#smashed a hole through my screen clicking that goddamn notif

[ghostdummieideas]

A Grave Mistake 2/?

Part 2 to the Goore series. Thank you Raine and Birdy for Beta reading this chapter!

When you woke up the next morning, you thought the whole cemetery fiasco was a nightmare. Just a silly dream that your brain created to show your anxiety for the recent job. Your eyes scanned to the electric alarm clock on your nightstand: 8:45 AM. First, you need to get a cup of coffee in your system. Second of all, you need to get your reading assignment done today. With a stretch across the bed, you stand up to start your day.  As you stride across the hall, your eyes land on something crumpled in a dirty heap by the entrance of the apartment.

The conquest for coffee was pushed aside as you approached the foreign object. You crouched down and picked up what looked to be a ratty old coat with faded lettering on the back. The remnant of letters read, ‘Woodland Cemetery’. The cemetery. Last night wasn’t a dream. You ran before you finished your first shift.

The thought of the consequences for doing so sent a shiver down your back. In the midst of the chase, the security office never crossed your mind as an option for a sanctuary. Jacket in hand, you scramble through the flat to find your phone. You had two notifications: one missed call and one voicemail, both from your boss. Knowing that you can’t hide from your mistake forever, you have to do the right thing. Gritting your teeth, you unlock the screen to listen to the voicemail.

The old man’s voice crackled on the speaker, “Hey kid, we need to talk. Call me when you’re available”. 

You bopped your phone against your forehead and whined in dismay. “I fucked up. I fucked up, and he’s going to say I’m fired.”

Taking a couple of concentrated breaths, you press ‘call back’, and place the phone against your ear. You hoped the old man would be asleep or busy doing whatever he does in his free time. Your silent prayers were ignored as you heard the familiar blip of the phone being answered. “Hello? Who is this?” your boss’s garbled voice came through.

“Hi boss. I’m so sorry about last night’s shift. I can explain!” Feeling your throat tighten from nervousness, you take a deep breath. When you were ready to explain the corpse man, you stopped. You can’t say that, you’d sound like a lunatic. ‘I ran into this bloody man and he chased me during my shift’ would sound like a sorry excuse that a teenager would use to explain why their homework is missing. “A racoon frightened me and the office didn’t cross my mind when I was running. I’m so sorry.”

The line was silent for a second before a sigh broke the silence. “I saw you running in the camera feed. Look, don’t run off during your shift again. Do you plan on going tonight?”

The question left you stunned. Do you want to come back to the cemetery? He’s not going to fire you for running off. Before you can think, you answered, “Yes, I’ll come to tonight’s shift. Do I come at the same time as yesterday?”

“Yes, same time, same place. See you then. Get some sleep kid. Bye.”

The line dies as your boss hangs up. Your shoulders drop, the death grip on the jacket in your hand loosens. You still have a job. Great. You might run into a corpse man again. Not so great. You walk over to the kitchen, take a seat, and slouch over the table. You’re going to need more than a pot of coffee today.

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

When your shift rolled around, you walked back to the small trailer in the far right of the field. You pressed the doorbell to alert your boss of your arrival. With a buzz, the door unlocked to let you in. You step into the office and close the door quietly behind you. 

“Hi boss”, you greeted the old man. This time the cue-ball had an aged ball cap on his head. He was also wearing a similar jacket to your own. The rolling chair squeaked as your boss scooted from his desk and stood up. He gave you an indifferent look before he adjusted the cap. “We have a camera knocked on the far back of the place. Some kids knocked them off this morning. Your coworker was able to fix most of the cameras, but we got two more to replace.”

You watched your boss pick up two walkie talkies from the left of the computer monitor. As he shuffled across the room, he stuffed one into his pocket and handed you the spare. "Thanks," you muttered out of politeness before you took the device and stuffed it into your empty pocket. He then walked over to the table next to the door to grab the boxes piled on top. He reached in and grabbed two orange-colored boxes, handing you one of them. Examining the box, you noticed a logo with the word ‘security camera’ printed on the side. 

