you tell him, or shall I?”

“I think he’s been through enough, I got it.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “We can.”

Sam whipped around to face Bucky, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, “Seriously Bucky-boy, if you think I believe that after all-

“Hello Sam.” You cast your thoughts to him, in the creepiest old lady voice you could muster.

Sam yelped, before turning accusingly at you, “You better be joking around with me right now, I am not dealing with any kind of ghosts in this house.”

“Sorry! Surprise I’m telepathic!”

“You’re serious.”

You nodded.

Sam put his head in his hands and sighed, “Not the weirdest thing ever. Wait, does this mean you have been cheating this entire time.”

You both looked guiltily at one another.

“You owe me. That poker night, void.”

You both laughed, “We’ll have a fair rematch this time Sam.”

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It had been close to a year since you had made it official with Bucky and you were now much more comfortable around one another. He no longer just dropped you off at the lamppost but cam inside with you. You had spent many lovely mornings together sharing glances over steaming cups of coffee. Fighting each other for who got to spread their legs out on the couch, there wasn’t really a loser though as it usually ended up in sofa cuddles for both of you, while watching a film.

Life was pretty great, you thought, as you smiled down at the sleeping Bucky beside you. Finally reaching over to turn off the lamp and put your book down, you were finally reading the hobbit at Bucky’s insistence. As you clicked off the light beside you and settled down you noticed the faster than usual breathing coming from beside you.

“Bucky?”

You reached out, thinking he was awake but instead as you opened up your connection you caught flashes of night terrors. You were falling indefinitely, snow all around you, and in the distance, there were cries of pain, people pleading for their lives, there was gunfire and explosions. You gasped and took off the dog tags. You only gave yourself a moment to breathe before trying to shake Bucky awake. When it became clear that he wasn’t stirring you steadied yourself and settled your hands on his temples. You didn’t care you tired this would make you, you just wanted Bucky to stop suffering. You focused, offering out that hand of connection again, this time picturing it in the shape of a fist and, although it wasn’t subtle, you tried to shake Bucky’s brain awake. You forced your way into his dreams, punching through the dark fog that clouded his thoughts and almost screamed at him.

“Bucky! Bucky wake up! You’re dreaming my dear!”

Bucky woke up with a start. Tears flowing down his face, he stared at you blue eyes shining. No one spoke as he pulled you into his arms. You just breathed together for a moment, counting the breaths and the spaces in between. When he finally pulled back, you saw his eyes flicker with concern before lifting a hand to gently wipe under your nose, it came back red with blood.

“You, okay?”

You smiled sadly, reaching out to put the dog tags back on.

“I should be asking you that.”

“But you’re bleeding.”

“Occupational hazard.” You tried to subtly get rid of any of the extra blood. “That was pretty intense. Wanna talk?”

Bucky looked down to the sheets and shook his head. You smiled at him, tilting his head to yours.

“That’s fine, want me to go? Or would you like to cuddle for a bit?”

Bucky didn’t talk again, just pulled you gently down to the bed once more. Snuggling himself under your chin, resting his head on your chest. You felt his arms draw tightly against your waist. You pressed your lips into his hair.

“May I help you go to sleep? Keep the bad thoughts at bay for at least one night.”

You felt Bucky nod and let out a little sleepy hum of agreement. You closed your eyes, focused on your connection setting up a golden wall against the dark fog at the corners of his mind and settled into a deep sleep.

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You woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the clinking of cups.

“Morning.” You opened your eyes at Bucky’s voice and took the offered cup greedily. Your mind still felt hazy from the energy you used last night.

You felt the bed dip beside you as Bucky sat and sipped at his cup as well, hair a bit of a mess from bed. He had evidently only just woken up as well.

He took a breath, “I had some pretty interesting dreams, sweetheart.”

You stiffened, “Good ones I hope.”

“Don’t worry, they were good. If a little strange.”

“Strange?”

“I was watching myself most of the time.”

You snorted into the coffee, “Sounds creepy”

There was a slight chuckle, “Nah, I was watching myself build a home, a family- “

“Oh God Bucky.” You snapped your eyes to his, you knew what had happened. “I am so sorry my dreams must have stuck in your head.”

“Those were your dreams?”

“Yeah, its only happened once before but when the connection between two people is very strong, it can happen- I call it bleeding. Perhaps we should- “

“If the next words out of your mouth are take a break, I will spill your coffee.” You clutched your cup closer to your chest, “Truthfully, those were some of the beset dreams I have every had. I really loved them.”

You looked back up at him, hesitantly “You did?”

“And I love you.”

“Huh

There was silence as you stared at him in shock. His face as nothing but adoration as the sunlight filtered over his face.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.”

Coffee cups were cast aside as you both collided. Giggling and joking, radiating happiness as the two of you shared the sweetest kiss. Your feelings merging together, amplifying one another until they shone brighter than the sun.

[stxrvel]

bittersweet feelings (1)

summary: you have to deal with the harsh truth after Bucky arrives from one of his missions.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: nothing i think, just you know English is not my native language so sorry for any mistakes!

words: +2.5k

note: hi! I've been feeling physically unwell since I last posted and have been in bed, but today I was finally able to get a moment of calm and lucidity, so, enjoy and hope you like it!

also, i've been working on a series that I want to publish soon, but I don't know why I always find it difficult to do all that planning. anyway, I really hope I can bring it to you soon! thank u for all the support!

part 2

part 3

Admiring Bucky Barnes from afar has become too much of a challenge in recent days. Before, you were wrapped up in papers, essays, final exams and projects due, locking yourself in your room at a time or living in your university library, simply too busy to wander your eyes over the sprawling figure of Bucky strolling around the Complex. Ironically, he always spent more time there when you weren't there.

But now, completely free of academic responsibilities and banned from going on missions at Fury's whim, you had a lot more time to wander the halls of the Complex, especially in the gym where the man with the metal arm used to spend most of his time. Many times (if not all the time) you felt like a lousy attempt of a stalker, and you was almost 100% sure that he realised what you were doing but preferred not to say anything so as not to embarrass you. And that was much more embarrassing.

But did that stop you? Absolutely not.

He'd cut his hair a few days ago, and although you loved the way his hair looked on his shoulders and the way it blew in the wind every time he walked, as if he were a model on a bloody photo shoot, you shamelessly admitted that you had quickly grown to love his new style. Because, honestly, did something look bad on Bucky?

Your hands moved indiscreetly across the table, crumpling the paper between your fingers that you had previously been reading, as you watched the aforementioned man's shoulders shake after hearing Sam Wilson say something about Scott's card game. You moved your eyes scanning his entire face, trying to memorise the expression on his face as he smiled so openly, as he almost never did in public.

“Am I interrupting your crazy stalker moment?”

Tony's voice startled you, and you turned your head so sharply to look at something other than Bucky that a slight twinge of pain made its way from the back of your neck to your right shoulder. You grimaced and watched the millionaire sit down next to you on one of the black chairs that were spread out in the first floor cafeteria. Ahead of you, a large glass door separated you from one of the side exits of the Complex, where Bucky and Sam had stopped to talk and, surely at first, discuss the mission Bucky had just returned from.

“I'm not a crazy stalker,” you told him dismissively, but your nerves were eating you up inside. Even though you knew you weren't entirely discreet, you still weren't ready for someone to tell you that you were too obvious for him not to know anymore.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” Tony commented sarcastically and you felt a quick pang of fear inside your chest, “I was just coming to tell you that Fury made the decision to send you to Milan with Steve the other week.”

Your gaze finally shifted away from Bucky's figure, closer and closer to where you stood, to Tony and you frowned at him in extreme confusion.

“What? So soon?”

“Isn't that what you wanted? To go back to the camp?”

“Well, yes, but I thought his tantrum was going to last much longer.”

Tony let out a laugh and proceeded to open the packet of peanuts in his pocket, “If he hears you say that, consider yourself fired, kiddo.”

“Then it's a relief that no one heard me say it,” you smiled innocently at Tony, who only gave you a tight-mouthed smile in return.

“It's just a recon mission. Steve thinks there's an empty HYDRA base you can investigate, and you're pretty nimble with that non-digitized document review stuff.”

“You mean I'm good at reading physical documents?”

“You know what I mean, eagle eyes. There's nothing you're missing.”

“Ow,” you croon with a smile, “Thanks for the compliment, Stark.”

“You're welcome. Now, don't go freaking out. Barnes is walking this way.”

He then stood up and planted himself in front of you, as your heart did a wild flip and you felt him pause for a second, before resuming his march at an unnatural pace. You didn't even know if it was possible for a heart to beat that fast. You felt sweat beading on your hands and started to breathe through your mouth as you felt the nervousness take over your whole body.

“What?” you exclaimed, staring at him, sitting uncomfortably in the chair across the table they had shared.

“I told you not to freak out, you're only going to make it worse.”

You narrowed your eyes at him with a frown. Next, you took about three deep breaths to try and calm your frantic heartbeat, before Sam's figure - and consequently Bucky's - appeared in your field of view to the side of Stark's body. The man gave you a look with an arched eyebrow, as if to ask you to behave yourself, which was an exaggeration.

That was an exaggeration. You spent a lot of time with Bucky! Even when you two were alone you didn't feel as nervous as you did at moments like this.

When your gazes met, you could barely return the smile he gave you before you turned your eyes to Sam, who had just spoken but you hadn't gotten to hear everything he'd said because your head was in the clouds.

“...and that you're going back to the camp with Steve. How long since you've been out? Almost four months? You must be anxious.”

You just nodded, looking at him through tight lips.

Tony rubbed his eyes in an exasperated gesture.

“I could ask Fury to let me tag along,” Bucky's voice reached your ears like a forbidden delicacy. It had been several days since you'd last heard it and it was like a gift from the gods, “Lest he bore you with his awkward silences.”

“We don't have awkward silences,” you grumbled quickly, not knowing exactly why you were getting defensive. Tony raised his eyebrows at you and you shrugged in place, “I mean, we talk about a lot of things.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky's jocular tone didn't do much for your nerves and sanity, “Name a topic you've been talking about for more than three minutes.”

You pursed your lips and stared at his perfect face, uninjured by the mission, as you conjured up memories of your conversations with Steve. Your almost non-existent conversations.

Your cheeks flushed as you realised he was right, but you weren't going to let him win you over this time.

“One time, we talked all night about a movie.”

“If you're going to say you talked about Lord of the Rings, that doesn't count,” Sam spoke with a half smile on his face.

“Why not?” you grumbled quickly, watching the grimace in his face.

“He talks to everyone about those movies. It doesn't even feel like a conversation anymore, it's like a monologue.”

“Careful, Sam,” Tony spoke up after several seconds, “She likes those movies too.”

“Hey! They're good movies.”

“Good for a nap,” Sam let out a laugh.

You watched Bucky pursed his lips and looked down at the floor, holding back a chuckle.

“They're entertaining,” you muttered with a frown.

Sam pointed at you, his eyebrows arched and his corners raised in a playful grin.

“Well, that's it,” Bucky interrupted whatever Sam was going to say, “You know what they say, to each his own.”

“I'm with Barnes on this one,” Tony spoke up, resting one of his hands on Barnes' shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. Bucky watched his hand and then the millionaire's face with an arched eyebrow, but Tony quickly turned his attention away from Bucky to Sam, “Speaking of Steve, he asked me to tell you to look for him in the main room. He said something about a pending conversation.”

Tony put his arm around Sam's shoulders, leaning part of his body to lead him to walk with him out of the cafeteria. They promptly struck up a conversation on their way out of the cafeteria, and you felt your hands shake once you realized you were alone with Bucky after a couple of weeks of not being able to talk properly with him.

You turned your head away from where the two people who had accompanied you a few seconds before were leaving, hearing the creak of a chair being dragged in front of you. You watched Bucky move his body into a sitting position, settling his forearms on the table and his eyes fixed on yours. Settling into the chair, you gave him a tight-lipped, tense smile. Act normal.

“So the boss finally gave in,” the black-haired man said, his lips curling as he interlocked his hands.

You nodded your head slightly, “It was quicker than I thought. I thought he'd never let me back in the field.”

“And can you blame him? You sure scared the soul out of his body,” Bucky arched his eyebrows, and the mere memory of what happened gave you a feeling of irritability.

You grimaced, “Oh, it wasn't a big deal.”

“It wasn't a big deal? Honey, you threw yourself at those people all by yourself.”

You stared at him for a few seconds, like you did every time he called you names when you were alone. He never did it in public, and it was something you didn't try to think about very often.

“So what? This was all unnecessarily dramatic,” you tried to say in the most neutral tone of voice possible as you crossed your legs under the table.

