#the thing is that i hadn’t taken tylenol in so long i didn’t even remember how much i do not like it 😭

[lesbianlenas]

took cold medicine bc i couldn’t stop coughing and legit thought i was going to die lmfao…..it gave me severe chest pain like it was so bad also i almost threw up and now i’m congested when i wasn’t before. so like thank u cold medicine for being so helpful. i cannot take this again fr i took it last time i was sick & it also made me feel worse idk why i thought it would be different this time 😭

[hockeyboysimagines]

Ashes and Wine

Warnings:Drinking, mentions of parties/alcohol, language, angst.

I’m so sorry this has taken so long. But I hope you enjoy this chapter.💕

This gif has nothing to do with this chapter. But look at this moron🤣🤣 I love him.

Leighton’s head was splitting when she woke up the next morning. She was vaguely aware that she was in her bedroom but she wasn’t quite sure how she got there and she still had all her clothing on. She sat up slowly, and looked around. The rest of the apartment was quiet, and he curtains were closed. Her shoes were by the bed, and the picture on her dresser was moved.

Then it hit her.

Her memory was foggy but she could see a hazy visual of Mat carrying her into the apartment. She had almost fallen and then almost kissed him.

Oh great.

She huffed and rubbed her forehead. She didn’t often drink, and when she did never that much. But being in Mat’s presence, and seeing the ring on Kaitlin’s finger had rattled her so much, she just got a little out of hand. It was stupid. She had said no. She had drank her weight in vodka. And she needed Tylenol and a drink. Ginny was sitting at the kitchen island eating cereal.

“Morning.” She watched as Leighton disappeared behind the fridge door looking for water.

“Stop staring at me Ginny.”

“The last time I saw you that trashed was at Brad Smith’s party senior year. You were so drunk…that was the night you-“ she said giggling.

“Okay okay. I remember.”

Ginny chuckled “Mat brought you home last night.” She said casually, chewing a spoonful of cereal.

“So?”

“So. Did something happen?”

“ No nothing happened. He’s engaged to…whatever her name is.”

“All I’m saying is I saw that look. It’s the same look he used to give you four years ago.”

“Look I am hungover and I am not in a good mood. He’s engaged and he brought me home last night because he just wants to be friends-“

The doorbell rang just them interrupting her speech. Ginny frowned and slid off her stool. When she opened it, Beau of all people was standing on the other side of the door holding a carrier with three large coffees in it.

“Morning boozy.” He said giving her a smile as he breezed past Ginny and set them on the island.

“Oh my god I think I’m in love with you.” Leighton took hers gratefully and sipped it, feeling better instantly.

“So….” He asked leaning on the counter “Did something happen last night?”

Ginny chuckled and shook her head blowing on her coffee through the hole.

“You guys are the worst. Nothing happened.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t want it to.”

She rolled her eyes “Can you two leave me alone.”

“No.” They said in unison.

********

“So how was the rest of your night last night?” Kaitlin asked over breakfast. Mat shrugged.

“It was fine. Leighton and Beau got along pretty well. She had a little too much to drink though.”

“Was she okay?” Kaitlin looked genuinely concerned.

“I think so. She’s just going through some stuff right now is all, with the move and adjusting.”

“You should help her Mat. I’m sure she would really appreciate it. There’s that team party thing on Friday, I’m leaving that morning for a few days. You should take her.”

If Mat hadn’t just set down his fork he would have dropped it. Kaitlin must really feel secure about their relationship if she was giving him an invitation to go hang out with his ex girlfriend. Was this a test? He felt he was in dangerous territory and no matter how he answered it wouldn’t be right.

“Oh Kaitlin. I don’t know.”

“We’ll think about it. I’m okay with it.”

They ate breakfast in relative silence until Kaitlin left him to shower and pack for her trip. Mat sat down in front of the tv, and absently flicked through the channels, not really watching what was on it. His mind started to rewind.

Music was blaring through Katie’s Miller’s house. While the rest of the guys on the team were yelling and carrying on about winning, mat and Leighton were out talking quietly. The ride to the house had been short, too short to have real conversation and he had been dying to get her alone since then. She looked so damn pretty leaning forward against the railing of the deck.

“You played good tonight.” She said smiling “Or at least I’m pretty sure you did. Right?” He laughed. It was kind of endearing and actually nice that she didn’t know anything about the sport. Sometimes he felt a tremendous amount of pressure to perform because of the promise of making it to the nhl. He didn’t have to be Mat Barzal NHL hopeful with her. He could just be Mat.

Before he could answer the party goers behind them started chanting and they turned to see Cody and some other guys assisting Ginny in doing a keg stand. Leighton rolled her eyes.

“She’s a real piece of work eh?”

“Eh? What is that a Canadian thing?” She teased. Mat blushed.

“I guess.”

“It’s cute. I like it.”

I like you. He thought to himself.

“So how did you and Ginny meet?”

“I sit next to her in English class. We were partners for a project.”

“I’m surprised someone else didn’t try to fight you for it. Boys break their necks just to talk to her.”

“So I’ve noticed. I don’t know….she’s cool, but I’m a little more interested in someone else.”

She quirked an eyebrow “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

Feeling bold, both from the beer and from the high of victory, he smiled at her and shrugged “ There’s this cute little blonde she hangs out with that caught my eye in Math class. In fact. I’m pretty sure that I’m failing because I spend so much time looking at her.”

Leighton let out a small laugh and turned to him, hair spilling over her shoulders. She turned her head to the side and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Gosh they were long, and her eyes were so big and caught the light every time she blinked.

“I’m sure she probably thinks your pretty cute too.” She said quietly bringing him back down to earth.

“That’s really funny, because I’ve been thinking about kissing her.”

“Okay I’m ready to leave.” Mat jumped as Kaitlin set her suitcase down on the hardwood. She was smiling at him as she pulled her coat on and shook out her hair. He stood to kiss her and say goodbye. There was a cab waiting to take her to the airport.

“I love you.” She said wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I love you too. Have a safe trip.”

“Mmmm. Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone.”

“Never.” He said running his hands up her back “just gonna hang with Tito probably.”

He didn’t miss the look of distaste that crossed her face and it annoyed him a little bit. Kaitlin had this idea that Beau would break them up or something and he wasn’t really sure why.

“We’ll have fun at your team thing. Are you going to ask Leighton to come?”

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before she kissed him one last time and walked out the door to the cab. He pulled his phone out, opening his contact list up and scrolling to Leighton’s phone number. He debated for several seconds before closing her contact and then opening it again.

Hey. It’s Mat. There’s a thing on Friday and Kaitlin is out of town. She suggested I ask you. I thought maybe we could do dinner or something beforehand? I’d really like to catch up.

She responded soon enough for him to be hopeful, but long enough for him to sweating out her response.

Sure. That sounds nice. What time?

*******

“So it’s a date?” Beau said nudging her several times. Ginny was sitting on her other side and let out a small chuckle. Beau had insisted on taking them to lunch, waiting around while they both showered and got ready. Leighton had a feeling that he not only wanted some gossip, but he was trying to gauge how much charm it would take to win Ginny over.

“It’s not a date. Just a dinner between old friends.” Leighton said sipping her water.

“Old friends who used to bang.”

Leighton nearly choked on her water and felt her cheeks get red. Sending Ginny a glare she stabbed at a piece of chicken with her fork.

She was looking forward to spending some time with him. Sober. But she was also painfully aware that it was strictly dinner between friends. Even though she wasn’t around, he did still have a fiancé. Even though Beau reminded her “She’s awful.” It didn’t change that she existed.

That didn’t stop her from pulling out all the stops though. She spent some extra time on her hair and makeup, and pulled on her favorite black sweater and dark jeans and boots.

Ginny was out somewhere, but had also been invited and would meet her there later. She hurried out of her apartment, and by the time she made it to the front of her building Mat was waiting there, leaning against his car. He looked up, and blinked at her for several seconds before he smiled.

“Hi. You look nice. Ready?”

She felt like she was going to throw up as he opened her door and guided her into the car with his hand on her lower back. While he drove them to wherever they were going, she really looked at him. He was so different yet the same. Same eyes and smile, but his hair was longer and the years in the NHL had given him extra muscle.

“Stop staring at me.” He said, giving her the side eye, but he was smiling.

She chuckled and looked out the window at the buildings “ So where are we going?”

“To dinner.”

“Okay but where?”

“In a restaurant? Where else would we be going?”

She rolled her eyes “Your so annoying.”

“You haven’t seen me in four years and your telling me I’m annoying? That’s hurts L.”

She felt a tiny pang at the nickname he used to call her, and he must have too because his smile faded a bit and he cleared his throat.

“Uhm anyway…So where is Kaitlin tonight?”

“Uhm. She’s on a work trip in Florida or something. She said I should ask you to come to this thing. If I didn’t Beau would have thrown a tantrum.”

She smiled “I like Beau. He’s funny.”

Mat knew she meant as a friend but he felt a tiny twinge of jealousy. He wanted to be the one making her laugh, not Beau.

“I’m really glad you guys get along. He and Kaitlin don’t always.”

Leighton pursed her lips “Yeah I’ve noticed. What’s that about?”

Mat shrugged “Honestly, I’m really not sure. They’ve just never gotten along. It’s not easy, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’ve never had to deal with it before.”

In high school, his friends and teammates loved Leighton, and loved them together. It had been easy and when Beau and Kaitlin ended up on bad terms, Mat didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry Mat. That must be tough.”

“It is. But enough about that.” He said parking the car and turning to her smiling “Lets go. I want to catch up with you tonight, and not talk about that.”

*********

“Did you break up with Kaitlin. My man!” Mat turned as Jordan slapped him jovially on the shoulder, big smile on his face.

“Did I what?no.”

His smile faded and he frowned, looking confused “Well then who’s that?” Mat sighed. Leighton had been friendly and charming to all his teammates she had met so far. Her big smile and soft eyes drew people in like a magnet.

“That’s Leighton.” A collective gasp went up around the table. Most of his teammates knew about Leighton in some form.

“Leighton as in the girl you asked to marry-“

“Yes Marty let’s just not go there.”

“Does Kaitlin know she’s here?”

Mat opened his mouth to answer, but Beau spoke first “Who cares?”

Jordan and Marty laughed, both shaking their heads.

“We’ll I have to say Barz this is one I like. I’m so happy you moved on from Kaitlin.” Sydney had now joined them, smiling widely at him, missing Marty shaking his head at her trying to catch her attention. Beau started laughing and Jordan was smirking as he watched Sydney furrow her eyebrows and look between them.

“What’s so funny?”

“He didn’t dump Kaitlin. That’s his ex girlfriend.” Marty mumbled in her ear. Her eyes widened and she chuckled awkwardly and gave him an apologetic look.

“Oh. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

“Do you guys really dislike her that much.” He looked around the table. They wouldn’t meet his eyes but they all shrugged.

“It’s not that she just isn’t- what we would expect.” Sydney said choosing her words carefully “This one.” She said jerking her head in Leighton’s direction “Is more someone I could see you with.”

“Plus she has a smoking hot friend.” Beau added in. Ginny had just arrived, greeting Leighton at the bar and ordering a drink. Sydney rolled her eyes.

Matt spent the rest of the evening not really listening to what anyone was saying. He could t believe how much his team and their wives and girlfriends disliked Kaitlin. The more he thought about things the more he realized he had been missing all the signs. Kaitlin rarely came to games and when she did she always brought a work friend and didn’t sit with the other girls. She never went to any WAG gatherings or out with them for dinner or drinks. And here was Leighton, someone who had been absent for 4 years, fitting seamlessly into the mix, laughing and joking with them over drinks. It didn’t add up and it was frustrating. It was even more frustrating when he found her leaned over the bar top talking with the bartender.

Tall, black hair, well built. She definitely had a type.

He cleared his throat as he approached, causing her to turn to him. It was almost 1 am, and he was mad and tired.

“ Hey, it’s getting late. Are you ready?” She turned and smiled at him but shook her head.

“Actually.” She glanced at the bartender “ I think I’m gonna stay.” The bartender was giving him a smug look. He had watched him give Leighton one too many once overs and flirty smiles, and he wanted nothing more than to punch the guy in the face for doing it, which didn’t make any sense.

She was his ex girlfriend. He had moved on, why couldn’t she? She was too good, too special to be thinking about going home with a bartender with bad tattoos and no real value for her. He couldn’t tell her not to, but he could try.

Mat reached for her hand pulling her to him “ He’s not good enough for you.” He whispered and turned walking through the crowd and put into the night air. Leighton stood mouth open watching him leave.

“So anyway I get off in-“ the bartender said leaning forward but Leighton had walked away from him, following Mat outside. Who did he think he was? He couldn’t say that to her. He was engaged, and here he was trying to make her feel bad about flirting with a guy she wasn’t even going to call again.

He was on his phone ordering an Uber when he heard the door bang open.

“Hey!” He spun to find Leighton standing on the steps hands balled into fists at her sides. She looked angry, her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed.

“Don’t say things like that to me!”

“Leighton I-“

“He’s not good enough for you? I don’t need you inside my head anymore. It’s not up to you to decide that for me. You have fiancé, you moved on. Why can’t I ?”

“I didn’t mean it that way, I just meant -“

“No! I don’t care how you meant it. It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to kaitlin either!” She gave him one last glare before she stormed back inside.

He let his head fall back and huffed out a breath. He knew he was being stupid, and unfair to everyone including himself. He slipped into his Uber mind going a million miles a minute.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

********

“I’m ready to leave.” Ginny turned and found Leighton flushed and angry behind her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just ready to leave.”

“Okay.” Without a seconds hesitation she tossed her drink back, and paid her tab following Leighton out the front of the bar. As soon as the door shut Leighton exploded. She was talking so fast and so angrily Ginny could barely understand what she was saying but got the gist of it.

“And then he said ‘He’s not good enough for you’. What the hell does that even mean? He can’t say that to me!”

“Oh you two. I wish you could just both realize you still love each other and fix this whole mess.”

“I don’t love him.” Leighton said scoffing and folding her arms as they walked and argued.

“Oh my god, shut up L. Be honest about this for once in your life.”

“I’m done taking about this.” She snapped. They walked the rest of the way in silence each slamming their bedroom doors. They threw themselves into bed, stewing for a few moments before pulling out their phones. They both had multiple notifications, tagged posts and follow requests from various teammates and wives. Leighton liked them all, even making plans for shopping with a few and she and Ginny had been invited to dinner with others. She sighed and rolled over, tossing her phone aside, before she spoke out loud to the darkness.

“I hate you Mat Barzal.”

********

1,339 miles away Kaitlin washed her face and go ready for bed in her hotel room. She settled in and pulled her phone out as she turned the tv on and flicked the lamp off. She scrolled through Instagram and immediately noticed several groupings of photos from some of the other wags. She scrolled through a feeling of dread coming over her.

Leighton and Ginny were both in many of the photos, smiling and toasting with drinks like they had known them forever. They looked so natural, like it was where they belonged. All the wags had already followed both of them, commenting back and forth and arranging to get together. She got more annoyed as she scrolled but when she scrolled to the last picture she got angry.

Mat and Leighton were standing smiling at each other, a candid photo taken by Lauren Eberle. He was looking at Leighton like Kaitlin had always wanted him to look at her. She closed the app, and put the phone down, blinking away angry tears.

Things were going to change when she got back to Long Island.