“We’re going to need a couple items from the storage shed. We’ll need a ladder, screwdriver, and… you still have the flashlight, right?” 

 You fished around in your pockets before you found it, pulling the item out to show him. He nods in approval. Grabbing the massive piles of keys from the lockbox, both of you tread through the grass to the shed. Breaking the silence, you addressed the elephant in the room. 

“Thank you for giving me another chance, boss.” 

Both of you stopped in front of the wooden building with a pad lock blocking the latch. As your boss searched for the right key, he addressed your statement.

“It’s fine, kid,” he sighed. “People usually have a fight-or-flight response and you did what you had to do to stay safe. We commonly associate cemeteries with awful stuff, so I’m not mad at you for running away.”

He unlocked and opened the door to the shed. Without looking back, he clicked the light switch to illuminate the interior. Stuffing his keys in his pocket, he strutted into the building and plucked the materials for the job.

“From your background check, you seem like the type to work hard. You’re not the type to run off and party like some college kids. You have a goal in mind and you’re using whatever is in your arson and you are doing the best you can. It’s hard to find good youngsters like you.” 

This left you at a loss for words. Your impression of your boss differed from your first meeting. The bitter old man, who was courteous enough to leave trash bags in your pocket to make your job easier, now complemented you verbally. A complement you shouldn’t be receiving after last night’s stunt.

After he had gathered everything he needed, your boss stepped out of the shed and locked it behind him. “Take a tool box and ladder for yourself, kid. If anything goes wrong or a vermin chases you off again, you can call me.”

You nodded in agreement, “Yes boss”. 

Tucking the security camera under your arm, you picked up the small ladder and tool box. After confirming where you needed to go, both of you went on your separate ways to fix the damaged property. Lugging the items to the location was one thing, the remains of the previous camera was a bigger problem. Whoever the kids were, they did a magnificent job at smashing the camera from this angle. They knocked it off from the adjustable base that connected to the wall of the building. The smashed camera barely hung from the cable that was tacked to the roof. With a sigh, you put the items down on the ground, picking up the ladder and setting it in place. You reached into your pocket and put the flashlight in place. Turning it on, you rummaged into the toolbox to find a screwdriver. Once successful, you opened up the box to unravel the packaging from the new camera.

Cradling the new camera in the crook of your arm, you climb up the ladder and get to work. Taking the old camera down from the cable wasn’t that bad. Unscrewing the base proved to be a slight problem as one hole was bent from whatever impact it received. An hour later, the new camera was in place and the smashed pieces were sprawled across the grass. 

Once you got down from the ladder you rolled your shoulders to release the tension on your neck. At least that was a pleasant change from being nose deep into your books this morning. Reaching into your pocket, you produced your walkie talkie. Pressing the button on the side, you asked, “Boss ya there?” You waited two seconds before the block crackled back. 

“Yea? You done there?” your boss’s garbled voice reverberated back.

“Yes, I’m done setting up the new camera. I’m going to take a ten here before heading back to the supply shed.”

“I’m in the office. No vermin?”

You briefly paused. Was this a small joke or a genuine concern? “No boss, not a single vermin in sight so far.”

“10-4” he mumbled before the line went silent again. 

Speaking of vermin, you haven’t seen that guy again. A shiver ran down your back at the memory of the zombie. You don’t want to see him again. Not on this shift, not in the future either. 

Stuffing the black brick into your pocket, you took a minor break before you headed back to the shed. Sitting down on the second step of the ladder, you let out a sigh of relief. You tilted your head, rolling your muscles and looking up at the night sky.

The clouds covered the sky, not a single star appeared amongst the sea of gray fluff. Deep down you wished you could see a sliver of the moon or stars. You felt tranquil when you could see them in the night sky. No matter which town you were in, someone from across the country would see the same orb burning in the dark. It was nice to know you weren’t the only one looking up at the same atmosphere. It made you feel less lonely in a time like this.

 A crunch pulls you out of your thoughts. You looked behind to see the last person you wanted to see tonight: The goddamn corpse boy. He had his back towards you, and you immediately went into flight mode, your body flinging itself from your resting spot. The quick movement caused the ladder to topple over and crash into the soft ground.