“There were twenty men,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“Do you think me incapable, Barnes?” you arched an eyebrow, speaking with courage.

“No, of course not,” he quickly replied, his gaze softening, “But you disobeyed a direct order from Natasha and put your life at risk. You know how Fury is with you, he cares too much about you.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your back fall against the back of the chair, “But I'm not made of porcelain. I'm as good as Nat, she trained me herself!”

“But Fury didn't see her grow up.”

Well, he had a point and rightly so. You had grown up with the boss, who had practically adopted you, which was one of the reasons he used to be overprotective or refuse you to do some things because he thought it was for the best. And that fact had also helped you form fraternal bonds with all the Avengers until you were old enough and capable enough to be a part of them.

Well, you saw everyone as a nice family except Bucky. And that was a big problem.

You watched him through your eyelashes with an almost imperceptible pout.

Bucky gave you a beautiful smile, the kind that could light up an entire city, “Honey, I understand that it bothers you, but the position you put Fury in at the time, or everyone for that matter, made it hard for him not to make the decision he did. Maybe he overstepped, I'm not denying that, but he was scared.”

“There were other ways...” you started to renege again.

“And would you really have listened to him?” he inquired without wiping away his smile. It amazed you how lenient he could be with you, when with the rest of the world he was a hermit and sulky most of the time.

You sighed. Yep, you could be pretty stubborn when you put your mind to it.

“Well, the important thing is that he finally realised his mistake,” you blurted out with an amused grin. Bucky frowned and pointed the index finger of his metal arm at you.

“I think you missed the point of our little debate.”

“No, no... I understand, Bucky, I do. But Fury have to trust my skills a little more. I could against all of them! It was a spectacle.”

“But you're not always going to come out on top, sweetheart. At some point someone can catch you off guard, and that's what Fury's afraid of.”

“Well, it'll have to happen at some point. Unfortunately, I'm not invincible,” you agreed and admitted what he had said, because he was certainly right, with a tight-lipped smile.

You thought Bucky would be amused, or at least agree with you, but he merely bowed his head, frowned and tensed noticeably. You noticed that his expression suddenly hardened, and it frightened you that you had said something that would have angered him.

“What?” you asked fearfully.

He looked up from the table to look at you again, waking up. He gave you a smile, but a stiffer, harder and committed one. Your chest tightened, “It's not.... It's nothing. Just try to be careful next time, more cautious if necessary. You know, strategist.”

“Yeah, I know, I don't risk it if I don't think it's necessary.”

“That's my girl.”

You froze for a few seconds, just watching him, before your face heated up into an all too violent blush. He'd never said anything like that to you before... but you certainly didn't balk at the possibility that he might again.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you smiled shyly at him.

The sound of the cafeteria doors swinging open distracted the man in front of you, but you kept staring at his profile, gawking and surely with heart-shaped eyes. How was it possible that you liked him so much? Even though it had been a while since you last spoke, it seemed that your feelings for him had only grown three times his size.

Then, you heard it:

“Bucky!”

A woman's voice in the distance.

Confused, you turned your gaze in the direction of the voice, which came from the same place Bucky had been watching for several seconds. She was the one who had opened the doors so frantically, then. You frowned at her from a distance, unable to recognise her figure or features; it wasn't usually easy for you to forget the faces of people you knew, and you certainly didn't know this woman.

However, when you turned to ask Bucky, the half-smile on his face gave you the answer without words. Your chest tightened and you clenched your hands so as not to show the abrupt change of mood you had just gone through when he turned his face and fixed his eyes on yours. All without erasing that smile.

That smile he had on his face for her.

“I guess you'll have to go with Steve to schedule everything about the mission.”

You nodded, uncomfortably, not looking away.

“Fine. In the meantime, I'll go on my date,” he crooned, and the burning you felt intensified so much that it felt like you couldn't pass saliva without straining. But you smiled at him, your lips curving awkwardly and your face reluctant to show a feeling you didn't experience.

“Wow, I thought I'd never hear you say something like that.”

“Life is full of surprises, honey,” he said smiling as he stood up, “Do you want me to walk you to the living room?”

“No, don't worry. I'll be there in a minute,” you replied quickly. It was the first time since you had met him that you wanted him to leave you alone for once.

“All right. Good luck with the old man.”

“Thanks. Good luck with your- your- your date.”

You hated the way your voice betrayed you, but Bucky didn't seem to pay too much attention to it as he waved goodbye to you and started walking in the direction of the woman waiting for him outside the cafeteria doors. You felt your chest tighten as you sighed deeply and a couple of tears welled up in your eyes.

Damn it, at what point had all that happened?

[cazimagines]

Every day, it feels like I've lost them again

Synopsis: Sam shouts at Zemo for the things he has done. Though Zemo doesn’t show it the words hurt him deeply. Later on the reader finds Zemo and talks to him about his past.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Bit of angst, Sad Zemo, mentions to his family’s death and his attempted suicide

Author note: I had plans for another Zemo one shot but then I watched a sad Zemo edit which made me cry and here we are

Cross posted on my Ao3 account under the same name

MASTER LIST

The streets seemed silent as you sadly walked home. The only sound was your footsteps dragging along the floor. The silence between all of you was piercing. Today had been an enormous failure, and you all were feeling it weighing down on you. Pushing down your hopes for things to improve. Zemo had somehow found out where the flag smashers would be, from a trusted source, he said, so you all went charging off to talk to them. It was a trap. Zemo didn’t know it was a trap either, though Sam still believed otherwise. You all had barely got out of there safely. It had been close, too close for your liking.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Zemo says, hating the stone cold silence coming from everyone.

“But there’s not,” Sam spits back angrily, “That was the one proper chance we could've had to talk to Kali, and we failed”

“You shouldn’t be so pessimistic,” Zemo argues back, rolling his eyes.

“Pessimistic. Are you for serious, pessimistic,” Sam says shaking his head at Zemo, “You hear this guy I’m the pessimistic one”

“Leave it Sam” Bucky mutters trying to push him along, but Sam refuses.

Sam steps towards Zemo, standing just a few centimeters away from his face, his eyes glaring daggers at him. Zemo stops walking, clenching his jaw and tilting his head to stare back at Sam, not breaking eye contact.

Both you and Bucky glance at each other, not really sure if you should stop this or let it happen.

“You could have led us to our deaths today, Zemo, which I am sure was your intention. You make it clear that you wouldn’t hesitate to see any of us off to our funerals. All because you got butt hurt about the avengers preventing Ultron from destroying the earth at the cost of your country.”

The breath leaves your mouth as the words slip out of Sam’s mouth. Your lips, slightly ajar, turn to look at Sam. He’s breathing heavily, glaring at Zemo. Zemo’s lips curled down into an angry frown and his eyebrows furrowed. You could see his fists curl up, something Bucky must have noticed as well, and he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder to pull him away from Zemo.

“Sam this isn’t the time”

Sam finally gives in and pulls back, but Zemo steps forward, grabbing onto his jacket. Bucky reaches for his gun, but Zemo waves his hand at him, motioning him not to.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Sam.” is all he says, letting go of Sam’s jacket roughly and storming off.

It would be hours later till you saw him again. During that time your mind was often thinking back to Zemo. When you really thought about it, you realised you knew nothing about him. Heck, until recently you didn’t know he was a Baron. All you had been told was that he was a Sokovian who wanted to split the avengers up because of what they did to his country. Being a Baron, you supposed that made it more personal for him. Still, it felt like something was missing. Something didn’t add up.

You laid in one of the many guest rooms tossing and turning while all these thoughts flooded your mind. Eventually you gave up on the idea of ever getting sleep tonight and got up. If you weren’t sleeping, you might as well get some midnight snacks. Heading into the main room, you notice the door leading to the back was open, letting a chilly breeze float in.

Heading over to check it out, your eyes lie upon Zemo sitting on top of a fallen over tree trunk in the back patio, looking up at the night sky. His coat was wrapped around him to keep him warm, and his face was expressionless as he looked up to the night sky that was scattered with the stars. He hadn’t noticed you staring at him, his mind was far from where his body was.

After a few moments of just staring at him, you broke the silence, “Zemo?”

His head instantly snapped to you, surprised to have been caught unaware.

“Oh, hello y/n, can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, taking his question as an invitation to go over and sit next to him, “No, to many thoughts in my mind to go to sleep”

“Ah, a common problem for an insomniac”

“I assume you have similar reasons, since you are out hear”

He looks away from you, smiling weakly at the floor, “Yes something like that, sleep comes rarely to me”

Your eyes flutter down to the ground, not really sure what to say, “I’m sorry to hear that” you whisper

You both sit there in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t an awkward silence like what you were used to. No. It was a comfortable silence. You were both thankful just to have someone beside you at that moment. You shudder slightly as the wind picks up, making the hairs on your arm stand up. Zemo notices and slowly shrugs off his coat, placing it around you. You smile politely up at him in thanks.

“May I ask what your thoughts were?” Zemo asks gently, glancing back over to you

“You probably think it was about our failure, right?” you say and Zemo nods his head slightly

“They weren’t, actually. I didn’t suspect us to accomplish anything. It seemed to good to be true. No, I was thinking about what happened after. Between you and Sam”

Zemo’s face instantly shifted, his mouth pulling into a frown and his eyebrows furrowing, “Ah” is all he says

“What Sam said was way out of line. I can’t understand the pain you must feel about losing Sokovia”

Zemo hums to let you know he heard but doesn’t say anymore, his gaze just returns to the sky.

You didn’t want to push him too far. Over this time you had gotten to know him and almost considered him a friend, but you couldn’t help but be curious. You wanted to know more about him.

“But there’s more isn’t there. Something we don’t know,” you say gently

You can see him swallow and his fingers dig into his palms as he tenses at your question.

After a moment he finally responds, “Yes, you’re right. I... I had a family who died that day. My father, wife and child. I told them to go out of the city to the countryside. That was where my father lived, you see. I had to stay behind as I was a part of this Sokovian kill squad. Even as royalty, I still had duties. I had faith in the avengers. They would sort everything out. But they didn’t. When the battle was one they just returned home, leaving us with the hard task of finding all the dead. I assumed my family would be safe, yet it took me two days after to find their bodies.”

Your body gets overwhelmed with coldness as you hear his story. The memories of the battle flooded your mind and you could feel a bitterness creep into your mouth. You could have stayed behind to help. Why didn’t you? Your eyes water slightly as you sympathise with him and feel the guilt lie on your soul.

“Oh god Zemo, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked,” you are quick to respond

“No...it’s okay. If I didn’t want to tell you, I wouldn’t have said anything”

You look up to the night sky and reflect over his words. All the pain that Zemo must feel, holding onto, and you did not know. None of you did. You were sure if Sam knew he wouldn’t have said the things he did. You knew what Zemo did was wrong, but damn you couldn’t help but empathise with him.

“If you want…” you start, hoping what you were choosing to ask wouldn’t be going too far, “would you like to tell me about them?”

Zemo finally looks away from the sky, his eyes looking to the ground. He swallows again, slightly sniffing before speaking.

“My Son, Carl, he was four when he... when he died. He always did this cute thing where if he didn’t like the food on his plate he would pretend he was gifting the food to you to show his love for you”

You chuckle slightly thinking about it, “That does sounds cute”

“He was the most precious thing in existence. He always wanted a sibling like his friends had. He loved the idea of being an older brother. Every morning when the mail arrived, he asked if he had a brother or sister delivered to him. Me and my wife… we were planning on having more kids. We knew he would've made the best big brother. We hoped for a girl, you know, to even things out”

“What was she like?”

“She was so beautiful. Like the goddess Venus. Many men tried to win her affection, but she settled for me. I had never felt like a luckier man. She was so kind, so generous, so loving. My perfect angel”

The tears that had been threatening to fall from Zemo’s eyes broke the dam and fell down his cheeks.

“If I could, I would give up everything I have, everything I own just to hold them in my arms again”

A sob breaks out of him and he holds his hand up to his mouth as his eyes crinkle up as more tears fall. He tries to wipe them away, but he can’t stop crying. You put your arm around him and pull him into a hug which he gladly accepts. He wraps his arms around you and buries his head into your shoulder as he sobs.

“I miss them so much”

You say nothing, just rub your hand on his back reassuringly. He takes a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I tried to end my life after I completed my revenge. So I didn’t have to live another day without them. But I failed. I spent the next seven years without them. And everyday it feels like I’ve lost them again,”

“What do you plan to do… after we have finished here?”

