#sorry about the abrupt cut off but it was gettin' Long

[visions--of--collisions]

for @peachaberri who asked for 600 words of something that's just an idea still. here's 600(+) words of the don't look under the bed AU no one else was writing so i said fine i'll do it myself. eventually. a (non-spoilery) plot summary: miles morales returns home from college for the summer to find a strange atmosphere awaiting him: his little sister's night terrors have started up again, and his dad is run ragged with cases of vigilantism in the area. the neighborhood is buzzing with tales of elaborate pranks and weird happenings. when a guy dressed up as spiderman shows up claiming to be billie's imaginary friend, miles is about ready to throw his hands up. but after the strange events go from strange to dangerous, and from dangerous to personal, miles has little choice but to accept hobie brown's help.

EXCERPT: but it's hard to be hard i guess (when you're shaking like a dog) • hobie/miles, supernatural, friendship, angst, romance, psychological, horror

“It’s a bloody shame, innit?”

Miles grit his teeth. “Man. Not now.”

To his surprise, Hobie fell silent. He didn’t actually leave; Miles could see his reflection lingering in the mirror at the foot of his bed. Imaginary Friends could cast reflections, who knew? Miles was more concerned about whether they could put a sock in it, personally.

Apparently, the one in his room could.

Miles tossed the pad on his bed and scrubbed at his face. He wasn’t even sure why he was still looking at this point. There was a weird, detached kind of fascination involved with combing through every dedicated sketchbook or drawing pad he’d ever owned and finding gaping holes cut out of every page he’d drawn on, while the blank ones or even the places where he’d scribbled random notes were untouched.

There were weird, dark rings around the edges of each hole, almost like they’d been burned into the pages. He reached out and hesitated with his fingers centimeters above the paper. Something about deliberately touching it gave Miles the kind of stomach-flipping feeling he associated with vertigo. He lowered his arm.

The pages weren’t burnt. He didn’t need to put his hands on them to know it.

Over his shoulder, Hobie was eyeing the books scattered across his bed, arms folded across his chest. “S’it all of them?” he asked, quietly.

Miles sighed. “See for yourself,” he said, gesturing vaguely. He glanced at the binders and notepads that had ended up on the floor and turned his chair; the box where they’d been kept safely for years lay on its side on the rug where he’d dropped it. Miles pulled it towards himself and gingerly gathered up the fallen books, piling them back in. 

The vertigo sensation still threatened when he moved too fast, like another one of those holes had opened up in the bottom of his stomach. Maybe there’d been some spores hanging out with the dust motes that sprang up when he opened up the box; maybe he was coming down with something. Maybe he was going into shock. Could finding years of progress, the work of your whole life basically, maliciously destroyed send you into shock?

The ‘C’ in ‘C-PTSD’ stood for ‘complicated,’ Miles was pretty sure.

“What’s the thread, here?” Hobie stared at the old composition book he was holding like it had the secrets of the universe hidden in its few untouched pages. In his hands, it looked smaller and older than Miles remembered. Fragile like a relic, like a memory buried so deep it'd gotten compacted under the weight.

Uncle Aaron got him the Spiderman stickers on the front.

“I don’t get it,” Hobie went on. His eyes were trailing across the drawings on the wall, the silk-screened shirt on Miles’ desk chair. The project on his drafting table absorbed Hobie’s attention for a long minute - long enough that Miles started feeling a little self-conscious about it - before he shook his head. “Everything else is fine, it’s just …?”

“The books. Just the books.” When Hobie glanced at the bedroom door, Miles assured him, “Trust me, I checked. My Dad still pulls out the birthday cards I made him every year. He thinks nobody knows, but …” The fond twinge felt strange, so close to the pit in his stomach. Miles looked over at his phone, thinking about calling his Dad. They’d face-timed on his way home from the diner, Miles doing his best to pretend it was a casual check-in and not a panic-driven impulse to make sure his family was safe because of a literal Boogeyman.

When Hobie showed up in the background of the call, watching him like he knew something was up, the wash of relief Miles felt had caught him off-guard. He’d said he’d watch out for them, and he was. They were okay. And if they weren’t, there was more that Hobie could do to protect them with his freaky magic powers than Miles could. Shy of making live bait out of himself, maybe.

“Morales? Oi. Earth to Brooklyn.” Miles stiffened when he realized he was staring. Hobie was watching him with a grin that lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other. The light from Miles’ desk lamp bounced off his lip ring. “See something you fancy?”

Maybe relief had been overselling it, Miles decided. He scoffed and hauled himself out of his chair. “‘See sum-ting yew fan-see?’” he parroted, grabbing up the box. “Jeez. I should’ve known you weren’t real. Who talks like that?” Miles hefted it onto the bed, treating Hobie to a hairy eyeball that only made him smile wider, for some reason.

He tugged the box out of Miles’ hands and started putting the books back inside. “I’m real as it gets, I’ll have you know,” Hobie informed him. His arms moved faster and faster until it almost looked like he had eight of them; like Miles was seeing a cartoon motion-blur in real life. A notepad that had ended up at the head of the bed got snatched up without Hobie bending another inch, somehow. Some of the eight arms shuffled the books around until they were better arrayed. Miles blinked and then the lid was covering them, and the box was being eased into his arms. “Don’t forget it, now.”

Miles could’ve sworn the lid had been laying on the floor somewhere. Hobie was still smiling when he looked up at him, but it was a smaller, knowing thing. Belatedly, Miles slipped his arm under the box and braced it against his sternum. “Okay.”

Hobie raised his eyebrows. “‘Okay,’” he echoed. “Cool.” He stepped back and tucked his hands in his pockets.

Miles frowned at the buttons on his vest. He remembered the last time Hobie stood in his room like that, shrugging off the fact that Billie couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) see him anymore. The hole in his gut ached a little, like something had gotten lodged inside. “That wasn’t what I meant to say,” Miles blurted.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Four: Reaching Out

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! I hope you're all having a good day, and that you're all staying hale and hearty. This chapter somehow got even longer than the last one, I do apologize once again. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @toxiicpop @huliabitch @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @literal-fand0m-trash @sinnamon-bunn @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst

Part One [Should Have Known Better]

Part Two [Tranquil Turmoil]

Part Three [Vibroblade Mettle]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death. Stay safe!]

"Hand over the child, Mando." The man's voice said cooly over the comms. "I might let you live."

You snarled under your breath in frustration and you heard the Mandalorian echo your sentiment. Ever since the two of you had departed Sorgan, your proverbial footsteps had been dogged by hunters. At least they had followed you instead of harassing the small village. You still had yet to learn why the child was being hunted, but you supposed that was a minor detail in light of your current predicament.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold!" The hunter continued to taunt as another hit rocked the Crest. The left engine sputtered and whined, rattling audibly. 

"Alright, that's it." The Mandalorian bit out, flipping switches to cut power from the engine before it shredded itself. "You're up." He informed you, reaching for the thruster bar. "Be ready on the guns, we'll only get one shot at this. Take out that son of a bitch."

Your eyes were glued to the targeting screen, only barely noticing the choke of the thrust and subsequent drag of the Crest that threw you sideways against your seat harness. All you cared about was that blue ship indicator on the screen finally blinking red. 

Right before the Crest's artillery roared to life and reduced the bastard that had been tracking you to space debris, the Mandalorian growled, "that's my line."

You laughed in relief, slumping down in the seat. "We did it!" You cheered quietly, raising your fist to bump his own when he extended it back to you. 

Your celebration was short-lived, however, as sparks exploded across the panel in front of the armored man. He swore under his breath, quickly readjusting trajectory coordinates while the sextant holo reeled drunkenly. "Looks like the damage was already done. Sorry, stowaway. Unplanned pit stop." The Mandalorian grunted, actually managing to sound the tiniest bit contrite.

The ship shuddered and lurched, listing slightly while its main working engine struggled to maintain forward motion. "As long as we land safely, I can live with it." You assured him, eyeing the large, tan planet that loomed in the viewport. "Where to?"

"Tattooine. Closest port's Mos Eisley. Should be able to find a job so we can afford repairs." He flipped a switch overhead, then pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet. There was a shrill burst of feedback and he shook his head, grumbling and striking the control panel with a firm hand. Then, he tapped the side of his helmet again.

There was a brief pause. "Th-is is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, o-ver." 

The voice was staticky, but still easily understood. "Copy that." The Mandalorian confirmed, toggling the overhead switch. "Locked in for three-five."

His fingers drummed on the control panel absently, then shifted around to check the levels as the Razor Crest began its approach.

…

The landing was, to quote a certain armored man...not spectacular. 

You could feel the Crest sliding to one side, the Mandalorian just barely missing the edge of the hangar bay. The landing gear whined loud when it extended and the whole ship settled onto the ground with a series of clatters and clanks that had you grimacing. You clearly had your work cut out for you.

"I'll get started." You sighed, undoing your harness. 

"No. Stay put." He answered sharply, already shuffling past you.

"What? But I'm...I can help!" You protested, pursuing him down the ladder. Was he really still in that mindset of not letting you do anything? Even after you had patched this junker up on Sorgan?! 

The boarding ramp lowered, steam billowing as the cool air inside the ship hit the blistering heat outside. Now this felt familiar. Sand, sun, grungy little droids…

You opened your mouth to greet the spindly pit bots and a blaster bolt kicked up a chunk of sand right in front of the closest droid. You whirled, snapping, "Hey! Do not shoot them! I was going to say hello!" 

The impassive man offered you a shrug, sliding his blaster back into its holster before droning, "No droids near my ship."

You threw your hands up and then jammed them in your coveralls, spotting a surly-looking woman heading your direction. "You can talk your own way out of this one, bucket boy." You muttered.

A stifled chuckle issued from the Mandalorian at your hissed words, the warm noise sliding down your spine to curl in your stomach. You blinked several times, a little confused at the violent reaction your body had to something as mundane as his laugh. 

The older woman (her jumpsuit name patch read PELI in faded blue lettering) did in fact proceed to verbally rip the Mandalorian limb from limb for "putting his bolts anywhere near her bots." She then started looking the Crest over, somehow simultaneously unimpressed with the state of it and impressed that he had managed to land it at all.

The Mandalorian bore the assault silently, but you could tell how irritated he was just from the set of his shoulders. You refused to pity him though, at least not outwardly. "I've got five hundred Imperial credits." He stated once she allowed him to get a word in edgewise.

"Five hundred and seven." You amended, shooting him a glare when he jerked his head to the side to look at you.

The woman snorted derisively, frizzy hair bouncing on her shoulders with the force of her head shake. "That'll cover the bay, but you want repairs done without droids. My time is valuable!"

"I'll get you your money." The armored man assured her tersely.

"I've heard that one before."

"I'm a former detailer." You spoke up, drawing her attention off of him. "I can follow directions and I'm familiar with this particular craft."

"Ah, that's why he's got you with him?" Peli mused sarcastically. "I figured it was for your stellar listening skills."

"I'm also a real crackerjack of a singer." You shot back, grinning. "I help keep the ship morale up."

"Oh I'll bet you do." She rolled her eyes and then jabbed a stern finger up at the Mandalorian. "Listen, I'll get started on it. But I'm making no promises and if you try to stiff me, I'm not giving you your junker back. Understand?"

He exhaled hard, nodding. 

Peli made a shooing motion. "Alright then, git! Go on. Off you go. Find a good bounty and don't you dare come back without the money!" The fact that she was ordering him around made your giggles incredibly difficult to stifle, but somehow you managed until he stalked off out of the hangar. "Mandos are always so self-important and broody." Peli informed you sagely over the sound of your sputtering laughter. "Gotta' take 'em down a peg or two whenever you can." 

A wail echoed from inside the ship and your cackling jerked to a halt. "Oh!" You exclaimed, bolting back up the ramp. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

The child, who had awoken alone and secured in the bunk, sniffled up at you when you hit the auto-roll for the shutter. They looked so incredibly distressed that you immediately felt guilty, scooping them up and moving back to the ramp. 

"I'm sorry, were you scared?" You asked the child as their eyes squinted in the brilliant desert sunlight. "It's okay, I'm right here with you."

Peli whistled. "Maker, that thing is ugly. But a cute kinda' ugly, I guess." The baby cooed, clawed fingers tangling into your tan cloak. "Oh, he's a little heartbreaker. Look at those eyes!" Peli appeared to be absolutely smitten, the older woman scooting in close to examine the child. "You'll need to be careful with his ears in this sunlight, he looks thin-skinned. Don't want him gettin' crispy, no we don't!" She continued in a singsong tone, tickling them under their chin. 

…

You were uncertain of when exactly the Mandalorian had returned from his job hunt, too preoccupied with the repair work. Up to your armpits in the left engine's ion acceleration chamber, to be precise. 

Your only warning was an abrupt shout of "hey!" and then the kid started bawling, which in turn sent you into fight or flight mode. You pulled free of the turbine and skittered down to the cockpit of the ship, hauling your wrench with you for protection. 

Your heart rate slowed once you realized he was just arguing with Peli, the older woman holding the child protectively to her chest.

"And you!" The Mandalorian yelled up at the ship, making you squirm guiltily. "Get down from there, I told you before that I don't want-"

"They're just helping me out!" Peli protested. "My joints are too rickety to be up on top of that death trap."

The Mandalorian glared at her, his shoulders heaving. You scrambled down the handholds alongside the cockpit and dropped to the ground from there, hesitantly coming alongside the seething bounty hunter. "I...I just wanted to help." You mumbled, fidgeting with the wrench and then tugging the repair manual Peli had given you out of your pocket. "I can-"

"Fine." The armor-clad man spat, the word jagged even through his modulator. "I've gotten a job. Shouldn't take too long." He was pointedly avoiding looking at you, all of his attention narrowed to Peli and the child in her arms. 

The noise of an engine outside the doorway had him jerking his head up, and with a final muttered expletive he stormed off. Peli followed after him, still berating him for his "rude language in front of the baby!", and you trailed along behind. You were admittedly curious about the job. What could he have found in this tiny little town? Did they even have a Guild outpost here?

Once you reached the outer doorway, you realized that he was apparently no longer working alone. There in front of you was a young man, dressed in entirely the wrong clothes for the climate. He was perched nonchalantly atop a speeder bike, a second one hovering alongside him. "Mando!" He greeted the armored man, gesturing at the bike. "What do you think? Not too shabby, eh?" 

The Mandalorian just grunted, beginning to circle around the bike. 

Your hands balled into fists and you huffed out an angry breath. Oh sure, he would work with some random stranger he dug up out of the sand! But the second you tried to be helpful, you got put in a glorified cupboard on baby duty! 

The young man leaned back, giving you a friendly look that went on for a bit too long. "Hey there. Name's Toro. Toro Calican." He introduced himself with a little bow, a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth. "I've been here a while but I haven't seen you before."

"Let's go." The Mandalorian demanded before you could say anything to Toro, impatiently revving the starter on his speeder bike.

"Stay safe!" You snapped. You might have said it more out of spite than good will, but the wish was no less potent for it.

The armored man tilted his head, giving the impression that he was surprised. "You...you as well." He replied begrudgingly, then opened the throttle.

"It was nice meeting you!" Toro called over the sound of the engine, throwing up a quick wave before he set off in pursuit of the other man.

"Well, that was interesting." Peli mused once the two hunters had vanished into the dust. She shot you a curious look. "Is your Mandalorian always so possessive?"

"He's not my Mandalorian!" You retorted hotly. "I have no idea why he's being so...so-"

"Pigheaded? Stubborn? Broody?" Peli suggested one word after another and you felt yourself smiling, even though you were still angry.

"Stupid." You corrected her. "He's stupid. And not mine. I take no ownership of that." You gestured out at the sand dunes. "If there's work that needs to be done, I'm not asking for permission."

"Well, we had better get to it then!" Peli said, strangely enthusiastic. "There's a hell of a fuel leak I'm going to need you for, as well as some kinks in the strut shocks. Never mind the engine, though I'm sure you're already halfway done with it."

You flipped to the first page in the repair manual, tapping your fingers down on the exploded view of the engine. "I did have a question about this section here. As you can see, this one has a weird shear point where one of the bolts should be removed. If I put the pins here instead, do you think it would hold better?"

…

The two of you worked long into the night. It seemed as soon as you fixed one thing, a new issue would arise. The Crest had been held together with nothing but spot-welding and a prayer! Your stomach flip-flopped at the realization that you had trusted that in deep space. Granted, you hadn't exactly picked the ship you were stranded on, but still-!

"You are a lucky, lucky thing." Peli called up the ladder, continuing to seat the refresher's new gasket snugly into its coupling. "If this seal had gone, your whole ship would be swamped with the grey tank backwash."

"Better the grey tank than the black tank." You replied, laughing when she made a gagging sound. You had taken a break from the engine to unbolt the cockpit shielding so you could scrape it, planning on putting down a fresh line of caulking around the edges of each pane. When you and the Mandalorian had returned to the Razor Crest after it had been parked on Sorgan, a small puddle had collected on the floor beside the pilot's chair. Whether from condensation or an actual leak you couldn't say, but everything on the ship seemed due for a replacement.

"Pass me the sealant when you're done with it." Peli requested loudly. "This gasket won't do you any good unless I patch these areas."

"Need the spanner too? I've got the fifths up here." You offered, hanging upside down through the ladder port to hand her the extra tube of caulking.

"Yeah--wait no, give me the flathead. Sealant and flathead so I can cinch this ring." Peli tweaked one of the child's ears fondly while you fumbled around in your tool belt. Sure, you could have sat upright and gotten it done much quicker, but hanging upside down was half the fun of even having a tween-decks ladder in the first place. "Does he usually just watch like this? He's being so quiet!" She remarked.

"Those eyes see everything." You replied wryly. "They're probably just glad something isn't exploding near them."

"Exploding?" Peli sputtered. "What have you two been up to?!"

You bit your lip, uncertain of how much you should actually say. "We had a few run-ins with some...less than friendly people. Raiders and stuff."

"And how did you end up around people like that?" Peli queried, her voice muffled as she ducked back into the fresher. 

You groaned, rolling over onto your back on the cockpit floor and staring up at the starry sky overhead. "A certain stupid armored individual with a gruff attitude and…" you paused as the gravity of what you were saying hit you. "...and...and a soft spot for helping people in trouble."

"Oho, so that's his story, huh?" Peli's tone was smug. "Should have figured. Not everyone reacts like a raging anooba when they see a stranger holding their baby." 

"Is that what he was angry about?"

"I'm pretty sure if I hadn't been holding this little nub the way I was, your Mandalorian would have put a hole in my chest." She didn't sound overly concerned.

"Not mine." You corrected her absently, getting back up and using the flat of your old knife to smooth out the bead line. "Never mine." You murmured quietly to yourself, barely resisting the urge to heave another sigh. Obviously the armored man's most prolific method of expression was rubbing off on you if even you were resorting to sighing. 

What were you thinking, letting yourself get all twisted up over someone like him? This was pointless. 

…

It was mid afternoon, nearly dusk the following day when you finally managed to finish repairing the engine. It had been a big job, the biggest one you'd ever tackled, but Peli looked it over several times and declared it fine work. 

"You did almost as good as my droids!" She exclaimed, one of the spindly bots beeping a loud complaint in reply. "I'd offer you a job if I thought you'd take it, but I know better than to trust your Mandalorian alone with this little angel."

You had given up on insisting he wasn't your Mandalorian, simply rolling your eyes instead of wasting your breath. "What does the rough estimate look like? I may have no choice but to work off the debt if he doesn't come back." After the playful words left your mouth, your brow furrowed. He had said it wouldn't take too long. What was his idea of not taking too long? A day? Three days?

Concern churned in your mind as the older woman laughed off your inquiry. You had no real frame of reference to work with, no clue how long a bounty hunt could actually go on for. What if something had happened to him? You swallowed hard. 

What if he and that young man he had joined forces with were stranded somewhere out in the dunes? Guilt elbowed in to war with the concern. If something had gone wrong, the last thing you said to him…

Stay safe, your memory reminded you, in a tone laden with spiteful sarcasm. 

You shook your head at your unusually-dire train of thought. That would do you no good! The Mandalorian would be back soon enough and then you would be on your way to wherever came next, is what you told yourself firmly. 

Fake it 'til you make it, right?

In the face of the encroaching twilight you sat cross-legged on the boarding ramp, slowly fishing tiny bits of pickled mudjumper out of one of the jars that Omera had sent with you. The child gurgled happily, little fingers clumsily shoving the meat into their mouth.