The man stopped to turn his attention to you. From his hunched position, your flashlight illuminated his face. Fresh blood smeared down from his forehead. Gray paint contoured his cheek and eyes in an unflattering manner. Instead of accentuating his features, it made him look more gaunt. From afar his eyes looked dark and lifeless, devoid of any color. From this distance you couldn’t tell if it was drool coming down his chin, but something other than blood was running down his face.

The man straightened, wiping the spit-like substance off his chin with the back of his hand. You barely noticed his change in stance because all of your attention was focused on the pocket knife held in his bloody hand. With no time to lose, you made a mad dash towards the office.

“NO NO NO NO NO”, you shouted in your desperation to get to the sanctuary. The night was going so peacefully. Why did he have to ruin it? How the hell did he even get a knife? Was he buried with it? Whatever the answer was, you weren't sticking around to find out. 

To not bash yourself into the office door, you use your hands to reduce the impact against your body. You banged on the door, “Boss, let me in! Hurry!” You kept frantically twisting the doorknob, wanting to get in the second it unlocked. 

Once the door opened, you quickly slid inside and shut the door. Chest heaving from the activity, you pressed yourself against the only entrance to the trailer office. Your boss gave you a look of concern as he slightly rolled to the side in his chair.

“Vermin?” he asked questionably. 

“No, there’s a man covered in blood in the cemetery. He has a knife with him so I came running down here” you huffed. 

Your boss cocked his brow, but you could tell from the look in his eye, he didn’t doubt you. He turned back to the monitor and checked the surveillance screen for the guy you described. “The camera you set up is live.. I don’t see anyone there..” he muttered into the hand that propped his chin. You strode over to the side of your boss to examine the screen. Just like he said, the zombie man was nowhere to be found. Deep down, you felt your frustration rise from within you. 

“I’m going to lose my shit because of this zombie fucker,” you groaned under your breath. 

Extra

Mary stood there as he watched the grave worker from the night before scream and run away. His face scrunched in disgust at their rude reaction. “I guess they don’t want a slice,” he shrugged. Knife in hand, he carved another slice of apple and brought the piece to his mouth. Savoring the flavor, he stopped to see the crimson liquid staining the hand holding the knife in red. That’s when he realized, “Ah fuck, I guess that’s why they ran...I guess I should find them and talk with them like an adult.” He paused for a minute before he cackled. “Yeah, as if I can even hold a civil conversation with someone who runs as soon as they see me,” he groaned. With a roll of his eyes, he walked deeper into the cemetery. When he spotted the human-sized dent in the iron fence, he stuffed the remains of the fruit in his mouth and crawled through, exiting the area designated for the dead.

[ceealaina]

No One Can Tell Us We’re Wrong

Title: No One Can Tell Us We’re Wrong (Chapter 1/3) Pairing: Tony Stark x Steve Rogers Link: AO3 Rating: E Summary: Set post-Civil War. What if Tony and Steve hadn’t exactly been incommunicado all that time between Civil War and Infinity War? After a bad day, and one too many drinks, Tony ends up texting Steve. And after that first text, it’s too easy to just... keep texting. In which the boys finally learn to be adults and talk, and realize just how much they love each other along the way. Something of a CW fixit. (Fair warning: I love both these idiots with all my heart. If you’re looking for Steve bashing or, for that matter, Tony bashing, this is not the story for you). Word Count: 2888

It started with a text. It started with a text, and one glass of scotch too many. 

Tony was tired and frustrated, pissed off after yet another set back with Rhodey’s leg braces. He’d flopped back on the couch in his lab, drink in hand, only to wince as he landed on something hard. He wiggled around a minute, fishing the whatever out from underneath him, and when he came up with the phone Steve had sent him, he was suddenly so angry it was all he could do not to scream. 

Objectively he knew it wasn’t all Steve’s fault. A share of the blame went to him too. But dammit, he’d shouldered that blame, was doing everything he could to fix things, to be better. And if fucking Steve Rogers, and his fucking flip phone had just listened for once in his goddamned life, then maybe that fight would never have happened. If he had just tried to work with him, instead of going off all half-cocked to do whatever his stubborn ass had decided was best, Tony wouldn’t be sitting here trying to build his best friend leg braces so he could walk again. 