You can feel Zemo’s body tenses in your arms as you ask that question, “I think you know, y/n”

You pull back from him to look into his blood-shot eyes. “Zemo, I know this is so very hard for you, but please don’t. I know with your wit and cunning you can think of a way to escape all of this safely. I will not pretend to know your wife, but if she is anything like what you have told me about, I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to either. She would want you to find some happiness in life,”

Zemo finally moves away from you, standing up off the tree log and taking one last look at the sky before then looking back at you. He’d stopped crying by now but the tear stained cheek and dark under eyes were evidence of what had just occurred. The side of his lip tried to twitch up into a slight smile but it faltered,

“Thank you, y/n”

Taglist: @multiyfandomgirl40 @ineffablebean @freyjasamael @avgravy @jayxkelsi @huntheimpossible @checkurwindow @there-goes-thefighter @bunniwritesx @montypythonsholysnail @yallgotkik

[angel-anoetic]

What if you rewrote your last post, but this time it didn’t work, which leads to Skeppy and Bad fighting because Bad still tries to go back to the egg?

Alright, alright, I was not too sure where to start from this, so the last conversation between reader and Bad will be added, but with the alternate ending. Thanks so much for your request!!

SkepHalo x gn!Reader - Let Me Go

Genre: /rom, angst

Warnings: Injury, fighting

original ending

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Red Banquet. Of course, it had to happen tonight. You had done your absolute best to keep everyone away. But you could only do so much. It was the only way. Now you were trying to convince Bad to spend just a few more hours with you. Your final hours.

"C'mon just a quick walk. I promise we'll be back before the Banquet starts."

"Fine."

Yes, finally. Skeppy had been missing for the last few days so you took full advantage of Bad and your alone time, making sure to spend as much as time with him, whether it was a conversation over coffee or a late-night walk around the SMP.

You took his hand, making sure to walk a little slower today, pointing out things you had never really noticed before, and soaking in the sun.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" You looked to him.

He smiled. "Of course I do silly. Me and Skeppy were out mining that day. Somehow, we ended up in the nether and found you casually walking around in the lava, playing with a strider. I think that was the moment we both knew we had to be your friend at the least. I don't think we really thought we would be here though."

As you walked up the path to your home Bad stopped and turned to you, grabbing your hands gently in his.

"Y/N...I want you to know, I really am sorry for the way things have been. I never meant for things to go this far and I really wanted this for us. The three of us. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me, and we'll be able to pretend like this never happened."

He smiled to you, and you to him.

"I know. Trust me, this will be all over soon." He looked at you a bit puzzled but shrugged it off as you entered.

Once you were both set, ready, and dressed up you were off. Puffy knew what was meant to happen tonight. She swore up and down she would do her best to help the good prevail, regardless of whatever was to happen.

The dinner began, with you sitting, anxious but ready. Puffy kept side-eyeing you, her nerves just as evident.

"The Egg requires a sacrifice. One that will suffice its hunger for a time. Thankfully we have a room of guests."

Now. It had to happen now.

You looked at Puffy, giving her the signal. She motioned to Sam and Foolish.

You stood up, to Bad's surprise.

"Me. I want to be the sacrifice." His face changed. The color came back to him as he came to.

"What? No-no. This wasn't for you my love. We're going to rule together-"

Sam and Foolish grabbed Bad, holding him as tight as they could. He looked around as it dawned on him what was happening. The Egg would fall today.

You walked over, the fire slowly becoming more vibrant. You reached out to him, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

"This is for the best my love. Until we meet again. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me."

You turned, the tears not even having time to leave your eyes. You ignored the pleas of Bad, begging for Foolish and Sam to let him go and his calls to you, to turn around, to reconsider.

You blocked it out, letting the heat flow from within you out. You gathered what you could, and then some. Would this hurt? You weren't sure. Would this even work? The chances were 50/50. But if there was even a slim chance, you needed to take it.

You thought of the bad, the worst memories you could pull. You focused on the emotions, the feelings of what the Egg had put you through, what it had put those you loved the most through. That was your motivation. That was the reason your power, the fire, grew until you could feel your skin burning.

You stood on the top of the Egg, then waited. Waited until the fire was too much for even yourself. The Egg began cracking under you, screeching as everything around it caught on fire.

"We have to go. Now!" Puffy screamed. Everyone began filing out of the room. Foolish and Sam struggled as Bad fought against their restraint.

"Bad," Puffy crouched in front of him "this is not your fault. They wanted to do this themselves. They wouldn't want you here to see this."

He sobbed as he continued to fight. He was too late. They dragged him out of the room as the walls surrounding them began to topple down.

You had long lost feeling, only letting the fire consume everything around you. You fell to your knees, unrelenting.

Goodbye, my love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes tried to open, but even that was too much effort for you. You could hardly feel your skin. Your mind refused to feel anything.

"I don't know...could be a while."

Sam?

"Please just tell me they'll be okay. Please."

Skeppy.

You let out a small groan. Your eyes finally began to push open.

"Y/N!" Skeppy nearly grabbed at your hand before remembering the aches and pain Sam told him you might experience. "H-hey, how are you feeling?"

"Crappy." You both laughed.

"Language." You heard the small mutter from the doorway. Skeppy and you turned to see Bad, tears staining his face, silently holding himself.

"Bad..." You patted the bed next to you, an invitation he accepted gladly.

He looked at you, the pain and regret visible in his eyes.

"Y/N, I am...I'm so sorry." He let out a small sob, covering his face, "I never, I never would have let you do that if you had told me-" You grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"It's okay. I'm here now. That's all that matters. But please, tell me, did it work? Is it gone?" Skeppy shook his head, gently taking your hand.

"I'm sorry Y/N, you did some pretty decent damage, but it's still here."

You looked at the ceiling. Damn it. All that mattered right now was that both of your boys were here with you, regardless of how you had ended up here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first few days had been great. Skeppy and Bad refused to let you do anything on your own, despite your protests. You finally drew the line when they offered to sleep on the floor so you could have the bed to yourself. Bad got up every morning to make you breakfast and took care of you during the day. Sometimes Skeppy would stay home and you would all enjoy a movie.

Until about two weeks ago. You weren't sure if it had been you or Skeppy who noticed first, but nonetheless Bad's absence in the late hours of the nice. He would be back in bed by the morning, but soon he would leave earlier and earlier in the evening.

You were laying in bed, trying to stop a headache from taking over when you heard the door open quietly. Skeppy stood up from where he was standing and crossed his arms.

"Where were you?" He asked a disheveled-looking Bad.

"Nowhere important. How are they?"

Skeppy scoffed, "Just admit it. I already know. But I want to hear you say it. They're doing just fine actually, just a slight headache."

"Skeppy, I don't know what you could possibly mean. I was just enjoying the server for once."

"Stop lying to me. Just say it so I don't have to push it out of you."

Bad groaned and made his way to the kitchen, Skeppy followed, leaving you on the couch.

"I can't believe you sometimes. Y/N is still on bed rest because of what they did for you, for us, and you have the audacity to go back to the Egg!"

Bad stopped and looked to Skeppy. "How-It doesn't matter. Because I'm still my own person Skeppy, I can make my own decisions."

"Oh yeah, my bad, I forgot the world just revolves around you. What about me? What about them?!"

The fight was starting to get to you, pushing your headache to a worse state.

"Skeppy, it's not like that. You know it's not like that. This wouldn't even be a problem if you didn't make it one. Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm being dramatic? Y/N almost died trying to destroy that thing so that we could be free, even if it was without them. And you're here, turning into the same person you were months ago. Do you even listen to yourself?"

"Leave me alone! Let me live. I know what they did, but I also know what the Egg could do for us. The three of us!"

"Skeppy..." You called out softly.

He quickly rushed to you, feeling your forehead, grabbing a wet towel from before. "It's okay, you're okay, I'm sorry for all the screaming darling."

Skeppy waited until you closed your eyes, falling into a light sleep. He refused to look at Bad, studying your face.

"You won't do this to us again. I won't let you. I think I can trust you enough to make the right choice because I know that the Bad that I and Y/N fell in love with is still in there."

Bad stayed silent for a moment.

"I'm going to go before I say something I'll regret."

Bad slammed the door and was off. Skeppy could feel the tears welling in his eyes, but held them back, stroking your face softly.

[touchstarvedsam]

Post-Red Meat cuddling, anyone?

Dean spends more time looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye than he spends looking at the road ever since they left the Urgent Care. Sam’s alive. He’s not dead on the floor of a cabin in the middle of the woods. He’s breathing, and whole, and finally gaining color back in his cheeks after the doctor cleaned up his bullet wound and sewed him up properly. Dean can breathe again, but he’s still shaken up. He was so scared when he came back and found Sam on the floor, no heartbeat, chest not rising and falling with every breath, lifeless.

He hated leaving Sam there, but he knew Sam wouldn’t want him to risk the lives of the people they saved just because he died. He knew Sam would never forgive him. But, god, if Sam had given him an ounce of proof that he was alive, a single breath, his pinky twitching, Dean would have stayed. Dean would have carried Sam on his back if he had to. He would have done anything to get Sam to safety. He hates admitting it, even to himself, but he would have left Michelle and Corbin on their own if Sam had given him one single gasp and they said it wouldn’t be worth it to take Sam.

His hands clench on the steering wheel, the leather squeaking in protest. There’s so much he wants to say, he just doesn’t have the words. They’re swimming around in his head and he has no net to catch them, no way to stop their flow so he could pull them out and let them leave his mouth. He wants to say he’s sorry, he wants to beg for forgiveness, but Sam isn’t blaming him and Dean hates that. Sam’s not mad that Dean left him in that cabin and Dean wants him to be.

Dean glances at Sam when he catches him moving out of the corner of his eye. He pulls a watermarked slip of paper out of his pocket and Dean doesn’t have to ask to know it’s a prescription. “Need meds?” he asks, going for nonchalant.

“Yeah, they prescribed me antibiotics to clear any possible infections, and meds for the pain.”

“Anything good?”

“Just, uh, Tylenol with codeine.”

“Man, that’s boring.” He’s trying for lighthearted while he waits for the pain to fade. His heart feels like it’s clenched in someone’s fist, keeping him on a leash with that pain, the feeling of loss cutting so deep he feels like he’s dying. “I’ll stop at the next pharmacy, we’ll get your meds, pick up some greasy diner food, and then kick back at the bunker, huh?”

He almost lost Sam today; he thought he did lose Sam today. And then Sam shows up, worse for wear, but alive, and saves Dean. The kid took down two werewolves after all that blood loss, drove himself to the Urgent Care with blurred vision and extreme pain, and saved Dean’s bacon from a newly turned werewolf. He can’t take much more action after that, not for awhile anyway. He just wants to sit with Sam and make sure the kid stays breathing.

“Sounds good,” Sam says, tucking the prescription paper back into his pocket. The rest of the ride is spent in silence. While Sam’s in the pharmacy dropping off his prescription, Dean’s picking up snacks and beer and whatever he loves that Sam doesn’t so he doesn’t have to share, but he does sneak in the healthy snacks Sam loves. He’ll deny later that he grabbed them on purpose.

They don’t speak when Dean runs into the diner to order their food -- a greasy two patty burger with extra onions and French fries for himself, and the biggest garden salad they’ve got for Sam -- and comes back out to Sam asleep in the passenger seat, slumped down, head resting on the back of the bench seat, tilted toward the driver’s side, where Dean would be. He opens the back door, puts the bag of food on the seat, and then shuts the door as quietly as he can in a car that’s not made with silence in mind.

When he slides back into the driver’s seat, he’s slow and careful not to shake the car too much. He’s caught off guard when he comes face to face with his little brother’s sleeping face. His little brother who he’d thought was dead not twelve hours ago. He closes his eyes to calm his breathing, to keep himself from touching Sam, from brushing the hair back from his face, then lets out a slow breath and settles in the seat and starts the car. He lets Sam sleep the rest of the way back to the bunker. He’d considered getting a hotel room and letting Sam rest there, but he thought Sam would feel safer in the comfort of the bunker. They both would.

Back at the bunker, he gently shakes Sam’s shoulder to wake him. Sam’s groggy, eyes foggy as they open and finally focus on Dean. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean jokes. “C’mon, time to get you out of the tower.”

Tired, but still sassy as ever, Sam mumbles, “That’s Rapunzel,” but climbs out of the Impala on Dean’s side instead of his own. Dean helps him out, a hand on Sam’s forearm to keep him steady. Sam’s like a newborn fawn on his big, skinny legs, shaky like he’s never walked before. “I’m okay,” Sam says, but lets Dean help him anyway. Dean grabs the food from the back and they go inside.