"Do I even want to know?" Peli inquired warily, gesturing at the jar.

"Mudjumpers." You replied, giving the brine a shake. "The kid loves 'em. They'd eat 'em whole."

The older woman pulled a face. "He's lucky he's cute. For anyone else, that'd be a dealbreaker."

The pit droids abruptly started to shriek and rattle, indicating that something had spooked them. You peered out into the darkness, squinting and then grinning with relief. "Mr. Calican!" You greeted the young man gladly, getting to your feet and wiping your hands off with a rag. "I take it you two finished the job?" You looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the large, beskar-clad form bringing up the rear. "Where's the Mandalorian?"

Toro seemed a bit preoccupied and didn't answer you immediately, his eyes darting to the baby who was still gnawing on a chunk of mudjumper. "Oh, yeah. Mando's uh...he'll be along. You guys have any water? I'm parched."

"Of course! I'll get you some, give me a second." You nodded, turning and rushing back into the Crest. As much as you had been fearing and anticipating the Mandalorian's return, it was still a relief to know that he was alright. 

Calican accepted the small canteen you gave him with a murmur of thanks. He had the kid on his knee, the small child too invested in their snack to pay him any mind. "He's a cute little guy. Where'd you pick him up?" Toro asked curiously. 

You shook your head. "I couldn't say. He was here before me. The tyke is a veteran shipmate." 

"Oh? Huh. Interesting." Toro took another long swig from the canteen. "You know, I heard something a while back."

You cocked your head, confused and a little uneasy at the way his expression had darkened. You abruptly wished that he wasn't holding the kid. "What...what did you hear?"

"Well, I mean, it's not that interesting. Still…I'm kinda' interested to figure out if it's true or not." He shifted to his feet and pressed his blaster to the side of the child's head. "Call it...morbid curiosity."

"W-What are you doing?" You asked, your voice shaking. "Calican, if this is a joke, it's not-"

"Keep back." He warned sharply. "I'm not looking to hurt any of you, but I will if I have to."

The blaster gave neither you nor Peli any room to argue, though the older woman still wanted to try. "You're gonna' be real sorry when their Mandalorian gets here!" She said angrily, her hands hoisted over her head.

Toro scoffed. "Their Mandalorian is a traitor who shot up the Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nevarro! I'm bringing him to justice." He announced, his voice dripping with self-importance while he prodded the baby with his blaster. His motions made your heart leap into your throat in terror, "and this little runt is stolen property, which needs to be returned to its rightful owner."

Your mind whirled. That couldn't be right. Nevarro--

What the armored man had admitted to you on Sorgan came rushing to the forefront of your memory, "I won't be able to bring you back to Nevarro. I can't...I can't go back there." 

Was it true? Is that what the child was? Is that why he couldn't return? He had stolen the child and shot up the Guild?

You took a step forward without conscious thought, reaching down to your boot for your vibroblade. "Let them go." 

Toro wasn't some hulking Klatoonian. He wasn't a veteran dropship trooper and he definitely wasn't a lightning-fast Mandalorian. As far as you could tell he was just like you, except he had a gun. Reducing him down to that made him much less terrifying.

The young man yelped, jamming the blaster against the child's head. "You do anything with that and I'm gonna' take this kid apart. All I want is the Mandalorian." He snapped.

"Unfortunately for you, all I want is the kid." You snarled.

He whipped his blaster around to your head, obviously shaken. "I'm not-"

"If you shoot me, you'd better kill me. Because if you hurt that child, I will kill you." You announced firmly, your trembling knees locked in place. He's just a human. He's young and dumb. "Let me hold the child and I'll get rid of my knife." You bargained, holding the weapon up. "I know how the kid operates. If you keep jostling them around like that, you're going to make them cry. They're loud, Toro. Someone will hear." You extended your hands. "I promise. All I want is the kid."

Toro appeared to mull it over, his eyes narrowed as he stared at you. "Drop the knife first." He demanded finally. "You drop that knife and...and you promise to keep this little bastard quiet."

You nodded. Your blade landed with a hollow clatter on the boarding ramp and Toro shoved the child into your waiting grasp. You didn't even have a second to breathe before the young man had your free arm wrenched behind your back, making you cry out in pain when he twisted your wrist. 

"Calican!"

You almost lost your grip on the child in relief when you spotted the Mandalorian standing at the end of the ramp, blaster in hand and somehow giving off the impression that he was fit to be tied. He had his shoulders squared, helmet tilted down and his feet spread like a raging mudhorn about to charge.

"Took you long enough, Mando." The young man drawled, his blaster thumping against your temple. "Looks like I'm calling the shots now, huh partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em. And you," he jeered in your ear, "had better stay where you are if you know what's good for you."

The Mandalorian obeyed grudgingly, spitting, "Damn it stowaway, why-"

"Hey, it's not my fault that your hotshot pet bounty hunter skittered out from underneath your thumb!" You barked at him.

"I told you to stay safe!" He bellowed in reply.

"I told you first!" You screamed. 

"Will you shut the hell up?" Calican punctuated his request with a solid slam of the pistol grip into the side of your head, the blow sending stars across your vision. "Shut the hell up, the both of you. Now," He continued to Peli, tossing her a set of magnacuffs. "Cuff him."

The older woman slowly made her way down the ramp and Calican shifted his weight nervously, keeping you tight against his side as a human shield. "Fennec was right." He giddily declared to the Mandalorian. "Bringing you in won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary." 

The baby squirmed against your arm, obviously uncomfortable. "It's alright, sweetheart." You crooned, trying your hardest to keep your voice steady. "I'm right here with you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Yeah, except it's not really up to you anymore, is it?" Calican pointed out snidely. Peli raised the cuffs to snap them onto the Mandalorian's wrists and Toro's arm went tense, no doubt in preparation to squeeze the trigger. 

There was a strangely-muffled report and then blinding light seared your eyes, forcing you to slam them shut. Was that a flare? When you opened them again, the Mandalorian was gone. Toro swore, firing wildly at where the armored man had been standing. The kid started to sob pitifully and you struggled against Calican, simultaneously panicking and furious. "Let me go!" You yelled, straining to twist free.

The distinctive sound of the Mandalorian's heavy blaster firing from the side made your ears ring. Calican grunted and you felt his hold on you tighten, the young man toppling off the edge of the ramp. 

The baby!

You reeled, cupping the back of their head when Toro's limp weight knocked you over with him. You barely managed to roll in time, absorbing the brunt of the impact with your shoulder as you hit the ground still half on top of Calican. The sharp edges of his belt buckle drove into your hip for your trouble. 

You coughed out, keenly aware that the child was screaming. Maker, hopefully they were simply spooked by all the commotion. After all, if something happened to them the Mandalorian would absolutely slab you, or worse. 

"You're alright sweetheart." You assured them shakily. You settled onto your haunches as they continued to wail, keeping them tight to your body while you blinked away your reflex tears. "Shh, shh, you're alright. It was just noise and some bumps, love," you soothed, rocking them gently. "I've got you."

The Mandalorian skidded to his knees in front of you, gloved hands fumbling at the little one's limbs like he was checking for breaks. As the child's hysterics petered out into exhausted sniffling, the armored man slowed somewhat. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I-I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, hey. You got him." You interrupted, shaking your head. "I'm just glad you're such a good shot. I'm sure losing my cool didn't help your aim!"

"I d-didn't...know what to do." He admitted. "He was...I just couldn't think of anything else." His hand covered your own on the back of the child's head. "I'm sorry. For everything." He apologized sincerely. "For being so--for treating you like…" he trailed off, muttering something under his breath. His helmet pressed to your forehead and you cursed inwardly, positive he could feel you trembling. "You're not here because you chose to come along." He said finally.

"I did choose, but I get it." You said softly. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have been so reckless. Both when I was working on the ship and, uh, just now, I guess."

"No, you did well. You...you did very well." There was a smile in his voice when next he spoke, "You got him to hand over the kid so I could take a clear shot. You keep surprising me, stowaway."

"Alright, break it up!" Peli said loudly, getting between the two of you to extract the snuffling child. "Honestly, shameless." She chided and the Mandalorian sighed in exasperation, the familiar noise making you smile for a second. "Now, I'm going to assume you didn't get paid." 

The armored man turned and jerked a small pouch off of Toro's belt, then tipped the prolific contents into the older woman's hand. "That cover me?" He asked bluntly.

"Oh." Peli pursed her lips. "Yeah, yep. I'd say that'll just...well, you can have your five hundred seven deposit back." She amended after a moment of counting the various currencies in her palm.

The Mandalorian shook his head. "Keep it. We've put you through enough." He pulled you upright and as he moved to take the child back, you noticed the large impact mark on his breastplate for the first time.

"Hey, wait." You said, catching his arm. "What happened? Your chest…"

"Sniper bolt." He muttered to you. "Beskar took the brunt of it. Got a bruise and a headache from the impact."

"Excuse me, sniper?!" You squeaked. 

"The bounty. She's dead, thanks to a certain someone." The Mandalorian grumbled, none-too-subtly shoving the toe of his boot into Toro's ribs. A large hand palmed the side of your head and you winced, letting him check the area where Toro had struck you with his gun. "Doesn't look like he broke the skin, but you'll be sore."

"Yeah, and you mauling me like a wampa isn't exactly helping that." 

"Sorry. Forgot you're not used to the armor." He apologized again. Maker, you could endure him being apologetic! It made his voice all gentle, even through the modulator. He touched his forehead to the child's, running through a few gestures as their tiny hands clawed for purchase on his smooth helmet. "Let's get moving."

You caught his arm again when he went to turn away and you shifted up onto your tiptoes to press your forehead against his helmet. "Thank you." You said sincerely.

He was still for a moment, before he simply responded, "This is the Way."

"Alright pit droids, let's get this out of here!" Peli ordered, gesturing down at the former Calican as the Mandalorian headed into the Crest with you in tow.

…

You settled the child into their bassinet, running a hand over their tiny head. Those eyes watched you blearily, and a small hand clutched at your sleeve when you went to leave. "Okay love. Do you need a song?" You asked softly, smiling. "A little song so you can sleep?"

The child whimpered uncertainly, their body wriggling underneath their covers. 

You cleared your throat, crossing your arms and leaning on the edge of their bassinet. "Say 'nightie-night' and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me," you sang, stroking a gentle finger down the bridge of their petite nose. "While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me…" You hummed a few bars, continuing to stroke downward on their face. Soon enough (sooner than you expected, truthfully), their heavy little eyelids slid shut. 

You rose from your spot beside their bassinet, stretching and then climbing the ladder to the cockpit.

"How is he?" The Mandalorian asked worriedly before you could even sit down. 

"Tired," was your honest answer. "I didn't even get through the full song before he was gone."

"At least he's sleeping." He sounded relieved. The Razor Crest cruised along sand dunes and broad, flat mesas bathed in the light of the stars and you moved up to the side of his chair, wanting to take in the sight before the ship broke the atmosphere. 

"Wow." You breathed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head to look up at you, but you didn't pay it any mind. "It looks so pretty from up here. Lonely, but..." 

"Beautiful." The Mandalorian finished quietly when you trailed off.

"Mm, yeah. Melancholy." You nodded, accidentally bumping his shoulder as you went to go back to your seat. He waved off your apology silently, already heavily involved in making the star map calculations. 

You just sat and looked on passively, swiveling the seat back and forth. He was entirely engrossed, fingers tracing diagonal lines as he plotted the course he intended to take. It was entrancing to watch him work, watch the calculations play out in real time at the flick of a switch or the pull of a lever. You were so used to astromech droids being readily available, you had never realized the amount of effort that went into something as 'everyday' as flying a ship.

"I'm going to clean myself up." He announced after the Crest punched through the atmosphere and shifted into hyperdrive. "I've got sand in places I didn't know existed."

"It was just like being back on Nevarro." You said with a smile. He unbuckled his harness and rose from his seat, squeezing past you in the tight space. He stank of speeder oil and dewback, so you were absolutely on board with him bathing. 

Before he swung down onto the ladder, though, you heard him grunt and his breath hitched.

"Are you alright?" The query came out louder than you had intended, making you cringe at your own volume. 

"The bitch shot the speeder out from beneath me before she tried to kill me." He shook his head. "I got thrown. Just a little banged up, that's all." 

"Do you…" You struggled to get the words out as he waited patiently at the top of the ladder. "Do you need help? I mean, I know you've probably dealt with way worse stuff than this. Alone, y'know."

You waited for the curt dismissal, or even worse, the heavy, wordless sigh. But instead, "That's very kind of you."

What?

He cocked his helmet, his visor just as unreadable as ever. "I'm sorry if I caused you concern." He said evenly. "I'm alright."

"Wh--Concerned? Me? Ha! I wouldn't...what, about you? It'd never happen!" You blustered. "I-I was just offering because I know you're--you don't have a great range of motion, that's all!"

He immediately bristled, "My range of motion is just fine-"

"Psh, you could barely get your hands up behind your helmet!" You teased, raising your own arms in mockery of his earlier motion.

"I'm stiff and sore. That's got nothing to-" The Mandalorian cut himself off with a growl, shaking his head again. "You're ridiculous."

"If you need help, I'm here." You sang.

"You certainly are, aren't you." And with that wry observation, he clunked heavily down the ladder.

You unbuckled your own harness once you were certain he was sequestered in the fresher, getting to your feet and pulling your tunic up over your head. Toro's belt buckle had left a healthy divot in your side just above where your pants sat; you winced in pain every time your waistband grazed the area. 

You reached for your toolbelt, abandoned on the floor hours earlier once you had finished your work on the engine, and rifled through the pouches for your jar of bacta salve. A staple of any self-proclaimed drifter, the thick cream was useful for everything from numbing to disinfecting an area. You scooped a healthy amount into your palm and then gingerly started smearing it on the angry reddish-purple mark, hissing in pain.

The sound of footsteps on the ladder took you by surprise and you froze as the Mandalorian hoisted himself back up into the cockpit, flight suit peeled down to his waist and sans-armor aside from his helmet. 

He also froze when he saw you all hunched over without your tunic on. Or at least, you thought he saw you. It was difficult to tell where he was looking sometimes. 

"Sorry." You apologized with a helpless little grimace after he just stood there for a minute. "I thought you'd, uh, take longer."

"When did that happen? Did he do that to you?" His voice was rough.

"Oh! It's...it's from when I fell." Why was breathing so difficult all of a sudden? "He had a really fancy buckle that made itself comfortable in my hip." The Mandalorian crouched beside you, his hand reaching out. "Wait!" You exclaimed, catching his wrist with two of your clean fingers. "If you get this salve on your gloves, it'll stain-"

"I don't care." He gritted out. Something in his tone caught you off-kilter, different from when he had been apologetic. His fingers pressed into the skin just above the bruise, holding the area taut. "Shit." He grunted, his thumb circling to rub some of the salve in. "You landed hard."

"Had to. It was either that or crush the baby, and I'm not looking to hurt the kid and get slabbed for my trouble." You mumbled. 

His head jerked up to look at you, beskar helmet barely missing your face. "What?" He asked. Why did he sound confused, of all things? He had been the one to threaten you with it!

"W-Well, when I first...when I came onboard, you told me you'd put me in carbonite. You know, if…if something happened to the kid?" You answered hesitantly.

He was silent for a long time, just continuing to work the salve into your skin while you sat panicking. "That was before," he finally replied quietly. "You were a variable. But after what happened on Sorgan, I..."

"Anyway, I'm not the one you should be worried about right now," you rushed on to point out. "You're the one who got thrown from a speeder bike and shot and whatever else you're not telling me. You're kind of the tactical priority in this outfit." 

His chuckle was rueful. "Just thrown and shot a few times, stowaway. I'm hungry, thirsty and sore, not dying."

"Want me to put together a snack for once you're done getting rinsed off? It's the least I can do for your help here." You offered, gesturing down at your side.

He shook his head. "No. I-I won't be able to eat with you."

"I didn't assume that you would." You startled yourself with your own reply. "I know that your helmet is...well, a fixture. I don't know a lot about the Mandaloria...Mandalorian culture, obviously, but I know enough not to expect any shared mealtimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Shush, look, I get it. It's a vital part of your people's way of life, right?" You waited for his nod while struggling back into your tunic. "So, stop apologizing. Lots of different people have lots of different cultures. You not taking your helmet off isn't offending me, it's what your people do. It's your reality, your day to day." You thumped your chest sternly, "This is the Way, right?"

He laughed quietly, mimicking your gesture. "This is the Way."

"So don't worry about it. I just feel bad that you probably only get a few minutes to eat." You continued, "If you want, you can just tell me when you want your, um, out of helmet time, and I can leave you alone until you say otherwise?" 

"I've survived this long." The Mandalorian hesitated, "That's kind of you to offer, though."

"I'm sure you're used to being alone and being able to take it off whenever." You theorized, a little sad that he had to stay in it all the time now just because you or the child were with him.

"I usually keep it on regardless." He shrugged. "Taking it off just means I have to put it back on. It's a necessity."

"Well yeah but...I'm sure you'd like to not have to inhale your food. Maybe wash your hair. Ooo, wait, do you not have any hair? Are you bald?" You gasped in mock-horror, clutching at your chest theatrically. "Maker, is that why you all keep your helmets on? You're as bald as the kid, aren't you?"

"I do groom myself, you know. Regularly." The Mandalorian retorted, the tilt of his head decidedly haughty. "And I'm not bald. Wish I was sometimes. The nape of my neck grows quickly and if I'm sweaty, I get knots."

"Sounds like something that a bald person would say if they're trying to hide it." You teased, grinning at him.

"M' not bald." He insisted after a second, sounding almost sulky. He yanked his threadbare liner shirt up, jabbing a finger at the thick trail of hair that began around his belly button. "I grow hair. I have hair." He continued indignantly.

"You have pubes." You corrected him automatically, your brain grinding to a halt afterwards. Maker, had you really just-?! 

"I've got body hair." He stressed firmly. "Hair on my body. Not just my pubic area."

Ignoring the incredibly alluring prospect of following that trail of body hair down past where his flight suit bunched up around the 'V' of his hips, you forced your eyes upwards when he dropped his shirt hem. "Stars, that looks like it hurts." You winced sympathetically, taking in the livid purple contusion that spread across his right pectoral. The fact that it was dark enough for you to see it clearly through his liner-

"I can live with it. If I hadn't had the beskar, it'd be hurting a lot less." Because I'd be dead hung unspoken in the air between the two of you. 

"I-I'm glad you have the beskar, then." You managed to say faintly. "I'd hate to have to explain to the kid if something...happened."

"Likewise." The Mandalorian responded, his own tone troubled. "He's...he's gotten used to having you around."

The both of you stood there awkwardly, the silence stretching long. "Did you need something?" You asked finally.

The Mandalorian jolted, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. "Uh, yes! Yes, I was going to ask if I could borrow your...salve. Used up the last of mine on Sorgan and I haven't been able to get more." He mumbled. 

"Absolutely, definitely!" You exclaimed, hurrying to screw the lid back onto the jar. "I'll just...yep, here you go. Bacta salve." You pressed it into his hands, unable to keep from anxiously fidgeting when he didn't immediately leave. He just stood there, staring down at you. "Was there...was there something else you needed?" You queried nervously.

"I'm not sure." He muttered cryptically, tilting his head to the side. "I...I mean, thank you. I'll bring this back." He quickly amended, tapping his fingers to his chin and then all but bolting for the ladder.

"Be careful, you'll break a leg!" You yelled after him, certain that you imagined the husky laughter you got in reply.

…

It was much, much later when you decided to move down the ladder and head for bed. 

You had stayed in the co-pilot chair for ages, slowly spinning back and forth while your mind replayed the way he had hauled his shirt up. It was so nonchalant, innocent. You had been under the impression that Mandalorians had strict rules about exposure, but maybe it only applied to revealing their face? 

You could always ask, but the idea of offending him was somehow even more repugnant now than it had been when he was threatening to give you the full carbonite treatment. 

You sighed and headed for the ladder, moving carefully when you realized the hold was pitch black. 

He must be asleep, you reasoned a split-second before the fresher door slid open and you were blinded by the brilliant light. Right as your eyes shut in reflexive response, they landed on a pile of beskar armor heaped on the floor. 

There was a very familiar helmet sitting on top of it, the visor glaring up at you mockingly.

You heard him curse and you immediately started apologizing, keeping your eyes shut and waving your hands wildly. "I'm sorry! I-I didn't see, I promise! The light-" 

This is it, you realized grimly. This was the end of you.