[nurse-buckley]

I’m Coming - Part 1

Fandom: 9-1-1  Word Count: 2,453 Characters: Christopher Diaz, Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley.  Warnings: mentions of the flu, brief descriptions of flu like symptoms and brief mentions of medicine and hospitals.  Summary: When Chris needs help, he knows he can always count on one person.  Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz​ @fireladybuckley @pupandangelscoffee @winterreader-nowwriter @dayrin085

It was no secret that Eddie was run down. On top of the extra shifts at the firehouse, he’d been running Christopher to school and physiotherapy appointments. They had all taken their toll on the firefighter. One morning, on one of Eddie’s last days off, Chris had come down with the flu that had been going around. He’d been lucky to have a few days off with his son, but now he was due to work his next shift and he’d had to reluctantly make the decision to drop him off with Carla. Eddie didn’t want to, and when he’d left the nurses house to drop his son off, he wanted to cry just as much as Chris had. He pushed it aside however, they needed the money and there was only one 24 hour shift left before he’d have two more days off with his son. 

As the shift progressed Eddie couldn’t deny the tiredness he felt. The shift dragged and each call felt a little harder than the last. By the time he was driving to Carla’s to pick Chris up, he knew he’d caught what his son had come down with. He only hoped he hadn’t passed it to anyone at the firehouse or any of the patients he’d come into contact with. With a thank you to Carla, Eddie picked up his son, carrying his tired form, still wrapped in the blanket he’d been dropped off with and got into his car. 

“You feeling okay bud?” Eddie asked. 

Chris nodded, a small smile on his face because he was back with his dad. The young boy looked terrible, his face pale with dark circles under his eyes. Eddie would think he was worse than when he’d left him 24 hours ago, but Carla had assured him that his temperature had come down and that the grape flavoured Tylenol he’d left with was working it’s magic. 

When the pair arrived home, Eddie noticed Chris had dozed off. He moved to the back seat, careful not to wake him up. He knew he’d failed as he was met with the sleepy grin of his kid. He gathered Chris and the blanket up in his arms, before walking towards their apartment. By the time Eddie had Chris settled on the sofa, he was exhausted. He pushed the feelings aside however, to warm up the ‘flu fighter chicken noodle soup’ his abuela had dropped off for him. 

10 minutes later Eddie had two bowls of soup with a side of saltine crackers, carrying them to the sofa to settle down with his son to watch cartoons. “We’re gonna eat this, give you some more medicine and then get you to bed, mijo.” 

“The grape flavour?” 

“Yeah bud, I got the grape flavour from Carla.” 

It wasn’t long before the pair were done with their soup. Chris had begun coughing again and hadn’t had much of an appetite for the last few days anyway and Eddie had had his fill of soup and crackers as well. 

Eddie decided to let Chris rest a while longer, having fallen asleep tucked in his blankets next to him. Truth be told he was too tired himself, his body aching. After another half an hour, he felt his eyes drooping and he knew he couldn’t push himself to stay awake any longer otherwise the two would be spending the night on the sofa. 

He picked up his son, hushing him softly as he stirred in his arms. He carried the younger boy into his room, and placed him down gently on the bed. A soft laugh came from Eddie as Chris clung to him, not wanting to let go. He placed a kiss on the younger boy's head before pulling away, “sleep, hopefully you’ll feel a bit better in the morning.” 

After his son was tucked in Eddie turned on Chris’ nightlight and closed the door slightly before heading to his own room. He’d clean the plates away in the morning. The firefighter didn’t even bother changing into his pyjamas, choosing to strip down to his boxers and t-shirt before he climbed into bed himself.  

The next day Eddie awoke, his head was pounding. He’d slept in having forgotten to set his alarm. He would have slept for longer had it not been for Chris coming into his room, waking him with a gentle hand on his head. 

With a sigh Eddie had dragged himself out of bed and headed to the kitchen, preparing a bowl of cereal for Chris and a cup of coffee for himself. He needed the caffeine and the way his stomach was churning, he didn’t think he could bring himself to eat anything. 

The duo decided to have a lazy day, watching movies. By the time evening came, with the aid of more Tylenol and his abuela’s soup, Chris was feeling and looking better than he had in the last few days. 

The same, however, could not be said for Eddie. By the time he had put Chris to bed Eddie was feeling rough, thankfully the young boy had settled after one story. He felt sweaty, his throat hurting as well as his head and the cough that had started earlier that day had only gotten worse. He made a note to himself to get some Tylenol for himself the next time he made a run to the store. He rarely had it stocked, he didn’t have time to be sick between work and looking after Christopher. Right now he regretted that decision. 

Chris woke in the middle of the night, he hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. He assumed his dad must have carried him to bed and tucked him in. His throat was sore and he needed a drink, he’d usually call for his dad but with his throat so sore and his voice hoarse, he decided to climb out of bed, being sure to grab his glasses on the way. Thankful for his nightlight and the hallway light his father usually left on he made his way into his dad’s bedroom. Walking in, he noticed that his dad wasn’t in his bed, the bed unmade having not been slept in at all. 

“Dad?” he called out. 

With no response, Chris was about to make his way out to the hallway when he saw his dad on the other side of his bed, sprawled on the floor, unconscious. 

The young boy moved to his dad's side, calling his name as he moved. He fell by his dad's slumped body, shaking him gently as repeated his calls. “Dad? Daddy, wake up!” 

With no response, Chris began to worry, and then he remembered what his dad had told him. He fumbled around, feeling Eddie’s pockets until he found Eddie’s mobile. He pulled it out, having the passcode memorised, unlocked it and called the first number he could think of. 

Buck was asleep when his phone started playing his familiar ringtone. At first he thought it was his alarm, fumbling around in the dark to turn off the offending noise. After a second longer, he realised he hadn’t set his alarm, it was his day off. He turned his bedside lamp on, looking at the caller ID on his phone. Eddie. Why was Eddie calling him at 2 in the morning? 

“Hello?” 

“Buck?” A sob came through the phone. 

Any tiredness Buck was feeling was immediately replaced by worry at the sound of the panicked cry of his name on the other side of the line. 

“Chris?” 

“Buck!” 

Buck could hear the fear in the younger boy's voice, he could hear his breathing getting quicker and the sobs beginning to emanate from him. 

Buck sat upright on the side of his bed, his full attention on Christopher. “Alright, I need you to take a deep breath for me buddy, can you do that?” 

After he had guided the younger boy through a few deep breaths, Buck was able to get to figuring out what was going on. 

“Chris, what’s wrong? Where’s your dad, huh?” 

He heard Chris sob again but with more calming reassurances from Buck, he was able to calm himself enough to continue. “It’s dad. He’s laying down and won’t wake up.” 

Buck swore he felt his heart stop and his blood ran cold with fear. He bolted up right from his bed, stumbling to put on the sweatpants and hoodie that were on his floor from the previous evening. “Alright buddy, I’m gonna need you to be strong for me, okay?” 

A choked “okay” came through the line. 

“I’m on my way, but I need you to tell me if he’s breathing, can you do that for me?” The firefighter ran down the stairs, he grabbed his sneakers and keys before he made his way out of his apartment. 

With another response Buck began to explain what he needed from the young boy. “Put me on speaker okay, then I’m gonna need you to lean in close to his mouth and listen if he’s breathing, look at his chest and tell me if it’s moving.” 

Chris did as he was told, with the phone on speaker, he let Buck know he was still there. He leant in close, relieved to see his dad was still breathing. “I-I think so. I’m scared Buck.” 

Buck, now in his car, his phone coming through the speaker on his phone, let out a breath he had been holding since he’d asked Chris that question. 

“I know buddy, I’m coming. Can you tell me if his breathing is fast or slow?” 

Chris leant in once more, unsure, “I think fast?” 

“You’re doing great buddy, one more question alright? I’m nearly there,” Buck reassured. “Is your dad lying on his back or on his side?” 

“He’s on his back,” Chris announced. 

“I need you to be strong okay? I need you to try and roll your dad over onto his side, okay?” 

Buck heard the grunt over the speaker as Chris attempted to roll his dad onto his side. He let out another breath when Chris announced his success.  

Buck couldn’t help the cheer that escaped his mouth, “well done Chris, you’re doing great. I’m just pulling up now. I need you to do one more thing alright? I need you to gently lift his chin a little bit, it’ll help with his breathing.” 

Chris confirmed the manoeuvre, earning himself another round of praise from his friend. 

“I’m here Chris, I’ve got keys, so just stay with your dad.” 

Buck almost dropped the keys as he fumbled them in his hands, he moved through each key until he found the one he needed to get into the apartment.  

Chris heard the lock on the door opening. “Chris?” the younger firefighter called out. Chris could hear the lights being flicked on in the apartment as Buck made his way through the apartment. 

“Buck?” 

Following the sound of Chris’ voice, Buck ran into Eddie’s bedroom where he found the pair. His heart almost stopped at the sight of his best friend so pale and lifeless. Eddie didn’t look good and if he was honest, Chris didn’t look too much better himself. Chris was at his side, holding his dad’s hand in a death grip, his small hands almost being swallowed by Eddie’s larger ones. 

Buck knelt by Eddie’s other side, turning him onto his back, tilting his head back and leaning in close to check his breathing. It was laboured and faster than his liking, but that was to be expected with the flu. With two fingers gently pressed into his neck, Buck felt for Eddie’s pulse. He could not only feel the frantic beating under his finger tips, but also the burning of his skin. 

“Alright bud, I think your dad needs a bit more help than I can give him. We’re gonna call an ambulance alright, get him checked out at the hospital.” 

Chris sniffed a tear as he tightened the grip on his dad’s hand. “Okay.” 

Buck moved Eddie into the recovery position, ensuring his airway wasn’t compromised and his vitals were remaining stable. He pulled out his phone, he dialled 911 to explain the situation at hand. He thought about sending a message to the 118 group chat, but thought against it. He didn’t want to unnecessarily worry people until he had the full picture himself. Buck also needed to keep his focus and full attention on Chris, the kid needed him. 

Buck crawled towards Chris, wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close to his side. The firefighter turned to face the younger boy to get a better look at him. “How’re you feeling bud? You still feeling sick?” Buck placed a hand on the young boys head, feeling the warm skin there. 

Chris nodded, his lips formed into a pout as he leaned into Buck’s comforting embrace. 

The ambulance arrived not long after Buck had put the call in, he left the pair only to answer the door to let the members of the 118 who were on his opposite shifts take over. He was glad to have some familiar faces helping his friend. While the paramedics worked, Buck took Chris to his room, helping him change into some comfortable clothes and shoes. Buck decided against bringing Chris’ crutches, he wrapped him in the soft blanket from his bed and hoisted him onto his hip before meeting the paramedics at the front door. 

Eddie was now secured to a stretcher, his shirt had been cut open and wires had been attached everywhere. He had an oxygen mask securely attached to his face. He kept Chris’ head tucked into his neck, not wanting the young boy to see his dad in that condition. 

“We’ll follow you in the car,” Buck announced to the paramedics who began to carry Eddie’s stretcher out of the apartment. 

“No!” Chris squirmed in his arms, but Buck held him tight. 

He moved Chris in his arms so he could look the boy in the eyes. “Chris, we need to give the paramedics room to work, alright? Your daddy’s in good hands okay, our friends will look after him until we get to the hospital.” 

The younger boy eventually relaxed into his friend's arms. He rested his head against Buck’s shoulder, exhausted from the events of the night and the flu still draining the energy from him. The pair made their way down the stairs, following behind the paramedics. Buck let Chris watch them load Eddie into the back of the ambulance, allowing the younger boy to know his dad was in safe hands. Once the ambulance drove off, Buck strapped Chris into his car before following behind the vehicle.

[athenasbloodyspear]

Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter Two

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

Please note: This fic describes depression, anxiety, panic attacks, past/referenced non con and domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion.

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You wake to a slight pounding in your skull right between your eyes and an extremely dry mouth. You groan and flop onto your back, squinting at the bright light streaming through the window. Rolling to glance at the clock on your nightstand you discover that it is 6:30 in the morning. It makes sense, you estimate you fell asleep somewhere around 7:30 last night.

You suddenly shoot straight up in bed, your heart pounding. Oh my god. Bucky. He carried you here last night. You’re still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from the night before. There’s a glass of water and two small white pills on your nightstand and your shoes are laying right next to the bed. He must have put you to bed. You don’t remember anything after he picked you up.

You flop back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling above your bed, watching the early morning light flicker. A small smile fights its way to your lips. You couldn’t stop the growing grin if you tried. Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes himself carried you to bed last night and for some reason your heart is leaping around in your chest. You can almost feel it bouncing around in your rib cage. What the hell is wrong with you?

You put both hands over your face and let yourself giggle for a moment. You feel like a teenager who just spoke to her crush for the first time. Your fingers are a little tingly and you feel like there are butterflies making a nest in your abdomen. After a few moments of this you suddenly decide you have to get your shit together and go thank him.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and standing up proved to be more painful to your brain than you expected. You had to promptly sit back down on your mattress as your head spun and your vision began to tunnel. You hated hangovers. They made you feel so dizzy and weak. You attempted standing again, slower this time, and took a second to orient yourself to your now vertical stance.

You were… giddy. It felt strange to be fully present in your body and feeling something beyond apathy, but it was also the most relieving feeling. You gave another small smile to yourself. You felt more like yourself than you had in months. Immediately upon realizing that, you heard a voice in your head start whispering things to you.

Don’t spend any time being happy. You’re an embarrassment. If he knew who you really are lately he wouldn’t waste any time on you.

Oof. Just like that all the wind left your sails. You could feel your shoulders curve instinctively. The voice in your head was technically right. Bucky would be so embarrassed and disappointed in you. He’d never look at you the same. None of them would. They respect you for your strength and resilience, and if they knew what happened they wouldn’t see you as strong anymore. You’re not the person who you thought you were. Everything about your personality that you loved had shattered into pieces about seven months ago and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. There had been a moment just now. A brief wonderful moment that you saw clarity. That you felt like the person you used to be. It had been months in a row of feeling like your head was stuck under water. The world felt blurry, the sounds around you were muffled. You felt like your lungs weren’t really getting the oxygen you needed. But for a moment this morning, with the sunrise reflecting off the metal beams of the ceiling, your head had crested the surface. You had taken a huge breath of air and felt the sun on your skin for the first time in such a long time.

How did it slip from you so quickly? You were sinking under again, but instead of the drifting feeling you’d had, it suddenly felt like every muscle in your body was kicking toward the surface. You didn’t want to drown anymore. You wanted to feel the sun on your hair and the breeze across the back of your neck. You wanted to run and run and run and actually feel the oxygen in your lungs.

It suddenly felt very dire that you move. That you didn’t stand here with your eyes closed in limbo. You had to move, go somewhere, do something, talk to someone or you’d fall deeper. You shoved your feet into your sneakers and stumbled out the door with no real direction in mind.

I suppose I could just go thank Bucky. That’s a good starting point.

You whip your feet to the right and head farther down the hall toward Bucky’s room. Once you approach his door and knock you have a moment of silence to organize your swirling thoughts.

What are you going to say to him? Thank you I guess. Oh god you were still in your clothes from last night and you’re positive that your breath is probably so rank it would kill flies. You swallow hard and take a reflexive step back from the door. If you’re farther away, he might not be able to smell you. You try to take a surreptitious sniff of your armpit and you actually don’t smell quite as bad as you expected, but you still don’t exactly smell as fresh as a daisy.

Your head is spinning, but he’s not coming to the door. It’s at this moment that you realize that it is in fact only 6:30 in the morning and it’s entirely possible that everyone stayed up much later than 7:00 last night and could still be sleeping. You slap a hand to your forehead. God you’re so spacey lately.

You whip around to head back to your room when Friday speaks into the hallway above you.

“Agent Barnes is not home, Y/N. Agents Barnes, Wilson and Parker left around 6:00 this morning on a short reconnaissance mission. They should be home this evening. Bucky did peek his head in your door this morning before they left. You woke shortly after.”