Sam’s still exhausted by the time they finish eating so Dean helps him to his room. “Thanks,” Sam rasps. Dean opens his mouth again to say he’s sorry, to ask for forgiveness, to beg for Sam not to hate him for leaving him. He knows Sam doesn’t, and he knows Sam would never accept an apology, so he keeps his mouth shut. Sam’s big, warm hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, a comfort he doesn’t deserve. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night, Sammy.”

Sam drops his hand and shuts his door. Dean misses the warmth.

It isn’t until Dean’s lying in the darkness of his room staring at the ceiling that he makes his decision. He gets up and makes his way back to Sam’s room. He knows Sam’s asleep so he doesn’t bother knocking, just opens the door and shuts it quietly after he slips inside. It’s dark in Sam’s room but he knows his way around, and he knows what side Sam’s asleep on, so he climbs in the opposite side, carefully. Sam doesn’t have memory foam like Dean does -- he settled for a regular mattress -- so Dean has to be as gentle and slow as possible. Sam stirs, but doesn’t otherwise react. Once under the covers, Dean scoots closer and closer until he can feel Sam’s warmth under the sheets, and wraps an arm over Sam’s thin waist.

That’s when Sam startles.

“Wha--”

“Shh, Sammy,” Dean shushes him, gently running his palm over Sam’s tense side before squeezing his hip to still him. “I just needed to be close to you.”

“Thought you were gonna put a jacuzzi in here,” Sam mumbles, groggy, and it takes Dean a moment to get it, remembers saying he was going to throw Sam’s stuff away and put in a jacuzzi had Sam been dead.

Ever cool, calm, and collected in front of Sam, he replies, “Yeah, well, you ain’t dead yet so I can’t.”

They both go quiet in the stillness of the night, Dean’s arm snaking forward, palm spread wide as he coasts it over Sam’s trembling abdomen, up his chest, and back down again. Sam shivers but doesn’t complain. “How you feelin’, kiddo?” he whispers into Sam’s hair, nosing at the back of Sam’s neck. A tiny whimper falls from Sammy’s lips and Dean smiles against his hair.

“Tired, De,” Sam whispers, but his body wiggles back just slightly, until his back is just a hair’s breadth away from Dean’s chest. One breath from Dean and they’d touch. He closes his eyes, takes that leap, and breathes. His chest touches Sam’s back and he feels like he’s home. His arm tightens carefully around Sam’s waist and he pulls Sam flush against him, holding him tight but mindful of his stitches. They fall asleep like that, Sam in Dean’s arms, warm and safe, Dean content because his whole world is okay.

[biggirllifestyle]

Over the Rails: Sparkly bands

Summary: After Peter posts, a video of him and his friends at the roller rink on the Avengers group chat, Bucky can’t seem to get his mind off of Peter’s friend who stole the show. And after getting goaded into going skating with the other Avengers (by Natasha’s conniving planning) where Peter’s friend works at well Bucky can’t help but feel that there’s something more to look towards to.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-Sized Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of physical harm from roller skating, etc.

A/N: It’s something…

If you would have asked her what was going through her mind the moment her eyes landed on Bucky Barnes, well Bibi could have told you that she was freaking the fuck out. She thought that nothing else could embarrass her more than that stupid speech Peter had made her do for losing a wager, but here she was right after face to face with her childhood hero and crush of many years and the only thing she thought of saying to him was ‘What’ll be Sarge?’

Ugh, pathetic.

Here was her chance to finally talk to people who were the most unselfish individuals, who. put their life on the line for the greater good and today she was to become their mentor. Sergeant Barnes seemed to be entertained by her flustered remark, a beautiful smile spreading across his face that made her heart flutter. The Black Widow was sitting on the counter putting on her skates, Bibi didn't feel like she had the guts to let her know that she wasn’t allowed to be on the counter so she let her be.

“I’ll take a pair of twelve in a half skates, doll,” Bucky said as he saw her turn towards the shelf grabbing him a pair of dark faded skates. Her cheeks were burning bright red and Bucky felt a deep satisfaction for being the reason. Somebody yelled out her name from the rink, so she gave him an apologetic smile before pushing herself off and skating towards whoever had called her, Bucky couldn’t help but stare as she glided around with ease.

Natasha shimmied herself closer to where he had bent down to tug off his boots, from the corner of his eyes he could see her dark red skates swinging back and forward nonchalantly but he knew better than that. He looked up at her waiting for a teasing remark but her expression was enough especially as she wiggled her eyebrows at him, taunting him.

Pathetic.

Bucky looked away, lasering on, tying his skates avoiding Nat’s eyes, he couldn’t help but worry that maybe he wasn't cut out for skating as he used to be, maybe Steve had exaggerated a little bit when he was talking about his experience. He stood ready to take a step forward before wobbling, almost losing his footing and falling, okay maybe Steve had exaggerated too much.  Natasha jumped off the counter landing neatly on her skates without any form of trouble before throwing him a mocking grin as she skated away, Bucky glared at her retreating form as he finished getting his laces tied, he stood and took a confident step forward and almost broke his nose as his foot slipped he caught himself on the encounter.

He looked up trying to make out if his slip was caught by anybody but it seemed no one had been paying attention to him, he tried again a little more tentatively wobbling towards where Tony, Pepper who had just arrived with Morgan, Steve, and Sam were standing around watching the others get instructions from Peter’s girlfriend on how to stand on their skates, Peter, Shuri, Ned were already skating around trying to outmaneuver each other to see who could do a better move.

He looked around trying to see where you were when he finally spotted you, Morgan, at your side clinging to your arm as she followed in slower glides from her skates, you had taken a slow pace to accommodate to her still being a beginner your skirt flowed around you, and Bucky was mesmerized.

“Wow!” Pepper exclaimed. “She’s going to be amazing with the kids.”

Bucky roused from his trance as he turned towards Pepper who was watching you closely as you and Morgan skated by as both of you raised a hand at them and waved, Tony stood by a camera in hand taking pictures and videos. She turned to him, a small smirk in place as she gave a side glance at Tony who was trying very hard to avoid the conversation.

“Nat might have mentioned you would have an interest in anything on our new nanny/tutor for Morgan and Charlie.”

“New nanny, since when?”

“Since last week, Peter mentioned she was majoring in child development and education and was in dire need of a job. Morgan needed a tutor and we also needed someone who could help me out with Charlie when I had to show up to meetings and Tony was out on missions, so it was a win-win situation.”

Bucky’s curiosity was piqued by the extra information he was given on you, and just as he was about to indirectly ask for more Nat had skated over hitting him at the back of his head.

“What are you doing over here?” She asked as he ignored his pointed glare as he tried to soothe the spot where she had hit him “The whole point of making this happen was for you to be able to get a chance and talk to this girl, so get your ass out there sergeant.”

Buck huffed out a breath knowing it was true and feeling a little triumph in getting Natasha to confess that this was all her doing. He took a step forward as the music changed to a much more upbeat tempo, something that made him feel confident about what he was doing as he finally stepped on the floor you zoomed past him as you gave a full 180 turn that left him a little speechless. Knowing that he was interrupted earlier and maybe this was his only chance to have a conversation with you so Bucky squared his shoulders and took a small little step forward.

And he fell.

Bucky had fallen right on his face in front of everybody and this time it could not be ignored.

He heard Natasha’s laugh from behind him, her loud cackles making his annoyance flair up as he tried to get up but his skate slipped and he fell once more making her laugh harder at him. He looked to his left trying to find Nat and send her a very helpful finger but the only thing he saw was an exchange of money from Tony to her as they clearly ignored his mortification of the situation. He felt like nothing else could go even worse, maybe he could go to Fury and ask him to send him on a mission deep in the jungle where he could disappear for a year or so.

“Are you okay? Do you need some help?”

Forget the jungle, Antártica sounded so much better at this moment. He looked up his hair getting in the way as he saw you crouching down a few feet away giving him space so he wouldn’t be startled by her proximity, he knew that if he were to try and get up by himself it would end back with him sprawled on the floor so he lightly gave a nod at her as confirmation.  Just as you were in the crouching position you used your hands to glide towards him, your skirt dragging on the dirty ground and he couldn’t help the frown on his face when he saw it.

It was a pretty skirt. He thought.

You didn’t reach out to him or tried to lift him as others would do but instead, you held out your hand palm up, giving him a say when he wanted to take your hand. He hesitated as he took your hand, it was so soft that he didn't want to let it go. After you gave him a small boost and explained to him the perfect way to position his feet so he didn't slip again, Bucky was up towering over you, your hands holding him so there wasn’t another incident.

“It’s much harder than what people think.” You said to him as you let him go, Bucky pushed his hair back, he had forgotten to bring a hair tie that Nat had given to him earlier in the day so here he was struggling with his hair as he tried to get it in control, you held out your hand again and Bucky felt his heart jump at the sparkly hair tie you were holding out to him.

“People think it’s all fun and games until they break a few bones and twist a few ankles, then they decide that skating just isn’t for them.”

Bucky looked at you as he finished picking up his hair trying to see if you were joking or not a small little smile danced upon your lips and he couldn’t help the small laugh he let out.

“Sacrifices should be made when you want to improve yourself.”

You nodded at his words behind you he could see Morgan dragging along Thor helping him glide about as he held her small hand in his, he turned back to you as you gave him a smile holding out your hand to his.

“I was told you wanted some private lessons, how about you take my hand and trust that I will be the best teacher you've probably ever had.”

[occult-castiel]

The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #3 - Stars, Stripes, and Bubbles

Word Count: 1912

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff, erm…a Relationship that You Want to Happen but Know Never Will

Setting/Characters: The first part of Captain America: The Winter Soldier in 2014 after Steve’s hostage mission; Reader, Steve Rogers, mentions of Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Nick Fury

A/N: This…isn’t what I thought it was gonna turn out to be. But I like it, it’s cute, and I needed something pure with the shield after that ending scene, so I’m posting it.

I have a few more One Shots planned that take place during TWS so I’ll be writing those today and tomorrow. This week is a lot less hectic than last week (I was being trained in another area of my job last week, hence crazy hours), so expect more One Shots coming this week. Again, I’m trying to post them chronologically, but there might be some out of order depending on what you guys request and when, which is totally fine!

For today, I have the Reader meeting Sam (which is kinda what this was supposed to be, but…oh well) and more about the notebook planned. Also Reader meeting Bucky unofficially for the first time because he’s, you know, brainwashed and stuff. Later this week I’m planning on AoU stuff which will include the Party Scene and Wanda interactions.

If I can get through those by Friday when the new episode comes out, I’ll start on CA:CW which will include Reader officially meeting Bucky and possibly the airport scene if you guys are interested in that. Then I’ve got some Wakanda scenes and some Peter interactions. If not, I’ll start CW:CA next Sunday. Once the backstory is set up and completed chronologically, I might go back and just write some drabbles and stuff of random moments - kinda like this one. 

I did get a request earlier for Bucky’s perspective on the dancing scene in Part 4.2, so I’m planning on doing more rewrites of scenes in Bucky’s perspective, but that’ll come after the One Shots, so hopefully next week.

I think that’s all…umm…yeah. Once again, not beta’d so please excuse any mistakes! Thank you so much for reading! I’m so glad you’re all enjoying this almost as much as I am! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy reading and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

The beeping of the timer made you groan and set down the book you were digging into. You were just starting to get to the good part, but the food smelled so good, so you decided it could wait.

You were so focused on your task of getting your breakfast ready that you didn’t hear your front door open or the footsteps that followed it shutting, the thud of boots hitting the floor just around the corner. Setting the ready food on the counter, you jumped at the arms that wrapped around your shoulders and waist.

“Shouldn’t you be more observant for a spy?”

You gave a hum at his deep voice, tilting your head slightly as he placed his cheek on your shoulder, nose pressing up against the column of your throat. “Shouldn’t you be heading over to the Triskelion for your debriefing with Fury?”

He growled at the mention of the mission he was just sent on yesterday morning. The first few assignments he had surprised you with how quick they were over, but then you remembered yours were a bit different than his and you got used to him being back within the next couple days.

“We don’t have secrets right? I’m so fucking tired of secrets.”

Your eyebrow quirked up as you turned to face him, his hands slipping down to your hips. You took in his state; he was still in uniform, dirt on his face, hair unruly, the shield on his back gray with the dust that covered it. He obviously hadn’t even gone to his own place yet, meaning he just got back. “What happened?”

He huffed, letting go of you to rub his face tiredly. “Natasha. She didn’t tell me that Fury sent her to do something other than what we were supposed to be doing.”

“They’re spies, bubs. It’s what they do.”

“You’re a spy. You wouldn’t do that.”

Chuckling a little at his comparison, you shook your head. “Our relationship is a little…different than yours and Nat’s.”

“I wish they’d put you on my missions. I don’t know why they don’t. We work well together, don’t we?”