"I thought you were still up there. You startled me." He paused, yawning loudly and then continuing, "s'alright now, I turned off the light."

"You're...you're sure it's okay to open my eyes?" You asked cautiously. 

"Hmm? Yeah, it's fine." He mumbled, and you heard the sound of fabric rubbing rapidly back and forth. "Had to clean the armor first, n' then me." His voice was so clear without the helmet. You would be lying if you said you weren't entranced by the soft gravel of it.

You snuck a peek and were simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find that you were still blind. "Shit, I got all turned around." You swore, crouching slightly and feeling your way forward. "Don't want to trip on your knightly attire and wake up the kid." A large, warm hand caught your elbow and you almost shrieked. "Hey! Warn me next time. Maker, I lost years off my life from that!" You hissed, your panic intensified in no small amount by the fact that it was his actual skin touching you, not leather gloves. 

In that moment, you felt like you were somehow responsible for breaking seventeen different rules. And you weren't entirely certain whether you were particularly contrite about it.

"Mhm." He could apparently see fine in the darkness, or at least well enough to lead you across the hold to the space behind the pile of crates that you had claimed as your own. "This s'your stop, stowaway." He murmured sleepily. You froze when you felt his chin brush your forehead lightly, stubble rubbing against your skin and a set of lips pressed to your hairline as he breathed, "G'night."

You managed to pull yourself together long enough to squeak out a reply of, "sleep tight," and you proceeded to tunnel into your blankets once you were certain he had left. What was that?! you asked yourself frantically. 

That was...he was human underneath all that armor. You had known that. 

Technically. Logically. Your brain understood that even before he had decided to flash the great golden expanse of his abdomen at you. So what was the issue? 

Had he just kissed your forehead?! Did that even count as a kiss or was he just so tired that he had bumped into you accidentally? Nothing about it seemed accidental, but he was exhausted. It must have been a mistake, a clumsy little...accident. That's all it was. 

You were just reading too much into it.

Part Five

[graigoo]

Jivin’ Bones (Chapter Two)

Summary: The above world isn’t what Sans thought it would be, not that he had ever given it much thought. With all his old friends busy living their own lives, even Papyrus away from home more often than not— Sans is left to entertain himself. Bored, he turns back to the Underground. To the broken machine hidden in the back of his workshop. In the process of fixing it, the machine malfunctions and sends Sans into an alternate world.

Thrust into a harsher reality, Sans must survive long enough to find a way back home… while being pursued by a version of himself that’s all too interested to know who the new skeleton in town is.

Inspired/Influenced by Sooner or Later You’re Gonna be Mine

Pairing: Bara!Mobfell Sans/Sans

Warnings: Mature, Graphic Violence, Sexual Content

                                                Chapter Two

Pop.

Sans blinked once, twice, looking from the empty bar stool to his own held out hand.

Had that little… no, not possible. It was a well-known fact that Sans was the only monster in all of the world who could teleport. It was a powerful ability that required a lot of magic, more than some puny, calcium deficient looking skeleton could pull off.

The ability couldn’t be called rare, because that implied there were others who had it. Teleportation was a one-of-a-kind type of power that had monsters jumping at their own shadows and turning to look down every dark alley they passed. Just out of fear that the most mobile of the Gaster brothers would be there. The terror he had painstakingly crafted for years around the use of such an ability was a point of pride for Sans.

But if not teleportation, what other explanation could there be for the loud, familiar pop sound followed by the sudden disappearance of the runt? Unless the runt had turned to dust right in front of him out of sheer terror after learning just who he’d been insulting, but as there was no dust on the bar stool; Sans couldn’t think of another explanation.

And sans any other explanation, he would have to accept the most obvious one available to him, for the time being. Could be teleportation was a skeletal ability. There wasn’t a large enough population of them to really know. Only three- now four.

But if the runt had teleported, that would mean….

Why, of all the disrespectful, insolent, downright rude—That little daisy had run out on him!

Sans’ open hand clenched into a fist, the bones pressed together tightly as he shook with barely contained fury.

“That little…” Glaring at where the stranger had been sitting, Sans slammed his fist onto the counter, cracking it. “Grilby, get your flamin’ ass out here!” He shouted, anger burning hot in his chest.

Just wait until he catches that grifter, Sans will show him what comes of taking one of the Gaster brothers for a sucker. He’ll bend those slender fingers back until he hears them snap, and he won’t stop until that daisy apologizes proper for his rude behavior. He’ll—

“You called?” Grilby said loftily, interrupting Sans’ angry internal tirade and acting like a man who’s done no wrong. The flame monster looked around the bar, from the bar stool, to Sans, to the door. A slight smile spreading across the man’s face as he noticed the lack of miniature skeleton in the room.

“Who the fuck else?” Sans snapped. His language always deteriorated with his mood, and right now he was in a real fucking bad one. Called before the sun could even rise about some strange skeleton, only to show up and have the stranger act all uppity and disappear like he had that right. And now this trash was smiling at Sans like he was the one who messed up.

If only Grilby could read a fucking room.

“You lost him,” the flame monster announced, eyes slight in that taunting way.

Sans responded by reaching across the counter, grabbing Grilby by the front of his cheap jacket, and pulling him half way over it to glare directly into the flame monster’s face. He’s not about to be disrespected twice in one night. Especially not by some do-nothing bar keep.

“Might lose somethin’ else if you don’t watch your fuckin’ tone.” Sans threatened

“You can’t kill me, big brother’s orders.” The flame monster smirked at him. But Grilby wasn’t as effective at coming off unthreatened as the little skeleton had, Sans noted. He could see the purple flames losing their brightness, he could see the shadow of fear darkening those lilac eyes. Grilby shook slightly in Sans’ grip, his breathing was shallow and uneven from poorly concealed panic.

Not that he blamed the flame monster. In all honesty, they both knew Sans had killed for less than a little back talk. Just like they both knew, Gaster’s orders be damned, he’d kill Grilby if he pushed the familiar attitude too far. Sans didn’t tolerate flipmouths well on the best of days, and today was not turning out to be a good fucking day.

It was reassuring though, to see that after the disappearing stint that runt had pulled, he hadn’t actually lost his terrifying touch. That little daisy’s nonchalance had simply been a fluke. The knowledge did wonders for Sans’ temper.

His grip on the other’s jacket loosened, but he didn’t let go. His expression shifted from murderous to calculating. Both threatening in their own, unique ways. Grilby might have gotten the point; that he couldn’t talk to Sans like they were anything close to equals. But Sans still needed to hammer that nail in deeper. Maybe splinter the wood in the process, it all depended on how well Grilby understood the deal that was about to be made.

And if it came across as Sans taking his anger at the little daisy out on Grilby, then he had that right too.

He lowered the other monster just enough that his feet touched the ground. Enough that Sans once again towered over him, eyes glowing bright as he regarded the smaller monster with a calm he didn’t feel. The thinnest wisp of red magic beginning to leak out of his left eye-socket.

Grilby gulped and Sans smiled at the sound.  

“How’d you like to lose another bar?” He asked casually, like he hadn’t been a hair’s breath away from ending the flame monster’s life. Sans could let Grilby go now, but even the bravest of monsters lost their bravado when Sans was so close. And no one had ever called Grilby brave. The other’s flame belying just how slimy he really was.

“You… you wouldn’t!” Grilby shouted like a man afraid to raise his voice. “Where else would I go? Wh- where else would you get your mustard?”

Oh, bad move. Trying for sympathy, trying to make it out that Sans needed him in any way. Like he wasn’t some disposable piece of trash that was only spared the compactor because Gaster had taken some small ounce of pity on him. When would he learn things weren’t the same as they were ten years ago? Sans had moved up and on from the days where Grilby could be considered anywhere within the realm of his equal.

“Not my problem,” Sans said. “My problem is your attitude, talkin’ to me anyway you want.”

“No- no I… I didn’t mean—” Grilby began, only for Sans to cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Was losin’ one bar not enough? Gettin’ kicked outta Fell?” They were rhetorical questions, but Grilby still not getting the point, answered anyway.

“It was one mistake!” Grilby began heatedly, like he was about to start up that long dead argument. Like he didn’t already know Sans hated repeating himself.

“Don’t,” Sans warned. “You got off better than ya deserved.” Considering Grilby was still alive, Sans wasn’t wrong. Not that he ever was anyway, at least where trash like Grilby was concerned.

Sans was already thinking about how easy it would be. The bar was old, fire resistant by the same magic that allowed the flame monster to wear clothes. Course a fire would have been a dull way to do it. Fire’s take everything out quick and clean. Good for taking out competition or doing in the businesses that refused to pay their bills, but not when the intention was for the recipient to really suffer. Fires were just so impersonal, a bat or crowbar, however…

Yeah, yeah… even if their conversation went exactly the way Sans wanted, he might send some of his boys back in Fell City down to Snowdin anyway. Have them smash the place up real good. Might actually do Grilby some good. Remind him just low down in the pecking order he was. That the shitty old bar he clung to was a fucking privilege given to him by the Gaster brothers. And they could take it way just as easily as they had his bar back in Fell City.

Grilby has been skating on thin ice for the past three months, and he’s burning through it fast.

“Ya see, my bro only said I couldn’t kill ya, he didn’t say nothin’ about your bar…” Sans trailed off, the amusement he derived from tormenting Grilby slowly starting to creep into his voice. “… Unless ya were to apologize for disrespectin’ me and lettin’ that little daisy go.”

And there it was. If his brothers were to find out about his first meeting with the new skeleton, it wouldn’t be Sans taking the fall for him escaping. Wasn’t really his fault, anyway. Grilby should have known to drug the bastard’s drink.  

“Bu… but I…” Grilby’s gaze darted around the bar, taking in all he had left in the world. A dirty bar with no patrons. It was more than most had these days.

Grilby looked down at where Sans had his jacket gripped, voice soft as he finally said, “I’m sorry.”

Sans grunted.

“… Sir,” Grilby added dispiritedly.

Sans grinned and released his hold on Grilby’s jacket. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He mocked, condescension dripping off every word, chuckling when the flame monster stumbled back from the abrupt release, hitting and rattling the alcohol bottles on his back shelf.

“I was startin’ to think that runt’s bad manners had rubbed off on ya,” Sans continued conversationally.

Grilby didn’t say anything as he straightened his jacket and dusted off his shoulders. Instead the flame monster watched Sans through trepid eyes. Finally, not answering Sans’ rhetorical remarks.

Reaching behind his vest and into his left breast pocket for a cigar, Sans nodded approvingly. Lesson learned; it was back to business. The mark of a professional was being able to turn down the heat after a successful negotiation. Threats would become meaningless if after the desired results were achieved, he went and carried out the threat anyway.  

“Did you know he could teleport?” Sans asked.

“He can teleport?” Grilby simply parroted back, voice still full of that wonderful tamed quality. “That would explain why I didn’t notice him coming into town…”

“So, you didn’t see nothin’ until he walked into this shit hole like it was open for business?” Sans asked, eyes carefully observing the other monster for any signs of deception… or disrespect.

“It is open for business—” Grilby started defensively.

Sans snorted, “course it is, course it is.”

“I… I mean, yes, I didn’t see anything until he was already at the counter,” Grilby said, sounding just the right level of submissive.

Sans reached around to his back pocket to grab a lighter. “And what did the guy want? Couldn’t be your company.”

Grilby sniffed, affronted by Sans’ intentional jab, but too shaken from earlier confrontation to quip back. Good, looked like Sans had hammered that nail in deep. He couldn’t have the guy thinking they were pals just because he made Sans’ favorite drink. Just because, back before Sans’ name meant something, he and Grilby might have been…

Frowning at finding no lighter, Sans checked his other back pocket. Nothing there either. Seemed that in his haste, he had forgotten his lighter back home. Not that the rush could be blamed, after all a skeleton monster was a rare thing.

Though rare as they were, he still hadn’t expected to walk in and see that choice piece of calico seated at the bar looking like he’d just been waiting for Sans to show up and liven up his morning. The strange skeleton had been about as small as a monster could be, looked real fragile too. Not like the usual straggler types Sans came across. The runt had looked so queer in those ugly shorts and slippers that Sans hadn’t known what to make of him. Still, the puns shouldn’t have caught him off guard the way they did. Though, more off putting had been his own reaction to them.

Looking back on it, Sans should have just yanked the little fucker to him and teleported them both back to his place.

“… He did ask for ketchup, if that’s of any interest to you,” Grilby said as he began to shakily put the bottles that had been knocked around back into place.

“Ketchup?” Sans raised an eye-socket, looking down at the half-empty bottle on the counter. It was on its side, having fallen over either when he hit the counter or pulled Grilby over it. He chuckled and reached for it. Such a fruity drink.

“He really is a fruit cake,” Sans said while inspecting the bottle, giving it a little shake.

The bottle should still have some of the runt’s scent on it, meaning he could pass it over to some of Fell’s finest bent cops for inspection. Half of them being dogs, it would be the easiest way of tracking him, not that Sans wouldn’t put some of his own leg work in. Even with Grilby set up to take the fall, if either of his brothers discovered the runt first, there was a chance he'd let something slip. And if his brothers found out Sans had not only been told about a skeleton monster none of them knew, but had also let said skeleton monster escape…

Sans shook his head to lodge the gruesome visualizations from his imagination. Best not to think too deeply about it. He and his brothers had been on… non-too-hostile terms for some time now, and he didn’t want anything to jeopardize that- certainly not some runt of a monster who ought to consider himself lucky should Sans decide not to feed him to the dogs after catching him. Small thing that he was, not like there’d be much to chew on.

Sighing, Sans decided he should finish his business at the bar before his anger could begin fizzling inside him again, a low heat but ready to boil over at any moment, as it was ought to do.

“Ey, gimme a light,” He ordered Grilby with a sadistic smile.

The flame monster’s thin lips tilted down into a hesitant frown, but he knew better than to tell the skeleton no. Without a word, Grilby stepped forward and leaned across the counter, trembling slightly as he blew purple fire onto the tip of Sans’ cigar, lighting it up. Heh, looked like Grilby still remembered the last lesson Sans had taught him.

“Appreciate it,” he said smoothly, bringing the cigar to his mouth and holding it there between his clenched teeth. Sans was a Mafioso, sure, but he still had manners- when they were warranted. It’s what separated he and his brothers from the general criminal population of Fell City. And other, smaller skeletons, apparently.

Though, would the little daisy even be in the city? If he didn’t know who Sans was, there was a good chance he didn’t know Fell was exclusively the Gaster brothers’ territory. Not a crime was committed in that city, not a single weed plucked, without the one doing it stopping to consider if it would land them on the wrong side of a magically sharpened bone.

But if not Fell, where would the stranger go? There was nowhere else to go. The Underground wasn’t the populated place it once was. After the barrier had been lifted, the citizens had rushed to the surface, gasping in the new air like fish that had been held out of water. Sans would have considered it pathetic had he not been right there with them. As it was, there wasn’t anywhere to go in the Underground that a little daisy could be safe. They needed a different kind of light than what the Underground could offer.

No, the runt had to be on the surface, in Fell. Teleportation was limited to the amount of magic Sans could use at any given time, and he’d bet all of his ill-gotten green that it was the same for the smaller skeleton. And there was no way such a tiny thing could carry more magic than him. That meant he had to be up top, probably not far from the mountain. Either already in the city or on his way there.

It was convenient timing, the little daisy’s arrival. What with the elder Gaster brother out of town for the foreseeable future; meant Sans got to deal with the new skeleton his way.

Wing Dings was off in Hotland doing who knew what in the labs, which gave Sans and Papyrus free reign of the city to do as they pleased with it, within reason. Of course, neither of them had any particularly big plans for it. The big plans were always left up to Wing Dings, while Sans enjoyed with the smaller problems in the city. Not because he couldn’t. While their older brother was gone, Sans was perfectly happy to leave the majority of control to the city to Papyrus, who reveled in the chance to make the city more into his image.

Which meant that in the few short months that Wing Dings has been gone, at least three new Italian restaurants had opened up.

The only real instructions Wing Dings had left for them was to continue collecting their protection fees, keep the drug and weapon trade running smoothly, make sure the other mafia families didn’t get too curious about their brother’s vacation, and to report back any suspicious behavior should something out of the ordinary happen. Whatever that had meant.

Now Sans was starting to get an idea. If only he hadn’t been so damn patient with the runt. If only the little daisy hadn’t been so damn funny. Practically a ray of sunshine compared to the kind of folks Sans usually interacted with. Times as they were, every milksop and gadfly was walking around looking like gray was a mood. Who could blame Sans for enjoying a bit of color? Everyone had their vices, and shitty jokes just happened to be one of his.

Sans took a drag of his cigar, lazily blowing the dark red smoke out his nasal concha. It curled in the air and Sans watched it through half-open eyes.

He had wanted to take the little daisy’s hand and teleport them to the top of Mount Ebott, just to see his reaction. It was a rare sight to see a monster without at least one nick in him, even rarer to see him looking all soft and innocent, guarded without really knowing what he was trying to keep out. Made everything he did interesting to look at.

Weird clothes, though. The smaller skeleton had been showing a lot of bone, and while he appreciated the view, Sans had to wonder if it had been intentional. Meant to distract enemies, or maybe the guy was just one of those flamboyant types. Then there were those pink slippers. Pink. On a man! Of all the crazy footwear…

Sans sucked in another drag from the cigar, contemplating his next move.

He needed to find the little runt before people started to take notice of him, and not just because of his brothers’ potential retaliation. Folks were going to assume things, and Sans wouldn’t let the Gaster name be associated with a random skeleton out there looking like some trampy bum.

They had a carefully crafted image to uphold, after all.

With that thought, he turned and walked out of the bar, without so much as a goodbye to its owner. The man wasn’t worth the words, and that Sans turned his back to Grilby was a sign of just how inconsequential a threat he considered the other monster to be.

Sans stepped out of the bar with a yawn and flicked the remnants of his cigar into the snow. He would teach that little daisy to think he could walk out on a conversation with Sans C. Gaster… right after a nap. It was too damn early for this shit.

 ~ Fin

AN: So this was a much, much shorter chapter. I'm trying not to have Fell Sans come out and just info dump everything about this world, but rather have it be revealed organically throughout the story. The next chapter will be longer and back to OG Sans' POV and contain more world building. (i know he's technically called classic, but i like calling him the true OG.)

I'm so glad people are interested and thus far enjoying the story. And as always, continued feedback is appreciated, even (constructive) criticism.

1900s Slang:

Sucker – a gullible person Flipmouth – a person as of and pertaining to backtalk; attitude inflection in voice; disrespectful wording Choice piece of calico – a desirable woman (or monster, in this case) Queer – something/someone that is odd, different, strange or non-mainstream Green – money Milksop – a person who is indecisive and lacks courage. Gadfly – an irritating person or thing

[hysterialevi]

Red Dead Rising | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: 12 YEARS BEFORE RDR2 - Greed, money, and larceny. These are the only things Arthur has ever known; the only things he’s ever been taught. But when Dutch decides to hit a town called Harlow, what started out as nothing more than a plan to rob the local bank ends up igniting the events that lead to RDR2, and a 24 year-old Arthur is forced to confront his morality while the gang faces a terrifying enemy of their own making.

Point of view: third-person

This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad

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Author’s note: Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. It was really late when I finished this and I don’t have the energy to review it lol. Hope you enjoy regardless though :)

TWO MONTHS LATER

APRIL, 1887

INDIGO PEAK

Scribbling down a few more lines into his journal, Arthur added some last-minute touches to his sketch of Indigo Peak, doin’ his absolute best to capture what was in front of him.

There was a whole array of purple mountains just sitting in front of this camp. They all sat in a majestic, uneven line right above the horizon and towered over a gathering of evergreen trees, separating the sky from the wildlife that lived in the fields and meadows below.

The white sun also hovered above the mountains in a thick blanket of blue-tinted clouds, and provided the landscape with an abundance of rays. They passed through the space between the summits like something out of a painting, and touched the ground in a scattered pattern, giving the grass a dotted look.

It was extraordinarily beautiful, in Arthur’s opinion. He had seen nature’s beauty many times before, but... it was just one of those things that never got old.

Unfortunately for him however, he absolutely despised his drawing.

“Dammit...” Arthur muttered, smudging some of the graphite out.

How did people do this? Arthur originally got the idea to try it from Thomas who was constantly sketching away in his own journal, but the man made it look so easy. His “doodles” were always so detailed and lifelike, and in the meantime, Arthur’s looked like someone drew them in the midst of an earthquake. Or, at least, that was how he saw it.