If he had cared for Tony even a fraction of the way he had cared for Barnes, maybe they would still be a team. Still be a family. 

Tony’s fist clenched around the phone in his hand. He wanted to throw it across the room, wanted to smash it to bits with a sledgehammer. Wanted to suit up and pulverize it with a repulsor blast. But somehow, as furious as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to make the move. 

He flipped the phone open, glared at the screen. His vision was blurring, entirely from the lack of sleep and the alcohol, and nothing at all to do with the way his eyes were burning, throat thickening at the thought of Steve, at the thought of everything that had happened. He opened the contacts, chewed his lip hard at the one name there, mocking him. Before he could stop himself, almost without thinking it, he typed in a text, thumb pounding against the keys. 

Fuck you, Steve. 

He fell asleep on the couch, clutching the phone against his chest. 

***

Tony woke up the next morning with a headache, a backache, and a sick, anxious feeling in the pit of the stomach - so a typical morning, for him. He was still on the couch, wearing his filthy workshop clothes from the night before, and sprawled out on his stomach. There was something sharp digging into his stomach, and he grumbled as he pulled himself into a sitting position, digging out Steve’s flip phone. He glowered at it, but in all honesty had forgotten all about the text the night before. He tossed it on his desk, plugging it in to charge, before wandering off in search of coffee. 

He would never in a million years expect Steve to text, even if he had remembered sending the text the night before, so it was pure luck that he happened to hear the notification six hours later, as he was going over the latest addendum to the accords. It took a minute to place the sound, tracking down the phone to where it was hiding under a pile of blueprints. Uncovering it, he stared for a long minute, unblinking, before making a split second decision and grabbing it off the table. Feeling bizarrely more nervous than he’d been in a very long time, he swallowed hard and flipped the phone open. A waiting text notification blinked back at him, and he clicked on it before he could talk himself out of it. 

Steve’s message was short, only four words long: I probably deserve that. 

Tony stared down at the phone. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly, but he didn’t think it was that. As clear as anything, he could suddenly picture Steve, frowning down at his stupid flip phone, a match to the one he’d given Tony, worrying at his lower lip as he tried to pick over exactly the right words to text back. His heart wrenched unexpectedly, imagining Steve’s lost expression, and suddenly furious, he threw the phone across the room. 

A split second later he realized what he’d done, and a wave of panic went through him. “Shit,” he hissed, inexplicably terrified that he’d just severed his last connection to the other man. “Shit, shit, shit.” He hurried across the room, but he had to give Steve some credit - he’d forgotten just how durable flip phones could be. There was only a small scratch on the back of the case, and when he opened the display it was as clear as ever. With a sigh, he tipped back on his ass to lean against the metal of his work desk, scrubbing a hand over his face as he stared down at the message again. 

He should ignore it, he knew he should ignore it, write off the past twelve hours, go back to the months of radio silence. He was too wound up right now, too volatile. Still too angry, and frustrated, and underneath all that, still so, so hurt. Texting Steve right now would be a terrible, awful idea. He should ignore it. 

He didn’t ignore it. 

Yeah, ya think? He texted back, before he could think the better of it. 

The return response was a lot faster in coming this time. Tony. I fucked up, I know I fucked up. I should have told you the second I found out, and I wish every day that I had. I meant what I said, Tony. If you need me - whatever it is - I’m here.

Tony stared at the message until his vision started to swim. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, staring around the room in disbelief. 

Fuck you, Steve he fired off before tossing the phone on the table and turning back to his project of the hour. 

The phone didn’t chime again. 