You snorted. “That’s probably the reason.” At his confused look, you shook your head. “Never mind. Just…we’re closer. I know you better than they do. You can’t compare them to me. It isn’t fair.”

He grumbled, eyes glancing down to your feet. “They still should’ve told me.”

“Hey,” you tilted his head back up to meet your gaze. “It was a hostage mission, right?” He nodded. “Did you save the hostages?” Another nod, which made you shrug. “Then there you go. You did your job and you saved people. It was a success. That’s all that matters.”

“He got away.” Steve argued. “He got away because she didn’t feel the goddamn need to tell me-”

“She was following orders. Don’t be mad at her.”

“You’re right.” His quick admission stunned you for a moment, until he continued speaking. “It’s Fury’s fault. I think I’m gonna go-”

He started moving away, but you tugged him back, shaking your head again. “Not yet, bubba. You can talk to him later. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Then we’ll eat and you can tell me how that run you went on yesterday was. Okay?”

His features softened and he nodded, setting his forehead against yours. “Okay.”

You had half of your dresser sectioned off for Steve’s things. SHIELD had moved him to DC about a year previous to be closer to HQ, especially after the Helicarrier became decommissioned for repairs. You already had an apartment in DC - it was where you stayed for the most part, hence the reason you were more than willing to stay in New York for a couple years. 

The moment he moved in about ten minutes from you, you knew, just like in DC, he’d be spending a lot of time at your place. Which is why you made the executive decision to have him bring a bag over one night and unpack his stuff.

It wasn’t the first shower he took at your place and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last.

While he was cleaning up, you got to work washing his suit and the shield. You teased him by saying you’d just throw his suit in the washer and the shield in the dishwasher, but you wouldn’t actually.

His suit was air drying by the window and you were at the sink scrubbing off the shield, wishing you had a backyard and a hose, when he padded back into the room, hair plastered to his forehead, dripping down his temples, sweats and a t-shirt clinging to his body. He shook his head, leaning on the counter besides you. You always found it amusing how big he looked in your tiny kitchen.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?”

You scoffed. “If you think I’m gonna let you walk around in that disgusting thing all day, you, my friend, are nuts.”

He chuckled, moving behind you and setting his chin on your shoulder, his larger hands stopping yours from their movements. “At least let me do this, then.” He murmured, taking the scrub brush from you, spreading the bubbles over the rings of the shield.

“You can help me. But I like finishing what I started.” You whispered back, reaching for a clean rag and dunking it into the soapy water, wiping down the star in the middle.

He placed a gentle kiss to your jaw, relenting easily. “Fine.”

You two worked in silence, the water running over the shield, taking the dirt and grime with it, hands occasionally brushing each other. Almost finished, Steve placed his hand over yours, moving it over to a certain spot. “The brush won’t get it.” He explained, his low voice sounding right beside your ear.

Smiling, you turned your head to look at him. There was a crease between his brow as he concentrated on getting rid of the smudge on the precious metal. Your lips turned up when you noticed a dark spot on his jaw he must’ve missed. He looked at you with a grin when you started giggling. “What’s got you giggling so pretty, honey?”

Letting go of the side of the shield you were holding, you reached up to wipe the dirt on his jaw that he missed with your thumb. “Can’t let that handsome face of yours get stained. And, speaking of stains,” you turned back to the shield, holding it up for the both of you to look at, the soft light from the window above the sink making it shine even more. “You think we got it all?”

“Hmmm. I think you missed a spot.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? Where?”

He leaned closer to the shield, face right besides yours, cheeks practically brushing together. “Right…here.” His hand that you didn’t notice cupping water, came up and splashed your face.

You let out a shriek, stepping back, further into his chest, your jaw dropped. “Steven! My pjs!”

He cackled, leaning back and holding his chest, before gasping when you did the same thing back to him. “You’re on!” He grabbed his shield and filled it with water, making you squeak and try getting out of his hold. Stupid Super Soldier strength. He dumped it on you, water falling on your head, sliding down your back and making your pajamas stick to you. You quickly retaliated, grabbing the facet and turning it towards him, laughing at his shout.

The water fight continued for a few more minutes, bowls and cups coming into play, with Steve diving behind the counter and you slipping on the floor.

“Woah, there, honey!” He chuckled, the chortles coming from your lips reassuring him that you weren’t hurt. He leaned over you, reaching his hand out. “You okay?”

You nodded, taking his hand. “Let’s call it a truce, yeah?”

“Truce? Hell no! I won!”

“You did not! You just got lucky!”

He pulled you up, tugging you close. “Alright, alright. Fine. A truce. Let’s get you into some dry clothes, now. Don’t want you gettin’ sick, honey.”

You shook your head. “That’s actually a myth.”

“I’ll take note of that.”

An eyebrow of yours raised. “In that little notebook you never let me read?”

He smiled innocently. “Maybe. I added something else yesterday.” He informed you while tugging you down the hall to your room.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Marvin Gaye’s Trouble Man Soundtrack.”

You hummed with an approving nod. “Yeah. That was a good suggestion. Who gave it to you?’

“This guy I met on my run.” He shrugged, heading over to his dresser as you grabbed a couple towels. “Sam Wilson. He seemed like a good guy.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, grabbed another set of sweats and a shirt, before turning to you and taking the towel you handed him. “Yeah. He served two tours in Afghanistan. Now he’s working down at the VA. Told me to drop by sometime.”

“Aww.” You stood on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “My bubba’s all grown up and making friends.”

He rolled his eyes, ducking away from your hand and running his own through his hair. “Yeah, yeah.” His smile dropped as he looked at the clothes in his hand. “I think I’m gonna head out now. I should talk to Fury.”

You frowned. “You have all day, Steve. Just eat first, okay?”

“Okay.”

He was holding something back, you could tell. Picking out your clothes for the day, you decided to question him about it. “What’re you thinking about?”

Your backs turned to each other, you started changing, just as you’d down countless times before. “I was thinking about going to the Air and Space Museum again. If you wanna come.”

“You know I do.”

It was quiet for a few more minutes, only the sound of rustling clothes and zippers filling the air. “I-I think I’m gonna go after. To see her, I mean.”

You froze, keeping your heart and your breathing steady so he wouldn’t pick up on anything. “It’ll be good for you. She…she always knows what to say.”

“So do you.”

You cleared your throat, finishing with the final touches of your outfit. “I actually forgot that I have some stuff to finish up at HQ today, so I dunno if I’ll be able to go-”

His hand grabbed your wrist, turning you around, eyes pleading and face fallen. “Please. Please come with me. Honey. I need you there. With me. Please.”

You inwardly cursed yourself for falling for those puppy eyes, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “Okay, bubs. I’ll come with you.” You might regret it later, but the relief that washed over his features was worth it for now. The power he had over you scared you, especially since you knew he didn’t realize the hold he had on you, but you couldn’t help it. It happened quickly, swiftly, and you were down before you recognized it. And you didn’t know how to deal with it other than taking it one day at a time.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, now. I can promise it’s at least decent.”

The beam he shot you made your heart flutter no matter how hard you tried keeping calm. “I’m sure it’s better than anything I could ever make.” He pulled you close, lips brushing over your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You sighed, leaning your head against his, eyes closing.

“Existing.”

***********

***********

***********

All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​

@bibliophilewednesday​

[romanogers-lyrics]

TFAWS Ep 5: finally some good fucking ✨vindication✨

Scratch that rewind what I said- this is the best episode (maybe in comic book tv history). Closure, growth, and redemption 🙌 just when I was worried they wouldn’t be able to tie things up they fucking give me this 😩🤩👏✊🏽

Holy hell my poor heart died and ascended to the moon to hang out with Steve and Natasha. ✨Goddamn the mastery of storytelling in this episode is why I love the MCU so much ✨

The opening fight between Walker, Bucky, and Sam had me on the edge of my seat. Like in most fights you know the stakes are low because the main heroes always win but this fight... whew it was consequential and more personal than the civil war fight imo. I genuinely was worried about the outcome for Sam and Bucky physically and emotionally. Every beat was character driven! This was cathartic. 🙌 the stunt coordinators knocked it out of the park lovelovelove 💕.

“I am captain America” homie you giving me Gollum vibes. “It’s (the shield) MINE!” Like-

So many creative stunts with the wings!!!

Bucky and Sam working TOGETHER

BUCKY DROPPING THE SHIELD AT SAM’S FEET 😭

The golden light seeping into the frame at the end of the fight 🤌🏼

Sam wiping the blood off the shield. 🥲 I can’t even articulate but it makes me feel-

Sammy’s wings got snapped off and he eventually left them with Torres (passing the mantle?) which symbolizes Sam growing out of his old super hero role. It was cleansing. He’s ready to be more. He’s ready to take action rather than let things happen to him 👏

Baby boy Torres trying to talk to Mr Bucky 🥺. You have both sleeves today Mr Bucky sir 💕

I want no I NEED 😫Torres to fly in with the wings next episode.

How we feeling about Walker?? On the one hand I feel him. Us gov did him dirty but at the same time he made the choices he made. Maybe there is room for redemption? Idk... 🙃 or will he continue to get worse?

I am SO glad that Sam went back to talk to isaiah. He needed to know the full story. He needed closure. I could ramble on and on but the writers made the points so much better than I could but just-

Steve did the exact same thing as Isaiah in the first avenger. He went behind enemy lines to rescue Bucky- without permission! He was a hero for it. And Isaiah was thrown in jail? The double standard is so frustrating

I think Isiah’s point that “no self respecting black man” would use the shield makes sense with his background and story. It makes me sick what was done to him. Things really haven’t changed 😞. At this point I honestly wasn’t sure what Sam was going to do. More later on about this-

Zemo’s theme is so beautiful every time I hear it. 🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

What a beautiful scene. Cinematography 💯 Such a great moment between Bucky and Zemo. Zemo fully expects to die and then Bucky does the one thing zemo didn’t expect- the one thing he wasn’t “programmed” to do. Fuuuuuckcjfkekxn

“I crossed my name off in your book” 😭. He obviously grew to respect Bucky and wants him to have peace at last with all the civil war stuff.

Ayo back to calling Bucky white wolf 🐺 love to see it.

The kids playing with the shield and tracing the star has me CRYING. Kids are our hope and they still see something special in the shield. They still believe in it. 😭 such a small moment completely floored me.

Wholesome boat fix up 🥺. I feel like this is the montage where SamBucky fall in love 😂

When Sarah and Sam are talking about the boat- how it is their history- I think again of Isaiah. His history was erased. Sam has to preserve his history ✊🏽

Sarah is a goddamn queen and I Stan 🤌🏼✨

The montage was just a sip of cool water in the desert of trauma that is the MCU.

OKEEEE the conversation between Sam and Bucky where they’re tossing the shield is great on so many levels 😍:

Physically the shield matches the dynamic of the convo. Someone makes a point and throws it. Someone accepts what that person said and catches the shield. Bucky physically offers the shield when he says “I’m sorry” and Sam accepts the shield AND the apology.

The difference between avenging and amending. I was surprised they even used that word bc it calls out the avengers for maybe not doing the emotional work involved in being a hero. Healing is part of the hero job now. #phase4

A small detail but as a person of color I valued it; when Bucky said I’m sorry Sam did not say “it’s okay” or “no worries” because he didn’t have to, I feel like as a POC I’m always making white people feel better and for once I’d like to be confident enough to just accept someone’s apology outright and know I deserve it.

Pivotal when Sam said “it doesn’t matter what Steve thought” at first I was like biiiihhh??! 😠 but he had a point. Both Sam and Bucky have been trying to do hold onto another person who is gone. They gotta heal but more importantly they have to find their own reasons to keep fighting.

The training montage 🤌🏼🙌🤩🥲🥺😭✊🏽. Like FEED ME YEs WE ARE EATiNG. Sammy deserves it all

Sam’s cap theme music is similar to Steve’s but still different. Goddamn so beautiful 💕💕😩

Sam has been pretty passive in this show- almost wanting confirmation he did the right thing. Isaiah didn’t give Sam that comfort but neither did Bucky at first. Sam had to make his own choice 😤✊🏽

It’s a heavy burden to be cap knowing all the shit that has come before but Sam is the only one who can make that decision to be or not to be. And he’s seen the alternative now. In life taking action and taking control of our situation is empowering but always harder than doing nothing. He says it best- what’s the point of all that struggle if you’re not going keep on fighting ✊🏽🥺 I love and respect Sam so much 😭 spoken like captain America! 👏

Show me the suit you COWARDS I WANNA SEe

Goddamnit damnit to hell... I need to SEE IT

Is Sharon setting a trap for Karli???