The young outlaw let out an annoyed sigh and shut the journal closed, deciding to take a break for now as he relaxed on a nearby tree stump.

He was planning to visit Mary, anyway. The woman sent him a letter not too long ago, and apparently, she was in the region with her family. They were attending the wedding of one of her cousins and were staying at a farm that her grandparents owned, just outside of Harlow. Arthur figured he may as well stop by and say hello before they left.

He just hoped he could avoid Mr. Gillis.

None of the people in Mary’s family really liked him to begin with, but that man was an absolute menace whenever Arthur was around. The young outlaw didn’t know what the hell it would take to please Robert, but the fact that the one person who wanted him dead was the father of his fiancée worried him, to say the least.

Arthur understood Robert’s concerns about letting his daughter marry someone who was a criminal -- any good father would -- but at the same time, he thought he had more than proved himself during his time with Mary.

Arthur never put her in danger, or allowed her to get involved with the gang’s activities. He kept her well away from anything Dutch or Hosea did, and even promised to leave that life behind once he and Mary finally tied the knot. There was also the fact that little Jamie seemed to enjoy having Arthur nearby.

He just didn’t know what else he could do to show Robert that he would be a good husband. Maybe he thought Arthur wouldn’t keep his promise? Or that he was too incompetent?

Well, whatever the case was, Arthur had a bad feeling that Robert was going to be more of a headache than he originally expected. He assumed the man would’ve warmed up to him by now -- the wedding wasn’t too far away, after all -- but that obviously hadn’t happened yet.

He supposed he would just have to keep trying. Mary always told Arthur to have hope, but the young man wasn’t so sure that’d be enough anymore. Mr. Gillis was probably the most stubborn man he’d ever met in his life, and if things didn’t work out between the two of them -- well, that was a bridge they’d have to cross when they got to it.

Arthur just prayed he wouldn’t ever have to worry about that.

Breaking the silence, the sound of people arguing suddenly drew Arthur’s attention away from the landscape and cut off his train of thought, leading him to see what all the commotion was about.

It looked like Thomas and Mac were currently stuck in a spat about something at the moment, and the latter seemed to cling to his companion while he strode around camp, desperate to get away from the quarrel.

“--I’m just saying,” Mac reiterated, “we can’t wait forever!”

“And we won’t,” Thomas replied, clearly vexed. “But we need to be careful.”

The two of them came to a halt, carrying on with their argument not too far away from where Arthur was.

“C’mon, Mac. We’ve been robbing stuff with Hosea for nearly a year now. You know how this works. We make a plan, we wait, and when the time comes, we strike. It’s always the same.”

The other man crossed his arms. “Yeah, but we ain’t never robbed a bank before!”

Thomas placed his hands on his hips. “All the more reason to make sure we do this right. We only have one chance to pull this off, Mac. You understand that? One chance. Ain’t no way we can come back from this if we fail.”

Mac let out a sigh, still not convinced.

“It’s been two months, Thomas. How much longer are we gonna wait?”

Moreau leaned against a tree, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“And what happens if the law finds out we’re here? We gonna move camp again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what about Shaw? Has he made any progress with Farley?”

“I don’t--!” Thomas took a breath, calming himself down. “...I don’t know.”

Arthur jumped into the conversation before the two of them could argue any further and glanced over his shoulder, trying to defuse the situation.

“Hey, uh... you boys alright?” He called out.

Thomas dismissed the question, evidently just wanting to walk away from this.

“We’re fine, Arthur,” he answered, his tone saying otherwise. “Just... a tad anxious about the upcoming robbery.”

Mac scoffed. “If it ever comes.”

That caused Moreau to snap somewhat. “Yeah, well, you got any better ideas, Callander? Maybe you think we should just run up to the bank and shoot our way through the front door? In broad daylight. Oh, and while we’re at it, we could say hello to Sheriff Farley on the way back to camp! Maybe stay at his place for a cup of tea.”

“You know what, Frenchy,” Mac fired back, “you can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. Why Hosea even bothers puttin’ up with your bullshit is beyond me. He shoulda left you in New Aubertin as far as I’m concerned.”

“My bullshit?” Thomas repeated. “If I recall correctly, it’s always me who’s cleanin’ up after you and Davey! Like that hell y’all raised back in Mercy when Hosea first found you.”

“Oh, you’re really gonna pull that one out now--”

“--Gentlemen!”

Bringing the dispute to an abrupt halt, a guttural voice suddenly cut Mac and Thomas off right before things started to get heated, causing everyone to fall silent as a third party joined the scene.

Sauntering in their direction, Dutch casually walked up to the pair of outlaws with an amused grin on his face as he took a long drag on his cigar, chuckling at their behavior.

“You know, gentlemen, while I do appreciate a good ol’ fashioned fight like no other man alive...” he breathed out a puff of smoke, “...I’d rather you saved the killin’ for Farley’s boys. We got enough of a storm comin’ our way as is.”

Thomas sighed wearily. “Sorry, Dutch. It’s just... folk are gettin’ restless. We been sittin’ on this bank robbery for two months now, and Shaw has yet to give us the all-clear. Some are worried that we’re never gonna pull this off.”

Dutch smiled, pointing with his cigar. “Now, listen to me son, if there’s anything you’re gonna learn from your time with me, it’s that losin’ faith never did no one any good. This robbery is going to happen, and it’s going to happen soon. In fact, I actually received a letter from Benjamin yesterday evening. He thinks we can make our move at any minute now..”

Mac’s expression lit up with a newfound interest. “What? Really? When?”

The other man didn’t promise anything just yet. “I don’t know, but I’m planning to pay him a visit in Harlow. We’ll speak to him face-to-face, and see when we can get things rolling.”

Arthur picked up on that. “We?”

Dutch turned to him. “Yes. I need you to come with me too, Arthur. Apparently, Ben’s got a job for you to do. He asked for you specifically.”

Well, it looked like Arthur wasn’t going to see Mary as soon as he thought. The young man concealed his disappointment.  “...Alright, I guess.”

“Good. Then you and I will take a trip down to Harlow, see what Benjamin wants, and in the meantime...” Dutch brought his gaze to Thomas and Mac, “make sure the camp stays in one piece while we’re away, would you?”

Thomas nodded. “Things’ll be fine when you get back.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Dutch put out his cigar and headed for the horses, beckoning Arthur. “Come on, son. We got a job to do.”

Slipping the journal back into his satchel, Arthur removed himself from the tree stump and followed Dutch at a brisk pace, sticking close-by while Thomas and Mac returned to their business.

It looked like the two of them had calmed down by now, and to finish things off, they exchanged some final words before parting ways for the afternoon.

“Hey...” Mac murmured apologetically, “sorry for, um... what I said back there. Y’know I didn’t mean it.”

Thomas let out a fatigued breath. “...Sure. I know.”

The hot-tempered outlaw threw in a quick offer. “...Wanna head down to the saloon later?”

Thomas repeated his answer, although a bit more relaxed this time. “Sure.”

Arthur grinned at the sight and chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. He supposed he and Marston weren’t the only ones who had a relationship like that.

There was no doubt that the little boy drove Arthur insane sometimes, but deep down, the young man knew he could never really hurt John. The kid was like a baby brother to him, after all. Dutch and Hosea pretty much raised them like siblings, and underneath all the havoc, Arthur couldn’t deny that he loved Marston.

He just wished he could get some alone time once in a while. Lord knew John loved getting attention.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt any plans you had,” Dutch suddenly remarked, bringing Arthur back to the task at hand. “I know I dragged you into this rather quickly.”

Arthur decided to be honest with him. “Well, I was gonna visit Mary, actually. She’s in the region right now, and wanted to see me before she left. But it’s like you said, we got a job to do first.”

Dutch approached Belle-Dame, unhitching her from the post. “Mary’s in Harlow?”

“Not Harlow,” he corrected. “On a farm outside of it. She’s stayin’ there with her father and grandparents.”

“Ah. Well, tell you what -- we’ll just have a short chat with Benjamin, hear what updates he’s got for us, and afterwards, you can go on and see Mary. Sound good?”

Arthur mounted Abitha, readying himself for the ride. “Sounds good.”

Dutch smiled at him, climbing on top of his own horse. “Thank you for bein’ patient with me, Arthur. I know this process has been long, but we are gonna do this. We just gotta push a little bit more, and soon, that bank’ll be ours to pillage. Now, c’mon. Harlow awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE GALLOWS, HARLOW

Falling with a sudden drop, the criminal collapsed beneath the gallows’ surface and dangled morbidly in the air, causing the noose’s rope to go taut while the crowd watched in both horror and fascination.

Harlow was normally a peaceful town, and even prided itself on having such a low crime rate, but recently, things had changed for the worse... and everyone could feel it.

No one knew exactly where this feeling came from or why it was appearing so suddenly, but for the past couple of months, a peculiar sense of dread loomed over the town like a dark cloud that just wouldn’t leave.  

There were more thefts, more break-ins, more fights... and even more murders. The people of Harlow were either vanishing or dying one-by-one, and as a result, the entire town was on edge. Though, no one was quite as stressed as their beloved sheriff, Ronan Farley.

The man had the population of a small city depending on him. Harlow always looked to him for answers whenever things went wrong, and normally, he was able to provide.

With everything that was going on though, the sheriff was at a loss for words. Ronan truly had no idea why the town’s overall safety had deteriorated so quickly, and the possibilities of what could’ve been at the heart of all this made him shudder.

Farley had been dealing with outlaws for long enough to know that crimes like this didn’t just fall out of the sky. There was something bigger going on here. Something lurking in the shadows... but he couldn’t act on pure speculation alone.

If Ronan was going to get to the bottom of Harlow’s turbulent situation, he’d have to hope that the people responsible would expose themselves eventually. His hands were full enough as is, and without any proper evidence to conduct a thorough search, there was really nothing more he could do.

Farley’s hands were tied.

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

SHERIFF’S OFFICE

“That’s the third execution this week...” Deputy Leighton said with a discouraged sigh, gazing out the window. “What is happening to this town?”

Ronan removed his hat and placed it down on the desk, offering some reassurance to his friend.

“Keep it together, Andrew,” he reminded the young lawman. “This ain’t the first time we’ve dealt with this.”

“True,” the deputy conceded, “but lately, it just feels like... the wind’s shifted in Harlow. Like our luck’s run out. There are more criminals hangin’ from the gallows than there are bounties on our wall, and this idea that we can’t do our job as lawmen anymore is startin’ to propagate.”

Andrew took a seat at the desk, leaning back in exhaustion. “...Everything’s just a mess.”

Andrew Leighton was the youngest out of the four deputies, and also happened to be the newest, apart from Deputy Shaw. He had only been working with Ronan for about six months, whereas Buchanan and Sommer had been at the sheriff’s side for a couple of years.

Andrew was twenty-one years old, and in contrast to his fellow lawmen, carried a slightly more gullible demeanor to him, often making him a target.

He wasn’t naive, necessarily. Andrew had seen more than his fair share of violence in the past, but he had also been blessed with the curse of wanting to believe the best in people. He tried to maintain the idea that no man was truly evil, and that good nature was reflected in his appearance.

Leighton had a clean-shaven face, a pair of kind blue eyes, and a head of short blond hair that he always kept in a neat style. He wore a slate-blue Classic Frock coat on top of a white shirt and black vest, and adorned a black Paragon Town hat to go with his boots.

Sheriff Farley, on the other hand, sported a much rougher temperament. The hardy man had loose and short brown hair, a full beard, and a noticeably wounded look in his eyes. He was only in his late-thirties, but had a few extra wrinkles creasing his face due to all the stress and lack of sleep.

Ronan’s usual attire consisted of a somewhat weathered Gaucho hat, a dark-brown duster coat, and a scarlet-red vest that he wore on top of an opened white shirt. His boots were nothing fancy and bore no sort of design, but they were sturdy enough... sort of like the people he worked so hard to protect.

Gazing blankly at the empty jail cells, Andrew decided to put professionalism aside for a moment and posed a more colloquial question to Ronan, hoping to get his honest opinion.

“Hey, sheriff...” he said, “can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Andrew softened his voice a bit, not wanting to announce their conversation to anyone in the vicinity.

“...What d’you think is really goin’ on in Harlow?”

Ronan paused at the vagueness of the question, not entirely sure what Andrew was getting at.

“What do you mean?”

The deputy took a second to clarify. “The deaths, the disappearances, the sudden lack in morale... Harlow’s had its rough patches, sure, but nothing quite like this. You think it’s all just a coincidence?”

The sheriff didn’t crack his shell just yet. “Coincidence or not, we’ll get through it.”

Andrew didn’t buy it. “...With all respect, Ronan, I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not that dense. I’m sure you out of all people can sense something’s wrong in Harlow. Something that... we might not be ready for.”

Ronan took a seat across from Leighton, hoping to relax for just a second.

“It ain’t our job to speculate, Andrew. When there’s a problem, we’ll deal with it. But we can’t go searchin’ for trouble when we don’t even know what to look for.”

“I know,” the deputy agreed, “it’s just... I hate this feeling, y’know? This feeling of sittin’ around, not being able to help the folk ‘round here. Everyone’s worried that we’ve got a rough road ahead of us, and they expect us to solve all their problems, but... we can’t even do anything without solid proof. I suppose I just wish I could do more.”

Ronan leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the desk.

“You’ve got a good heart, Leighton, but we’re the last people this town needs to be gettin’ paranoid. Stay vigilant, and remember to use your head. If anything does happen to Harlow, it’s gonna need all of us to protect it.”

Andrew nodded in reassurance, deciding to drop the subject for now. “...You’re right, you’re right. I can’t go startin’ trouble when there might not even be any. I gotta keep my head on my shoulders. It’s just... it’s difficult when you don’t actually have a target to shoot at yet. But... you’re right. We’ll be okay.”

The deputy stood up from his seat and headed for the door, leaving Farley to his thoughts.

“...Anyway, thanks for listenin’ to me ramble, sheriff. I didn’t mean to put all that on you. You’re a rock for more people than you realize. I just hope I can repay you someday.”

Ronan’s expression remained flat, but it was still clear to Andrew that he appreciated the remark.

“You don’t owe me anything, Andrew.”

Opening the door with a firm pull, the deputy wasted no time in getting back to work and headed out into the open, only to stop in his tracks when he found someone blocking the doorway.

It was a woman. She was about ten years older than Andrew, and a head of black hair that had been tied into a loose bun.

The dress she was wearing appeared rather simple in terms of design, but it still carried an elegant shape regardless. The upper part was a soft shade of white, and the bottom had been dyed mahogany brown. As a way to top it all off though, the woman had also tied a yellow scarf around her neck, and let most of it hang off her back like a miniature cape.

The young deputy recognized her immediately upon seeing her, and gave her a brief greeting.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Farley.”

The woman smiled in response. “Hello, Mr. Leighton.”

Allowing Mrs. Farley to step in first, Andrew waited off to the side until she was in the office before finally making his way out, shutting the door closed behind him.

As for Ronan, the man got up from his desk almost as soon as he saw his wife and approached her, concerned about what she might be doing here.

“Annabelle? Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she replied calmly, sensing her husband’s uneasiness. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check up on you. You haven’t been home much lately.”

Annabelle glanced out the window, lowering her head in fear as a grim expression spread across her face.

“I... heard about the execution today. That’s the third one this week, isn’t it? Or is it the fourth?” She let out a sigh. “I can never keep up. The days seem to blur together now with all these hangings. Are you... doin’ okay, Ronan? All of this pressure can’t be easy on you.”

Ronan sat on the desk’s surface, sliding a hand down his face.

“I’ll be honest, Annabelle. I’m... I’m worried.”

Annabelle stepped in front of him and gently held his hand, rubbing it in a comforting manner.

“Worried? About what?”

The sheriff gestured to the door. “Well, Andrew was talkin’ about this just before you came in, but... he feels like Harlow’s luck has run out. As if our time as a safe hamlet is over. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”

That sparked Annabelle’s interest. “Really? Why? Has somethin’ happened?”

Ronan shook his head. “Nothing in particular, but it don’t take a genius to see that Elijah, Curtis, and Suzanna’s murders are connected. Accordin’ to the evidence we found, they were three separate cases with three different killers -- and we hanged all of ‘em -- but... something just doesn’t feel right. Even after all that chaos, it feels incomplete.”

Annabelle took on a more steadfast tone. “Well, what do you think is happening? Forget the evidence. Forget what people are saying. What does your gut tell you?”

The sheriff fell silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“...I think there’s more goin’ on here than we can see. I think somethin’ big is coming our way. I dunno what, or how, or even when... but I believe the true killer is still out there. The murders just seemed too similar. Too easy to solve. It all felt contrived to me, and I believe Harlow won’t be safe so long as the real murderer is still roamin’ about. I believe it’s gonna get a whole lot worse before it gets better.”

The woman furrowed her brows in anxiety, mindlessly tightening her grip.

“...You’re frightening me, Ronan.”

The man snapped out of his suspicions for the time being and put them aside, bringing a loving hand up to Annabelle’s face.

“I’m... I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to scare you. Things have just been tense around Harlow these past couple of months. I guess I needed to get that off my chest more than I realized. But don’t you worry. I’ll be home tonight. Before you go to bed.

Annabelle beamed at that, afterwards pecking a kiss on Ronan’s cheek. “Good. I miss you.”

The sheriff chuckled softly at that. “I miss you too.”

Mrs. Farley took a step back, still grinning from their conversation. “Well, I’ll let you go now. I’m sure you have many things to attend to. Just... be careful, okay? Harlow needs you now more than ever. And so do I.”

Ronan nodded firmly. “I will. The same goes for you.”

“Of course.”

Annabelle wandered closer to the door, offering some last-minute advice to the troubled sheriff before she left.

“These are strange times, Ronan. The only way we’re gonna get through them is with each other. Don’t forget that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

THE BLUE BRONCO SALOON, HARLOW

Sitting on top of a barrel, Arthur avidly sketched in silence while Dutch slowly paced around in boredom as the two of them stayed patiently behind Harlow’s saloon, waiting for Benjamin to turn up.

It had been quite a long time ever since Arthur last saw Ben. The man visited their camp occasionally to keep Dutch updated on things, but Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he and Ben actually sat down together and just... talked.

He wondered what he looked like now. What he was doing. How he was getting on.

Sure, Ben wasn’t always the nicest man, or even the most righteous, but as strange as it sounded, that was one of the reasons why Arthur liked him. To him, it made Ben seem to more genuine.

He may not have always been the most eloquent with his words, and sometimes he straight-up tried to avoid people, but Arthur knew that deep down, Ben never worried about hiding behind some sort of pretense.

He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, so there was never any doubt whenever Benjamin expressed his thoughts. Ironically though, he was the one Dutch chose to act as somebody else.

Arthur didn’t know why Dutch thought he’d be the best person to work as a mole. Ben never struck him as somebody to go undercover like this, but despite Arthur’s concerns, Dutch seemed to have no skepticism surrounding Benjamin’s capabilities. According to him, he was the “perfect” man for the job.

Arthur just hoped everything would turn out okay. The gang had worked so hard and for so long to get this robbery done, that for something to go wrong now would’ve been a major setback.

The folks back at camp were nervous enough about robbing a bank for the first time, and Arthur didn’t even wanna think about the chaos that would ensue if their plan failed.

It was like Thomas said. They only had once chance to get this right, and there was no room for impulse. They needed to focus.

“Whatcha workin’ on there, cowboy?” Dutch asked, making Arthur pause mid-sketch.

“Drawing.” The boy answered simply.

His companion smirked. “Oh? Drawing what?”

Arthur shrugged. “...Things.”

“That so? What kinda things?”

The young man gestured aimlessly at their surroundings, admittedly somewhat shy to talk about it. “Y’know, stuff. That we see. Horses, people, trees.”

Dutch chortled humorously at that. “Oh, okay.”

Arthur sighed. “Look, it ain’t nothin’ fancy, alright? I just do it when I’m bored.”

The other man’s grin only grew wider at his annoyance. “Well, please, don’t let me disturb you. Carry on with drawing your... ‘things.”

The young outlaw mentally groaned to himself, returning to his work.

Just before he could start sketching again however, a third person walked into the scene, causing both of them to divert their attention.

“Gentlemen.” Benjamin Shaw greeted flatly, strolling in their direction.

Benjamin was a scraggly-looking man with sunken cheeks due to his growing addiction to alcohol, and displayed a collection of small scars on his face, the most prominent one being a thin, horizontal gash that sat just above his left brow.