Ah. Okay then. So the two people you were thinking of trying to talk to this morning are gone. In fact, the person who probably would have been third on the list of doors to knock on is gone too. Shit. You still felt restless, like if you didn’t keep treading water you’d drown. Absentmindedly bouncing on the balls of your feet you chewed on a thumb nail. Friday spoke again.

“Natasha is downstairs in the kitchen making coffee. Just so you know.”

You look up at the ceiling. How did Friday know you needed to talk to someone? Was Tony watching and wanted you to talk to Nat? Did Nat ask Friday to tell you? Did you care?

“Thanks Friday.” You say to the ceiling. You spin and begin your walk to the elevators.

“Anytime.”

~0~

Nat was indeed making coffee in the kitchen. She looked up when you stepped in and smiled.

“Morning Y/N. How’s that head?”

You chuckled at that and shook your head, wincing a little as your brain sloshed around in your head. “It’s… a little painful I won’t lie.”

“Sit. Coffee, water, tylenol and a really messy egg sandwich will help.”

“Thank you, Nat.”

She turned and started the coffee machine before walking to the fridge to grab you a glass of water. You leaned over the counter and placed your forehead in your hands. Suddenly two tiny little pills and a glass of water were pushed into your field of vision. You lifted your head and saw Nat walking over to the stove with some butter, eggs, cheese and bread in hand.

“Thanks.” You swallow both pills and then spend the next few minutes just slowly trying to get as much water down as you can. When your glass is empty you stand up to refill when suddenly an egg sandwich is set down in front of you.

“Sit and eat. I’ll refill for you. Milk in your coffee?”

“Just a splash. Thank you, again.”

Nat smiles. “You’re welcome.” She returns with your coffee and fresh water in hand. As you dig into your sandwich she leans her back against the kitchen island across from you.

“So. It sounds like James had to carry your ass to bed last night. What’s up with that?” Nat tosses casually over her shoulder. There’s something in her voice that you can’t quite pick up on. There’s a subtext you’re missing.

“Um. I was drunk. On accident. I think I was just dehydrated and didn’t eat dinner. I almost fell on my ass so he uh… carried me.” You keep your eyes on your egg sandwich, your cheeks felt like they were on fire with your blush.

“Hm. I don’t remember you being such a lightweight. If I remember correctly, when we were in Vienna you nearly drank Thor under the table.” Nat quips.

You huff a laugh. You nearly had. God you missed that big hulking brute. You really hoped things were okay in Asgard. “Yeah… I just am out of practice I guess.” you say through a mouthful of eggs.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be out of practice with.” Nat says, turning toward you fully this time. She’s looking at you like she asked you a question even though she definitely did not.

“I suppose” you mutter back. You hadn’t felt anxious since walking in the kitchen, but now theres a small seed of panic in your gut. You shift a little in your seat, shoving the last bite of egg sandwich in your mouth. She’s giving you her Black Widow interrogation stare and you don’t like it.

She breaks the silence. “You’re kinda also out of the ‘talking to your family’ practice.” The last bite of egg sandwich gets lodged in your esophagus. You choke and start hacking a cough as you try to force the suddenly very dry bits of bread down your throat. Nat just leans her elbows on the counter and lifts one eyebrow at you. “What’s up with that?”

“Oh. Um.” You’re sputtering as you try to get air back down your throat. “Uh. It’s nothing personal. Just kinda… don’t feel like talking.”

“Hmmm.” Nat hums as she leans back. She slaps her palms against the countertop. “Well, you better muster up the strength because Tony has a therapist scheduled to start coming here every other week. No ifs, ands or buts. You’re going to spend an hour every two weeks with her whether you ‘feel like it’ or not. Got it?” She turns to go.

“Yes ma’am.” You mutter.

“I thought I told you never to call me that again.” Nat tosses over her shoulder as she picks up her coffee and starts to exit the kitchen.

“It’s a reflex, Nat. It’s hard not to when someone talks to me like a commanding officer.”

She pushes her hips against the door to open it and rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever. She’ll be here at three tomorrow. You can meet her in the conference room. If you’d rather not be around with prying eyes it sounds like it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow. Maybe you could sit by the lake.” With that she leaves.

“Okay.” You say out loud to the empty room.

~0~

Even though your moment with Nat was brief this morning, and rather scathing, you still feel better than you did standing in the middle of your room this morning. You’re not quite on dry land, but you feel your nose and mouth are at least above water and you’re breathing more deeply.

You spend sometime in the gym. You go back to boxing and lifting some weights. You figure that part of Tony’s forced therapy is that he cares about you, and also probably that they need you back on the field. It’s rare that they send Peter on recon missions as they don’t like to pull him out of school if they can help it, so Steve and Tony must be a little short handed at the moment. You should probably start getting back into field shape. Although, with how much running you’ve been doing you could probably hold your own out there.

After working out and showering you decide to wander around the outside of the complex. Nat was right, the weather is pretty pleasant right now so you might as well get some fresh air.

You think about your impending date with a therapist tomorrow. You feel a small twinge of shame twist in your chest when you think of it. Steve and Tony are so busy all the time, and yet you let your own stupid emotions and inability to cope make them worried. They had to take care of you, again. It’s exactly the kind of self hatred spiral that you’d been sucked into lately.  

This was all just so unlike you. It was so antithetical to everything that you held as your core personality traits. The reason that Tony and Steve had hand picked you to be the one that got the final dose of super serum they had uncovered is because you were resilient. Time and time again, mission after mission you had kept a cool head. Rolled with the punches. You’d been knocked down, beaten, stabbed and shot and still stood back up and jumped back into the next mission they’d offer. Sometimes even begging to be sent out before you got your medical clearance.

You’d gotten along with the team instantly. Even back when you were just a basic agent running their com links. You’d been trying to coordinate a million different channels and Sam had made some sarcastic comment about how the new kid was causing interference on the channels. You’d been trying to juggle so many things at once that you hadn’t even registered that you had snapped back that if he could just be smart enough to block his head while fighting and keep his com from being bashed around, your job wouldn’t be so hard.

There had been a moment of silence on the other end of the line and then all at once 4 different com links lit up as laughter spilled into your ear piece. You’d heard Nat ribbing Sam for always forgetting to block his ears and Steve cackling that “the kid just really got you.” Tony was chuckling quietly and Sam was saying “Fair. Fair.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

That was who you were. Managing what felt like a thousand com links, and still making jokes. You were cracking up with Sam on the battlefield. Helping Nat try to set Steve up on dates while you were doing recon. Laughing while you and Bucky beat each other up on the sparring mats.

You didn’t know the person you had become this year. Laying on the floor of your living room for hours on end? Not answering the door when Peter came over after school? Not taking a single mission for nearly 9 months? It just started one day and then just snowballed and snowballed. The more you laid around, the more you just hated yourself for not being able to get back up.

I mean c’mon . You’d been shot once busting up an arms deal in Sudan and all you did was laugh before hopping back up and clobbering the guy over the head with a loose cement block. Bucky had panicked and run your way when he saw you get hit, insisting he medivac you out. You had just winced and put a hand over the hole in your shoulder and said “and miss all the action? No chance.”

It baffled you that you couldn’t pull it together now.

Maybe the therapist would be good. As much as you hated to admit it, you clearly needed help.

A rumble in the distance alerted you that the quinjet had arrived home. You wandered across the grass to the landing pad to say hi to your friends. You could thank Bucky for last night and maybe ask Peter to watch a movie tonight. Or you could help him with his homework, not that the kid needed it. Just something. You suddenly really didn’t want to be alone.

As you rounded the corner of the building and caught sight of everyone, you realized that everyone was running around a little too frantically for your comfort level. You heard Sam yell “Someone get him to the med wing.”

“On it!” That was Steve.

Your heart froze in your chest and you paused mid step. You felt very torn between running toward the jet, and running clear in the other direction. You weren’t sure if you could handle whatever it was that was happening. It was then that you saw Bucky walking down the ramp of the jet with a red suited body cradled in his arms.

Your heart restarted with a vengeance and your feet moved on their own. Sprinting toward the jet. A choked “Peter!” ripped from your lungs.

As you stepped up on the landing pad Sam caught you around the waist and pulled you back. “He’s fine Y/N. He’s gonna be fine. Just needs some stitches and a concussion check.”

You were panting hard as you stood up on your tiptoes to peek over Sam’s shoulder in time to see Bucky pass Peter to Steve. You placed both palms on Sam’s chest and pushed with all your strength to get him out of your way. It was unfair, you used all your super strength against him. His breath wooshed from his chest as he skidded a few feet back. You started your dash towards Peter again before two arms, one warm and one cold, wrapped around your waist and dragged you backward.

“Stop. Stop sweetheart. Give him space. He’s just dazed.” Bucky grunted as you slammed into his chest. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he dragged you backwards away from the retreating form of Steve. Your hands scrambled for purchase over his arms. Pushing with all your strength against the metal and flesh wrapped around your middle. He, unlike Sam, did not budge.

This was your fault. You couldn’t get your shit together and Peter had to go on a mission for you and he got hurt. It was your own damn fault.

“Breathe. Please breathe for me. C’mon baby breathe.” Bucky was lowering you down to your knees now. You were suddenly aware of the concrete of the landing pad beneath your knees. Your breaths were ragged and choked. You felt like you were breathing through a straw. “Whoa whoa whoa sweetheart. You have to breathe for me.”  

Bucky was on his knees now in front of you. He had pushed back a bit so he could look into your face, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to get you to match the pace of his breathing. You couldn’t tear your eyes off the door that Steve had just walked through.

“I can’t” you choked out. “Peter.” It felt like your throat was closing up. Where was the oxygen in the world?

“He’s fine. I promise. He got a little distracted and someone bashed him over the head with a two-by-four. He probably needs like 2 stitches in his eyebrow. He was also a little panicked and dazed, that’s why I was carrying him. It’s fine.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky. He was scanning your face now. He looked absolutely petrified.

“You’re lying. You’re lying to me right now. I have to get to him.” You tried to stand up. To push him away. Bucky and his damn bionic arm didn’t move.  

Bucky wraps his arms tighter around you and pulls you back down. You’re basically smashed against his chest now. He lets out a frantic humorless laugh “I am not lying to you. I’m terrified because you’re hyperventilating and I need you to breathe. Now.”

All at once your muscles go slack and tense at the same time. You stop fighting Bucky as it registers just how low on oxygen you are. Your heart is pounding nearly out of your chest and your throat keeps getting smaller. “I-can’t” you choke. Your chest spasms a bit as your abdominal muscles clench. You feel tears burning behind your eyes. Over Bucky’s shoulder Sam looks on with an equally panicked look on his face. He has one foot pointing away from you like he’s wondering if he should go get someone but doesn’t want to leave in case you need him.

“Yes you can. I know you can. Just match me, okay?” Bucky murmurs in your ear. His flesh hand is running smooth lines down your spine and he’s rocking your body very slowly back and forth. He takes a very deep breath and you splutter and choke as you try to force your lungs to match his pace. “That’s my girl. C’mon keep following my chest.”

Your body collapses fully against Bucky now. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and hiccup as you try to force your lungs into breathing cyclically in time with him.

The burn behind your eyes increases and you feel yourself slipping backwards. You’re falling deeper into the water the way you were this morning. Falling away from the sun and the breeze.

“I’m drowning. I’m drowning, Bucky. Oh god.” You pant.

Bucky whipped back to look you in the eyes “What?” he breathed. He was scanning your whole face and body, like he was looking for the source of water in your lungs. He didn’t know you meant it figuratively.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me Bucky. I’m so scared.” You whispered. You could barely keep your eyes open. Seeing the pain on his face, the look of pure terrified confusion on Sam’s face was so painful.  

Bucky brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay Doll. I’ve got you. Sam’s here. It’s okay.”

You buried your face into his neck again. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t explain. With your head buried, you missed Bucky throw a questioning look over his shoulder at Sam. You missed Sam shrugging his shoulders. Both of your friends, at a loss of how to help you. All they knew to do at the moment was make sure you were breathing.

The tears finally came. Big, hot, wet tears pouring from your eyes. Your body shaking with the force of them finally escaping after months of holding them in. You were incoherent. Babbling now as you just tried to rid your body of this demon of pain that seized every muscle. “Oh my god Bucky. I just… I let him do this to me. I… I’m such an idiot. I just… oh god” you were practically seizing in his arms now, he was holding tight to you like he was trying to keep pieces of you from cracking off.  

“What?” He choked out.

“Him!” You wailed. “I let him hurt me. I let him destroy who I am and I don’t even know why.”

Bucky was running a hand through your hair now. Softly whispering “Shhh it’s okay. It’s okay” into your neck. Sam had moved closer and placed a hand on your shin in quiet support. He had his head bowed and was looking at the concrete. You stayed in your tableau for a long time. Like a renaissance painting frozen in time. Slowly your heart beat went back to a steady rhythm and your breathing evened out.

Eventually, you sniffled and leaned back to look at Bucky. You were sure your hair was a mess, your face was splotchy and you probably had snot and tears running down your whole face. In fact, you probably got snot all over him. You really hoped it didn’t mess up anything in his arm.

Bucky looked at you quietly. He seemed to be waiting for you to speak, offering you a life preserver in a sea of uncertain emotions. Your voice was raspy when you finally spoke “I want to see Peter.”

Bucky just nodded and picked you up to set you on your feet. He backed away with his hands still on your hips, like he was worried you couldn’t stand on your own. “I’m okay.” you mumbled as you tried to smooth out your hair and use the sleeve of your t-shirt to wipe up your face. “I can stand. I’m okay.”

You turned and started walking back into the compound, the two of them flanking you as you began the trek to the med wing.

~0~

Upon arriving in the medical wing you snagged a tissue from a nearby box and tried to wipe up the rest of your face. You glanced at your reflection in one of the nearby glass panels and winced at how puffy and blotchy your face was. You tried to rub your face to even out the tone of your skin, but there was nothing you could do about how puffy your eyes were.

After walking farther down the hall you spotted Peter. Sitting up on a table where Dr. Cho was shining a light in both of his eyes. As you stepped into the room you just heard her say “A slight concussion. You should be cleared for activity in a week or so.” Before turning to put away all of her instruments.

“Hi.” You squeaked out. When Peter turned his eyes in your direction you nearly burst into tears again. He had brightened and smiled at the sound of your voice, but when his eyes hit your face his smile fell.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Sliding off the table to walk over to you. You glanced behind you and saw Bucky and Sam hovering just outside the door of the room. They were very obviously trying to watch you without looking like they were watching you.

“I think that’s my line.” You chuckle as Peter wraps you in a hug. Over your shoulder, Peter shoots a questioning look at Sam and Bucky.

Sam speaks up. “Someone got a little freaked when you got carried off the jet.”

Peter pulls back to look at you again. “Oh god Y/N. I’m okay. I promise. I just got a little overwhelmed when I realized I had let my guard down and panicked, and then I got dazed when I got whacked on my head. I’m okay.” When Peter notices the water fill up in your eyes he pulls you back in. “Oh please don’t cry. I’m fine. Just four stitches is all.”

“Bucky said you were only gonna need two.” You grumbled into his chest. Peter snorted. In the hall Bucky humphed.

“Four is not that far off, okay? I was close.”

Peter was rubbing his hands up and down your arms and laughing softly. “You know I think I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” you noted, “this is sort of backwards.” Then all three of them were chuckling. You pulled back from Peter to look at him. “I’m sorry for being a baby, you just scared me.”  

“ I scared you?” Peter questioned “I think normally it’s you who shows up here all bloody and unconscious scaring the hell out of me, so I guess it was my turn.”