🚨 end credit: I’m not sure if they are making an iron man comparison. What do you guys think?

Ready for the showdown throwdown next week 👀

All in all it was fucking wild ya’ll and I felt catharsis watching this and so fucking hopeful. I cry 😭

Please feel free to share any thoughts you have about this episode💕

there’s so much in this show that is world building within mcu but also in greater conversations about heroism and power. It is a moral re evaluation of the superhero. Malcom Spellman being head writer you know this shit is not happenstance it is intentional. The took the long road and it totally paid off in this episode 😭

🙇🏻‍♀️ I am emotionally manipulated by this show 🙇🏻‍♀️

Huge shout out to all the cast and crew for making something both respectful to the lore but also challenging it to be better 🙌

My ep 4 review:

Tag list: @soliloquy-of-nemo

[especially-obsessed]

Fog of the Heart (pt. 2)

The Funeral

Chapter Summary: After Peggy’s funeral, you reconnect with Steve. Not knowing if you should open up to him, your connection with Steve unexpectedly grows quicker than you could have imagined.

Word count: 3.2k

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader, Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes (friendship trio) Warnings: cussing?, mentions of death, funeral, angst?, fluff

Series Masterlist

A/N: this is a repost because my dumb ass deleted the original post :D

Your mother had always told you to wake up every morning with the thought that something wonderful was going to happen. Every day you did your best to keep that mindset. Every day was going to have something wonderful in it. But today was one of those days where there was absolutely no silver lining in every moment you dealt with. Sorry mom, but when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, or in your case this morning on the foot end of the bed with your feet touching the floor, it was hard to find the good.

In the back of your head, you could hear her voice telling you to get your head up and push through; that something good was going to come of that. So, you carried on and decided to walk to the coffee shop across the street and hopefully pull yourself out of the grumpy mood you were in.

A tiny droplet of water landed right on your nose the minute you walked out of the building, giving you only a second's notice before it started to downpour. You quickly ran into the road glancing both ways and dipping behind a taxi before you made it to the other sidewalk. There was a sunshade outside of the coffee shop that allowed you to stand outside of the rain for a moment and compose yourself before walking in.

The fresh scent of freshly ground coffee beans and vanilla filled your nostrils, sending a shiver down your body. You quickly went up and ordered your usual drink, which took three times as long as it normally would have. The place was packed, and people were almost standing shoulder to shoulder. Once your coffee was done you grabbed it and rushed outside the door, standing under the now dripping sun cover.

You sipped your coffee just as your phone started to ring. The familiar number of the nursing home Peggy was in popped up on your phone and you answered it quickly, thinking that she just wanted to talk to you.

“Hey y/n,” a quivering voice answered. You recognized the voice right away, her slight accent giving her away as Peggy’s daughter. She sounded so small, nothing like her usual self.

“Hey kid, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” You asked, the familiar feeling of needles starting to prick at your fingers.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” she sobbed into the phone. She didn’t have to say anything; you understood the meaning behind her words.

“Were you with her?” You asked, surprised at how strong your voice sounded. There was a loud sniffle on the other end of the line.

“Yes, she went to sleep,” she replied with another sniffle. Your heart ached, knowing that you were both hurting, but not in the same way.

“Thank you for calling,” you looked out into the rain. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

She mumbles a quick thank you and then hangs up the phone.

Your coffee slips out of your hand as you reach up to cover your mouth, keeping the sob within you from reaching your lips. Everything feels as though it’s moving in slow motion. The coffee colliding with the ground, the rain falling. People around you stare, but you don't notice them. You didn’t notice that the sunshade had completely soaked through at this point Alan’s drenched you. All you could feel were pins and needles in your fingers and a hole in your heart.

--

Steve was sitting in the lounge area with Natasha and Sam, who were discussing something Steve has no interest in at the moment. For some reason, Steve felt completely off today. Natasha pointed it out earlier too, but chalked it up to the weather, with it being all gloomy. But Steve could feel it in his gut that something was wrong.

He thought about how every morning back at the compound you would tell everyone that something amazing was going to happen, you just had to wake up with that thought in your mind as the day went on. And to your credit, you were usually right.

He really tried to keep that in the back of his head. Something good was going to happen. But the tightness in his chest couldn’t be pushed back far enough for him to focus. And it finally boiled over when his phone chimed and an unknown number popped up.

She’s gone. In her sleep.

Steve stood up and told no one in particular that he had to go. He makes his way to the stairwell and stops halfway down the stairs, unable to breathe.

He holds his breath and tries to stop himself from crying, but the pain in his chest is too powerful.

----

You see Steve helping carry Peggy’s coffin, and waves of nerves fill your body. You really hadn’t thought it through when you agreed to do Peggy’s eulogy. It didn’t matter though, whether or not Steve was there. You needed to do this.

You can see the pain on Steve’s face as he tries to keep it blank. You know almost exactly how he feels, and want nothing more than to run up to him and give him a hug. You want to let him know that he’s not alone in the world.

You run your hands over your dress and try to think about nothing but your speech as the men carrying the casket make their way to their seats. The funeral director motions for you to step up to the platform. You glance at the casket, almost deciding to walk out of the room at that moment. But you decide against it and shakily grab your speech paper. Everyone takes their seats as you step up. You clear your throat and shove down the nerves bubbling up in your throat.

You glance down at where Steve is sitting, his head down staring at his hands. He was hiding from everyone, you knew all too well. You could see the man next to him recognize you and nudge Steve's shoulder. You quickly looked back up at the crowd to make sure you didn’t meet Steve’s gaze. You took a deep breath.

“Margaret Carter was known to many as a director of SHIELD. But to me, she was Pegs, my best friend. Thank you for all being here today, not to mourn but to celebrate the life of a wonderful and powerful woman. Her love for life and saving people she didn’t even know was apparent in everything she did, whether that was making the people around her happy, spending time with her family, coordinating attacks during World War II, or saving a scrawny kid from being chewed up at boot camp.

“Though her death was not sudden, the pain of her passing still weighs heavy in my heart. Peggy always had advice for me, she always gave me direction. With her passing, I’m not quite sure what I’ll do. One of the last things she told me though, was not to worry, I still had people who could help me navigate this crazy, new world. Peggy, you will be missed,” you finished, wiping tears off of your cheeks. You stepped down from the podium and went back to your seat, which was as far away from Steve as it possibly could have been in the front row. Believe it or not, that wasn’t on purpose.

--

You gave your condolences to the family and to a few other people that you knew, but made it a point to keep it quick. Every now and again you saw Steve’s head in the crowd. When he got too close you decided it was time to leave and made your way into the hallway leading out to the back of the church. You thought you were in the clear, almost making it to the end of the hallway when you heard footsteps round the corner from where you had come from. You picked up your pace trying to slip away.

“Y/n . . .?” Steve said, the disbelief evident in his voice. You stopped in your tracks at the sound of his voice. You held your breath and could feel tears pricking at your eyes again. You turn around slowly to face him and suck in a deep breath, almost sounding like a sob.

“Hi Steve,” you replied, biting your lip to keep the actual sob from escaping.

“Is it really you?” he asked, taking a step closer to you.

You nod slowly. “It’s really me,” you say, a soft smile spread across your lips.

A smile appears on his face as he realizes you’re still you, the goofy, brilliant girl he met back during childhood. And you can’t hold back any longer, feeling your feet move after you’ve started running to him and into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck. He closes his eyes and just holds you.

“Steve I’m so sorry-” you start. He hushes you and hugs you tighter.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

After a moment he loosened his grip and buries his face into your hair,

“I thought I lost you, too,” he cried. “How . . . how are you still . . .”

You hugged him tighter, not realizing that was even possible and closed your eyes.

“I’ll explain later, I promise.”

You felt Steve nod his head before letting out a quiet sob. You did your best to comfort him as he held you in a hug that was 70 years overdue.

That evening, after the service and just as the lights of the city start to flush out the light of the sun, you wander around the streets talking. The tears had dried from both of your faces and now you only shared laughs that took all of the air from your lungs to the point where you had to lean on each other to stay upright. You never realized how much you had missed this; how much you had missed Steve.

Walking down the street, you looked up at him and giggled at the grin that had been plastered on his face all evening. He had mentioned earlier that he felt guilty about how happy he was, being that Peggy had just died.

“She would want us to be happy, especially right now. She wouldn’t want us to be sad,” you assured him.

Steve caught you looking at him and nudged your shoulder.

“Y’know, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” he said.

“I know . . . but it’s a lot to take in, are you sure you’re ready to hear it?” you asked.

“I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?” He chuckled at his own joke.

“C’mon, I know where we need to go,” you grabbed his hand and led him down the street. After a couple of minutes he chuckled, recognizing where you were taking him.

“At least tell me we’re going to the beach,” you nodded your head and made your way down to the sand. You both kicked off your shoes and made your way towards the less populated area of the beach. You picked a spot and sat down.

“I used to come here with Peggy. We’d sit here for hours just talking.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Everything,” you answered, tilting your head towards him. He looks back at you for a second, then back out at the water. You sink your hands into the sand and grab fistfuls. With a deep breath, you let the sand go and look away from Steve.

“I’m just going to say it. Steve . . . I’m 288 years old . . .” you let out a deep breath with the words. You grabbed fistfuls of sand again as you waited for his response.

“Right,” Steve breathed out. You look down to your feet. “So what? Are you some sort of vampire?”

A deep laugh bubbles up from inside you and you shake your head.

“No, far from it. I’m a witch, supposedly. But I’m also immortal, so I don’t age and I can never die.”

“Supposedly?” he blurted out.

“I don’t really practice magic.” You flitted your fingers through the sand, throwing some on Steve’s hands.

“Why not?” he asks, tossing sand back at your hands.

“I come from a long line of witches. The eldest child born from the witch inherits their powers. That was me,” you started, shifting your weight in the sand. “My mother wanted me and her to stay together forever, so she created a spell that would make us both immortal. But it went wrong. It worked for me, but it rebounded on her.” You glanced up at Steve. He was looking at you and listening intently. You could see how concerned he was. He looked away after a moment. “She lost all of her powers,” you continued. “She was paralyzed.” A tear rolled down your cheek. The breeze from the ocean made it feel like ice against your skin. “She didn’t die then, but she stopped living. After that, she grew old, died, just like dad, and I was left behind. And now here I am.” You shrugged your shoulders as if it was a story that you told often. Steve remained silent and you weren’t sure why.

He was drawing figures in the sand with his fingers, refusing to look up at you. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or not, and quite frankly, at that moment, neither could he.

“Steve?” you prodded gently. His head snapped up.

“You could’ve told me,” he said with hurt laced in his tone. You shook your head.

“No, I couldn’t. But I can now.”

You reached over and placed your hand on top of his. A smile rose to his face and you relaxed a bit. It was understandable for him to be angry at you, you were just worried he would walk away from you after you told him. His smile soothed all of your worry and you laid back on the beach, letting the sand and the breeze cool you down. Goosebumps started to dance their way onto your skin. You noticed how warm Steve’s hand was, and how he didn’t pull it away.

“Have you heard of the infinity stones?” you questioned, wondering how much SHIELD actually knew.

“No?”

“Well, there’s six of them: space, time, reality, mind, soul, and power. Every witch draws his or her power from them, we get one power from each stone.”

“And you have these powers?” he asked almost mockingly. The expression on his face told you he meant no harm by it.

“Well, that's the thing. I don’t exactly know. I’ve never tested it, apart from the mind stone.”

“Show me,” he requested. You smile as you show him your hand and then reach out and place it on his face.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. And as soon as he does, you start showing him all of your favorite memories with him. Waking Steve up early in the morning to go enroll in the army (again), Walking around the fair with him and Bucky, sitting in your living room talking to him on the phone and twisting the cord around your finger, hugging him closely as he left for army training, going to watch the newest movie with him and Bucky, laughing and crying as the two of you hugged Bucky before he left, a couple of flashes of him smiling and your favorite conversations; a little taste of what you could do.

You opened your eyes and looked up at his face. He had a big, toothy smile that made you smile back at him.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he sighs.

“I’ve missed you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t come find you when you came out of the ice,” you replied guiltily. He shook his head at you and leaned back on his palms.

“It’s okay. You were scared and you didn’t know if it would be safe or not. I understand that.” You nodded and moved closer to him, the breeze coming off of the ocean sending goosebumps across your skin. Steve wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer.

“y/n, I need to tell you something,” he started, rubbing his hand up and down your arm in attempt to warm you up. “It's about Bucky. He-”

“He’s alive,” you cut him off. You could feel Steve’s shock. “And now he’s a brainwashed assassin with a metal arm who works for Hydra.” Steve leaned away from you to look at your face.