As for his hair, it was chocolate-colored and reached long enough to touch his shoulders. In terms of style though, the strands were rather tangled and messy, and his facial hair wasn’t anymore tame.

Benjamin had nothing more than a prickly layer of scruff sticking to his jawline, but there was a slim gap in his mustache from another scar that sliced downwards across his mouth.

On the topic of clothes though -- at the moment, Benjamin was wearing a black Collar Overshirt with a hickory-colored leather jacket that made his badge stand out like a beacon in the night, and he adorned a dark pair of trousers as well as some Sleeked Riding boots to match the Stalker hat that he always wore.  

Overall, he looked pretty much the same compared to when Arthur last saw him, and that made the young man happy.

“There you are!” Dutch replied excitedly. “How the hell are you, my boy?”

Benjamin didn’t appear to return the enthusiasm. If anything, he looked exhausted.

“I feel like shit and I look like shit, but I got some information you might be interested in, Dutch. Though, it ain’t all good news, I’m afraid.”

Dutch’s expression dimmed instantly at the news. “Straight to the point, I see. Very well, then. What is it?”

Benjamin lowered his voice. “Well, the good news is I think we’ll be able to hit the bank soon. Ronan and his deputies trust me. It took some convincing, believe me, but they finally see me as one of their own.”

“Extremely well done, Ben. I knew you was the right feller for this job. When do you think we’ll be able to rob the bank?”

The “deputy” thought for a minute. “Give me... one more week. I’ll be able to get things rollin’ by then.”

Dutch switched to a more serious tone. “Just one more week? Are you certain? We don’t wanna rush this.”

Benjamin insisted. “I’m certain. I’ve got the whole town on edge with a string of recent crimes, and tensions are startin’ to build. Now is the time to do this. If we wait too long, this may not work.”

The other man nodded in understanding. “Okay, then. I trust your judgement. One more week and then we’ll finally hit this goddamn bank. I’ll let the people back at camp know. Now... what’s the bad news?”

Shaw leaned in a bit more, making sure that no one else could hear them.

“I did some investigatin’ into Sheriff Farley, and it turns out, that ain’t even the man’s real name.”

“What?” Dutch questioned, taken aback. “Then what the hell is it?”

Benjamin was quiet for a second, almost like he was worried to see his friend’s reaction.

“O’Driscoll.”

Arthur’s eyes popped wide open. “You’re shittin’ me. The sheriff of this town is an O’Driscoll?”

“Not just any O’Driscoll,” Ben clarified. “He’s Colm’s older brother.”

Dutch’s face scrunched into a glower. “How d’you know this?”

“I overheard Ronan and his wife talkin’ about it,” Benjamin explained. “Apparently, he changed his name to ‘Farley’ many years ago ‘cause he didn’t wanna be associated with the O’Driscolls no more. Sounds to me like he and Colm didn’t get along.”

“So, he’s not working with the gang?” Arthur asked.

“No. I don’t think so. Ronan’s got a strong hatred for outlaws. I highly doubt he’d ever work with them.”

“Still,” Dutch added, “it’s something to think about. When we first arrived at New Aubertin, Thomas told me there had been rumors of the O’Driscolls being in this region. If Colm’s got any affection left for his brother, and he finds out what we’re doing -- we need to be extra careful from here on out.”

“Agreed.”

“Well,” Dutch said, heading back to his horse, “I’m gonna return to camp. Let ‘em know about the plan. In the meantime, Arthur will help you out with that job you mentioned. Stay safe, you two. And keep a low profile. We’re this close to robbin’ that bank. We ain’t botching it now.”

Taking his leave, Dutch removed himself from the saloon’s vicinity and rode back to camp like a bat out of hell, eager to deliver the good news to the gang as the sun steadily began to set.

Meanwhile, Arthur stayed behind with Benjamin and simply remained seated on his barrel while the other man found a comfortable spot next to him, leaning against the saloon’s wall in a casual manner.

“So...” Arthur began, “what was that job you had for me?”

Ben took off his hat, wiping some of the sweat off his forehead. “There was no job.”

The young man raised a brow. “What? So why’d you ask Dutch to bring me here?”

“Because you’re one of the few people I like to talk to, and I need a break from this mess.” Benjamin quickly lit a cigarette, offering one to Arthur. “Anyway... how’ve you been? Things goin’ good at camp?”

Arthur took the cigarette and waited for Ben to light it, continuing the conversation. “As good as they can be. I’m plannin’ to visit Mary later. Apparently, she’s in the region.”

The other man’s face sagged with obvious disapproval. “Ms. Gillis is here?”

“Yes. You mean to tell me you still don’t like her?”

Benjamin put out the match. “It ain’t that simple, Arthur. Mary’s a sweet girl -- I ain’t suggestin’ otherwise. I just don’t know how serious she is about marrying you.”

Arthur couldn’t deny that he struck a nerve. “What do you mean by that? She said yes, didn’t she?”

“Well yeah, but how long before that dusty, old shithead father of hers gets in the way? You really think he'll have no influence on Mary? He’s already tryin’ to put your head on a pike as it is.”

The young man let out a cloud of smoke. “Mary loves me, Ben. And I love her. Nothing’s separatin’ us. Besides, what her father does ain’t her fault. I really don’t understand why you and Grimshaw dislike her so much. ”

Benjamin sighed in defeat. “We’re just lookin’ out for you, Arthur. You’re a good man. Much better than a lot of us. We don’t wanna see you get hurt. But... if you trust her, then I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I did too. Just don’t expect me to weclome her with open arms anytime soon.”

Arthur picked up on Benjamin’s agitated tone, suddenly worried about his friend’s well-being. This wasn’t just about Mary... was it?

“Hey...” he said, speaking more softly, “r’you good, Ben? I mean, you’ve always been an angry bastard, but you seem especially irritated today. What’s goin’ on?”

Thinking to himself for a moment, the deputy remained quiet and ignored Arthur’s question as he thought about what to say next, clearly conflicted about something.

It was unusual for Ben to be so reserved. He wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but... even then, this sort of behavior was odd for him. Normally, he’d crack a joke or two -- maybe throw in a hint of sarcasm here and there, but today, he was completely serious.

It made Arthur suspect that this whole job was having more of a toll on Benjamin than anyone in the gang truly understood. Dutch did kind of force him into this, after all, and Arthur really had no idea what sort of experiences Ben was going through in order to get the gang where they were now.

Arthur just hoped that Ben wasn’t angry with him personally. It was no secret that Dutch favored the young man over anyone else in the gang, and part of Arthur couldn’t help but feel as if that was what got him out of doing this job, despite the fact that Hosea originally planned to send him or Thomas.

Just what was going on?

“...Y’know what, Arthur,” Benjamin finally said, sounding far more drained than before, “I won’t lie to you. These past two months with Ronan and his men... they’ve opened my eyes to some things. Things that... that make me question everything I’ve done in my life.”

Arthur turned to face him. “What d’you mean?”

Shaw looked at him with a guilt-ridden gaze, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“...I’ve done some terrible stuff throughout the years, Arthur. Stuff that even you don’t know about. I’ve hurt people like it was nothing, killed others for the sake of money, and even turned my back on a few folks who loved me just like you and Dutch do. But... after workin’ with Farley, I’m not sure that’s the man I wanna be anymore.”

Arthur quirked a brow at the statement. “Wait, are you sayin’ you wanna become a lawman for real?”

“Not a lawman,” Ben corrected, “but I dunno if I’m gonna be returning to the gang after this robbery. I’m thinkin’ of maybe going my own way. Starting a different life with the money we take, while I still have the chance. I’m... I’m sorry, Arthur. I probably should’ve said something sooner.”

The young man protested. “You can’t leave, Ben. We need you in this gang. Not only are you one of the best people we’ve had, you’re also my friend. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Benjamin flipped the subject to him. “And what about you? You’re gonna be a husband soon, Arthur. Possibly even be a father someday. You can’t stay in this life forever. It’s gotta be left behind eventually if you wanna be there for your family.”

Arthur felt admittedly somewhat cornered by the response.

“I-I know. And I’ll leave it behind when the time comes, but I still owe it to Dutch to stick with him throughout this whole thing. He saved my life. Yours, too. You’ve said it yourself.”

“Yeah, but my life wasn’t worth savin’ when he first found me. I wanna make sure that it is before I go.”

Somewhat overwhelmed by Benjamin’s sudden confession, Arthur gave the man nothing but a concerned gaze in response and simply sat there with a cigarette in his hand, watching the smoke dance from its tip as it slowly burned away.

Meanwhile, Benjamin threw his to the ground and swiftly stubbed it out with his boot, marking the end of their conversation.

“Do me a favor, Arthur,” he said before returning to his work. “Don’t become the same man I was. When the time comes, make sure you do what’s right.”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to take that advice. “It ain’t always that easy, Ben.”

“I never said it would be easy,” he countered. “In fact, it’s probably gonna be a goddamned nightmare before any of this blows over... but it’ll be worth it. So long as you do the right thing. Remember that.”

With that being said, Benjamin walked off into the busier parts of town just as more people started pouring out of the different establishments around Harlow, ready to go back home for the evening.

He threw a casual wave over his shoulder, saying one last goodbye.

“Take care of yourself, Arthur. Lord only knows what the future holds.”

[buckymcbuttfacebarnes]

Some Other Night

Pairing: biker!bucky x reader

Word Count: about 3.2k (yall i got carried away)

Warnings: lotta fluff tad bit of angst yall know the drill

a/n: long italicized portions are memories! let me know what yall think!!! if yall have any suggestions or requests just message me!!!

my other fics

The bar wasn’t far from home, and because it was summertime the sun still shone with its bright golden glow even though it was nearly seven o’clock, so Y/N decided to walk to the bar and catch a ride back home with Bucky.

The aroma of fried food, alcohol, and cigarette smoke enveloped her senses the moment she entered. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit interior for him—he wasn’t hard to miss. He stood with his back to her, his loose bun and familiar broad shoulders distinguishing him from the rest of his group of biker buddies, a fairly large group of men and like, two women. This was their hangout spot on Saturday nights, which she knew, having been with Bucky and the group for about two and a half years now. Y/N herself wasn’t a biker, she had actually met Bucky at the auto-repair shop he worked in. She went in with the intention of getting an oil change for car and ended up being sweet talked into going on a date with him. One date turned into two, two to three, and so on...until before she knew it they were a legitimate item. This prompted her, of course, to get to know his friends. He had told her that they were his family, the most family he’d ever had anyway.

Sam was the first to spot Y/N upon her entry. He flashed her a wide grin before shouting, “Wifey’s here!”

Bucky turned, beer in hand, a doting look on his face. “Hey, baby doll,” he greeted warmly, opening his arms to welcome her forthcoming embrace.

As her arms wound around his neck a mocking snort of disgust was heard, probably from Nat. “Buck, you big softy,” Steve tsked, earning a giggle from Y/N. It was still amazing to her how different Bucky could be towards his friends and towards her. There were two very different sides to him, an unbeknownst fact to outsiders looking in. He could be so warm and playful, other times so stoic and vulgar. At times like these she got to see both sides at the same time.

“I’ll still kick your ass, Rogers,” he quipped gruffly, pressing a kiss to the side of Y/N’s head. His free hand rested on the small of her back. “I thought you had to work late tonight, doll. What ya doin’ here?”

“What, am I intruding?” she replied in an amused tone, parting from their warm embrace to give the group a look that seemed to say ‘Get a load of this guy.’

“No, doll, it’s-” he began to sputter apologetically, earning teasing laughs from the group.

“Cool it, Romeo, I’m kidding,” Y/N grinned taking his beer from his hand and taking a swig.

“You have got this man whipped,” Sam sang teasingly.

“How many times are you going to say that, Wilson? No, really? How many more do you have left in you? Can we get an estimate?” Tony sarcastically asked.

“Yeah, Wilson,” Bucky chimed with a satisfied grin.

Tony turned to him and tutted, “I’m not defending you. You’re whipped. I’m just tired of hearing Wilson chirping it all the damn time like a fucking parrot.”

Sam’s brows raised before a coy look befell upon his features. “So it’s not the fact that I’m saying it, it’s the tune? Well why you ain’t say that, man? I can fix that right now, hold on, look.” He cleared his throat in preparation.

“Alright, alright,” Y/N cut in with a loud laugh, “We don’t need none of that, Sam...Anyways, what’s goin’ on gang? How’s everybody been?”

It was a simple inquiry, but it was a question that had kicked off the entire night, as it often did. They spent time dishing on their love lives, family lives, personal lives. They had been a close-knit group before Y/N came into the picture—very close...and they hadn’t collectively accepted her with open arms at first. They weren’t unpleasant, but she could tell they were guarded. Wanda was welcoming, by far the sweetest out of the bunch. She assured her that the group would warm up to her...it would just take some time.

“Look, Bucky, I don’t know about this.”

“C’mon, what’s the big deal, doll face. We both know they’re all gonna love ya! Plus, you’ll be hangin’ with me, so you know you’ll have a good time,” the blue eyed devil winked playfully.

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“Too soon?” he scoffed, brows furrowing. “Never too soon to meet the gang! These are the people I spend the most time with—they’re like family!”

“Family? Buck…” She stood between  his legs. He was seated on the edge of his bed, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.

“Not my real family, but you know. Friend family.” The cool metal fingertips of his left hand gently ghosted across the bare skin of the back of her thigh.

“Still family. What if they don’t like me?”

“Then they’re bigger dumbasses than I thought.”

“I don’t think I’m hardcore enough for these people. They all have Harley’s and cool jackets,” she pointed out factually, lips pursing. “I don’t got that shit.”

“You’re hardcore enough for me,” Bucky grinned that wolfish grin of his. “You like it real hardcore, huh, doll?” he asked teasingly, bringing her down onto the bed with him in one abrupt, swift motion. He began tickling her relentlessly, “Say it, doll! Say it: ‘I’m hardcore!’” He had her in a fit of side-splitting giggles. The sound of her laugh was like a symphony in his ears. It was a beautifully contagious sound, he found himself laughing too. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til you say it!”

“I’m—” the giggles kept her from finishing the phrase.

“You’re what?” he asked mockingly. “Hurry up, dollface! My hands are gettin’ real tired.”

“I’m hardcore!” she shouted, her chest heaving as his hands left her body. Her hands flew up to wipe the tears from her eyes, her laughter slowly subsiding. “Get off of me you fucking neanderthal. I can’t breathe.”

He chuckled and climbed off of her. He pressed a sloppy, lingering kiss to her lips. “So you’ll come. They’ll love ya. You said it yourself, you’re hardcore.”

“Gang, this is Y/N,” Bucky introduced her happily. “Y/N this is...well, everybody.”

She received a collective murmur of hellos and heys as a response. She caught a pretty redhead’s eye for a moment and she smiled. The redhead scowled in response. Y/N noticed the weary look in the broad shouldered, bearded man’s eyes. What did that mean?

The group dispersed on their own after a brief, unexciting conversation amongst themselves and Y/N,  some heading to the kitchen to get drinks, others going off to mingle with other partygoers.

Buck smiled at her, “I think that went fairly well.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Y/N shrugged before she herself left to grab a drink.

At the party that evening, Y/N felt completely out of place. Bucky, being the gentleman he was, was hesitant to leave her side when she told him to go mingle with his friends. It took a little convincing, but she finally got him to leave her alone—she couldn’t look like some wimp that wasn’t capable of making her own friends. While she knew she had to go out on a limb here and approach them herself, she wasn’t striving to please anyone. She wanted them to like her, but she wasn’t willing to go out of her way to make herself especially likable tonight.

“Y/N,” someone called out to her above the thrum of the music. She turned to see one of Buck’s friends approaching her. A girl with long brown hair, a very pretty smile on her face. “Hey, you’re one of Bucky’s friends. I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.”

“I’m Wanda,” she introduced herself, a toothy grin on her face.

“Wanda,” Y/N repeated. “Buck talks about you a lot.”

“All good things I hope.”

Y/N smiled, “Oh, always. He speaks very highly of you,”

“He speaks highly of you too, y’know? You’re all we hear about. It’s always Y/N this, Y/N that...That man...he’s gone. You’ve got him.”

A betraying heat rushed to her cheeks as she tried to hide her sheepish little grin. Bucky talked about her to his friends? That was a normal thing to do...why did it make her so tingly and warm inside?

“Oh, I hope I’m not freaking you out...he just...he really likes you, that’s all. Bucky doesn’t tend to like women enough to want to keep them around for too long, you know?”

“I didn’t, but now I do I guess,” she laughed.

“Yeah, uh, don’t tell him I told you that...it’s just the few times he has invested in a girl...girls are mean,” she concluded. It was enough for Y/N to understand what she meant. They were weary of him getting hurt again, which made sense. No one ever wants to see their friends get hurt, especially at the hands of another. “Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy he has you...and...don’t mind everyone else, okay? Mostly Steve, he’s protective over him. Nat too.” Wanda shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and offered another one of those warm smiles. “They’ll warm up to you, just give it some time. They’re real nice people.”

“No, no, no,” Nat objected quickly, waving her hands dismissively. “How many times do I have to tell you this? You guys don’t get to talk about sex. You’re fucking each other,” she exclaimed.

It was nearing eleven o’clock now. The gang had been there for hours, talking about absolutely everything and nothing all at the same time. The found themselves squished in the same booth, those who couldn’t fit pulled up chairs near the booth. Y/N was wedged between Bucky, who had his arm wrapped around her protectively, and Steve.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’ve heard eighty million of your guys’ sex stories,” Y/N responded.

“But, we know both of y’all. Not just one,” Sam explained factually as if it were a science. “It’s just different.”

“She likes it rough,” Bucky stated, wiggling his eyebrows as he looked amongst his group of friends.

“Yes, we’ve heard,” Sam sneered, his nose wrinkling in disgust. A similar look graced Steve’s face, who, despite his facial hair and longer locks, had a very boyish manner about him. Y/N sunk in her seat, her face flushing with an embarrassed glow. “Oh, no—don’t act all shy now. You wasn’t shy when you was doin’ all that yellin’ and moanin’ at Tony’s New Year’s party.”

Thor laughed, his broad shoulders shaking with every eb of laughter. “Oh, Bucky—Oh my God, Buck—ow!” His eyes averted to Bucky, who had kicked him beneath the table. “Not necessary.”

“So, since you two are so open to airing out your dirty laundry, let me ask you this,” began Tony, “when are you two gonna tie the knot?”

“Tie what knot?” Y/N glanced up at Bucky with a playful glint in her eye before she took a few fries from the plate in the middle of the table. They were eating in attempt to sober up enough to make their short rides home.

“The marriage knot.”

“We don’t call her wifey for nothin’,” Sam chirped. There was a pause. Y/N had an inexplicably coy little smile on her lips. She and Buck had only barely discussed the prospect of marriage, though she was very enamored with the idea of being his wife. She stuffed a couple more fries into her mouth, as her friends looked at her expectantly. She turned her gaze to Bucky, she mirrored their expectant gazes.

“Yeah, Buck. When you plan on tying me down for good, huh?”

“Who’s to say I didn’t plan on doing it tonight, hm?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he peered down at her.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Shut up, James.”

“If I asked you to marry me right now, what would you say?”

“I’d say...no, probably,” she teased.

Bucky nodded slowly, began digging in the pocket of his jeans. “In that case,” he began, a cheeky grin coming to his lips as the entire table was silenced. “Y/N Y/L/N,” he was still digging in his pocket. “Will you do me the honor of putting my phone in your purse?” From his pocket he pulled his cellphone and placed it on the table in front of them. There was a mischievous grin on his face. “Please?”

“You damn bastard.”

He got a lot of shit for that one. Steve was convinced he was going to see a proposal and was extremely let down. Tony was just pissed. Sam thought it truly was a “dick move”. Wanda and Nat both said they would kill him, if Y/N desired. Thor thought it was funny.

The conversation changed topic shortly afterwards, returning to raunchy stories of the sexual escapades of the group. And though Y/N loved nothing more than laughing it up at the expense of her friends past sexual ventures, the idea of marrying Bucky was awfully prominent in her mind. She knew it wouldn’t change anything for them. They already lived together, they shared everything. She adored him, she loved him. He loved her too. She didn’t need a ring to prove that love to herself or to him or to anyone else...but still...it was such a magical idea. Was it cliche to think that?

“I think I’ll marry you someday,” Bucky slurred as he walked clumsily into the house, using Y/N as support.