You chuckled a bit and grinned at Peter. His eyes lit up when he caught the upward tilt of your lips and he hauled you back against his chest. “I missed you, Y/N.” Peter said quietly.

“I’m right here, Peter.”

“Yeah, you are.” Peter sighed. Then he pulled back to look at you again. “Movie night? Maybe in the common room so everyone can watch? We haven’t finished the Fast the Furious movies yet.”

“Oh god I’m not watching if you’re past the third one.” Sam groaned from the hall. “They just went downhill after that.”

“Good news for you then birdman, we’re on Tokyo Drift.” Peter called out as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the room.

“Who you calling birdman, spider punk?” Sam shot back.

You snorted. All three of them whipped their heads to look at you. “What?” you asked indignantly, “It was funny!”

Bucky reached out and mussed your hair. “There she is.”

You pushed back against his arm. “Oh shut up, Terminator.”

Sam buckled over and held his stomach as he cackled, Peter’s chest shook next to you.

“What’s a terminator?” Bucky asked, making Peter and Sam laugh harder. Peter had to lift his arm off of your shoulder to put his hands on his knees.

You patted Buck on his metal shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you’re even older, you dinosaur.”

Sam and Peter stumbled forward down the hallway together, wheezing through their laughter. Their arms placed on each other's shoulders, quoting the terminator and wiping tears from their eyes.

You and Bucky followed behind them on your way to the common space. When Peter and Sam were far enough out of ear-shot Bucky spoke.

“You okay?”

You glanced over at him. He had his eyes on the two men stumbling down the hall together ahead of you. He was trying for nonchalance, but you could tell he was still on edge.

“Yeah, Buck. I am. I will be.”

He turned to look at you then. His lips curled up into the smallest of smiles, but it was enough to get you to return one. He threw his arm over your shoulder and dragged your head into his shoulder as you kept walking. “Yeah you will.”

And he was right. You would be. Not all at once. Not right away. But you would be. The sounds of your two friends laughing up the hall was proof.

[daringyounggrayson]

one step at a time

anonymous said: Here’s a prompt for you: “I could really use a cuddle” for Dick with either Bruce or Damian?

thanks for the prompt! this accidently turned into a short fic, whoops. I also included my headcanon that Dick’s early exposure to fear toxin caused some long-term health problems. all you really need to know, though, is that Dick experiences fear toxin symptoms on and off even without exposure, the antidote doesn’t work very well for him, the exposure damaged his lungs which can make it hard to breathe during an attack, and he uses an inhaler that has a variation of the antidote in it which helps to relieve his symptoms. Enjoy!

He’d seen him again. Bruce, last night. Of course, not really him. Because Bruce isn’t here so it couldn’t have even been him, but also not him, because his memory of Bruce had been warped by fear toxin. And now that the night was over, he was left to sift through the memories. They meant nothing, sure, but the thing about people is that they find meaning in anything, including nothing. Dick does it well, too; probably the only time he can call himself a spectacular person.

“Alfred?” Dick calls, voice scratchy. He must’ve been screaming, probably scared the crap out of Damian, even if the kid would never admit it. Which only makes Dick feel worse.

With no response, Dick sits up and carefully takes the IV out of his arm. He looks up to see if it was just fluids, or if the antidote kept wearing off and he’d needed to be on a drip. Both, it turns out. Fun.

“Master Dick, my apologies, I was with Master Damian,” Alfred says, hurrying over to Dick before he can get out of bed. He’s pushing Dick back, gathering supplies to set up what looks like a blood draw.

“Damian okay?” Dick asks.

“He’s well, albeit a little shaken.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We’ll have none of that.” Alfred pulls Dick’s arm out and wraps a band around it, then he’s swabbing the crook of his arm with an alcohol swab and jabbing a needle into it. He takes the band off and lets the blood flow into the vial. “How are you feeling?”

Dick shrugs. “You know.” He’s been exposed to fear toxin so many times, and the early times, they hadn’t even had an effective treatment for it. Now, it seems the antidote doesn’t work on him as well as it does on the others, even Bruce. And an exposure always makes him feel sick the next day—chest tight, headache, kind of nauseous. Not to mention feeling jumpy and on edge. Alfred already knows all of this, though; voicing it would be redundant.

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut!

“Perhaps you should rest a while longer,” Alfred suggests. “At least until your blood has been properly examined.”

“Sure,” Dick says, because really, he’s not feeling great. “But I want to check on Damian first.”

“Very well,” Alfred says, using his voice that says he doesn’t think it’s “very well” at all, actually. But he knows when not to push.

Dick makes his way upstairs, shaking ever so lightly from fatigue and residual fear. He hopes this doesn’t last long, but he knows it must’ve been a pretty bad hit. Maybe multiple hits. He’s surprised Damian wasn’t taken down too—or maybe he had been, but his immune system doesn’t have the same response as Dick’s, so he recovered quickly like everyone else seems to. He hopes it stays that way, and if Babs, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Steph are any indication, Damian should be fine. 

Dick eventually reaches Damian’s door, and he raps it with his knuckles. He waits, and a moment later, Damian opens the door. He looks up at Dick, and something like relief flashes across his face before it’s replaced with a scowl. “Hey, kiddo. Just wanted to check in after last night. You holding up okay?”

“I don’t need your concern, Grayson,” Damian tells him. “Perhaps if you had taken more precautions last night, you would not be in your current state and Scarecrow would have been apprehended more efficiently.”

So not well, was the answer to his question. “Right then. Alfred checked you out and everything?”

“I was able to supply my own antidote in the field, and Pennyworth examined some follow-up blood work to ensure it had worked properly. Which it had. Due to my quick response, I never experienced its effects,” Damian says proudly. It’s kind of amazing; even with quick response, Dick can never avoid the effects of fear toxin completely. “I was also able to get you back to the car before you could make a fool of yourself in front of Commissioner Gordon.”

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, holding his tongue. “Thanks, Damian. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but you did a good job last night. I’m proud of you.”

He can hear Bruce’s voice whispering in his ear again. He wants to groan; he hopes this is just a mild leftover effect and not a sign that he needs more antidote. The fear toxin is way worse, obviously, but being on a drip isn’t fun, and it comes with its own side-effects. His chest is feeling tight, though; maybe he should find one of his inhalers.

“Grayson?” Damian is asking, something fearful in his voice.

“Hmm?” Dick opens his eyes and realizes he’s slumped on the ground, hands pressed to his chest. “Oh.”

“I should get Pennyworth,” Damian decides, looking like he’s ready to run.

Dick shakes his head. “It will pass, just need a minute. ‘Sides, Alfred’s probably already on his way.”

“Is the toxin still in your system?” Damian asks instead, and Dick shakes his head, even though he doesn’t really know that for sure. “Pennyworth was telling me of your chronic health issues that have resulted from over-exposure at a young age. Is that . . ?” Why he feels like he’s been run over?

“Probably,” Dick answers, closing his eyes again. He wonders how much Alfred has told him. He should know, for safety reasons, but. It would be nice to have some control over this situation. “Can you get my inhaler for me?” Dick could get it, but Damian sounds so helpless right now—giving him something to do will be good for him. “It’s on my nightstand.”

“Very well, if that will help.”

Damian is fast, and he’s quiet while Dick takes the inhaler. He doesn’t know if he’s done this in front of Damian before; he’s needed to, but he’s always excused himself. Dick takes the puff and holds his breath; a few minutes later, his chest feels less tight and the whispers have settled.

“Thanks.”

“Master Dick?” Alfred calls, heading up the hallway toward him. “Are you quite alright?”

“He had an attack,” Damian says, tattles.

“It wasn’t an attack,” Dick says, because it wasn’t. Not really. “Just rough from last night. Did you check the bloodwork?”

“It looks clear. So as long as your symptoms remain mild, I do not feel the need to give you another dose,” Alfred tells him, and Dick relaxes. “Bed rest, however, continues to be recommended.”

This is something Alfred will push for, and Dick doesn’t want to be pushed, so he holds his hand out and lets Alfred help him up.

“Very good, sir,” Alfred praises him. “Master Damian, if you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Alfred helps Dick get into bed, gets him settled, and hands him a pill. Then he disappears into the bathroom, returning with a cup of water.

“What’s this?” Dick asks, swallowing it with the proffered water before he gets an answer.

“Only some Tylenol,” he assures. “For the headache and chest pain.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, easing himself into the pillows. “Was it … it was bad last night?”

“You were having difficulty breathing when Master Damian brought you in,” Alfred tells him. “You required a breathing treatment followed by oxygen for a while, although neither were very effective until the antidote began to work. Master Damian seemed unsettled, so I thought it would be best for the two of us to have a conversation about your specific reactions to fear toxin.”

“How much did you tell him?” Dick asks, eyes closed and breathing already slowing.

“I didn’t go into too much detail, but I explained the cause”—over-exposure to and lack of treatment for fear toxin mixed with a developing brain and pair of lungs—“and how your symptoms come and go. He was confused as you had been exposed before and hadn’t reacted so severely, so we discussed how this can be unpredictable and is often influenced by other factors. Including variation in dosages and time before treatment.”

Nothing new to Dick, but for a ten-year-old who had no warning, it could be a lot. Even if that ten-year-old was Damian.

“Hmm,” Dick chooses as a response. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Alfred tells him, resting a hand on top of his head. “Sleep well, and do call if you need me.”

And Dick sleeps.

oOo

The nightmares come and go. It’s not the toxin, but his brain is always like this after an exposure—even if it hasn’t been this bad in a while. Years, even.

Dick finds himself in a confusing cycle of waking and falling asleep, unsure of where he is and what’s real. He remembers Alfred, finding him in the hall and herding him back to bed, pressing an inhaler into his palm. Had he been sleepwalking? Had Alfred checked him for a fever? He felt cold, maybe they were chills. Maybe he was actually sick.

The next lucid moment, he found himself feeling the urge to run away. From what, he couldn’t remember, but the nightmare had been clear once. He was at least certain that the only place he wanted to run to was Bruce, but he wasn’t here, and the dream told him he was also part of the monster. But that couldn’t be right, because Bruce could never be a monster. He fought monsters, and he won.

“Grayson?” Damian is shaking him awake. It had been a dream, then. But. He was in the hallway? Had he run away? “Grayson, it was just a dream, you’re alright.”

Bruce had said those words to him. Not exactly, but close. And Dick had said them to Damian—it hadn’t been fear toxin that had caused that first nightmare, it had been after Bruce, and after Tim left.

“I’m, I’m,” Dick mumbles, unable to control his tongue.

“You’re outside father’s room,” Damian tells him calmly. He sounds like he’s following a script; Alfred had probably told him how to handle Dick like this. “You are having a flare-up. Do you require your inhaler?”

“I’m fine,” Dick says. And he thinks it’s true. “You can, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Nonsense. It is Robin’s job to look out for Batman, isn’t it?” Damian asks, and Dick nods. “Then as Robin, leaving you now would be a dishonorable act.”

Dick hums, unable to argue and unsure how or even if he should. It’s hard to think like this; he doesn’t feel like himself.

“Do you require assistance to get back to bed?” Damian asks.

Dick stands, and Damian slides his arm around Dick’s waist. Dick knows he could manage on his own, but he’s dizzy. It’s nice not to have to stumble and fall all the way back to his room.

Damian only lets go of him when Dick’s sitting back in bed. He hesitates, watching Dick cautiously. Dick is feeling tired again, too tired to figure out what Damian needs. Maybe a dismissal? Could be, but Dick should probably thank him instead. This is a big step for Damian, trying to take care of Dick, showing that he cares about Dick. He remembers the first time he was sick since Damian came to live with him, and he had been quite the opposite of kind and understanding back then.

“You’re shaking,” Damian says. “Is that? Or perhaps you are not in the proper state to discuss this.” More script, Dick guesses.

“It’s okay,” Dick assures him; he’s happy to answer the question, happier that Damian feels comfortable asking. “But yeah. I think it’s just the adrenaline.”

“I see.”

A long pause, and Dick can feel himself swaying where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He wishes Damian would spit it out, or leave if he wasn’t going to. Dick really needs to lie down.

“I am aware that you are very … tactile, and I have read that pressure can help ease anxiety,” Damian starts cautiously. “Do you think that would help you?”

For a moment, Dick forgets how terrible he feels and he can’t help but grin up at Damian. “Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?”

Damian scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do not be childish, Grayson. I am merely suggesting what the experts have found to be effective, especially for people such as yourself. I would rather let you recover in your own time, but Batman and Robin are needed, and—“

“Damian,” Dick cuts him off. “I could really use a cuddle. Or whatever you want to call it.”

Damian scoffs at him, but then he wraps his arms around Dick. Dick hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. It does help Dick feel better, and he hopes Damian is sharing some of this relief. After all, they’ve both had a rough night.

[morallygreyalldayeveryday]

High-Chases & Cold, Lonely Places

| Victor Tan x Reader |

The door swung shut behind him, and Victor winced at the noise. He kicked off his boots and let his duffel bag drop to the ground, each movement as quiet as possible. He’d already come home late, and he didn’t want to add insult to injury by waking you up in the middle of the night.

He turned the corner into the kitchen and felt a pang in his chest as he surveyed the room.

The dining table had been set up like something out of a movie; pristine white tablecloth, candles, wine glasses and two plates of food. But, alas, this was no movie.

The candles had long since snuffed out, the wax trailing down the candlesticks and marking the tablecloth. One wineglass was filled with what Victor recognised as your favourite red. The other was empty, save for a few droplets clinging to the crystal. He took note of the bottle on the table, the one you always kept in the cupboard for a special occasion. It was empty.

The food remained untouched, having long since gone cold. The silverware laid out elegantly on the table hadn’t been moved either. Tan was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

He turned away from the kitchen and into the living room. The TV was on, playing a repeat of some cheesy sitcom. One, two, three empty beer bottles were on the coffee table and the couch was in a mess. A blanket was strewn across the back, and one of the cushions had been pulled down. There were indents in it, too. Like someone had been hugging onto it for a while.

Turning the TV off, he made his way down the hallway. The door to your bedroom was open and the light was off, giving Victor some hope that you might be asleep. It was passed two in the morning and your team started patrol early. Mumford wouldn’t stop giving Tan shit for being the reason you barely made it to role call in the mornings - sometimes you were just too cute to let go of.

You never seemed to mind. You were just happy to be able to spend time with him.

He pushed the door open slightly. From what he could see, his side of the bed was still made. Okay, that was fine. You were probably just slee-

Victor pushed open the door and let out a shout of fright. You were sitting up on the side of the bed, one leg folded under yourself and the other trailing on the ground absentmindedly. “Jesus, babe”, he gasped, an uneasy laugh following. “You scared me.”

He felt along the wall and flicked on the light. He wasn’t ready for what he saw.

You were wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, his LAPD sweatshirt to be exact. It was the one he’d given to you the first night you’d stayed over at his apartment when you’d just started dating. He remembered the night like it was yesterday.

He took a bad fall when he tackled a suspect that’d pinned you and Rocker down, and left you feeling  horrible about it. You refused to let him drive himself home and ordered dinner for the two of you as an apology. He remembered the look on your face when you realized how much time had passed since you’d curled up on the sofa together, coming to an agreement that it was better if you just stayed the night. The two of you fell asleep intertwined in his bed, you in the sweatshirt he’d given you to sleep in. 

The feeling he got when he woke up the next morning lying inches away from you, so close that he could feel your steady breaths and each tiny movement on your face as you clung to sleep was one he’d never forget.

Yeah, tonight wasn’t gonna result in a memory like that.

There were smudges of makeup still on your face, a little trail of mascara here and a dab of lipstick there. It was Victor’s favourite colour you owned, a bright red that you always wore for date night.