“Wh- How did you . . .” you watched the gears turn in his brain as he worked through the scenario. A light bulb went off behind his eyes. “Oh my god, it was you. You saved Fury.”

You smiled and nodded your head, realizing how much you loved his thinking facial expressions. Apparently, it was the little things that you remembered, too.

“Yeah, although I didn’t know it was Fury at the time.”

“You know him?” He questioned.

“I know of him. I also know he tried to track me down for a couple of years after I officially ‘disappeared’,” you added air quotations. Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked, looking down at his feet. “Steve, I wanna help you get Bucky back.” He nods at you and mutters a light ‘okay’.

You both sit in silence for a while. Steve had to absorb all of the information given to him, and you needed to think about how you were going to save Bucky. Surely Fury would be able to help you somehow, set you up on a mission or something. But if that mission went sideways, and Bucky came after you again? Or even worse, you had to put Bucky down? A shiver ran down your spine and you couldn’t even bear to think about it anymore.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” you blurted out. Steve smiled at you and nodded his head.

“Of course.” You smile back and stare at his face for a moment. Slowly, Steve starts to lean his head closer to yours. At first you think he wants to whisper something to you, but quickly register that he wants something completely different.

“Steve . . .” you start, placing a hand on his chest. He covered your hand with his and hushes you, still leaning forward. And you don't stop him. His lips brush against yours and his hand comes up to your cheek, pulling you deeper into the kiss. Your mind reels as you can’t think of anything other than Steve; your Steve. The Steve that drug you to Coney Island when you were in high school and bought you cotton candy. Your heart skips a beat as he swipes his tongue along your lower lip. Your brain slowly registered what was happening. Now you weren’t just thinking of Steve. For some fucking reason, all you could think about was the only other person on this planet that you had missed just as much as Steve.

You pulled away from the kiss first, remembering that breathing was a thing. Steve rested his forehead against yours, sighing with a smile. You breathed heavily and made sure you didn’t move. Steve still had a hand on your cheek and a hand over yours on his chest. He pulled his head away and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, before lifting his head back up and looking back out at the sea. You could see the grin from the side of his face and felt guilt tighten your chest.

You didn’t think about Steve in that moment. You didn’t think about how soft his lips were or how good the kiss was. None of that mattered.

You could only think about one person.

Bucky.

Tags: @sebsbrokentoe @y-napotat

A/N: thank you so much for reading!! Constructive criticism is always welcomed and appreciated.

And this is a repost because my dumb ass deleted the original. This is also the unedited version so there will be some spelling/grammar errors until I edit it!

Likes, reblogs, and follows are greatly appreciated! Reblogs let me know I should keep on doing what I’m doing (:

[wizkiddx]

worst case scenario part 5

finally!! so sorry its been an age to anyone still here but lives been interesting atm so....  also this really feels a bit rambley and the ending is deff underdeveloped but I just kind of wanted this done tbh x 

[previous part] [part 1] 

warnings:  hospitals - ICU, ventilation that sort of stuff, just a lot of ANGST post a difficult birth - please don't read if this could be upsetting for you, and my inbox is always open if u wanna chat :) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a complete 360 degree flip from earlier that day, after leaving the hospital Tom had become obsessively attached to Aurora. They’d got back to his parents place in Tom’s car; Aurora in the carseat Y/n and Tom had ready in their car door for her arrival. Clearly his parents had already pre-warned his brothers, who had thankfully already gone over to Tom and Y/n’s - collecting the Moses basket amongst other items Harry had been listed off from his mother. 

Apart from explaining a little behind her name to his parents on the journey back, Tom had spoken very little, choosing to keep himself to himself - physically stationing himself beside the Moses basket the whole time. Of course, there had been a bit of light conversation and almost procedural passing round of Aurora between all her uncles and grandparents, which Tom had kept a wether eye on - but ultimately not engaged. 

He also knew that physically his body was failing him. Although eating a little of the lasagne Sam had made for everyone, he could only stomach a minuscule amount, which did little to boost his energy levels. It felt as though sleeping was the enemy, because he was neither ready to leap into the car if the phone went; or to hear the smallest sound from the wicker basket, suggesting something was wrong. So as much as he tried to fight it, before even nine o’clock he began to dose off on the familiar couch of his parents sitting room - occasionally jerking himself awake before loosing the fight once again.

Nikki had tried to gently push him to take a break in the spare bedroom, which had been Tom’s before he’d moved out, but was unsuccessful - every time he retaliated with a stern shake of his head, while checking his phone just in case he’d missed a notification. Eventually Nikki relented, later in the evening both her and Dom retiring to bed; once Sam had agreed to stick around downstairs till a bit later - as a chef he worked till late in the nights, so even on his days off like today, his sleep schedule was just a little fucked. 

Left alone with his new little niece and now pretty firmly asleep brother, Sam draped a blanket over the latter just in time for Aurora to start fussing in the need of a bottle. His mum had explained how to do everything, how to mix the formula and heat it up, so after scooping up the little wriggling girl in the hope his brother wouldn’t get disturbed, Sam dealt with her. To be honest no matter how clueless and useless he felt, Aurora was just so cute - if a little wrinkly and alien looking, but in a good way. This was the first baby any of them had had, so the first time Sam experienced this instant connection and love for the little being that was his niece or nephew. It was terrifying, lifting the bottle against her lips for the first time, but then it just sort of seemed to work. She was incredibly smart for less than 24 hours old, instantly latching on, like she had done for Haz at the hospital. 

That gave Sam a little confidence in his ability as an uncle, giving himself a satisfied nod while swaying from the kitchen to move back into the living room. It was just a preference to be within reach of Tom… just in case. His poor brother still hadn’t moved, slumped against the corner of the sofa, leaning toward the now empty Moses basket. Normally, Sam seeing his supposed heart throb of a brother looking as rough as he did now - double chin, mouth hanging slightly open, deep sunken eyes - he would’ve taken a photo to blackmail him with. Now though, it was just desperately sad, seeing his brother like this, hand still clutching his phone tightly above the blanket. 

Rather hoping the calm would last for a while, Sam successfully finished off feeding Aurora; winded and then put her down to sleep again just in time. Because, perhaps expectedly, Tom’s phone began to blare off the default iPhone ringtone making Tom jump and throw the device across the room as he awoke with a start. Sam ran to grab it off the floor, mainly with the hope of turning it off before Aurora was awoken too - knowing that it was best tonight to tackle one thing at a time. 

And so he immediately swiped to answer the call, not even registering who the call was from, much rather just wanting the noise to stop. 

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Harrison” Tom had jumped up from his seat hovering beside Sam with petrified look. It took barely seconds for Tom to snatch the phone back, launching questions down the receiver. 

“Slow down would you? Y/n is fine I was just phoning to check in.”

“Oh er yeh… um sorry I just… just thought…”

“It’s the other way mate. Nurse says she’s starting to get there cos first she moved her arm a bit when we pinched her shoulder and then I just called because she started to like gag and now the ventilator thing is gone.”

“W-what?”

“I think she’s breathing by herself? Like she’s got an oxygen mask instead of the tubes down her throat.” Clearly Harrison was not, by any means, a medical expert. 

“They said she would have the ventilator for a few days at least.”

“I guess Y/n got bored? To be fair she couldn’t ever sit still.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Tom it’s nearly midnight, I was supposed to be kicked out at 10. Just come back in the morning, they won’t let you in I’m pretty certain.”

“What if she wakes up!”

“Then they’ll call you! She’s getting better Tom you should be try and relax for like a second.”

“FUCK OFF HAZ! If she wakes up all alone and terrified then-“

“I’m not going to having a screaming match on the phone with you. I think we both know you wanting to come is more for you than for Y/n, because Y/n would want you to be looking after Aurora.”

Again guilt tripping using the newborn. Harsh but effective. Stopping Tom’s anger dead in it’s tracks.

“Look I can put the nurse on for her to tell you they won’t let you in and they’ll call if anything happens - but you already know that.”

“Yeh sorry fine … I know don’t bother.”

“Okay… I’m was gonna head back to my place and I know you’ve probably got your mum begging to fuss over Aurora but if-“

“Can you come?”

“Didn’t need to ask mate.”

And that’s how the night went. Until Harrison arrived at the Holland family home, Tom had spent the time pacing back and forth, blatantly ignoring the pleas of Sam just to sit down. Once he arrived though, going through all the updates in a lot more detail Tom seemed, for the first time, optimistic. By no means could you call him relaxed or happy - but compared to the rollercoaster that had been the last 24 hours, Harrison thought that was more than enough. Aurora had started fussing again at 1 but by the time it had turned into a full blown scream at Tom, Sam already had the bottle ready. It took a little bit of encouragement and promise that Tom would be able to feed her but actually, she instantly latched on, settled in her Dad’s hold while guzzling down the contents of the bottle. 

After a bit of winding she ended up falling asleep on her dads chest, only when he felt himself start to flag did Tom place her back in the basket. Harrison and him ended up crashing on the sofas, Sam retiring to his own room. Phone still tightly clutched in Tom’s grip.

////////////////////

The first thing Y/n became properly aware of was this intense heaviness all over her body. It felt as though her limbs were all composed completely of lead, meaning as much as she was just craving rolling over, it was as though her own body was holding her down. A very alien feeling that unsettled her slightly, trying to shake of the misty feeling in her head to work it all out. It took a while to drag herself out of the depths of sleep, to the point where background noise slowly faded in - an alien beeping as well as distant shuffling making her heart thump with unease. Finally, perhaps most distressingly , her eyes felt glued shut. Not because they were heavy, in the way someone extremely sleep deprived cant keep their eyes open; rather stiff like they hadn’t been used in so long they’d rusted over or something. 

The feeling  was quite horrific and isolating- as though she were locked into her body without an escape in sight. Whilst trying to calm her racing thoughts, Y/n chose to focus completely on the one thing she could do. She could listen. She listened to the beeps, focusing on the type of sound, the way it chimed so regularly; and it’s form. It was familiar, for that she was sure but for now at least she couldn’t place it. 

It felt like an investigation, trying with all her might to try and workout what the fuck was going on. To put it mildly. 

The most useful clue though, a breakthrough if you will, is when a voice sounded - clear and familiar. 

“Excuse me nurse?” It was Nikki. For sure. It was a clue, but didnt seem to make a hell of a lot of sense. Y/n was so focused on why the hell Nikki was apparently watching her sleep unconscious, she completely missed the reference to the nurse. As in hospital. As in Y/n was in hospital. “… I’m just going to swap out for my sons friend.”

“Harrison?” That voice seemed new and unfamiliar.

“Yes, he won’t be a second I’m sure.”

What was Harrison doing here too? 

It was all very confusing and hurt Y/n’s brain to try and unpick. Gradually then, everything sort of melted away, diving back into the darkness.

The next time Y/n woke up things were different. This time she woke up like she would at any time of day. She woke up and her eyes followed suit. Not particularly easily, since as soon as they cracked open she was almost blinded by brilliant white lights, it taking a build up of willpower before she tried it again - bracing for the pain. 

By now she knew something was wrong. She remembered all these patchy and hazy periods. All full of confusion and disorientation but with different voices keeping her at least semi calm. Familiar voices, all too often laced with such emotion. Especially Tom’s. She couldn’t remember what he had said, nor had she probably been able to understand it at the time - what stuck was the tone. The sadness, the hopelessness , the emptiness. 

It was scary. But it made her want to help. Made her want to open her eyes. 

After wincing at the dazzling white surroundings, Y/n blinked her eyes quickly, in an attempt to get them to adjust quicker. She saw an unfamiliar ceiling, one that was tiled in a similar way to her old school canteen. There was a  weird pressure round her mouth, eyes quickly darting down to see edges of a clear mask pressed up against the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t it though, the further she looked the more her eyes panned down this pale blue blanket, following the outline of her legs to the bottom raised edge of the bed. The hospital bed. 

Her hospital bed. 

As much as she wanted to jump up in panic; physically right now that was an impossibility. So instead, Y/n focused on trying to gleam as much information from the situation. It took a hell of a lot of effort, her muscles literally stiff and ridgid with disuse but with a small groan her neck eventually agreed to follow orders. Just a small tilt to the left and suddenly Y/n felt so much more less panicked. Everything was that bit less scary because there was Tom. 

Admittedly he didn’t look amazing, or even not bad. Tom was sat with his back pressed against the side of chair, so his body faced her. Had he not looked so ruined, Y/n would’ve laughed at the side of his face squashed into the back of the seat. But he did look horrific, for lack of a better word. His brown eyes were locked shut, but also looked puffy and red, while dark at the same time - as though he’d been attempting to gouge his own eyes out prior. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, hence why he had appeared to have collapsed in the arm chair. At least though , he wasn’t in a hospital bed himself.