“You’re super drunk, Buck.”

“I mean it. No really, I do,” he insisted with a crooked smile. His eyes were barely open. She led him into the kitchen and handed him a cup of water.

“Drink that.”

“Y/N, doll face, I’m serious.”

She leaned her back against the sink, arms crossed over her chest while she watched the drunken man take tentative sips of his water, his tall figure swaying just slightly. It had been about six months since the couple had began dating. Never in her life had she seen him drunk like this. He was a man who could hold his liquor, she supposed he must’ve gotten carried away—or most likely, Thor had brought that good shit. Within the few months of their relationship it had been difficult getting him to open up, she learned that his feelings, specifically his feelings for her, poured out of him when he was drunk. She wondered if that would ever change.

“Are you listening?” he placed the glass on the counter and stumbled across the kitchen over to her, his hands resting on the edges of the counter on either side of her. He was closing her in, leaving her no room for escape.

“Mhm, I’m listening, James.”

“I love it when you call me that...when you call me by my name. It’s different when you say it.”

Y/N could not hide her grin, her hands reaching up to cup either side of his face. He leaned his head lovingly into her touch, a sigh leaving his lips, his breath tart with the heavy smell of the alcohol.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Only...only if you’ll say you’ll marry me.”

“Not tonight I won’t.”

“Some other night then, huh doll?” he asked, his innocent tone almost making her wish that she had said yes the first time.

“Yeah, baby, some other night.”

Bucky gently squeezed Y/N’s shoulder, he brought his lips closer to her ear. It was nearing twelve thirty now. “You wanna get out of here?” She nodded in reply, her head tilting back slightly to rest against his chest.

“Alright guys, we’re gonna head out,” he announced. They slid out of the booth together, one after the other.

“I’ll see y’all later, alright?” Y/N smiled at those who remained in the booth and gave a little wave. Despite her attempts to say goodbye were missed though, the group before her shared a collective gasp, their eyes focused on something behind her. She turned to find that Bucky was no longer standing, but was down on one knee.

Her breath hitched audibly in her throat. What the hell? Her hands flew up to her mouth as she looked down at him. There was an earnest smile on his lips and his eyes shone like the most beautiful blue jewels she’d ever seen. There was a stillness in the air that made her heart race. This couldn’t be real.

Bucky reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, that earnest expression shifting into one of pure confusion as he pulled out a pack of gum. He looked to the group and then back to his girl. “What? I bent down to tie up my shoe, then I found some bubblegum in my pocket.”

From behind her, Y/N could hear Steve muttering, “You fucking punk.” Steve was not one to swear.

She dropped her hands from her mouth, they were now balled up into fists at her sides. If she was a little crazier she might have punched the shit out of him. When he stood he towered over her. Perhaps that would have been intimidating if she wasn’t so pissed. “You’ve gotta be really evil to do some shit like this, you got me excited for nothing!” she accused angrily, though there was a hint of a grin threatening to curl at her lips.

“You want a piece?” he offered, holding out the pack to her.

She did not hesitate to hit it out of his hand, “No I don’t want none of your bullshit gum! What the fuck?”

“What? You said no earlier, now I know you’d say yes,” he teased. He knew she would have said yes tonight or any other night that he might have chosen to ask her. He just enjoyed being an asshole sometimes.

“Whoop his ass, Y/N!” Sam exclaimed from behind her. His statement was met with a clamor of vocalized agreement from the others.

“I love you, baby doll,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head as he began to lead her towards the door.

“I should punch you in your face right now,” she shook her head in incredulous disbelief. She and the entire group, had fallen for the same trick twice in the same night. “So you plan on actually proposing sometime or what? I promise you will die if you do this again.”

“Is that a threat?”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“Alright, fine. Soon, I think.”

“You think?”

“Actually, I know.”

“Alright then when?” 

“Dollface, you’ll never see it comin’. It’ll be when you least expect it.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll let you do that when we get home,” he winked.

[darkmystress00]

In Living Color Ch 9

A/N: I am back from the dead!!!!! So this year has been particularly rough for me...my husband and I had some marital troubles, that basically killed my motivation to write. Then we spent many months working on us, which required me to dedicate my time to that (rightfully so). Then I went back to school for my masters degree (I'm over half way done!!). Then in August I started work again...and now...after many many MANY moons I decided to go back and reread this fic because I missed it.

I realized that part of why I was having a hard time writing it was because I didn't like the direction it was going. I didn't like the attention being given to Rick (a very married Rick) and decided I needed to go back and change it...so if it feels a little disjointed and kind of abrupt I'm sorry. I tried to make it a smooth transition. I like the idea of Beth just being happy with colors right now, rather than focusing on figuring out who her soulmate is, because having a crush on married!Rick just feels wrong to me. It might come back...it might not. I honestly haven't decided...but there you go. Enough of me rambling.

I did not send this to beta. I need to ask my lovely beta TWD_fan05 if she will take me back! (TAKE ME BACK BOO!) All mistakes are 100% mine.

Pairing: Bethyl

Catch up: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 |

or read on AO3 or FFN

The burial was small, quiet. Not even Carol cried. Beth had stood silently at the back of the crowd, watching how everyone just stared at the little pile of upturned dirt. She’d watched as one by one the group trickled away until it was just her and Carol. Beth moved slowly forward, studying the woman’s worn and tired face. “I’m sorry,” she started, reaching out but withdrawing quickly when the woman shrunk in on herself, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Carol just nodded. “I know I never met her, but I can tell you loved your daughter very much, and she was somethin’ special.”

“I did. She was something special.” Carol rasped out.

 “You’ll always have a place to visit her now.” Beth tried. “I know it’s not the same -”

 “No.” Carol cut her off. “No, that thing wasn’t my little girl.” She took a steadying breath. “My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time I thought...I hoped. She didn’t cry herself to sleep at night. She didn’t go hungry. She didn’t try to find her way back. No, my Sophia died a long time ago. That’s just some other thing.” And with that Beth watched as Carol turned sharply on her heel and marched away from the little gravesite. She couldn’t help the choked up breath that caught in her throat at the idea of so much pain. Losing a family member was never easy or painless, but losing a child...now that was a pain so deep Beth couldn’t even fathom it.

 Beth meandered her way back to the farmhouse, watching as people moved listlessly around, offering comfort where they could. This was a hard blow to the group, and she hadn’t a clue how to handle it. Her eyes landed on Rick and Lori, hugging and comforting each other, and she was only mildly surprised to find that she wasn’t being eaten alive by jealousy. Her eyes watched as they hugged each other close, whispering words of comfort into each others ear. Rick’s hand went to Lori’s still flat stomach and Beth averted her eyes.

 Her stomach churned and she swallowed before moving quickly to the house to go inside. She needed to think. She needed to clear her head. So much had happened the past few days, and Beth needed to process. The squealing of the screen door signaled her entrance into the house, but she ducked her head and dashed upstairs to her bedroom, avoiding Maggie when she heard her calling her from the back of the house. She didn’t want to see her sister right now. She didn’t want to see her daddy right now. She didn’t want to see anyone right now. Silently she shut her bedroom door, before climbing up on her bed to sit cross-legged on top of her bedspread.

 Her eyes landed on the fabric, fingers gently dancing along that patterns of the quilt, as she got lost in her thoughts. Her mind floated back to the image of Rick and Lori together. Beth sighed. Something was clawing away at her insides but she couldn’t put her finger on it. All she knew was that she didn’t want to wait for Rick. Rick was going to be a daddy...again. Even if he was the one that triggered her colors, she would never do anything to put herself in the middle of that family. There was so much love there, she couldn’t bare to watch it fall apart.

 Beth sighed. She couldn’t even say for sure if he was her soulmate. If he was, he sure didn’t give any hints about it. Not that she was expecting him to profess his love or just come out and say it for all to hear, but the man didn’t even make mention of colors, ever. And, if he suddenly started seeing color, after being with his wife for that long, wouldn’t that cause a little bit of a surprise? Wouldn’t he even try to figure out where the colors came from? The more Beth thought about it, the more she really doubted he was her forever.

 That left just one other person. Daryl. Beth contemplated him. He was quiet, and sometimes seemed protective of her (but honestly he was protective of pretty much everyone in his little group), but other than that…he seemed like he couldn’t be bothered with her. He seemed more likely to spend time with her sister than with her. Beth nibbled on her lip before letting out a sigh.

 She was a right selfish little kid. She flopped back onto her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. This group had lost Shane (thank goodness), and Carol’s child Sophia, and they’d almost lost Carl. They were reeling from so much loss, and she was up here sulking and worrying about her damn colors, rather than being down there trying to comfort others. Her head jerked as a knock sounded on her door. She sat up, watching as her father poked his head into her room. “Hey Doodlebug, you alright?” She smiled at Hershel Greene.

 “Yeah, Daddy. Just doin’ a little growin’ up, I think.” He gave her a confused look and she smiled.

 “I can’t be worryin’ ‘bout my colors right now. Daddy, they’ve gone through so much, and I’m over here worryin’ ‘bout why I get to see all these pinks and blues, and greens, and who caused ‘em.” She shook her head. “That’s just so selfish right now.” Hershel looked like he wanted to interrupt but she stopped him. “My colors aren’t goin’ anywhere right now. I gotta help them. I gotta learn how to take care of myself. I got bigger things to worry about.” Hershel gave a nod. “I’d like to learn how to defend myself.” Her mind floated back to the incident in the barn with Shane. “I’d like to learn how to fight, and take down walkers.” Hershel’s face suddenly turned thunderous. “I know, you don’t want me to, but I could wind up like that little girl. All this,” she motioned to her room, “could go away, and if I can’t defend myself, I will wind up like that little girl.” She swallowed. “I’m big enough, I’m old enough, I need to learn, Daddy.” She studied her dad for a heartbeat before she heard him sigh.

 “I know, you’re right, Bethy. But that don’t mean I’m not afraid of you gettin’ hurt.” He looked down before he made his way to her bed and sat down beside her. “You’re all I got left of your mama, and I wanna keep you safe.” He smiled at her, “But I’ve crippled you. Tryin’ to keep you safe, I kept you from being able to care of your own.” He stroked her cheek gently. “You’re right. You do need to learn. You and your sister. I’ll talk to Rick and see if he has anyone willin’ to work with us, to teach us.” Beth beamed at her dad before flinging her arms around him.

 “Thank you daddy.” She breathed into his shoulder. She felt him nod before he released her gently. “I should get downstairs and start putting something together for dinner. I don’t think many people are goin’ to be too hungry, but we should still have somethin’ ready.” Hershel patted her cheek.

 “You are so much like your mother. Always worrying about others and tryin’ to take care of them.” She grinned as she stood up. “Not much of that left in the world.”

 “I know. That’s why it’s so important for me to keep on keepin’ on.” He nodded his agreement before he stood.