Oh, shit. Date night.

You looked up at him, and he could see how bloodshot your eyes were. You weren’t a crier, even on the job. In your three years of dating he’d seen you shed a tear maybe a dozen times. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Scared? Really?” Your voice was quiet and hoarse. “Didn’t think you knew what the word meant.”

Victor made to move towards you, but before he could ask what you were talking about you held up your phone.

It showed the cover of a news story, a trashy tabloid one at that. The big bold letters flashing across the screen that almost diverted his attention from the photo it showcased, but he couldn’t pretend he didn’t see it. 

The picture was of him, taken earlier that night. Everything was blurred, but Black Betty was visible in the background along with who looked to be Chris and Luca running towards. The offender’s face was blurred too, as well as the plates on the car he was diving across. That left Victor as the main focus of the photo.

He was mid-jump, stretched out in an attempt to stop the suspect. The expression on his face was an accurate indicator of the pain he felt after jumping on the hood of a moving car, as well as the horror he felt when he saw the blade in the suspect’s hand.

“I-I don’t care about date night”, you murmured, standing up shakily from the bed. “Or the working late, that I understand completely. It’s just seeing you out there, being so damn reckles-” Your voice cracked, emotion breaking through.

“I found out from the news that you got hurt, not from you. I didn’t know if you were going to walk through that door tonight or if I was gonna get the call from Hondo. It’s not fair, Vic. It’s not fair.”

Victor sank down on the bed next to you, hands outstretched. So many things were going through his mind; explanations, apologies, assurances. He didn't get the chance to voice any of them, though, before you pushed his hands away and stood up.

“There’s an icepack in the nightstand, and Tylenol in the drawer. I’ve called the clinic and the nurse on call is gonna take a look at you tomorrow at nine to see if you did any long-term damage.” You took the pillows from your side of the bed and tucked them under your arm. You were halfway to the door before Victor’s mouth caught up with his mind.

“Wait, Y/N-“ He jumped up from the bed, panic rising up. “Where are you going?”

You made it to the door, and turned to face him. Tears wavered in your eyes and Victor wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you.

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight”, you said quietly. “You took a beating, you need to get some sleep.”

Even when he was breaking your heart, you were still looking out for him.

“I didn’t mean for it to happe-“

“For what to happen?” Your voice got the tiniest bit louder, your anger at the night’s events peeking through. “For you to risk your life doing something completely senseless, or for me to have a front-row seat to it as it happened?”

You had a talent for making Victor speechless. He just wished it wasn’t at a time like this.

“I need time to think. Call me if you need me.”

He thought of following you down the hallway, talking things out. Convincing you it was a once-off (which was a lie), that it would never happen again (another lie). But he’d done enough damage. He could only hope you’d still be there in the morning.

[fantasyfandommaiden]

ML Counsellor AU: It’s not photoshopped

One of the downsides to being the owner of the ‘Gabriel’ brand was that he had the final say on all advertisement pictures before they were released to the press… however the more he looked at the latest photos, the more he found that something… wasn’t quite right.

~~~~~~

Gabriel was fighting a massive headache that even tylenol wouldn’t fix. He honestly just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep, but if he didn’t approve of these photos by the end of the day, than they would be late to the magazine release and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen. 

They were mainly for the new fragrance line, as well as some of the winter clothes (it was currently late Summer, early Autumn but if they didn’t get those photos done now than it would be late for the season) however there was something… off about the photos that he was having an issue with. Adrien’s face seemed sharper than usual with the close ups, and his body was more lean. 

He looked like he was a fair bit thinner than he should be. Gabriel actually brought up photos taken several months ago to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, but no, he did look far thinner.  

Gabriel called Nathalie into his office, still looking down at the photos with a scowl on his face. “... Something wrong with the photographs sir?” Nathalie asked with her usual professional tone. 

“... The latest photographs, did they go through our photoshop standards already?” Gabriel asked, still looking at the photo. 

Nathalie raised an elegant brow at the question “... Yes sir. Elle did it to your standards, with only color and lighting corrections, as well as getting rid of any obvious blemishes.” Nathalie stated calmly.

 Gabriel hated how many fashion models (who were already far thinner than they should be) were often photoshopped to be thinner or had any birthmarks, freckles, or scars were made to disappear. He actually had a female runway model who had a large birthmark across her eyes that almost looked like a mask. She had been one of Gabriel’s first models for the brand, and although she was almost 30, he had no plans to ‘retire’ her unless she wished to. He did plan to offer her a chance to be a modelling coach however. 

He also knew that Elle, who was one of the best editors he had in the brand, would never make this dramatic of a change to the photos without contacting him first. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before standing. “Has Adrien returned from fencing class?” he asked Nathalie, looking at her. 

~~~~~

Adrien was in his room, working on his homework when there was a knock at his door. “Come in.” he called, turning in his chair as the door opened. His eyes widened when his father entered the room, looking at Adrien. “F-Father… Hello!” he said as the man walked over to him.

“Adrien, stand up.” he stated, and Adrien instantly stood up, wondering what this could be about. Gabriel looked intensely at his face, than slowly looked down at the rest of him, actually lifting his hand to look at his wrist, a slight scowl on his face. “... Adrien, have you been eating the full meals provided to you by the chief?” he asked. 

Adrien blinked at the question “Yes father.” he responded quickly, but that answer seemed to cause him to scowl even more, so he guessed it was the wrong answer “I-Is there a problem?” 

“I was looking at your photos from your latest shoot, and noticed you are far thinner than last time.” Gabriel explained “Have you been doing other physical activities beside fencing and basket ball?” 

“No, not really.” Adrien stated rather quickly. Too quickly, and Gabriel could feel a spike of panic and guilt… he was lying. 

Gabriel looked down at Adrien with a stern expression “... Adrien, you shouldn’t lie to me. I know when you're lying. It’s important for me to know these things so that you are eating enough for the amount of calories you use in a day.” he responded to him. “I realise that your diet is very strict, and you have been enjoying your freedom, but you are clearly losing weight, and I refuse to allow this to continue because it is very bad for your health.” he stated to him.

Adrien looked at him wide eyed, bitting his bottom lip slightly “... Okay, so, with all of the akuma attacks that have been happening lately, I have started learning how to do parkour with some friends.” he stated slowly, looking at his father. “I realise that Gorilla- I mean, my bodyguard, is always there to protect me, but sometimes, like when it happens during school, we need to evacuate quickly, so me and some classmates thought that learning parkour would help us escape the situation more quickly.” 

Gabriel looked at him with a raised brow “... I don’t recall signing any forms for you to take on more lessons.” 

Adrien winced slightly, resisting the urge to fidget “It’s not a formal class or anything. During our breaks between class, it's usually like ten minutes, me and some of my classmates will go over some basic moves in the gym. Two of my classmates, Kim and Alix, are very athletic, and have been teaching us stuff like how to fall properly and do proper techniques. Kim is actually a junior lifeguard and swim instructor, and Alix has been doing this since she would walk so, also there is always at least one teacher in the gym to supervise … I just figured it would be something good to know. I didn’t tell you, because it’s not a formal class, it doesn’t take up much of my time either.” Also, you wouldn’t approve had gone unsaid. 

Gabriel looked down at him for a long while, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Adrien, parkour can be very dangerous if done incorrectly.” the man began and Adrien was just waiting for him to say ‘these children are bad influences on you, and you should stay away.’ 

“However, the fact you took initiative with your safety is good.” Gabriel complimented. “I wish you had told me sooner, because I am guessing this has been going on for awhile, yes?”

Adrien nodded “Shortly after the Stoneheart incident.” 

Gabriel scowled, remembering the first akuma that started this all with the face off against Ladybug and Chat Noir. “Yes, that. So for a long while, meaning your dietitian has been unknowingly underfeeding you. How often do you have these… ‘lessons’.” 

Adrien blinked, not believing that his father hadn’t pulled him out of this yet… but then again, this was an activity having to do with his safety so maybe that was why. “Um… it’s not very formal, but usually three maybe four times a week? During breaks that would amount to…. Four extra hours of physical activity.” 

Gabriel nodded “Very well, I will have Nathalie book another appointment with your dietitian, where I expect you to tell him in full ALL of the physical activities you do so we can have throughout the week Adrien.” he stated, looking at his son now realising that on top of him losing some weight he seems to have grown taller. A small, ghost of a smile appeared on his face “... I would have had to call anyway, if you're anything like me, you're bound to hit your growth spurt soon.” 

Adrien’s eyes widened as he looked at his father “... So, you’ll allow me to continue?” “I should have been informed about this before you started, seeing it can be dangerous and I don’t like being deceived, but since you are learning it so you will be able to get out of situations with akumas more quickly, I will allow it, on the condition that you wear proper safety equipment.” 

Adrien blinks “... Like, a helmet?” he asked slowly, dreading the thought of his friends comments on him going to one of their hangouts wearing a bike helmet. 

“No, helmets would get in the way with somersaulting if not built correctly and would cause damage to the neck. I mean things like wrist and knee guards. Also to wear loose clothing, and long pants so when you do fall, your less likely to scrap yourself against the ground.” Gabriel stated in a matter of fact tone. 

Adrien looked at his father in shock “... How do you know this stuff father?” 

Gabriel was quiet for a long moment before replying in a monotonous voice “During my time in design school we had a project were we had to design active wear, so I did extensive research on the topic. It appears even after all these years I still retain some of the information.” he stated evenly before turning around “I will make sure that the chief gives you some extra helpings tonight so we can get your weight back to normal.” 

“Ah!” Adrien called out and Gabriel looked over his shoulder with a raised brow. Adrien almost lost his nerve but began to speak anyways “Could I request lasagna for dinner tonight?” 

Gabriel looked at his son for a long moment. “The cooking staff has already prepped tonights meal and started when I came up to speak to you, it would be rude to have them change the entire meal plan so late now.” Adrien slumped slightly, nodding. “... Of course father.” 

Gabriel stood where he was for a moment longer, still looking at his son over his shoulder “I have some more work to attend to tonight, so I won't be joining you for dinner.” to which Adrien just gave a solemn nod, expecting that really. 

“... However, I will request that the cooking staff make lasagna tomorrow night.” Adrien perked up slightly, looking at his father who still had a fairly neutral expression. “And provided that I get all of my work together, I may join you.” 