***

He lasted all of two days before he was texting Steve again. He’d had a frustrating day of Ross breathing down his neck, he hadn’t slept well the night before, and Rhodey was off campus and unable to provide him with his usual distraction. He wasn’t sure what made him do it - maybe he’d been dreaming about when they’d all been actual teammates the night before - but when he got stuck with a piece of machinery in his workshop, he hollered out for Steve, like he’d done a thousand times before, when they lived in New York and Steve used to spend hours keeping him company in the lab, sketching while Tony worked on one of his projects. His voice rang out, echoing in the empty space, before he realized what he’d said. He dropped the screwdriver in his hand with a loud clang against the table, nausea burning a hole in the pit of his stomach. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, as his eyes were drawn unbidden back to the phone, peeking out from under some paperwork. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms are his glared at it. His fingers twitched against his arm as he fought the urge to grab it. He’d never been one for self-restraint though, and he only held out another minute before reaching out and snagging it, drawing it over to him. He shifted it back and forth in his hands before snapping it open. 

You know what the worst part is, Rogers? I still don’t understand WHY.

The response from Steve was so long in coming that Tony half expected one to not come at all. 

I’ve deleted this text about a thousand times, he admitted. Because everything I type is an excuse, and you deserve better than that. I should have told you, that was the very least that I owed you. But the truth is I was scared. I’m a coward, Tony. I was afraid that you wouldn’t understand - because how could you? And I was afraid

The message cut off suddenly, but a second one popped up almost before he’d finished reading it. 

I was afraid you’d blame me. See me the way I keep seeing myself. I wanted to tell you, Tony. I was going to tell you, I swear I was. But I was scared I’d lose you and so I kept waiting. I kept thinking I’d find some way to explain it, that I’d be able to show you that it wasn’t his fault. So I kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And then it was too late. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face. A couple of weeks ago, maybe, he would have been angry at Steve all over again, would have seen it as a guilt trip. But he felt something loosen in his chest at Steve’s admission, a realization of what an impossibly fucked up situation it had been for everyone. It wasn’t like everything was all miraculously forgiven, but for the first time he was able to think about Steve and Bucky, and the whole mess without going white hot with anger. He thought of Steve and all he felt was a faint pang for the way things had been before. He let out a slow breath and closed the phone without replying. 

But the thing was, he couldn’t leave it alone. It was like a cut on his lip he couldn’t stop worrying, a bruise he couldn’t stop poking. He was hyper aware of the phone, couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering over to it every few seconds, startled at every sudden noise thinking it was the still-unfamiliar text tone. Steve hadn’t messaged him again, and he knew he wouldn’t without hearing from Tony first, trying to fix things in whatever way he could. Tony sighed, tossing down his wrench. He was in the workshop, supposedly working, but for the better part of the past hour he’d been doing absolutely nothing, too busy thinking about Steve, about his last text, about where he was now, what he was doing, what he looked like. Wondering if the other traitors were with him, or if they’d temporarily split up to make themselves harder to track. 

He had a sudden vision of Steve, alone in some dark, shitty safe house, beating himself up over what had happened to Barnes. “Dammit, Rogers,” Tony muttered. Then, because he was alone in the workshop with no one to make fun of him, he leaned back in his chair and pulled his hood over his eyes, whining loudly into the empty room before picking up the phone. 

You know it wasn’t your fault, right? I mean, not the whole splitting the team thing, we both could have handled that better, and I’m still not ready to forgive us for that. But what happened to Barnes, falling, and then Hydra. That’s not on you, Steve.

His response was a lot quicker in coming this time. Not quite ready to forgive me, huh? Does that mean that eventually you will?

Tony rolled his eyes, but couldn’t fight back the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. Keep pushing me, Rogers. See if I don’t toss this shitty piece of 90s technology straight into the garbage disposal. 

Steve’s response was quick again, and despite himself Tony couldn’t help wondering where he was, what he was doing. I’m surprised it lasted this long, honestly. Figured you’d toss it in the garbage straight away. 

Tony knew he was joking about the technology, but couldn’t help the twinge in his stomach when he remembered just how close he had been to doing exactly that, simply because it had come from Steve. He chewed at his lip, not quite ready to admit just how much he missed the other man. 

Don’t think I don’t notice you changing the subject, Rogers. What happened with Barnes wasn’t your fault. 

This time it was Steve who didn’t answer. 