 “You are right, Doodlebug, you are very very right.”

 ~~~

 Beth groaned as she washed up for dinner. Her arms were sore, she was tired, but she was so elated. True to his word her daddy had talked to Rick about training the lot of them to defend themselves. Everyday for the past few months she’d woken up early and trained, first on how to use a gun properly, and now she was working with a knife. It was clear she needed to build more muscle, but never as clear to her as when she came home aching and dirty from training. She wasn’t even really fighting or taking down walkers, just practicing on things here and there, but she still came back aching and sore every day. It was so sad, but she was glad for the training.

 Rick and Glenn both said she was coming along and pretty soon would be able to handle herself out there. She knew they were lying and just trying to be nice, but she appreciated it all the same. Daryl, never said much, but today as she’d walked away he’d mumbled out a “Doin’ good, girl.” and she’d just about broke her face with how big her smile was. Praise from Rick, Glenn, and even her daddy, was common, but to hear the ever silent Daryl mumble a word or two of praise really must have meant she was doing something right.

 She washed the last of the sweat and grime from her arms and face before she dried off and made her way to the kitchen. Lori was there, peeling the last few potatoes they’d gathered from the garden, her tummy just starting to show signs of the growing baby inside. “Hello, Beth.” Lori chimed. “How was training? I hear you’re really comin’ into your own.” Beth beamed at her.

 “I’m tryin’. Daddy and Rick both say I’m doing a great job, but Maggie still thinks I’m more likely to stab myself than any walkers I come across.” Beth shrugged at the thought of her sister. “I just gotta keep workin’ at it.” Beth joined her at the sink to finish peeling the potatoes so they could start making dinner. Beth watched Lori as she worked and smiled. Since Sophia’s funeral she and Lori had become quite close, laughing and talking. Lori was one of the biggest sources of her confidence when they first began this whole training situation. When they’d begun working with the guns, Lori had insisted she learn how to shoot as well, and was honestly only a touch better at it than Beth herself. They’d both laughed (because what else could you do really) when they’d started at how utterly horrible they were at shooting a target. Together they’d grown and gotten stronger until Rick had declared he didn’t want Lori working with blades and hand to hand combat given her ‘delicate’ state. Lori had snorted and torn off in a mad fury, but ultimately he had been right and Lori had taken up the household duties that Beth was doing when they’d first arrived.

 “Daryl says you’ve gotten stronger.” Lori mentioned casually and Beth’s heart hammered a little faster in her chest at the idea that she impressed someone enough that they’d praise her when she wasn’t even around.

 “Really?”

 “Yeah.” Lori nodded, “To get a compliment from him is like moving the heavens themselves, so you must be doin’ something right.” Beth laughed.

 “Well, I haven’t stabbed myself or anyone else...so I guess that’s progress right?” Lori shook her head and nudged her elbow gently.

 “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

 “No, she doesn’t.” Rick added as he moved into the kitchen. Beth looked down into the sink, fumbling with the slippery potato in her hand. It wasn’t that Rick made her nervous or uncomfortable, but since Beth had decided she didn’t need to be worrying about her colors anymore, her interest and attention to Rick had dropped off drastically. It had even prompted him to ask her if everything was alright or if he’d done something to upset her. After putting his fears to rest and assuring him there was nothing wrong, he’d taken her change in attention in stride and just assumed that now that Carl was awake and moving around, and given all the time she spent training, she was just too busy to pay him any attention anymore, which was perfectly fine.

 “Oh, hush you two.” Beth mumbled with a soft laugh. She scooped up the potatoes and started cutting them up to boil for dinner. ��You just notice how much I’ve grown because I was so helpless beforehand.”

 “Just because you know how to shoot and hold a knife without cutting yourself doesn’t make you any less helpless than before.” Maggie’s harsh voice cut in. “When it comes to fighting real walkers you still have no clue. This whole thing is just a waste of time.” Beth rounded on her sister, fury burning in her veins and causing her to see red. She wanted to open up and give her sister a good what for, but bit her cheek and kept it to herself. Her blue eyes landed on Daryl silently leaning against the doorframe behind her sister, quietly surveying the room.

 “Now, Maggie, knowing the basics will help if she ever comes up on a walker.” Rick countered, “She is at least a little more prepared now.” Maggie gave a snort and Beth shoved past her. She was done trying to prove herself to her sister for today. She didn’t think anything she did, short of taking down an entire herd of walkers, would change her sister’s mind, and she wasn’t going to listen to her sister’s harsh remarks anymore. She heard Lori call after her, but kept walking, shoving open the squeaky screen door and stomping down the porch into the field. She stomped her way into the nature until she was securely in the forest and let out a frustrated scream.

 Taking a few calming breaths she stared around her at the forest, soaking in all her secret colors. When she was training and busy with household chores she could almost forget her world was spilling over with vibrant colors that tickled her brain and made her stare in wonder. Almost. When she had a free minute, she’d taken to hiding in different parts of the forest, just staring, examining, and soaking in all the colors that she loved. She loved the greens of the kudzu leaves, the browns of the trees, the golden colors of the dead leaves underfoot, the pinks and yellows of the natural wild flowers around her. It was when she was alone, and it was quiet, that she was truly able to take in the beauty of the colors around her. Sometimes she’d spend many moments stroking the leaves as if to make sure it wasn’t a sort of paint that could be removed. When the green stayed in place a bright smile would take over her face and she’d move on to marvel at the next piece of nature.

 Her favorite thing, which was the hardest to explain, was watching the sunset. All the reds, pinks, and oranges that slowly faded into the purples and blacks of night. Glenn had caught her one time and asked her if she was trying to go blind staring at the sun like that. She laughed and teased him, claiming she was trying to see who would win a staring contest, her or the sun. Glenn had laughed and ruffled her hair before telling her to be careful or the sun would melt her brain. She’d nodded before following him inside for dinner.

 Beth sighed as she touched a kudzu leaf growing on a nearby tree. She smiled to herself. Watching her colors always calmed her down and made her feel better. Suddenly a twig snapped behind her. She whirled around, grabbing the knife from her belt and held it poised above her head to face the person sneaking up behind her.

 She stared at Daryl as he stood there, a single hand up, the other poised on his crossbow, more out of habit than actual intent to use it. “Jesus, girl, what are you doin’ sneakin’ off to the middle of the forest. You tryin’ to get yourself killed?” He narrowed his eyes at her as he watched her put her blade away.

 “No, I was lookin’ at the trees and leaves. Takin’ in the colors.” She said without a thinking.

 “What?” Daryl watched her as her eyes snapped up to him and she paled. Did she really just say she was seeing colors? 

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[wristic]

Science VS. Reality (Part 3)

Pairing: Mad Sweeney X Reader

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: Language and magic being real but not real but it’s real so it’s real

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6- -Part 7-

Switching between two types of lenses, one of glass and one of quartz, you couldn’t see a difference in the fingerprints on your model, only feel like reality was a little warped when you looked through the quartz lens. It was strange, like when something is in front of your face but you’re looking past it.

You sat back, rubbing your mouth in thought, staring at the engine. You already wasted the rag, cutting it into dozens and dozens of tiny squares for the row of different solutions and chemicals, finding an interesting change in some but nothing you couldn’t recreate with your own blood.

Amidst your hard thinking, for an unexplained reason your eyes tugged to the many small windowed cabinets of chemicals and metals. A shock of terror ran through your bones and you cautiously stood up, tiptoeing to the one open shelf where clearly someone had been playing with your collection and left their freshly refilled cup next to a haphazardly opened bottle of shiny metal chunks called Sodium.

You gently pulled the cup and set it on your desk, and then came back to seal the bottle, closing the small door and lifting the simple lock. Disaster wasn’t a strong enough word for what almost happened. While everything in your room was painstakingly built to prevent mishaps like that, you couldn’t always count for the ignorant that would sneak into your room out of curiosity. The smallest drop of water and the metal would have ignited, exploding amidst the rest of the chemicals and metals. You sighed slowly in relief that it didn't happen.

Taking back to your seat, you glanced through the quartz lens. At first you thought it had somehow smudged, looking like some blue liquid was warping the fingerprint. However when you brought the rag under the lens and above the model, the blue went away, only reappearing when you slowly pulled your hand away.

You slowly turned the model to another angle, finding every bloodied fingerprint shaded with a misty blue. Staring at one you noticed the mist wavered, shifted, like a veil of fog tied only to his blood. Sitting back with a laugh, you noticed the cup of water, how close it sat near the model, almost touching it. As an experiment, you pushed it away, across the giant desk and looked again, the blue gone and only a rusted fingerprint remaining. Pulling it back you looked at your model through the glass, finding it unchanged like your bare eyes.

You gave a triumphant and boisterous cry, charging out of the room and calling for the first servant you saw, “Jane! Jane come see this!” Your mother peeked around the corner and you waved for her too, “Mother come! You have to see what I’ve discovered!”

Charging back they came moments later and you were bouncing in excitement, you presented your microscope to them with a big smile, “Look through the lens and tell me what you see.”

You mother gave a long drawn out sigh, rolling her eyes as she came to your little toys. Before she even looked she glanced at the model and glared at it. “Is that blood?”

“What? Mother-”

She grabbed the model and looked over it appalled, “Whose blood does this belong to?! Why are you looking at someone’s blood?!”

“Mother! That’s not what you should be concerned with!” You ripped it back and placed the model under the scope, adjusting till you found a print.

“Are they alright!?”

“Yes he’s fine now look-”

“He?! Which HE was in your room touching your things with bloodied fingers?!”

“Mother just look and tell me what you see!”

She huffed, bringing her face back to the lens. Your mother looked a decently long moment before shrugging and shaking her head. “I see bloody fingerprints.”

Taken back you brushed her out of the way, looking and see for yourself that they were in fact blue. “It’s… but you see it don’t you? Jane you look!”

The young serving girl stepped forward trying to hide her smile, watching you and your mother quietly bicker. Again you didn’t see much of a reaction where there should have at least been question. Jane backed away with an apologetic grin. “I see fingerprints.”

“But they’re blue.”

They didn’t react much outside of your mother giving an agitated, “Yes?”

“So you see it too, under the microscope they’re blue-”

“Yes and what does that-”

Before she could finish your threw your arms in the air shouting out a victory cry and falling to your knees. She scoffed at you, “You need help! Professional help you know that!” and stomped out of the room, Jane giggling behind her while you continued to scream and celebrate.

It was tangible, it could be duplicated, it was real, it was science.

You sat in the living rooms cushy chair deep in the night, sipping wine and smiling to yourself. The open window had its offerings and on the end table below it was a pile of gold coins, the clearest biggest quartz crystal you could buy, and a bowl of water. You watched closely behind the crystal with only a few fractures and clouds at it’s base, waiting for the coins to react to his presence, if they would at all. Something however told you they were more than gold, especially with the ancient tales focused on finding one and keeping it.

Slowly they began taking on a cooler shade and you smiled, watching the gold mist into blue, tendrils like a smoke reaching from the small pile.

“Whats all this?” Sweeney suddenly asked with his mouth full, lazily getting comfortable on the window sill.

“Oh? This?” You asked, all saucy. Standing up you rounded the table, “It’s a little thing called scientific evidence.”

You pulled the crystal between the gold pile and Sweeney. Like your mother and Jane he didn’t react much to normal things doing abnormal glowing. He sucked on his teeth and asked, “What’s that suppose to mean to me?”

Holding back a growl you got up in his face, “It means, I’ve uncovered a very real means of seeing what was previously an unseeable science. Your ‘magic’ is now a toy for me to experiment on and unravel the mysteries of the world.”

He was still aggravatingly unimpressed, eating away and stealing the water and drinking what helped make the coins glow. “I already told you magic was real-”

“No! It’s not magic! It’s real-”

“Well what the fuck does magic mean to you if it can’t possibly be real?”

“Real! Not, miracles and fairies and rules abandoned! It has a set system, a logical system that can be recreated and instructed-”

“But ya already knew magic had a system, your grandmother told you as much in her tales. Or have you forgotten that when you’re in the mood to be a cunt you put out the most expensive disgusting sweet bread you can get your hands on?”

You gasped, more offended at the curse word than anything, “It’s when I’m angry at you!”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “When you’re a cunt. Fact remains, there’s always been a system for magic.”

Frustration left you silent and frantic for a retort to either statement. In the end you cried out, having to concede he was right. “I don’t like you! I don’t like you, I don’t like anything about you! You are the worse thing that has ever happened to me and to science!”

Sweeney chuckled like he’d won some bet with himself, “Aw the smart rich girl can’t outwit a leprechaun~.”

“Oh what even is a leprechaun anyway?! Some form of subhuman that was suppose to die out centuries ago?!”

“Come on love, you can’t say that like Irish discrimination isn’t rampant throughout America.”

The claim took you back but you managed a confused, “You’re... you’re right. Sorry about that.”

“And I was a man once.” he chimed. You stiffened, jaw clamped shut tight waiting for the magical twist to infuriate you. “And then I was a bird and then-” as he finished you were already taking great gulps of wine.

The voice of your mother calling you filtered through the door and before you could cover anything up or shove Sweeney away she came in. “Who are you yelling-”

One would assume it would have been easy for Sweeney to pull back and let your mother just think you were crazy, instead he nodded to her with a smile, “Ma’am.”

You forced a smile but was clearly glaring at him, turning back you motioned to him, “Hello mother this is a...friend, of mine. Don’t mind us-”

“Who the hell is this you’re bringing in the house!?” before you could snark off she snapped, “And don’t you dare say ‘he’s not technically in the house’!”

You held your hands up, bottle included to further damage your case, “He’s a friend from work-”

“I have set you up with numerous suitors-!”

“And he’s just as terrible as they were I promise!” you defended.

Before she spoke another word she gave Sweeney a hard look before asking, the tone and air about her suddenly shifting. “Are you Irish?”

“Born and raised in the mainland my Lady.”

Your mother seemed to be mulling something over before knocking you off your feet, “There’s a gala this Saturday, would you like to come?”

You gaped at her, “What!? Mother you can’t be-!”

“I would love to!” You nearly flung your wine bottle you spun so fast, Sweeney just smiling away.

“Do get cleaned up before then, I’m assuming my terrible child will help you find the right suit.” She gave you a warning look but you were still in shock. Before leaving she gave one last order, “And no more yelling! People are trying to sleep!”

The door slammed shut leaving you in a state of stiff bewilderment. Sweeney lifted from the window, slapping it in a small triumphant rhythm. “Looks like I’m gettin’ some fancy new clothes. I’ll get to parade around like those stick-up-the-arse ‘dandies’ and eat all their fancy foods while going ‘Mm yes want to hear a joke I heard about the upper middle class?’ Honestly, the fat cats these days, no propriety.” You turned and glared for the lack in explanation on the abrupt and unexplained change in your mother. “See you Saturday then, and uh don’t worry,” he motioned to your house with a smirk, “I know the place.”

[hopeishappinessff]

The Beginning... Part 3

Joyce was stunned at the sight before her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be very surprised. She was mindful of precisely what her son was capable of and she unfortunately knew that leaving Sy'Diyah alone in a room with him was destined to cause nothing but trouble. Not because of anything that Sy'Diyah did... but because lately Chris's temper tantrums had been seemingly triggered without much warning. There, about a foot away from where Sy’Diyah lay sprawled across the floor, stood Chris. His fists were clinched firmly at his sides, his chest heaved rapidly as he fought to regain his sense, and his face… his face was the exact hue of a tomato. He glared down at Sy as if he were ready to pounce on her, like a lion to a gazelle.

"Christopher, what have you done?" Joyce yelped, zipping across the room directly at him. He only glanced up at his mother, barely even noticing that it was her who was speaking to him. He quickly whipped his gaze back in Sy’s direction, never even bothering to blink within those few moments. "Have you lost your mind child? You know what... get to your room NOW! I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to go before I hurt you!” Joyce’s normally golden complexion was quickly morphing into a rose tint, not nearly as enflamed as her sons. She glared at him through squinted orbs with an expression as dreadful as the devil himself. Chris looked over at his mother, threw a glance at Ms. Maddie, then dropped his roaming orbs back down to Sy. With the calmest strength that he could muster, he turned on his heels and stomped off toward the stairs and up to his room where he slammed his bedroom door.

"I swear I’m gonna hurt that child when I get up those stairs." Joyce exclaimed in a tone full of fury. Sy'Diyah pushed herself up from the floor then quietly made her way over to her aunt. "Are you alright sweetheart?" Joyce asked. "Yes ma'am." She replied softly. "I'll tell you what," Joyce said as she stooped down to Sy'Diyah's small stature, "I'll go up there and straighten him out then I'll send him over tomorrow to apologize okay." "Okay." Sy uttered with as smirk as Joyce smiled at her then stood to her full height to face Maddie.

"Maddie, I am so sorry about that... it's that terrible temper of his that I was telling you about. I should have known not to leave him in here with her like that." Maddie smiled sympathetically and shook her head dismissively, "Don't even worry Joyce... it was probably this lil rugrat in here who set him off." She said, playfully tousling her hand through the golden ringlets atop her nieces head. "Oh no ma’am... that does not give him any reason to push her like that... besides he knows better than to hit on anyone, let alone girls." Joyce fussed. "Well don't be too hard on him," Maddie said as she looked down at Sy'Diyah with a playful smirk, "Are you bleeding anywhere Sy?" "No." She giggled, knowing that her aunt was just being silly. "Yeah, don't be too hard on him.” Maddie laughed, turning her attention back to Joyce.

"Girl, that child has gone and pushed my buttons tonight. He’s gonna wish he didn't even know me when I get done with his lil bad behind."  Joyce said, causing them all to laugh as they shifted toward the door. "Well Ms. Joyce we really enjoyed dinner and you & your family... you all are already such a joy to be around." Maddie said. "Well hey, that's what we do here... we make the people we like feel welcome and kick everybody else out." Joyce giggled. "Girl you are a trip." Maddie said, reached to give Joyce a hug as they both shared a laugh. "Alright Sy, see you later okay... and again, I am so sorry about my knucklehead son. He'll be over first thing in the morning with a plate of cookies and an apology just for you alright." Joyce said with a warm smile as she reached to hug Sy'Diyah. "Alright Ms. Joyce.” "You are too cute girl." Joyce beamed. With cheeks now masked in a blush tone from Ms. Joyce’s compliment, Sy swiftly glanced up the stairs, catching those beady little eyes peeking around the corner of the wall at her. She watched him curiously for a few seconds then turned toward the porch and followed her aunt down the steps.

"See ya'll later." Joyce said with a smile and a wave. After shutting the door, Sy’Diyah couldn’t help but glance over at her Aunt as the abrupt sound of Joyce’s boisterous voice came booming through the wooden barrier. "Christopher... boy didn’t I tell your butt to go to your damn room? Get your little ass down these stairs now!" She bellowed. "Uh-Oh.” Said aunt Maddie, "Sounds like somebody got a long night and a sore butt ahead of them.” Sy laughed and grabbed her aunts hands as they continued their trek across the yard to their new house.

--

With two feet planted firmly on the beige carpet beneath her, Sy'Diyah stood from the air mattress that her aunt had temporarily set up for her. She yawned, stretched, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes then turned and walked out into the hallway in search of her aunt. "Aunt Maddie." She called. "In here sweetie." Aunt Maddie replied from her room near the end of the hall. Sy'Diyah peeped her head through the doorway of her aunt's room and noticed that she’d already gotten dressed and ready for the day. "Where are you going Auntie?" She asked curiously. "Nowhere Miss nosey," She laughed, "The movers are supposed to be here in a little while and you my darling, need to go put some clothes on." She said as she passed Sy'Diyah and roughed up her wild and curly hair.

Sy'Diyah laughed as she walked back down the hall to her room to get ready for the day. About twenty  minutes later and fresh from the bathtub, Sy'Diah stood in front of the bathroom mirror fully dressed as her aunt stood behind her brushing her thick, curly hair into a perfect ponytail. "Alright Miss thing, all done." Aunt Maddie said. Just as she completed the arm aching task, the doorbell rang and Aunt Maddie smiled down at Sy. "I think I know who that is." She said as she turned to exit the bathroom. With no real clue as to what her aunt meant, Sy’Diyah shrugged her shoulders and walked off down the hall to retrieve her sandals from her room.

"Sy... someone's here to see you." Aunt Maddie called up the stairs.  "Okay Auntie... I'm coming." Sy’Diyah yelled out just as she finished strapping up her shoes. Standing quickly from the floor, she walked out of her room and into the hall toward the stairs. Carefully climbing down and peering at each step as she did so, she finally raised her gaze to find her aunt watching her with a smirk and Chris standing just outside the door, eyes glued to the plate of cookie's resting in his hands. The kids both looked up at the sound of Aunt Maddie clearing her throat. “Well... I think I'll take these cookies and put them in the kitchen," She said as she slid the plate from Chris’s grasp, "Thank you Chris and tell your mom that I'll send her plate back over later today." She turned and marched off to the kitchen, leaving Sy'Diyah standing at the front door with Chris. They stood there a few awkward seconds longer before Chris finally mumbled the softest “Sorry.” "Huh?" "For pushing you... sorry." He repeated.

Sy'Diyah stared at him as her thoughts suddenly shifted to the previous night when Ms. Joyce promised her he’d be over with an apology in the morning. "Oh," She said. Chris raised his gaze to her, cocking a brow curiously "I said I'm sorry." He figured maybe she hadn't heard him. "I know, I heard you." Sy'Diyah raised her brow right back at him. Chris was surely confused… he didn’t understand why she wasn’t telling him that she accepted his apology. "Is that all?" She asked as she placed a small hand against her hip. “Yeah.” He sighed with defeat. "Okay then." She took a step back away from the door, fully prepared to shut it right in his face. "Chris… who is that?” Called a high pitched voice from the end of the driveway. Sy'Diyah moved forward and pushed the screen door further out, peering out and around Chris. She spotted a young girl, who looked to be about the same age as her, strutting toward them with her hands sassily against her hips. "Hi, I'm Destani Mi'Chelle Rivera... who are you?" She asked, smoothly moving up the steps of the porch to stand near Chris. "I'm Sy'Diyah Hope Donsen." Sy replied with a proud grin.

“I like that name... it's kinda cool." Destani smiled back with a whole missing front tooth. Chris rolled his eyes with annoyance and released an exasperated sigh, reminding them of his presence. "Who you breathing hard at Chris?" Destani asked, "And why didn't you tell me someone moved in here?” She switched her weight from one foot to the other and rolled her neck with the attitude of a twenty-one-year-old woman. He cut his eyes over at Destani as he stuffed his hands down into the front pockets of his khaki’s. "She just got here yesterday." He mumbled. "And I been at your house all morning and you didn't even say nothing about her," Destani fussed, "But you know what, whatever. Sy'Diyah, you wanna come over to Chris's house and play... I'm gettin’ tired of looking at Chris and his lame friends."

"Then go home." He mumbled barely under his breath. "What?" Destani rolled her neck around to face him. "Nothing." He mumbled yet again. "That's what I thought," She replied, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, "So Sy'Diyah, you coming or what?" "Lemme go ask my aunt." Sy'Diyah said as she turned to scurry back into the house to find Aunt Maddie. It didn’t take her long to find her carrying a box in the kitchen and she didn’t waste a second running right in her direction. "Auntie!" She half yelled at her aunt. "Oh whoa, slow down girl... who lit your tail on fire?" Aunt Maddie exclaimed, almost dropping the box in her hands. Sy'Diyah stood in front of her aunt, hands behind her back as she twisted excitedly from side to side. "Um, there's this girl outside and her name is Destani and she's Chris's friend and she wants me to come over to Chris's house to play with her and Auntie can I go... please, please, pleeeease?" She begged with the most innocent expression that she could muster.

Her aunt couldn’t do more than laugh at her adorable niece "Now how would I look if I was to tell you that you can't go play and make new friends? Of course you can go girl." She said, sitting the box down. "Thank you Auntie!" Sy'Diyah shouted happily as she quickly turned and took off for the front door. "She said I can." She was nearly out of breath by the time she reached the screen door. "Yes!” Destani exclaimed, "Come on, let’s go have some fun... oh and by the way, you can call me Dez."

--

As they made their way down the sidewalk over to Chris's house, Sy'Diyah glanced up into his front yard and noticed two other young boys standing there talking... one with curly brown hair mounted on a green bike and the other with braids and a blue bandana tied around his head holding a basketball. Following Destani and Chris’s lead, Sy'Diyah trailed along until they reached the boys.