Adrien grinned widely “That would be great father, I look forward to it!” 

~~~~ 

Sadly, there was an akuma attack that afternoon and Nathalie had to be the one to inform Adrien how his father was too busy to join him for dinner. The lasagna, which he had no doubt was very good, didn’t taste as nice as he believed it would.

[emachinescat]

By Night My Mind

A Tales of Arcadia: Wizards Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump​ day 19 - sleep deprivation 

Summary: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy.”  In the aftermath of the final battle against the Arcane Order, Douxie is plagued by guilt and nightmares about his part in Merlin’s death, and decides that he’s better off staying awake, which his battered and weary body does not take well.  Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 19: sleep deprivation

Characters: Douxie, Archie, Jim, Claire

Words: 4,719

TW: None

Notes: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy, Living (Without You) Is Harder,” and set in the same universe as “That I Could Fear a Door” and “Lest Back that Awful Door Should Spring.”  In this version of events, Douxie doesn’t have to leave with Nari, and is trying to adjust back to life in Arcadia after the events of “Dying Is Easy.”

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

- From “Sonnet 27” by William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head

To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired…

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

The night after his battle with the Arcane Order, Douxie slept more soundly than he could ever remember.  His near-death experience had left him with a litany of aches, pains, cuts, bruises, a couple of fractured ribs and a lot of unanswered questions - it should have been impossible for him to survive a fall from that height; every bone in his body should have been broken, and no one knew how he was still alive - but still he slept, his final meeting with Merlin and the restored Morgana fresh on his mind and a soothing balm through the night.

The trouble came the day after, when he nodded off while curled up on his couch with The Sword in the Stone distracting him from some unpleasant thoughts and a nagging guilt that had begun to crop up, slowly but steadily, over the course of his day.  No one knew that the hokey, mostly plotless Disney movie was his favorite, and he preferred to keep it that way.  It had always amused him, Merlin as a bit of a crackpot and Arthur a poor young boy running around after a magical master who only halfway knew what he was doing at any given time - it reminded him of himself, and of home.

But he was exhausted from the muscle relaxer he’d been prescribed when Jim and Claire had practically kidnapped him and forced him to let Jim’s mom, a doctor, examine him, and he fell asleep right when Mad Madam Mim issued her challenge to Merlin and for a few wonderful moments, there was nothing, and he could rest.

He woke with a yell only minutes later (Merlin was now turning into a germ to outwit the atrocious purple dragon), fighting desperately against the effects of the muscle relaxers that were already trying to pull him under again.  He couldn’t even remember what it was that woke him, what he’d seen in his dreams, but it didn’t matter.  Whatever it was - and he had a good idea - it left him trembling, short of breath, on the verge of tears.

“Douxie?”

Archie padded into the room and hopped up on the couch beside his friend, eyes full of concern behind his glasses.

“I’m fine, Archie.  Just a nightmare.”

“I miss him, too,” the cat said solemnly, reflective gaze compassionate and sad as he observed his human friend.  “Perhaps we should talk--”

“Talking won’t bring him back,” Douxie snapped, and Archie flinched back the tiniest amount and fell silent, looking more like a chastised pet than Douxie had ever seen him.  The wizard sighed.  “I’m sorry, Archie.  I just don’t want to talk, that's all.”  He rubbed the furry head with distracted affection, then moved from the couch and pulled up a hard-backed kitchen chair, and sat in that.  

He didn’t feel like sleeping so much anymore, even if the burning of his eyes told him otherwise.  He turned off the movie - it suddenly held no appeal.  The Disney+ main screen took its place, and he clicked on something at random.  He was so caught up in his bleak mood and dark thoughts that he didn’t even realize for a solid ten minutes that he was watching Hannah Montana. 

***

Dr. Lake called him at five and asked how the muscle relaxers were treating him - “Are they keeping the pain and back spasms at bay? Are you taking them with food? Have you been able to rest?” Douxie placated her with lies on all accounts, but the truth was that he was sore even with the medicine, he hadn't taken it with food because he couldn't bring himself to eat, and every time he closed his eyes he felt the unfathomable pain of being run through all over again, or, worse, he saw Merlin kneeling over him, sacrificing his life for Douxie’s stupid mistake, and that wasn’t worth any benefits rest gave him.

***

He did finally fall asleep that night around eleven, not by choice - he’d been forced to take another muscle relaxer when the pain in his ribs and back crescendoed to nearly unbearable levels, and the drug worked quickly despite his best efforts to stay awake.

The dream was, at the beginning, not good, but not nightmare material, either.  He found he was reliving his final conversation with Merlin, in that Nowhere between life and death where his mentor had waited patiently for him to arrive before moving on at last, after 900 long years.  

At first the conversation was much the same as it had been, and Douxie found a thread of comfort in Merlin’s reassurances - I told you, my boy, I chose to die for you.  I want no part of a world without you in it.  And I am happy, reunited with my dear friend and first apprentice, ready to step into the next chapter.  

But this time, right before Merlin stepped through the door into the light, he turned and contemplated his grieving apprentice with a cold look.  “Although,” he said, accusation seeping from every word, “it is true that I wouldn’t have had to give my life for you if you hadn’t bungled things up so much in the first place.”

Douxie felt his heart stutter to a stop and he stammered, “W-what?”

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Merlin hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously.  “It was my fight.  And if you were going to interfere, why not cast some other spell that kept us both out of harm’s way?”

Floundering for any purchase on solid ground, Douxie finally managed, “I didn’t know how - the magic, it just responded -”

“You were always good at making excuses, Hisirdoux,” the wizard snarled.  “The faith I thought I had in your abilities was obviously misplaced.”  A terrible, eternal beat of silence.  Then - “Perhaps I should have let you die after all.  It’s no more than you deserve.”

“But Master -”

“I’m done with you.”  With a dismissive wave of his arm, Merlin stomped into the waiting light of the unknown, muttering, “Might as well enjoy your life since you ended mine to save it.”

And Douxie was left alone in the between-space, and the tower crumbled around him in time with his soul, and he let it bury him, book after book crashing on his head, and he hoped that this time, he wouldn’t wake up at all….

It’s all my fault.

He woke up crying, not screaming, and shortly after he flushed the muscle relaxers while Archie wasn’t looking (the wise familiar would most certainly have not approved), splashed his face with icy water, and grabbed his well-read copy of The Catcher in the Rye and forced his eyes across the familiar words in a vain attempt to distract him from the loathing and pain and guilt that screamed through his aching head and pounded out a tattoo of shame that persisted through the lonely, sleepless night.

***

Two days later, he returned to work, and his manager stared openly at his disheveled appearance.  Douxie had slept a grand total of four hours since he’d tossed the pills, and those had been intermittent catnaps that his body had forced him to take.  Eventually, though the thought of using his magic made his skin crawl now after what it had done to Merlin, he conjured a simple alarm clock that sensed when he fell asleep and screeched metal core at him every time it happened.

He knew he looked bad - he’d seen a glimpse of himself in the mirror before he left.  His face was thinner than usual, pinched in pain that tylenol just wasn’t cutting through - but anything else would make him fall asleep.  Although all of the bruising was centralized around his back and chest and invisible beneath his rumpled t-shirt, it looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, with the dark, puffy circles accenting each one.  He’d been too out of it to properly bother with styling his hair, or brushing it, if he were honest, and he was pretty sure he was wearing two different combat boots.  They were both black, though, so maybe no one would notice.  He didn’t have the energy to care if they did.

“Damn,” said his manager, Jeff.  “I think you came back from sick leave a little too soon, man.  You look awful.”

Douxie shrugged, not trusting himself to speak.  He’d been screaming from one emotion to the next with no warning ever since he woke up, and even though he felt rather empty at the moment, he knew it was distinctly possible that if he opened his mouth he might start crying against his will.

“I think you should go back home.  Have you seen a doctor?”

Douxie grunted in affirmation.  

“Go home until you’re feeling better, Douxie.  Seriously, man, you have to take care of yourself.”

The hollowness inside of him filled with irritation at the dismissal.  “I’m fine,” he growled sullenly.  

His manager blinked, surprised at the tone.  Douxie had always been a model employee, respectful and fun to be around.  

“You’re going to scare customers away,” Jeff insisted.  “You can’t wait tables like this - people will be afraid you’ll give them whatever plague you’ve come down with.”

With a snarl, Douxie spat, “Why can’t things just go back to normal?”  He stormed out before his bewildered manager could answer.

***

The next afternoon, someone knocked at his door.  He cast a suspicious side-eye at Archie, who sat innocently on the table, tail tucked contritely around his carefully arranged paws as he studied Merlin’s magic book, the one Douxie had refused to touch since returning home.  Archie had disappeared for a short time earlier, flapping out of the window in dragon form and saying that he was just going for a short flight to clear his head.  Now Douxie wondered if the dragon had actually gone out and told someone of his worries about his wizard familiar.  After all, Archie had been on his case constantly over the past few days, practically begging his friend to sleep, to eat, to talk, and Douxie always ignored him and had even yelled at him on a couple of occasions.  

Douxie was picking at a bowl of dragon-popped popcorn listlessly, the small desire for food that he’d felt earlier having been immediately usurped by a fresh waves of undulating guilt and devastating emptiness.  A smattering of empty cans - soda and energy drinks - lay crumpled on the coffee table around Archie, and the dregs of his latest cup of coffee were still warm.  He seriously considered just ignoring the knocking until whoever it was went away - they’d promised to give him some time to recover, after all - but then they started ringing the doorbell and his head already hurt so badly it made his stomach curdle, so he made the tremendous journey to his feet.  He swayed, his limbs like pool noodles, head swimming with dizziness at the effort to stay upright.

Each step toward the door - that incessant, too-loud doorbell was going to drive him mad! - was a hard-fought battle, and by the time his hand reached for the doorknob, he felt like he was going to be sick, and his vision was blurred, and he was having trouble remembering why he had gotten up in the first place.

Then the doorbell rang again, and a muffled voice called his name from the other side of the door, and he remembered.

It was Claire and Jim.  The moment they laid eyes on him, their expressions went from concerned to relieved to something Douxie couldn’t quite identify but that might have been a kind of shock, or even horror.

“Douxie!” Claire half-shouted, and Douxie fought the urge to cover his ears as her voice, normally pleasant and soothing, tried its hardest to split his head in two.  “What happened?”

Douxie squinted at her in confusion.  Shouldn’t she know what happened?  She had been there, for parts of it, at least.  She’d heard about the rest.  He could barely stand up straight anymore, and his eyes started closing of their own accord.  This had happened so many times before, but as soon as sleep started to stake its claim, the memories and nightmares and things that might have been memories followed, mixing up into a blur that he couldn’t navigate, and then his magic alarm clock would blare, and he would wake up, and drink another Mountain Dew or Monster or cup of coffee, and try to do something to take his mind off of sleep and pain and Merlin.  Then the whole process would start over again.

This time, it didn’t look like he would make it back to the couch before he passed out - the arduous trek to the front door had drained him, made him breathless and dizzy - and he was toppling forward, trying to force himself to wake up, battling sleep and the panic of sleep, or worse, hitting his head and being knocked out and forced to sleep.

“Whoa!”  He startled awake to a hazy reality as Jim caught his stumbling form and propped him up the best that he could given how much taller Douxie was than him.  Distantly, Douxie heard, “Claire, help me get him inside.”

And then Claire slung his other arm over her shoulder and they half-supported, half-dragged him back into his house, and though his eyes were on his couch, he realized that they were taking him past it, further into the house, in the direction of his bedroom, and he began to struggle against them.

“No, not there,” he gasped, knowing that if he had a mattress under his body and a soft pillow under his bed, there would be no way he could resist the siren call of sleep.  He’d been avoiding his bed for days now.

But they didn’t listen, and soon they helped ease him onto his bed, perpetually unmade, and he scrambled up clumsily into a facsimile of a sitting position and shook his head to clear it of the gummy cobwebs that infested it.  Archie, having followed the trio closely, literally hovering right over their shoulders, perched on Douxie’s desk and kept his lamp-lit eyes on his human, watchful and protective.  

As soon as their charge was no longer in any immediate danger of hurting himself, Jim pulled out his cell phone.  “I’m calling my mom.”

“No, no,” Douxie said, forcing his burning eyes open as far as he could and making a feeble swipe at the phone in his friend’s hand.  Jim hesitated, his thumb hovering over the send button.  

“You are obviously not feeling well,” he said.  “And you look sick.  You need to see a doctor before --”

“I’m not sick,” Douxie explained, trying to project an air of wellness that he couldn’t even muster within himself.  At their doubtful looks, he clarified, “Just a little tired.”

“You don’t look like you’ve slept in a month!” Claire exclaimed worriedly.  “We promised to give you a few days to yourself to heal and rest, not turn into one of the living dead!”

“It’s only been a few days,” Douxie assured her.  “I just need to sort some things out in my head, that’s all.  Then I’ll sleep.”  It was a lie, but he needed them to believe it, needed them to go home and go on with their lives and not sit here worrying about him - or worse, try to make him sleep.  He appreciated their concern, and was touched that he had friends who cared so much about his well-being, but they had more important things to deal with - Jim’s transition from being half-troll to enslaved hulk troll to fully human and the loss of his amulet, for starters.  And he had made this mess on his own, this was his fault, so if his punishment was to never sleep again, it should be his to bear alone.  He didn’t deserve to be worried about, he suddenly realized - that was the crux of why he wanted to be left alone so badly.

“A few days without sleep will wreck you, man,” Jim said seriously, his blue eyes offering nothing but concern.  He did pocket his phone again, though, for which Douxie heaved a sigh of relief.  “Trust me, I know.”

Douxie didn’t know the details, but he had heard stories from Claire and Toby about how Jim had, over a year ago, willingly gone into the Darklands, a hellish nightmare-scape beneath the skin of this world, and Claire had told, her own eyes haunted, of how he had come back not himself, traumatized, and how he’d barely slept nor ate and had become a shell of his former self.  

So he asked, voice far more unsure than he felt comfortable with, “How did you move on?  How did you get back to normal?”

He hated himself for sounding so weak.  He’d lived 701 years.  He’d lost people he cared about so regularly that he’d eventually tried to avoid personal connections.  Such was the curse of being a wizard, and being functionally immortal.  The world around him would turn, but he would not age - or rather, he would age slowly, at the pace of his own choosing - and people would die, wars would rise up and die down, and still he would live, watching it all, alone.  That wasn’t true.  Even if Merlin had been entombed for much of that time, he hadn’t been dead, not really.  The knowledge that he would see his mentor again had kept Douxie going during the loneliest of times, during the most devastating losses.  

And, of course, he’d had Archie, a constant companion who even now had done everything he could to help his friend, and when that hadn’t worked, when Douxie had been too stubborn to listen, he’d taken it upon himself to gather more of Douxie’s friends and staged an intervention.  If Douxie hadn’t been so exhausted and his mind hadn’t been so muddy, he might have been grateful or touched by the gesture and loyalty, but right now, he just felt irritated, like his privacy had been infringed upon.

Jim blinked.  “Well, uh,” he stammered, glancing at Claire before continuing, “it took time, first of all.  But, honestly, it was my friends.  But it took talking to someone who had gone through the same thing as me, who understood what I was going through, to first start the healing.”

Douxie shook his head.  “Everybody loses people,” he said slowly.  “But this feels different.”

“Just because everyone deals with loss doesn’t make your experiences any less important, Douxie,” Archie said sagely.  He was the only one in the room who had a true scope of all the heartbreaks Douxie had accumulated over his centuries of life in a world of short-lived mortals.

“It’s not that.” Douxie was desperate now for them to understand the truth. Then maybe they would stop being so kind to him.  Dream-Merlin had been right.  He didn’t deserve it.  “Don’t you see?  It’s my fault Merlin’s dead.  I killed him.”

Jim froze at his words, looking like he’d just been struck across the face.  For a moment, Douxie wondered why he reacted the way he did, but then remembered that Jim had been the one to hold Douxie down when Morgana was going to kill him.  He hadn’t been in his right mind, had been enslaved by the Arcane Order, but still, he had, in a small way, been the reason that Douxie had been forced into doing the switching magic that he had.  Still, Douxie could find no ill will in him against the Trollhunter.  He’d not been in control of his own mind.  Douxie had.

“I am so sorry,” Jim started, but Douxie immediately cut him off.

“It’s not your fault.  You weren’t you.  But me…”

“You have to see the truth,” Jim insisted urgently, now moving to take a seat on the bed next to his older friend.  Sure, they hadn’t known each other all that long, but going through the things they had and saving the world together tended to bring people closer together rather more quickly than usual, in his experience.  “It wasn’t your fault.  You did everything you could to save Merlin.  You took a sword in the gut for him.”  Douxie flinched internally at the reminder of the agony, the feeling of dying, the cold and the dark.  

“Yeah, Douxie,” Claire chimed in.  “You’re a hero.  You saved him.”

“If I’d had more control over that magic, if I’d channeled it a different way or done a different spell, then we might both be alive.”  He was so tired, but the conversation held him in its grip, and he couldn’t sleep anyway, he’d go back to the sword and Merlin’s death and the wizard’s tower where Merlin would tell him again that he’d failed.

“Douxie, you’re the one who’s been teaching me more magic!” Claire reminded him.  “One of the things I learned from my Shadow Staff - and that you’ve continued to show me - is that magic is emotion.  You can’t always control what magic is going to do when you are in a moment of fear or anger or desperation.  Magic reacts to your emotions.  And Jim’s right.  What you did was very brave and selfless.”