That was Y/n’s pleasure. 

Her next job was to get her neck muscles to pull her head to the other side. It was a slow wincing gesture, yet she was so aware of another presence that needed to be addressed too. But actually it was 3 people.

Right at the back, a nurse sat on a little spinny chair, scribbling something down in a file of papers but to be quite honest that wasn’t were Y/n’s focus zeroed in on. Instead on Harrison who was sat in chair mirroring Tom, except instead of being passed out asleep he was cradling a baby. Her baby. 

Y/n literally felt her heart in her throat at that point, eye widening almost comically. That was her baby - it must be? The monitors all started to loose their regularity as Y/n threw an uncoordinated limb to that side of the bed- already having realised her throat was way too scratchy to try to say anything comprehensible. 

Immediately that got the attention of both the nurse, who immediately leapt up and called for support, as well as Harrison - who looked like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Oh my-Y/n-?” Luckily he kept the baby safe in his arms rather than dropping her in shock, whilst Y/n kept her eyes locked onto the bundle in his arms. Nodding down, she tried to remove the mask (actually just very slightly knocking it to one side) and attempted to ask of the baby. Her throat, being inhumanly dry and scratchy, didn’t really work but Haz still got the message, scoffing in amazement. 

“Aurora… here’s your mummy.” Harrisons voice was quiet and wavering as he delicately held Aurora against Y/n’s collar bone, the babies little tuft of har tickingling her chin. Now Y/n was crying with happiness, looking up at Haz’s icy blue eyes and questioning her name. Harrison confirmed with another disbelieving whisper, whilst the arm that wasn’t still holding Aurora clasped Y/n’s hand with a death grip. “Tom’s choice.”

The mention of him had both of them shift their gaze across the room to Tom’s chair. Even with all the developments, Tom still seemed completely unaware, fast asleep with the side of his face squished against the back of the chair making his lips slightly askew. Y/n were acutely aware of the small congregation of doctors that had accumulated in the corner of the bay but they seemed to be respectfully waiting before they would prod and poke. Haz went to call Tom’s name, before he could though, Y/n squeezed his arm and minutely shook her head. That wasn’t what the blue eyes boy had been expecting, causing Haz to unfold and bring Aurora back up to his chest as he quirked his eyebrows at her.  

She didnt need to be filled in on the situation to know exactly what was happening. She had no idea why she was in the hospital bed; how long it had been since she’d given birth - but she knew all she needed to. From Harrisons unbelievably shocked face; and from the state of Tom - it hadn’t been good. Her fiancé looked almost ghostly, it seemed evident that he needed her. First then, she gestured to Haz for some water, which after a panicked look to the nurse; then from the nurse to various doctors; she was eventually given permission. 

After somewhat alleviating the sandpaper feeling in her throat, Y/n then croakily asked for a bit of privacy. Right now the doctors all were gawking, Harrison assumed it to be because they’d all led him and Tom to believe she wouldn’t wake up for a while- and even then she was supposed to barely be awake, not able to talk and drink or anything of the sort. With an ecstatic nod Harrison, shuffled out - while doing so prompting the medical people to draw the curtains completely shut round the bay.  

Already Y/n had tears welling up in her eyes, purely because she hated seeing him like this. He just looked so broken and shattered which honestly felt worlds worse than the labour she’d gone through. Her whole body still hurt, stiff and achy for reasons yet to be explained to Y/n. None of that mattered though, as she strained her arm out to the side in order to gently reach his knee that was folded up and sticking out awkwardly at an angle. After swallowing one again, Y/n squeezed round the joint and tried to shake it slightly. Instantly the man jumped up in his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly and repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the room. 

Being so sleep deprived and stressed out, Tom’s brain was not working normally, instead with a delayed haze as he apparently skipped over Y/n in the bed, rather surveying the the closed curtains and Harrison’s now empty chair. As he was lifting himself to sit more normally up, uncurling from the armchair, was when he noticed the hand on his knee. Breath caught in his chest, Tom instinctively bit his lip as his eyes gradually traced up the hand, to the forearm, up to the shoulder. It felt like a fever dream, as though all it would take is for him to move and she’d slip away again. But there were her green eyes, gleaming in a way that literally lifted a weight from his shoulders. Her smile was tired and a little confused, but so her - after spending days of just seeing all her features lax, Tom swore that it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Only when Y/n finally croaked out a small ‘hi’ did Tom gain awareness of his body, or rather control of it, enough to leap up and leave over the bed - cradling her face in both his palms. Like a psycho he stared intently, swapping his focus from her left to her right eye like a madman. 

“Your-I-I” He was trying to speak, trying to communicate all the thoughts and regrets of things he wished he’d said to her all at once. Weakly she reached up to fully remove the oxygen mask, dragging It down to below her chin, before squeezing his wrists in comfort. Only then did Tom notice the small puddle that had collected on her cheek, which made him realise he was absolutely bawling. 

“You ‘kay?” Her voice was like sandpaper but everything about her was so completely Y/n and it was just giving Tom this unreal wave of euphoria. Physically incapable of replying, the brunette just scoffed, leaning over the bed even more so he could press his forehead on hers. He was laughing too, the fact she was asking him that seemed so preposterous, given all the tubes and wires attached to her at the moment. It took Y/n squeezing his wrist harder again to make him lean back a little, searching her eyes with his. She seemed so worried; seemed so full of concern - only then did Tom consider quite how much he’d ‘let himself go’ the past couple of days. 

It had been two days since Aurora was born, only 48 hours. But the transformation was mad, none more so than mentally. 48 hours had quite literally changed everything for Tom; changed life forever and himself too. It was showing in his unshaven face, with unwashed  greasy hair, everything just looking ‘tired’.

“‘m just really glad your awake.” It was so honest and sincere it did have Y/n wondering what had happened and for how long. What had she put her fiancé through?

“How long?”

“The worst two and a half days of my life… I got you now though, yeh?” Tom whispered wetly, while stroking the side of her cheek - wiping both his and her tears away.

“Always.”

The doctors and nurses then came in, podding and poking Y/n like no tomorrow while Harrison and Tom stood back a little - excitedly grinning at each other and the sleepy girl Haz was cradling, before Tom stole her off him. There was a momentary sick-to-his-stomach feeling after some of the professionals had cleared, seeing her eyes shut again felt like everything was crashing around him. Thankfully though, one of doctors noticed the look of despair on his face, explaining to the two men that she was just asleep normally. That although sh’ed spent along time unconscious, waking from a medical coma is in itself exhausting. 

After the initial excitement of Y/n waking the next couple of days were pretty samey. She’d been moved down to a normal ward, no longer needed all the incessant bleeping machines but still had to stay in hospital. Tom found it tricky too, he just always felt he needed to be by her side ‘just in case’. In fact, it had been a source of a bit of tension between him and his fiancé - she could see how exhausted he was from looking after Aurora, plus the stress of being in the hospital for hours a day with her. As Y/n got better and more switched on to the state of him, she realised it was inevitable he’d crash at some point.

But after a week and a half in hospital - comprising of a baby, emergency surgery, 3 days on intensive care, followed by 8 on the ward - Y/n was discharged. Nikki and Dom moved in to Y/n and Tom’s place, to provide care support both for Aurora; and Y/n for the rest of her recovery; and secretly Tom for everything he’d been through. 

She was still order on bed rest due to her surgical scars, so Tom and Nikki helped to set her up in the master bedroom as soon as they got in. Of course, everyone was aware of Toms odd mood that day. Until then the only thing he wanted was to get his fiancé back at home with him but now she was over the threshold his excitement and joy appeared to have been zapped out of him. In fact, he’d barely uttered more than a couple sentences. So once Y/n was properly comfortable and Dom had brought Aurora and the cot into the room, Tom’s parents quickly made themselves scarce. 

Tom hadn’t stopped, finding some reason to rummage around in the chest of drawers m while Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, watching him. 

“Tom?” All she got in response was a light hum. “Tom please will you come and sit down for a minute?”

“I just need to-“

“Tom!” Her exclamation finally properly got Tom to listen, jumping round to face her. “Please... please will you just stop for a second?” Y/n’s eyes felt as though they were boring holes in his skull. Really, Tom knew he’d be forced into this at some point because he couldn’t avoid Y/n. She had some power of mind reading over him. So with a defeated nod and sagging shoulders Tom rounded the bed, weaving between his side and Auroras cot - where she was sleeping soundly. 

A silence overcame the room as he heavily planted himself on his side of the bed, mirroring Y/n’s posture leant against the headboard. 

“I think we need to have an honest conversation T.”

“If you want.” Nothing about his reply was the picture of enthusiasm, causing Y/n to hesitate a little. 

“Look I am so beyond grateful for everything you’ve done while I was in hospital... and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve worked yourself half to death-“

“I’m fine-“

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re trying to protect me but please... will you just talk to me? Honestly?” 

His reply this time wasn’t completely unforeseeable but it still shocked Y/n quite how quickly it happened, especially almost unprovoked. Because that’s all it took for Tom to break, for the past 2 weeks to get their vengance, for all the repressed emotion to escape. 

He was crying- well more accurately sobbing- into his hands, his back quaking. Naturally Y/n reached out to pull him into her side, suppressing the groan of pain as she moved a little too much for her abdomen to handle. “I’m here T. I got you and I’m not going anywhere m‘kay?” 

And that’s how they stayed, for at least 10 minutes, with Tom crying into her shoulder as Y/n rubbed up and down his back. Eventually though, everything did calm down and Tom repositioned himself to lean his head on her shoulder just facing forward and focusing on playing with her fingers, lacing them fingers with his. 

In all the time since she’d woken up, Y/n was yet to broach the subject of their babies name yet. She sensed it was a sensitive topic to say the least, so had thought it best to wait till they were properly alone - not in a ward of 6 strangers where the only privacy came in flimsy blue curtains. 

“So…. Aurora huh? Thought it was too airy-fairy, head-in-the-clouds for you?”  Smiling lightly, both of them were transported back to the pregnancy when they spent hours and hours bickering over names. Aurora had always been Y/n’s favourite but to Tom thought it was more a name for a hippy kid who went around clad in tie dye and bandanas. 

“Still is a bit...but I needed a bit of a miracle and Iceland was in my head. Plus I sort of accidentally word vomited while shouting at Haz, for being nice to me.” Iceland as in when Tom had proposed under the aurora borealis in the freezing sky - when Y/n had agreed, promised even, to be with him forever.

“But you like it?”

“Of course... mother always knows best after all.”

“I think it suits her too. One of your best choices to date, listening to me.” Y/n mused, earning herself a very delicate but still playful elbow in the side before the room drifted back to a much more comfortable silence. 

“We’re gonna get through this you know? Me, you and her, we’re together in this... I’m sorry I wasn’t in the beginning and I’m sorry I hurt you but now? I promise you got me and I’m not going anywhere…” Y/n needed to say it and needed Tom to properly listen. “ ...literally, I still cant walk properly.” Tom chuckled wetly at that, which made Y/n feel a lot better too. 

To be completely honest, Tom was still hurt and he knew it’d take some mending to move past everything. By no means did he blame Y/n in anyway but just the fact he was left alone and abandoned - well, it was the worst time in his life. The way Y/n understood that and had apologised to him - if completely unnecessarily- meant everything. Meant she would help him to heal... whilst he helped her too. 

“Can we just go to sleep? I need to wake up beside you in our bed not at tiny hospital one.” It was only 3 in the afternoon but because of Y/n’s medicine she was constantly drowsy and Tom? Tom was still in this permanent state of exhaustion. So it wasn’t so much of a weird request as it was on the face of it. With a nod, Y/n shuffled down on the bed a bit more resting her head against the top of Tom’s. It was exactly what they both needed, just a bit of peace with each other. 

That lasted all of 5 minutes before Aurora woke and started to scream. 

Life had most definitely changed. Especially for Tom. Because even though he was he was mentally and physically exhausted,  he only appreciated his daughters screams whole heartedly... because Y/n was there groaning with a tired smile too. They were in this together. 

~~~~

 I really hope the ending didnt disappoint too much, im aware its rushed as hell, but thank you for getting this far! And I hope maybe this series has done a teeny tiny bit to normalise not everything in pregnancy and child birth being perfect - that there is morbidity and mortality associated. Obviously this is all fictional (esp the amazingly quick recovery and lack of neurological/other impairments) and not medically accurate in the slightest !!

my inbox is always open :) t x

Tagging : @whitewolf51 

[loveinterestcastiel]

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father’s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

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