***

It was the better part of a week before he heard from Steve, and he absolutely didn’t drop everything at the ping of the phone. 

I know that, his text read, and Tony couldn’t help wondering what the hell he’d been up to that it had taken him this long to continue the conversation. Some part of me knows that. I just can’t seem to turn off the part of me that thinks if I’d just done something more I could have kept it all from happening. It’s irrational, and stupid, but… You know me. I’ve never been one for thinking things through. 

Tony couldn’t help his wry smile at that. He was still pissed over the way everything had happened, but now, with time and space to process everything, he could see how Steve could have maybe lost sight of everything else. God knew if it were Rhodey in trouble, Tony would have burned the world to help him. 

You always were a stubborn ass he replied, fighting the urge to picture the crooked smile that Steve would always get when Tony teased. He sighed, scrubbing his hand over the top of his head. So. How is Barnes anyway? He couldn’t quite manage to say what he really meant, his mother’s dying words still echoing in his ears, but he thought that maybe Steve would hear the apology in them anyway. 

It was nearly an hour, long enough that Tony wondered if he even would, before Steve replied. He’s good. He’s. Well. You can probably guess where he is but he’s back in cryo, least until we can find a way to get Hydra out of his head for good.

Tony stared at his phone, reread the message twice because that was unexpected. He’d assumed the Steve and Barnes would be broing it up, running around the world and reliving their Nazi hunting days. This was... not that. He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he texted his reply. 

Don’t tell me you’re actually being proactive and thinking things through. Who are you and what have you done with Steve Rogers?

Ha. Ha. You’re just all kinds of hilarious. Tony. And, it was actually Bucky’s idea, so there you go. 

When it took Tony a minute to answer, Steve sent another text. 

He wants to be himself again, Tony. Doesn’t want to hurt anyone else, no matter what he has to do to get there. 

Tony shook his head again, lopsided smile on his face even though Steve couldn’t see him. 

That’s really great, Steve. I hope you get him back soon. 

***

They carried on like this for the next few weeks, texting off and on, sometimes every hour and then sometimes nothing for days at a time. It was mostly careful teasing (although there were a few more sincere apologies) tiptoeing around the friendship they’d once had. Still, the tension between them was slowly thawing, the bitter taste that the thought of Steve had left in Tony’s mouth fading away. 

Tony hadn’t actually noticed the shift, hadn’t realized that more and more thinking about Steve was a positive experience again until after a particularly shitty and frustrating meeting when his first instinct was to text Steve for a pick-me-up. He was most of the way to his car, phone in hand and text half composed when he realized what he was doing. He stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, blinking down at the tiny letters on on the crappy phone before scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Dammit Rogers,” he muttered, but found he couldn’t work himself up to actually being that upset about it. Deleting the text he’d already started, he continued walking. God, I hate you sometimes, you stubborn bastard. Just had to get your way, didn’t you? 

He was in the car on his way back to the compound when Steve’s reply came in. What did I do now?

Tony couldn’t help grinning a little as he read it; he could practically hear Steve’s beleaguered tone. Had to send me the phone, had to keep texting me back… Had to worm your way back in. You always get your way, and I can’t even be mad about it!

Seriously Tony? You’ve been mad for eighteen months.

Tony actually giggled at that, glad that he was alone in the car so nobody could hear him and make fun of him for it. ...Anymore, he amended. 

I’m glad, Tony. I m

Steve’s text cut off mid word, like he’d hit send instead of delete, and Tony blinked at the phone. 

I’m glad, Steve said again. And I’m sorry.

Tony rolled his eyes. Come on, Steve. Don’t ruin the moment. You don’t have to keep apologizing - I’ve already forgiven you, remember? 

Doesn’t mean I’m not still sorry. I shouldn’t have had to get your forgiveness in the first place. 

Well… Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, hesitating, but since they were going all in here… You maybe weren’t entirely wrong, at least not about the Accords. I still think we need some kind of oversight, but Ross has been a bigger pain in my ass than I even imagined. 

I mean, I hate to say I told you so, but…

Shut up, Steve, Tony texted, rolling his eyes and grinning at the phone.