“That’s why Merlin gave his life to save you in return,” Archie added.  “That, and because he loved you, very much.”

Douxie felt the sting of hot tears carving pathways down his face and didn’t bother to wipe them off.  He felt like having a full-on temper tantrum, flopping onto his stomach and screaming and sobbing and slamming his fists into the ground and letting his magic explode out of him with all the force of the emotions and exhaustion that had built up inside.  He knew if he did that, though, he would just end up hurting someone else.

So he asked a question he was ashamed to ask, because it made it sound like he blamed Merlin instead of himself, “If he loved me, why did he leave?  Why didn’t he let me make my sacrifice?  It was like what I did didn’t matter.  I saved him because I don’t want to live without him, but that’s just what he forced me to do.”

Archie flapped off the desk and landed on the bed on the other side of his friend.  Placing a paw on Douxie’s leg, he spoke gently, as if to a lost child, “Merlin was a great wizard” -- Douxie sobbed -- “but he was also very selfish sometimes.  That comes with great power and an ego left unchecked paired with a very long life.  Merlin saved you because he couldn’t bear to think of a world without you in it.  Nor,” said the dragon, nuzzling Douxie’s elbow affectionately, “can I, for that matter.”

“But if I --”

“No buts,” said Archie.  “This was not your fault.  And I know Merlin told you the same.”

“He did,” Douxie admitted.  “But then he didn’t.  Every time I sleep, I see him, and he tells me… he tells me that I f-failed, that he’s d-dead because of me, and that I don’t deserve to live.”

“Oh, Douxie,” Claire breathed softly, sinking down into his desk chair.

“That’s not Merlin telling you that,” Jim spoke up.  Something raw lingered in his eyes.  “It’s the lies you are telling yourself.  I know because for weeks after the Darklands, I…” He cast his gaze briefly at Claire, and even in his semi-conscious state, Douxie got the feeling that he hadn’t even told his girlfriend this before.  “I had dreams every night of Claire, Toby, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, everyone telling me I should have stayed in the Darklands.  Should have died there, because I wasn’t strong or brave enough, and I went in alone and betrayed them, and that they were better off and happier without me.  For a while, I believed them.”

Claire was crying quietly now, her hands pressed against her lips.

“But then,” Jim continued, “the more time I spent with my friends, and talked to them, I began to be able to separate their truth from my own lies.  Like I said earlier, you really need to talk to someone who gets it, you know.  And even though we’ve experienced a lot of the same things, it’s not me.”  He looked pointedly at the small black dragon who was currently in the same place he’d always been - at Douxie’s side.  

“I miss him too.”  Archie repeated his words from a few days ago.  “And I am here for you, Douxie.”  He must have seen the doubt festering in Douxie’s eyes and he reassured, “I do not blame you for what happened.  No one does.  The Merlin in your dreams is not real.  He is spitting your own self-doubts and guilt right back into your face, but deep down, you know the truth.  The real Merlin told you.  Jim and Claire told you.  And I am promising you - Merlin died because he chose to in order to save you because after all he had seen and done and all the years he’d lived, the one thing he was terrified of was having to light your funeral pyre.  And Merlin never did anything he didn’t want to do.  No one could have stopped him from making that choice.”

The words struck something deep inside of Douxie, and he felt the tiniest fraction of weight shift in his chest.  “M’be,” he slurred, so tired that his friends were all now blobs of blue, black, and purple.  A giant bruise.  He chuckled, a bit madly.  

“Okay, Douxie,” came Claire’s voice, distant and very close at the same time.  “I think you really need to lie down now.  You’ve been awake for too long.”

She and Jim helped him lie down.  Weakly, he protested, “I cn’t sleep.”

“You can,” said Jim.  “Take Archie’s words with you if you end up facing that dream-Merlin again.  Remember that we’re here for you.  None of us will leave you while you sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be right here when you wake up, and if you have nightmares, we’ll remind you of the truth,” Claire promised.

“And I will guard you,” Archie vowed, retaking his cat form and curling up protectively over his closest friend’s heart.  “You are safe here.”

Douxie could resist the call of sleep no longer.  He closed his eyes and let it take him, and he felt the warm weight of Archie on his chest and the presence of his friends around him and the slightest of smiles curved his lips as he drifted off.

***

Thirty seconds after Douxie grew still upon the bed, his three friends let out a collective sigh of relief.  

Thirty seconds after that, Jim and Claire let out a collective yell of shock and Archie leapt to his paws, hissing and arching his back, as a giant, misty alarm clock appeared out of thin air and started screeching a terrible cacophony of wailing guitars and screaming vocals at top volume.

“What the--?” Claire shouted over the racket, slamming her hands over her ears.

“I forgot,” Archie called back, “he cast this spell to wake him up when he fell asleep.”

And yet, this time, Douxie still slept.

“Can you turn it off?” Jim yelled.

“No, only Douxie can undo the spell.”

Jim considered this for a moment and shook his head.  “Let him sleep.  He needs it.”  

And despite the loud, jarring music, he, Claire, and Archie kept their promise and stayed faithfully at their friend’s side until, four hours later, he woke up long enough to blessedly vanish the clock.

Then, like a little boy with a teddy bear, the already fading Douxie pulled a startled Archie into his arms and held him tight, curling up on his side with his furry prize.  Although uncomfortable in his new position and robbed of his draconian dignity, Archie snuggled in and purred, content to listen to the steady breathing of his deeply sleeping familiar.

[itwcntsurviveme-a]

Plotted Starter for @rebellmade​

 She felt hot. The last week, she’s felt horribly hot. That was the only symptom she had but it felt like she wanted to rip her skin off. Anytime she’s taken her own temperature, it’s been between 102-105. It could have scared her more if she hadn’t been sweating. The fever still wouldn’t break, even after being drenched. The only thing that really helped was being in as little clothes as humanly possible and having the windows wide open. It was strange because the only symptom she had was the fever. There was no drowsiness, no pain, no pressure, no trouble breathing. Still, after her third day at 105, she finally decided to tell her mom. 

“Mom, I have a--” She walked into her mother’s room, stopping in the doorway when she say her mother passed out in the bed next to her boyfriend who was was obviously swiping through tinder. He glanced up at her and did the sleaziest once over, making her skin crawl. Yes, she was in a sports bra and shorts but this was her damn apartment. 

“Mom’s passed out. What do you need, Pajarito?”  

“Don’t call me that.” Raven rolled her eyes, turning on heel to walk to the kitchen. If she had any money, she would have taken a cab to the hospital. She poured herself a glass of water and set it on the table before starting to rummage through the cabinets. 

“You still sick or something?” She glanced over her shoulder and immediately felt on edge being stuck in the small kitchen with him alone. He was leaning against the counter where her glass was. Her mother went through boyfriends like she went through underwear, none lasted very long. This particular one gave her the worst feeling in her stomach, though she wasn’t if that was because he seemed particularly interested in getting to know her while the others would simply say hi and bye. The guy was off and, unfortunately, seemed like he had no intention of going anywhere anytime soon. 

“Yep, super contagious. Best keep away. ” Raven countered in annoyance as she finally found some Tylenol. She took the max dosage before grabbing her glass quickly and retreating into her room. Everything after there slowly went black. 

The few things she could remember was the feeling of hands on her skin, his voice, and fear. When she had finally come to, it had been in a sterile hospital with a respirator down her throat. After a freak out, the nurses managed to calm her down and explain what happened. Her entire building had burned down, killing about 15 people and injuring 20. No one could figure out what had caused it and it was a miracle she’d been found alive, being in the heart of it. The downside was, with no known family, she had been tossed around the Foster-care system. After her third foster family and fourth fire, they sent her to Juvie. It didn’t matter how many times she explained to them she was innocent, they had already labeled her a pyromaniac. A part of her was starting to believe that maybe...maybe she was? 

Her anger had always been explosive but, lately, it felt like fire. It felt like fire coming out of her body and the moment she felt that, that’s when the fires started. They’d asked her what she used, trying to get to the bottom of it. How do you explain it literally came from her body without getting sent into a psychward? Her attorney had told her to stay quiet and plead innocent, so that’s what she was doing. 

“Reyes, you got a visitor.” Raven sat up in her bunk and glanced over at the officer in confusion. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Get the hell up, Reyes.” Normally, she’d counter with some sass but she was genuinely curious as to who would come visit her. When she walked into the visitation room, the guards uncuffed her and guided her over to a table with two women she’s never seen before. They looked like they shopped at J. Crew or Anthropologie, dressed immaculately and in all black. With a suspicious squint, she sat down in her chair and got right to the point. 

“Who the hell are you two?” 

[something-tofightfor]

Too Late

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader (Ink AU)

Word Count: 7403

Rating: R (language, aftermath of physical abuse of a female, talk of drug use)

Author’s Note: This is meant to be read after both Ink and Ransom. It’s kind of a filler piece, but it was necessary to getting to what I really wanted to get to: William getting put into his place. 

Summary: It’s been a little over two weeks since you were rescued from William. How’s you body healing? How’s your mind? ... How’s Logan handling it? 

He watched you as you slept in his bed, the golden rays of sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the blinds and illuminating your skin. She looks so much better. Your arm was out of the sling, but the other was still in a brace - less bulky than the first one, but designed to keep you from bending your elbow too far, too soon. You were on your back, head turned to the side so that your cheek was pressed against the pillow, and one hand was resting on your stomach over the sheets, fingers splayed. Logan knew that it was shielding the area that had been stapled and bandaged, though that wound, too was well on its way to being healed. So much better. 

 The sunburn had faded within a week, the gel that had been applied in the Mesa continually being used on your back, shoulders, arms and face in the days following your return to California. Sometimes you put it on yourself, but Logan was always quick to take over for the places you couldn’t reach, long fingers gently caressing the inked skin of your back and shoulders as you stood or sat in front of him, allowing him to touch you in the only way that was possible. He’d kissed you - plenty of times - but was always careful to keep both of you from getting carried away, holding your hands tightly in his so that he wasn’t more tempted than usual to touch you, always pulling away from you when he felt you leaning in or angling your head to kiss him more deeply or trying to pull your hands free. The disappointment in your eyes would have been mirrored in his own, but Logan was careful to hide that, too, not wanting you to feel worse about your situation than you already did. Soon. 

 He understood it - the guilt you were feeling for needing someone to rescue you, for everyone believing your story when no one had taken his seriously, for feeling like a burden to him, needing Logan to help you in the shower for the first week, and then continuing to need his help when it came time to do things like wash or brush your hair. But Logan never let you feel guilty for long, because he knew the impact of the emotion all too well, and knew how quickly it could consume you. He didn’t think that you’d follow his path down, and if you’d even hinted that that’s the way you were going, he would have intervened immediately. But Logan could see how hard you were fighting, how focused you were on getting through the pain and recovery with nothing stronger than the prescription Tylenol they’d given you, hiding the amount of pain that he knew you were really in. She’s not like me. 

 He also understood why you were fighting so hard to heal, and knew that that reason was why you were so willing to let him help you, to stay with him, even though it was embarrassing to need someone’s help as much as you needed his. But  I’d do anything for her, she has to know that. William had been flown home and was awaiting trial though it wouldn’t be a traditional courtroom case, but things couldn’t progress until you were strong enough to sit in on it and contribute your side of the story, which motivated you to focus on your recovery. 

 Logan had been with you when you deplaned in California, a car taking you to the Delos facility where you’d spoken to officials there, answering questions that hadn’t been answered at the Mesa, but since then, there’d been nothing, aside from a few meetings with your legal team to see how you were doing and to update you on their case status. You hadn’t left his house since you’d been back, and despite the circumstances, Logan was enjoying having you all to himself. Not for much longer. It’s almost time to…  He stood from the chair he was sitting in, stepping around the small desk and next to the bed, lowering himself and saying your name softly, one hand reaching out to cover yours. I don’t want to wake you, but I have to. “Hey.” 

 Your eyes opened, chest rising as you took a deep breath, and Logan felt himself smiling as you reached out for him, your fingers closing around his forearm, your own lips quirking up into a sleepy smile. “How long was I out for?” You swallowed, stretching and letting out a quiet hiss as the fingers beneath his tightened against your stomach. “Ribs still…shit.” You pushed yourself into a sitting position, hiding your wince with a yawn. “I didn’t mean to-”

 “You slept all day, pretty much.” He smiled at you, eyes moving over your face. “Must’ve needed it.” He heard you laugh, head moving up and down as you nodded. “You can go back to bed if you want, I just wanted to see if you wanted to…” He paused before squeezing your hand. “Juliet’s stopping over, and I didn’t know if you -”

 “Maybe, Logan.” He saw your eyes flash, heard you sigh. “I haven’t seen her in a couple days, it’s a lot to deal with. She…” You met his gaze, an apologetic look in your eyes. “I know why she’s acting the way she is, but I’ve already got one Delos taking care of me, I don’t need another one to hover.” No, you don’t. You yawned again, eyes closing, and Logan stayed quiet as you rolled your neck, a quiet ‘pop’ audible before you looked back at him. “I’m still so tired, Logan, I don’t want to -”

 “So.” He leaned in, one hand reaching up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re tired because your immune system is shit right now.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, feeling you smile again before he pulled away. “The dehydration and sunburn did a lot of damage, and it’s going to take a while for you to feel better, even though the burn’s faded and other things are healing.” Logan waited, thinking. “But that’s where I come in. I’m makin’ sure that you’re eating and drinking what you need to, and that you’re not just sittin’ here without…” He felt his shoulders slump, remembering how quickly he’d lost weight, how weak he’d become, even after all of his visible injuries had faded. “Without a plan. You’ll feel much better soon, and I’m sure the doctor will tell you the same thing next time you see him.” 

 “I know, but I feel lazy, Logan, like I’m not doing anything but sleeping in your bed and laying on your couch and eating your food.” You turned your head to look out the window, lower lip drawn into your mouth. “It’s been two weeks, and I don’t… I should be…”

 “There’s no timeline for this.” He said your name again, one hand running through his hair, the other uselessly back on his lap. “You’ll get better when you get better, and if it takes a month, it takes a month. If it takes two, that’s what… that’s what’s going to happen. We - Delos can only do so much, the rest has to happen on its own. You’re doing everything you need to, and I promise you that once you get that brace off and can take a deep breath without feeling like someone’s punching you in the side, you’ll feel better.” You met his eyes again and he saw that you looked exhausted, the fatigue on your face unable to be concealed, even though he could tell you were trying. 

 “This isn’t me, Logan, I shouldn’t feel like this.” Don’t do this to yourself. 

 “I know. Believe me, I know, but you -”

 “I wish you didn’t.” You reached up with the arm in the brace, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I wish you hadn’t had to…”

 “No.” He leaned into your touch, feeling his lip curl as he spoke. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this. I wish you didn’t know what it felt like to be…” He thought of the desert, the blinding sun, the burning sand beneath his feet. I should have taken him down before he did this to her. “But I need you to believe me when I tell you that I know what I’m talking about, and you will feel better soon.” Not soon enough. “I’m gonna make sure of it.” He kissed you then, leaning in to take your lower lip between his teeth briefly and applying a little more pressure than he had been, catching you by surprise. You reached out with both hands, one of them pressed against his chest, the other hand on his upper arm as he kissed you, his fingers tangling in your hair. You pulled back first, and Logan was relieved to feel you nodding as you laid your head against his shoulder, the weight of your body comforting against his. I’ve missed that. Missed her.

 “I know you will, Logan.” You sat up with him for a few minutes, the room silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, and then you spoke again, clearing your throat. “I think… I think I’m going to skip out on seeing Juliet tonight if that’s alright.” You pulled away from him, settling back against the headboard, one hand playing with the blankets on your lap. “I don’t… I don’t feel like trying to -”

 “That’s fine. I’ll just tell her you’re sleeping, I’m sure she won’t be here for long anyway, she’s gotta go home to Em, and… shes been trying to spend as much time with her as possible since …” He stopped speaking before he finished the sentence, not wanting to say William’s name in front of you. “Since she’s basically a single parent now.” 

 “It’s better that way,” you muttered before you widened your eyes and met Logan’s again, head moving back and forth quickly. “I didn’t mean that, I…” 

 “No, it’s true. Em’s better off without him and so’s Juliet. The whole world will be, actually, and when he’s …” Logan trailed off. Stop. She doesn’t need to hear this right now. “Doesn’t matter now. You don’t have to come down, it’s fine.” You relaxed against the wood behind you and Logan stood, looking back over his shoulder at you. “Think about what you want for dinner, and we’ll eat after she leaves.” Logan glanced down at his watch as you told him you would, feeling himself smile at the sound of your voice agreeing with him. She’s still got an appetite… that’s definitely different than me. 

 --- 

 They were sitting out on the back deck, Juliet’s long legs curled up under her body in the rapidly fading light, Logan’s stretched out in front of him as his eyes scanned the horizon. Juliet had been understanding of your absence though Logan also saw a look of disappointment cross her features, and after he’d poured two drinks, they’d made their way outside, sitting and talking about Emily for a few minutes before falling into a less than comfortable silence. What does she want to say? He studied his sister’s profile - curly brown hair loose around her face and blowing in the wind off of the ocean, one finger of the hand not holding her glass tracing the rim of it slowly, eyes downcast. “Juliet, what’s going on?” Logan couldn’t handle the silence anymore, and though his sister didn’t answer right away, Logan could tell by the way she reacted that he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. 