"Hey bevis & buttface," Destani said, causing the two boys to turn their attention to her, "This is Sy'Diyah and she just moved in next door to Chris." "Destani... I don't like you," The boy with the braids stared at her momentarily with a blank face, "Anyway... how you doing Sy'Diyah?" He turned his attention to her and rubbed his small hands together with a sly smirk. "I'm fine." She said with a smile. "You sholl right about that. Dang Chris... I’m gonna have to be at your house more often man," He whispered "But uh... I'm Rashad, but you can call me Shad and this is..." “Dontay,” The other boy quickly interrupted, “But you can call me Don or Tay." He said in a tone coated with charm and a smile to match. "Move... with your sunny side up looking self, smiling in her face all hard." Shad said as he stuck his arm out to move Dontay away.

They all laughed and with a glance over at Chris, Sy’Diyah immediately noticed the deepest dimple in his left cheek. He laughed along with his friends and proudly flaunted one front tooth. His laughter quickly subsided the moment he caught her gaze and he stuffed his hands back down into his pockets, returning his gaze to the ground. "Hey lil munchkins," A voice rang out behind them. They turned to find Ms. Joyce stepping onto the porch holding a box of popsicles, "It's hot out here... ya'll want some popsicles?" "Yes ma'am." They rushed toward the porch to surround Ms. Joyce, not even giving her a second to get the box open. "Oh lord, what have I started?" Ms. Joyce laughed and shook her head. She handed them each a popsicle and told them that if they needed anything, to let her know. After she sauntered back into the house, they all lounged around the porch enjoying their cool treats and began drifting off into their own conversations... the boys quickly igniting an argument over who was the better power ranger.

"So Sy... can I call you that?" Destani asked Sy'Diyah. "Sure." She replied, licking her red popsicle. "You just moved here yesterday, huh?" Destani asked. "Yep," Sy replied, "How long have you been here?" "Oh for a year I think, well that's what my mama told me," She said," I live right down the street." She mentioned, pointing toward a home two houses down and across the street from Chris's. "Well why are you at Chris's house?" Sy glanced at her, innocent curiosity in her tone. "Beause my mama is at work and my brother is at summer school so I gotta stay at Ms. Joyce’s house." She explained with a shrug.

"Oh," Sy paused and tilted her head slightly, a sudden thought running through her mind "Hey... is he really mean to you?” "Who? Chris? No, not really. Sometimes he tries to be but I'll just be mean back to him or tell his mama and he'll stop. Why, was he mean to you?" She asked, one of her small brows rising with attitude. "Well he..." Sy'Diyah started, glancing across the yard at Chris as he laughed along with his friends, "No... he wasn't mean to me.” Destani eyed her suspiciously, immediately deciding that she wasn't satisfied with Sy's response.

"Chris!" She shouted suddenly, causing Sy’Diyah to flinch and the group of boys to turn their attention to her. "What are you doing?" She whispered from behind Destani, scrambling up from her seat and following her as she marched heroically off the porch “I told you he wasn't mean to me." "Yeah but I know Chris and I know he did something... and besides," She paused and looked back at Sy, “Aren’t best friends supposed to stick up for each other?” Sy’Diyah slowed in her steps and stared at Destani, digesting her bold statement… best friends stick up for each other. She smiled discreetly and continued to trek behind her new found friend.

[speedygal]

Do you want to see what my five times fic deleted scenes are? well you are going to see it right now

Before McCoy knew it, Spock and Jim had weasled him into their union. He should have taken the hint years ago when Spock had dropped the 'starting a family' nonsense. He should have known. The stardate was 2293. He should have known the pain and the misery that would come from it. Watching Jim fall apart from Spock's sacrifice. A shell of a man he once knew. It hurt McCoy too, living with  Spock's katra in his head for  hours. The space whales, genesis, David's death, Saavik's betrayal against Star Fleet to thwart the Khitomer treaty, and watching his two best friends be in disarray.

"I need a break," McCoy said, leaning against the wall.  He was in his white regulation sirt.

"Break?" Jim suddenly came out of thin air with a much more than amused expression on his face. Admiral Kirk, he was known then. His brown hair was slowly turning gray and the curls were more evident. He looked up toward the younger man. "Saavik was . . ." The admiral was unable to finish it. "I. . it is hard to get over that."

"She was like Spock's daughter in every way," McCoy said. "what if we had adopted her?"

"You would not be able to handle it, Bones," Jim said.

McCoy sat down into the chair.

"You are right," McCoy said. "did we make the right choice?" he looked up toward the man.

"We had to get out of the penal colony," Jim said.

". . . And how about the time you had sex with another version of yourself?" McCoy asked.

"Bones," Jim said. "I did not have sex with myself. We talked."

"That is what Nixon said!" McCoy said.

"Nixon never did that," Jim said.

"I have made my point," McCoy said. Jim laughed, taking the jacket off tossing it to the nearby chair.

"Really, Len?" Jim asked, coming over to the doctor.

"Really," McCoy said, as Jim lifted the man up to his feet. His hands wrapped around the doctor's thigh.

0000000 "I need a goddamn retirement," McCoy said, when a pair of Romulans cornered him and Pavel on a trip to Vulcan to visit a ailing Amanda. 000

"I need a damn retirement without being abducted," McCoy grumbled,  his arms folded in the brig alongside Pavel. 0000

"I need a retirement without gettin' hurt and bein' abducted," McCoy complained to himself, tending to Pavel who had a shoulder injury.

SECOND FIVE TIMES SCENE THAT NEVER WAS FINISHED

They had discovered several new planets.

A couple worm holes.

The home planet of some new species that had reached warp capabilities.

"Pavel, Spock," McCoy said. "I can't seem to find Jim."

"We did not just the kaptain two hours into a away mission," Pavel said. They were underwater in swimming gear complete with helmets and a suit that outlined their figures and were comfortable to be in. McCoy could feel Spock's concern for the captain. Jim's curiosity had gotten to the better of him and now he was terrified.  All eyes went on Spock then into the direction they had came.

"We must go find him," Spock said.

"Lets not split up," McCoy said.

"Sounds like a good idea," Pavel said. "six eyes are better than two."

Spock held his two fingers out and the doctor completed it feeling a shiver of arousal coursing through his body. An image of Spock pinning him against the rock sunk into the man's body. He could feel the Vulcan's need to mate with him through the  bond---McCoy froze in horror. They had to find Jim right now. Their Vulcan was about ready to go into Pon Farr. McCoy returned a smile sending a image back of the Vulcan inside a cave being given a proper McCoy suck. Spock's last had an addition to it: Kirk. McCoy had refused to add his last name to Spock. It had been seven years since their first five year mission. It was mind boggling to think of it that way.  Spock's face turned a shade of dark green.

"Yes," McCoy said. "Six eyes are better than two."

"Indeed," Spock agreed.

"Let's go," Pavel said.

The search for Jim Kirk went on longer then it actually should. McCoy called out for Jim

"Jim!" McCoy called. "James Tiberius Kirk, get your bubble ass out!"

McCoy had his hands on the side of his waist.

T'nash-veh ashalik, Spock called through the bond, where are you?

McCoy turned around.

"Shhhhit," McCoy said. He tapped on the side of the helmet. "McCoy to Chekov!"

::Doctor!::

"Hey Pasha--"

::Ve been looking all over for you. Where did you sneak to?::

McCoy looked around curious.

"Not sure," McCoy said.

second storyarch that never was

Until his happiness ended. "Ow," Pavel winced. "Do not move yourself, Pasha," McCoy said. "Doctor," Pavel looked over to see the doctor had been growing a stubble.  "how lon'. . ." "A day, probably," McCoy said. "the shuttle craft crash landed against a small little mountain that did a lotta damage," the doctor had a long pause. "I could not find the other security officers," Pavel lowered his head. "It's like the sharks smelled their blood and feasted on them. We were in the front so the sharks could not get to us." Pavel noticed that around his right black pant leg was a blue sleeve that was tied and knotted. He could see that it was stained. "Have you tried makin' contact with the Enterprise?" Pavel said. McCoy took out his broken communicator. "Uh, the commander?" Pavel asked. "Apparently, I am Psi-Null," McCoy said. "I used to be psi-positive until that awful mind probe on Galax Twelve," he shook his head. "whatever she did to my mind it was pretty irreversible and extensive." "Doctor. . ." Pavel said. "you could have told us that." "Pavel, no one can help me with that," McCoy said. "What about the Vulcan healers?" Pavel asked. "Spock gave it a go," McCoy said. "there is nothin' that can be fixed." "I am so sorry," Pavel said. "When I first woke up. . .  I was terrified," McCoy admitted.  Now Pavel understood why the doctor had returned to drinking lately at the bars. He used to be so blissful and happy despite his complaining demeanor.  "I saw them. I didn't feel them. I could not feel the bond. It was as though it was never there." "It makes you worry more about them than yourself," Pavel said. "Back where I started," McCoy said. The doctor sighed. "No," Pavel said. "you are not where you started." McCoy cocked a brow back. "What makes you think that?" "They love you," Pavel said. "that should count. And they don't care about a bond." "I wish that were true," McCoy said. "ya see. . . Spock's clock is up this year.  It was goin' to be our first . . ." McCoy felt himself become emotional. He stopped himself, recomposing himself, his hands clasped together. He felt fury, anger, and sadness, all at the same time. "now off about me." he looked off toward the  Russian. "I heard that you, Ben, and Hikaru are considerin' again making a child." "We are considerin' it," Pavel said. "Ben is willing to forego his career to become a full time father." "That is good," McCoy said. "But Hikaru is more concerned about Ben than about the child," Pavel said. "is he goin' to be happy bein' home and not doin' what he loves the most?" Pavel sighed. "The last time I talked to Ben, he vas determined on resolving  Hikaru's concerns."

AND THE CAT ONE. That inspired these two to tackle on a cat!McCoy story. I showed it to them. @frostedej @theconsultingconstableinabluebox

Climbing a mountain was one thing. Running through a mountain area was another story. In all regards, no one really anticipated the surrounding climate to be rocky and made of mountains that ranged in height making to the clouds with few flat planes coated in grass, trees, and a small pond. The nearby area where a federation colony had just been established was several kilometers away along a man made path. Climbing to get a dream accomplished was a easier story then going down said mountain area. Humans were determined on chopping down a entire mountain. In the past, it took years and years of work that very people took the challenge. A challenge that usually lasted a lifetime by focusing their work day in and day out on chopping it away. Large rocks laid in the way could always lead someone to fall down onto the ground and get some cuts on their hands and knees. Such as, say, part of a away team running from threats. Namely Scotty and McCoy. It was 2272, and nothing was different about exploring space. Not at all. Scotty and McCoy were fleeing from a attack party. Scotty came to a stop seeing the mouth of a cave then bolted in. McCoy came to a abrupt stop looking in both directions. Scotty came speeding out then took McCoy by the arm leading him in. The two were in the darkness of the cave watching the werewolf like natives run past the cave. It almost looked like they were bouncing against the surface of the ground compared to how people usually walked. "Question," Scotty said. "is it me or does the captain dramatically skip when he runs?" "Not you," McCoy said. Scotty looked over to see the natives were gone. "I think we can get our communicators back," Scotty said. "Nah uh," McCoy said. "you saw what they did to Robert." "Poor lad," Scotty said. "They killed him when he came back to rescue us," McCoy said. "I am sorry but I am not ready to die," McCoy looked at the exit. It was a stupid idea to establish a federation colony here without fully looking around to find the  Calhouns. "Jim and Spock better not have not gotten themselves killed rescuing the colonists." "In all respect, you would kill them if they did somethin' stupid," Scotty said. "Uh huh," McCoy said. "Somethin' feels off about this cave." "How off?" Scotty asked. "Like a bear is hibernatin' here," McCoy said. "or a dragon restin'. We should find a better cave." "What if that cave has a dragon?" Scotty asked. "It won't, Scotty,"  McCoy said. The two poked their heads out of the rounded rocky mouth opening looking onwards to see that there were a series of other caves from across where heavy rounded boulders lay blocking view of what lay behind it. Scotty had learned to trust the doctors gut as it has spared their lives too many times to count. Scotty had been on many away missions with the younger man. Sometimes the young had better gut feelings than him. Scotty had none what so ever, but, they did only kick in when it came to mechanical related scenarios. Scotty and McCoy were drinking buddies, shared the same bathroom-turned-liquor-cabinet and took turns sharing the bath tub. Sometimes, you got to trust your doctor. There was a deep, threatening growl from behind the two men. The ground trembled beneath their feet. The pair ran into the next cave. The Calhoun natives heard the ground crack beneath their feet as a ten feet tall dark dragon with thick wings and a muscular build came out appearing to be pissed. The dragon roared knocking down a large boulder shattering it to pieces. It released gravel from the ground firing it at the Calhouns. The Calhoun's fled screaming running away from the dragon. The dragon snorted then went back into the cave. Scotty and McCoy panted once reaching the deep inside of the second cave. McCoy relaxed, looking around to find cave paintings dotting the walls. There were tools that once had been long ago laying about the rocky scenery. There were small cubbies covered in cobwebs, a several small stools, and the scenery was highlighted by the glow in the dark. "Did we nae just leave their base?" Scotty asked. "We did," McCoy said. "probably thousands of years old," he gestured toward one of the paintings. "look at the pointy ears and the terrible bowl cut representation," Scotty squinted his eyes. "and the long robes,"  Scotty rubbed the back of his neck almost gasping when he finally saw what the doctor was seeing. "Vulcans came here because someone started warp drive, but then the natives destroyed it, and sent them runnin' showing their lack of interest of being warp capable and workin' with those different from them." "Ah, but look at the attire," Scotty said. "that looks like Romulan." "Romuans change their outfit designs more frequently than Vulcans," McCoy said. "they have terrible sense of fashion." "True," Scotty said. "And look," McCoy said. "they have a lump behind the head." "A hood," Scotty said. "Vulcans are mysterious, calm, and 'no emotions bein's," McCoy said. "Romulans are neither of the three," he pointed to another picture. "and look at that terrible hood. It makes them look like monks." Scotty laughed. "It does," Scotty agreed. "what if Vulcans inspired the dressware for Monks on Earth?" McCoy paused, considering it rubbing his chin. "I would not put it past them," McCoy said. "Ye know Vulcans are the most stubborn species," Scotty said. "a ignorant race would nae deter them from becomin' allies and helpin' them in what little way they could tae allow them develop at their own pace." "Just like they did for us," McCoy said. "probably was somethin' big." "Don't say anythin' appallin'," Scotty said. "Spock would find this fascinating," McCoy said. "and so many historians," he lifted his medical tricorder up and turned the settings for the camera mode up then held it out in the direction of the paintings. "like, this could be somethin' that the Vulcans refused to give us a heads up." "Or they forgot about the planet," Scotty said. "Ah no way," McCoy said. "they are a stickler for rules." "They lost information," Scotty said. "remember in the history lessons that they lost Surak's original teachin's." "They have made great advancements to what they are as of this century," McCoy said. "For the best," Scotty said. "I heard they were ignorant." "I can't believe I am sayin' this," McCoy said. "but  I am overjoyed that Spock has a open mind." Scotty nodded. "What do you think of the new Vulcan lieutenant?"Scotty asked. "Xon," McCoy said. "nice kid." "Kid?" Scotty asked. "he is a genius." "Confused and tryin' to feel his way around about blendin' in a human work environment," McCoy said. "not a a genius as Spock praises him to be." "He is just a newbie to servin' on a starship like the Enterprise," Scotty said. "Personally?" McCoy said. "he would make  a great addition under the command of the next captain." "Aye," Scotty said. "he has a bright future. . . if he gets the right advice." "Ya kiddin' me?" McCoy said. "are ya implyin' that he won't get it?" "He ended up insulting a crewmen and gettin' suspended," Scotty saaid. "I wasn't there," McCoy said. "I was busy with an issue that Pavel was experiencin'. I only got to talk with Xon regardin' thermal mechanics of a dryin' machine  bein' backward engineered into a medical device that deals with dry skin specifically and smaller than the one in the market." Scotty laughed. "Poor, poor, poor Xon," Scotty said. "So I had to politely ask him to buzz off by gettin' him to another crewmen because he wouldn't stop talkin' about it," McCoy said. "He does small talk terrible," Scotty said. "That was small talk?" McCoy said.  "That was more of an essay!" He grunted. "I tried changin' the subject numerous times but that only made the topic go into different directions. Now, I didn't know until now that they have too many star beasts reboots but that was completely unnecessary." "I am torn about what to feel regardin' you attractin' science officers," Scotty said. "Everyone I have befriended, other than the command team, are science officers," McCoy said. "I wonder why it is that way." "Are ye kidding me?" Scotty asked. McCoy looked over toward Scotty raising an eyebrow. "Nevermind, Len," Scotty said, patting on the man's shoulder. McCoy eyed at the drawings on the wall when he heard the thud of the body alongside him. He looked over to see Scotty on the ground, unconscious. "Scotty!" McCoy came to the man's side then checked for a pulse. Scotty was still alive, thank god. Scotty groaned. The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Hello, healer." McCoy looked up feeling his skin run cold to see the familiar figure belonging to a Calhoun member. His gray eyes staring through McCoy's soul. The hair on the back of his neck rose up. McCoy felt like he was a cat that had been caught in the middle of trying to catch fish with its pats. His stomach twisted inside as he experienced a strange feeling that he wouldn't walk away the same from this encounter. Others came out of the darkness surrounding them. He recognized Charless. McCoy knew what the man wanted. Charless was in a dark cat suit that fit his skin and body type, it seemed comfortable a bit like spandex. "Charless," McCoy said. "You are at a disadvantage," Charless said. "it looks like the deputy took your 'ray gun'." "Phaser," McCoy corrected. "Same thing," Charless twirled his finger. "You won't hurt him, right?" McCoy asked. "You read my mind," Charless said. "not even going to argue?" McCoy glared back at the man. McCoy stared back with a defeaning serious expression on his face not speaking a world. "so that is how you are going to handle this." McCoy took off his jacket. He  placed his medical knap sack alongside the scotsman then left the man's head up and tucked his folded jacket under the man's head. He got up and then we can hear the sound of footsteps walking away. Honestly, it was the second painful thing McCoy had done in his life. He didn't want to do it. But if he wanted to leave his friend alive rather than dead:  sometimes  tough things have to be done. Jim was going to lead a rescue team to bring him back. Jim was the kind of captain who went back for his men. Now, honest to god, McCoy hadn't expected that Jim came back with Spock and Pavel and lieutenant Jacklyn Jefferson. Pavel was leaned against the wall humming to himself a tune. The song could not be pinpointed as it didn't repeat a melody. It was like a song that never ended.  Jim was pacing back and forth in his own cell. Spock was in the other cell. Jacklyn had died on the field protecting the Russian. Charless came in  with his colleagues holding a small box in his arms. His colleagues were Bar'ess, Lew'iss, and Tur'iss ranging in ethnicity. The calhouns had different nationalities just like humans but they were not noticable at first except for the color of the face in terms of shade.  Jim's hair was slowly turning brown.  "Captain Kirk," Charless said. Jim stood up, abruptly, appearing to be alarmed. "Did you find him?" Jim asked. Charless shook his head. "We only found. . . what they did to him," Charless said. "tattered uniform." Spock  raised an eyebrow. "almost destroyed but you should see it for yourself," In reality, McCoy was a gray and white cat sitting in Spock's lap being stroked by the man. The box was handed to Jim through the bars. He opened the side ways box. "you should plan a escape before they plan your execution for coming back." "We didn't know," Jim said, as he sat down onto a bench. "we didn't know." "Thank you, Mr Charless," Pavel said, as Spock had stopped stroking McCoy. Spock wanted to reach out and comfort the captain. The bars were stronger than the Vulcan's strength. Jim rubbed his forehead, upset. Instead, Spock opted to send through their bond a wave of comfort and sympathy. "I am not gone," McCoy wanted to say. "but you should be!" Didn't it not click to Spock? Or to Jim of all people? Had they not been noticing the man's interest in him? Why, they were in another world, technically, not in the room. He wanted to tell Jim, "I am not dead. Stop actin' like I died." All McCoy had been thinking about was being petted and how soothing it was. He hadn't thought of Spock by rank or by his name directly. He was careful with his thoughts being touched by the Vulcan. He was touch telepathic after all. Spock had once voiced to McCoy years earlier about, "If you are dreaming of tea, why not get it? It's highly illogical to bait yourself with beverages. Teasing, at most." McCoy hadn't laughed like that in years. Spock had tilted his head, baffled, on the doctors reactions. He would miss that. Winning a majority of their arguments and baffling him. "Goodbye, Captain Kirk," Charless said, then turned away heading back in the direction of the door. "I am deeply sorry for your loss," Bar'ss said, apologetically. Ashaya, Spock said through their bond, the doctor would want one to you to make a mistake that you will regret. Jim saw the tattered remains of McCoy's white shirt in the medium sized box. But what about the colonists? Jim asked. The colonists have no stake in the loss of the doctor, Spock replied. "Keptain?" Pavel asked.  We have to do something, Jim replied. Jim closed the box as McCoy leaped off the Vulcan's lap. Perhaps, Spock replied, in honor of the doctor's memory we leave and do not interfere. I am sorry, Mr Spock, Jim replied, . . . I never faced death until now. We have broken the prime directive with this rescue mission that has failed, Spock continued, Mr Scott is currently blaming himself for getting knocked out. He shouldn't do that, Jim replied. But he is, Spock said. Jim briefly closed his eyes then reopened them to see the cat on his lap. "Meow," McCoy mewed. Jim stroked the side of McCoy's ear and rubbed along it. "We are going to get out of here," Jim said. "and we are going to make sure that Charless pays for disobeying the rules of his own kind." "What rules?" Pavel asked. "Murdering an outsider," Jim said. "we are outsiders. And eyewitnesses." He rubbed the doctor's forehead.  "We have circumstantial evidence." "That makes sense," Pavel said. "Why murder a doctor?" Spock asked. "That is illogical." "No one knows why people cill," Pavel said, with a shrug. "He was acting . . . odd. . . around him." "Tortured to death . . ." Jim muttered. McCoy loudly howled, feeling pain coming from his head. It was a chip in his head. Charless had voiced his interests in having a cat like McCoy to his collection of cats. He had too many cats. McCoy suspected they were all aliens from different planets as some of them had unusual features like ridges on the forehead of some cats.  They could not speak to him. No one understood each other. And some did not have fur but they had an unusual tint to them. He leaped up to the window that had bars. He turned in the direction of Jim, meowing back, flickering his tail. He looked over toward Spock feeling a strong tug in his brain. He stared back at the Vulcan. "You better take care of him," McCoy thought to himself, then off he went after Charless.   Spock and Jim came out of the court room surrounded by media coverage. It had been a tough week trying the case. The first day had to be redone because half of the jury were stained by bias about outsiders. The second day was Spock explaining to the court room regarding McCoy's character and heavy dislike of people hitting on him in a very unsettling manner and god if he hadn't been a cat he would have been red to the face. The third day, Spock, acting as the prosecutor, argued against Charless's defense lawyer about the evidence of his gift. Charless was a morguetician.  The fourth, Scotty testified avout Charless's pals. Spock nearly broke down on the stand. McCoy wasn't alone on the attendance of the trial, he was surrounded by other cats who were victims, but they always had to go home and be cared for by Bar'Less.  And the other friends of the man. Sure McCoy had free will. He just couldnt't  work himself up to reveal himself. It was like any time he was clearly going to work on his typing skills, all that came out was gibberish. How does a cat attempt a way to reveal? Reaching Spock proved to be difficult. Spock was too focused on the trial to listen. And on Jim, mainly. McCoy was getting more cat like day by day. Slowly losing his notable huma half.  His thoughts were changing from coherent to things about 'LETS CATCH THAT RAT' and 'CATCH THAT LASER'. Charless had told him that there wouldn't be any other way to turn him back. He gave him an example. The other cats retained their characteristics while McCoy was not. Perhaps it was because they did not have the chip in their brain. Charless had also admitted he would remove the chip once the rescue team had left. And he was losing hope that he would come back. He wouldn't come back whole. McCoy rested on a rail, purring, to himself.  Pavel came over to the row of cats. "Hello, cittens," Pavel said. McCoy's feline baby blue eyes looked over in the direction of Pavel. "Meow," McCoy mewed. "Aww," Pavel said. "you are so cute," He butt his head against the man's head as he felt the klingon like cat climb over him onto the russian's arm then onto his shoulder. Then the other cats climbed onto the russian to his shoulders and head. "I wish I kan take you back to the ship . . .  but," Pavel slowly took the cats off his shoulders. McCoy rested on the rail glaring grumply at the crowd. "Star Fleet has rules about cats." "Meow," the cats mewed. Pavel rubbed on McCoy's forehead. "Wish I could take you," Pavel said, sadly. He took his hand off the cats forehead then made his way down the stairs. THE ONE THAT WAS HEADING DOWN THE MCCOY TURNS INTO A MEDIUM ROAD RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING AND I WAS ABE TO SPOT IT BECAUSE OF THE PREMISE! The stardate was 2293. The crew went their seperate ways except for Jim, Spock, and McCoy. The Enterprise A had finally been decomissioned. Scotty had accepted admiralcy after their last away mission that involved saving a entire planet from being eaten by a gigantic planet eater. No more running for their lives. No more running from danger. No more splitting up. No more away missions. Though McCoy suspected that with Jim around, that couldn't be helped. It had been a long time since they sat down and enjoyed the silence. McCoy was peacefully resting in the back seat while Jim drove the hover craft.  McCoy could feel emotions that were not his own running through the dream. "T'hy'la," Spock said. "you are going the wrong way." "I did?" "Mr Worf insisted the right way was a turn to the left from the carnivores plant with leaves around the heigh of a child," Spock said. "and I am still unable to find the sound reasoning in visiting him." "Because we can," Jim said. tldr: Leonard McCoy worries too damn much and gives worst case scenarios. I have another one, from the five times fic, that is being turned into a one chaptered story and will be posted onto ao3 because the idea god damn it seemed interesting and  McCoy is demanding I FINISH IT OUT AND POST IT.