 “I just…” Juliet took a long drink, ice clinking against the side of the glass before she continued. “I can’t believe that this is…” She set the empty drink down, turning her upper body toward Logan. “It’s been two weeks, Logan, why isn’t she better… I need this to…” He felt himself stiffen, jaw clenching. What? “He’s just sitting in a cell, and she’s… are her burns all better? How’s her arm? Can… has she talked to…” 

 “What are you asking me, Juliet?” Logan sipped his drink, trying to collect himself without overreacting. “William is exactly where he should be for now, and she’s doing what she can to get into a position where she can testify, but it’s going to take some time, her arm’s still…” He paused, thinking. “You’re not saying you want him home, right? With you and Em, and -”

 “No, of course not, but he’d never… he’s never… he wouldn’t.” Logan laughed, eyes closing. He would. He did. Twice. “They won’t let me see the tape, or the Host files, or… they won’t let me talk to him, Logan. I just want to -”

 “Why? What could he possibly say that you’d want to hear, Juliet?” Logan felt the anger growing in his chest, filling it in a way that was similar to the feeling of hopelessness that he’d felt back after coming home from the hospital himself. Is that why you’ve tried to spend so much time with her? Why you’re so interested? “None of it would be true, it would all be more of the same, more of William trying to convince you that he couldn’t hurt anyone, that he… that it was just a narrative gone wrong.”

 “We’ve been married for years, Logan. He’s never hurt me, never hurt Emily, never even hinted that he could do anything like what he did to her.” Are you kidding me? Juliet shook her head, and Logan leaned in, seeing that she was holding back tears. “I know that he did this to her, but I don’t understand why, and I just want to understand, Logan. I need to know what made him -” Logan stood, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Juliet, the look in his eyes hard. 

 “You know why he did this, Juliet. I tried to tell you when I… when he did the same goddamn thing to me, but you didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to believe me. You or Dad.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “You saw what he did to me, Juliet. Saw me when I came back from the park, when I was in the hospital, when I got home. You saw what he was capable of then, but it was easier for you to blow it off and take his word over mine. Why? What made it so easy for you to believe him, Juliet?” His voice was even but firm, and Logan began to pace, scratching the side of his head and then gesturing with two fingers, his eyes wide. “He fucking tried to kill me, left me to die in the desert because I killed a fucking Host, and you couldn’t -”

 “He was my fiance, Logan. I loved him, I wanted to b-” He felt something inside of him break, Logan whirling around and stopping in front of Juliet, both hands at his sides. 

 “I’m your brother. Your goddamn brother, and you would have rather believed him than me? Dad, I understand, but you?” He felt prickling in his eyes and rubbed at them with the back of one hand, willing himself not to cry. “I never understood it, you know that? Why William was there when I woke up, sitting next to my bed instead of you.” He watched Juliet straighten up, lips set in a thin line. “Why, after I lost my shit seeing him that day and the doctors had to sedate me again, you still didn’t believe me.” Logan swallowed hard, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been years, Juliet, since you watched me almost fucking die for the second and third and fourth times because I was so goddamn alone, and couldn’t handle living with myself because of what he did.” 

 “Logan, I didn’t… I don’t…” She gripped the arm of the chair she sat on, her eyes on his face. “You never…”

 “You didn’t think anything was off when I started using? When every single time you saw me I was out of my mind and on something? When I didn’t give a shit about Delos or what happened to me? You didn’t stop to think that maybe I was telling the truth - even just about one thing?” His voice rose, the words pouring out of him in a way that he didn’t understand - but didn’t try to stop. “When was I ever like that before, Juliet? Not even when Mom died, or, or when I lost that deal with the startup before Argos. None of it got to me, but one fucking trip into the desert with Billy was enough to -”

 “Logan, you sat in the sun for days.” She spoke quietly, her posture relaxing slightly. “We didn’t know what it had done to you, and when you came home, you were… different.” Juliet licked her lips, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips. “I thought that keeping things as normal as possible would help you, that it would be what you wanted.” She stopped, letting out a small sigh, and it took Logan only half a second to respond, the tears finally falling. 

 “What I wanted? I wanted my sister. I wanted my father - wanted them to believe me when I …” He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm coming away wet. Fuck. “I wanted you away from William and William away from Delos, but you married him, Jules. You got pregnant, and everything changed. You didn’t believe me before, and then? God, there was no chance. I had no one.” 

 “You had me, Logan, you -” No. No, you don’t get to do this. 

 “He flaunted you, Jules. He’d… fuck, he made sure I saw the two of you together all the time, that when I was there he was all over you, but in his way, so that you didn’t suspect.” Logan sniffled, looking out over the yard and pausing. “I didn’t have you, because he had you, and he had you right where he wanted you. Especially after you got pregnant, and then… then after you had Em? I was down, Juliet. All the way. I saw what was left for me and Dad didn’t care and you didn’t care, and… and then I didn’t care anymore. What did it matter? No one believed me, all they saw was Logan the junkie, Logan the failure. William… William was… the solution to everything, even though he was really the cause of everything.” He took a breath, feeling his hands clench into fists at his sides. “When I woke up in that hospital the last time, and no one was there? It would have been easy to give up, and that’s what he wanted. Both of them, probably.” Logan paused. Should I say it? “Maybe even you, too. It would have been so much easier if I just… was gone, hmm? You wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore, wouldn’t have to wait for that next call, wouldn’t -”

 “How could you think that, Logan?” Her voice trembled and Juliet leaned forward, staring up at him. “You’re my -”

 “Don’t even give me that “you’re my brother” bullshit. That didn’t make you believe me before, what would have changed?” Logan laughed, rubbing both hands over his face, fingers dragging through his beard. “But I didn’t give up. I decided I needed to find proof.” He sat back down, elbows against his thigh as he leaned in. “Proof of what he did to me and how he hid it, proof of what he was capable of.” She gasped, but Logan was on a roll, continuing after pausing to take a breath. “And I finally found it, Juliet, and he must have known somehow, must have… figured out that he hadn’t hidden everything as well as he thought, because that’s why he did this to her. He thought she was helping me, thought she was -”

 “There’s no way that’s that’s the reason, Logan. He wouldn’t hurt -” 

 “It is the reason, Juliet.” What? 

 --- 

 Logan whipped his head toward the doorway, where you were standing, and you met his eyes briefly, taking the few steps across the patio to sit down next to the man before reaching out to take his hand. He’s right here. “That’s all he said to me - over and over, while we were in the desert. He wanted to know what I knew, what Logan had told me, what I was doing to help him.” You looked down at your joined hands, watching as Logan’s thumb moved over yours. “Why do you believe that he did this to me, Juliet, when you didn’t believe Logan? Because there’s two of us telling you that it’s what happened?” Your heart was pounding, but you knew that you needed to ask. You’d heard more of the conversation than you’d admit; their words carrying up and in through the open bedroom window, and after it became apparent that Juliet wasn’t going to budge, you’d climbed out of bed, painstakingly pulling on a t-shirt over your tank top and twisting your hair over one shoulder before heading downstairs. She needs to see me, she needs to hear this. 

 “I see you now, I saw you in the hospital, I heard it in Logan’s voice when he called and told me…” Juliet wiped beneath both eyes, staring at you without blinking. “I have no reason to doubt you.” 

 “You had no reason to doubt me either, Juliet.” Logan spoke quietly and in a tone that you’d never heard him use before. “I never lied - not to you, not to anyone, and when all I needed was someone to believe me? No one did.” 

 “Logan, I… you…” She stumbled over the words, sounding more and more unsure with each syllable. “How could I just…”

“Is that why you were so quick to take my side?” You reached up to touch the front of your shoulder through your shirt, fingers rubbing over the area that Logan had tattooed. I  trusted him. I still do. “Were you trying to make up for not believing Logan? You still didn’t want to think that your husband could do something like this, but…” Logan pulled his hand from yours, putting it against your back, up between your shoulders. “But the second time, there was no way to ignore it?” Logan said your name quietly, a warning in his tone, but you couldn’t stop yourself from saying one more thing, the words leaving your lips with a bite that you didn’t think you were capable of. “There’s no ignoring this. He did this to me just like he did this to Logan, and both times, he thought we’d die before anyone got to us to stop him... And he was OK with that.” 

 “He’s been under a lot of pressure at work lately, he must have just snap…” Juliet trailed off, looking down at her hands, where you saw that she was still wearing her wedding band, though the engagement ring was missing. Are you kidding me? “It could have been anyone, any one of Logan’s… you weren’t a target, it doesn’t make sense, he just…”

 “Jesus, Juliet, come on.” Logan’s hand slid down your back and then his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers settling at your hip and tightening. “He told her - told me why he kidnapped her, just like he told me what he fucking wanted when he sent me off on that horse. There’s no question about it, he did this as a warning to me.” Anyone? She thinks it… “After I tried to tell you and Dad about what he did to me and neither of you gave a shit, I decided not to say anything until I knew I could prove it, and then… then she came along, and I couldn’t…” You thought back to the moments when Logan had been open with you, telling you in halting speech at first about what William had done and then opening up to you fully the night you’d both gotten tattooed, spilling the whole story. “She believed me, Juliet, believed that he did that to me, that there was a reason for how I acted, that  I wasn’t crazy, that… I had a reason to make the choices I did, and that every right to be focused on exposing him.” I did. 

 “Juliet, how many … people did Logan go to the park with between that first trip with W… with him and this last time with me?” Her eyes widened as she thought. “A lot, right? I don’t know how many, but it’s been a lot. I know that Logan likes to travel with someone, so…” You shrugged, wincing as you thought of Logan in the park with someone else, in the Mesa with someone else. They’re not important. Not anymore. “This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t random. This was planned. He helped two men steal horses months ago. He knew what he was doing, and he was just waiting until I’d be there without Logan.” Saying it out loud made you feel sick to your stomach, but it was the truth and she needed to hear it. I’m done with this. “I understand wanting to believe in the man you love. I understand being in disbelief that he could do something like this to your brother, and I also get that Logan’s behavior following that trip made it even harder for you to understand.” 

 “It did. It does. But I… why you?” Juliet shook her head. “Even if you were helping Logan, what’s the motivation for my brother to spend days trying to find you? He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you because you’re close, but why not just call the recovery team and tell them to go to the location of the Hosts William was with? It would have gotten to you sooner, and…”

 “It was personal.” Logan pulled you closer, leaning over to kiss the side of your head briefly. “He was trying to scare me into stopping, wanted me to see what he’d done, what he could do, to know that I hadn’t been able to save her, to watch someone… someone that I love beg for their life.” Juliet’s eyes widened as Logan spoke, moving between both of you before they finally settled on your face, disbelief filling them. “Before it was about the company, about my reputation, because that’s what I cared about, but now? This time?” 

 “Someone you… Logan, are you…?” Her brow furrowed. “You love her? But she’s….” You stiffened, feeling Logan do the same next to you. I’m what? “I thought this was just fun for you, that she was a distraction, that…” Juliet covered her face with her hand, taking a deep breath. “You’ve never been serious about anyone before, Logan, and I saw you guys on the yacht over the summer, you wanted me to tell you what I… but I didn’t think…” Your opinion of Juliet was shifting by the moment, and though you understood that part of her reaction was grief, it still hurt that she was talking about you as if you weren’t in front of her - and like it was impossible for Logan to feel anything more than physical attraction for you. 

 “I do. And William is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid, Juliet. He watched me - watched us, and he… he saw it, and he knew I’d do anything to find her, because I know when it’s not a game in there, Juliet. The Hosts can’t hurt people in there, but people?” Logan stood abruptly, reaching his hand out to you, which you took without hesitation. “It’s a different story, and William knew exactly what he was capable of and what he wanted to happen.” 

 “But that doesn’t make sense, how would he… even if you hadn’t gotten her out in time, Logan, what would William have… a body is…” Juliet’s resolve was dwindling by the second, and though you tried, you didn’t feel sorry for her. I don’t feel anything. “He wouldn’t have killed her, he couldn’t have -” Logan moved before you spoke, using the hand that wasn’t holding yours to lift the hem of your shirt, your arms hanging at your sides without moving. You need to see. 

 “Yeah, Juliet? This doesn’t look like “couldn’t” or “wouldn’t” to me.” The woman gasped at the sight of your still healing abdomen, the scar tissue red and raised, tender to the touch. “Just wait til you hear the audio from this, wait until you hear your husband taking all his shit out on her, someone who only made the mistake of trusting me.” Logan let go of your shirt, stepping toward his sister. “You feel guilty that you didn’t see it? I get that. You feel ashamed that you married him and had a kid with him? I get that, too. But it’s nothing, Juliet, to the way I feel knowing that I left her alone with him knowing what the fuck he was capable of.” You sucked in a breath, head moving back and forth. Oh, Logan, no. Stop. “I know you, Juliet, or at least I thought I did, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt so fucking bad about not believing me that you’re trying to make up for it now by believing that this happened, but it’s not going to work. It’s too late for me to just pretend that I’m alright with the way you acted, the fact that you didn’t even consider that I could be telling you the truth when I needed you to.” Logan whipped his head back and forth, breath leaving him in a huff. “You supporting her means a hell of a lot, but you’re still… you still don’t get it.” 

 “Logan.” You finally spoke again, reaching for his arm, your fingers closing around it. “Stop. She doesn’t… it’s not a big deal.” It is, but this isn’t helping anyone. You understood where he was coming from, how hurt he had to feel at the way Juliet was trying so hard to understand what had happened to you and why while still making excuses for William. She’s got to be in shock, that has to… 

 “It does matter.” Logan turned to face you, his back to Juliet and one hand rising to your face, the tips of his fingers tracing over the skin of your cheek. “Because you matter, and your life matters and not a single goddamn thing about this is fair, but -” He licked his lips, nose wrinkling. “Her tryin’ to say she’s concerned and then turning it around and sayng there’s things we don’t know when it’s pretty fuckin’ clear that we do? They don’t get to do this again. They did it to me, and they won’t do it to you.” Logan, I don’t… it’s going to … he isn’t going to get away with this. “You’ll see, Juliet.” Logan’s eyes closed before he turned back to his sister, taking two steps away from you and toward the other woman, the fingers of his right hand running through his hair again before his arm went back to his side. “You’ll know, and then maybe you’ll finally believe that everything he ever told you and did for you and promised you and Dad was a goddamn lie.” 

 Juliet held her ground, her eyes on her brother and the expression he wore. It was determined, but it was also filled with sadness, and you thought that the two had never looked more similar. “Logan, I …” She closed her eyes. “I didn’t know that you felt…” Her eyes moved to you briefly and you watched as they filled with regret. “I’ve been… it’s…” 

 “You should go, Juliet.” He spoke quietly, voice firm. “I appreciate you comin’ to check on her, but I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wordlessly, Juliet nodded and grabbed her purse, turning away without even saying goodbye and stepping toward the patio door. You heard it slide open, but neither you or Logan moved, the only sounds coming from the faint crashing of the waves against the shore until you heard Juliet take a deep breath. Here it comes. But there were no words, and a few seconds later, you heard the soft click of the door latching shut as she closed it, and then you and Logan were alone again, the man still a few feet in front of you. 

 You stayed still, unsure of what your next move would be, but when you saw Logan’s shoulders slump, the man turning and lowering himself back onto the couch he’d been sitting on previously, you followed him, leaving space between you. “Logan, are you -”

 “Just give me a minute.” Startled at the way he spoke to you, you went quiet, lowering your eyes to your hands, which were resting on your lap, fingers interlaced. I… he’s never… “Please.” The followup question lacked the strength of his initial request, but you nodded anyway, confused, thoughts returning to Juliet’s surprise at the way Logan had declared that he loved you and her unwillingness to believe that it was true. Why would he lie about it? What would he have to gain? You frowned, closing your eyes. Why is is so unbelievable that he could… “She still doesn’t believe me.” He sounded defeated and your attention was immediately drawn back to Logan’s face, though the man wasn’t looking at you. “He did the same goddamn thing, and this time there’s no doubt, and she …”

 “She loved him, Logan. She probably still does, at least partly.” You shrugged, reaching over and putting your hand on Logan’s back. “You can’t just turn something like that off, even when the other person does something like… like he did to me.” You winced at the words. And what he did to you, too. “And I’m pretty sure she believes you, especially now with my…” He turned his head to look at you, eyes locked with yours. “But that doesn’t mean that she… that she can understand how he can be so different than the man she married.”

 “You’re defendin’ her?” He narrowed his eyes at you, tongue moving over his lips. “After she -”

 “Logan, she understands that he’s dangerous, that she can’t try to bail him out so that he can come home. She’s… in denial.” You dropped your hand, letting it hit the cushions. “But she’s not stupid, she understands what this means.” You took a breath. “She’ll have to divorce him, and that’s going to look horrible, but she’s also going to have to explain to Emily that her dad’s not going to be around.” Logan’s eyes widened. “She has a lot to think about, Logan, and it goes way beyond what he did to me - and even what he did to you, because she’s… she’s thinking about herself, about how she didn’t see it, about how she ignored it, about… about how everything in her life is about to change.” He shifted on the seat next to you, never looking away from your face. 

 “I’ve never talked to her like that, not in… fuck, not ever.” Logan paused. “And I’ve never wanted to, not even when I was usin’, when she was takin Jim’s and William’s sides, when… but now she’s questioning you, and your injuries and the way I feel about you and -”

 “Logan, we’ve only been together for a few months, and it’s gotta be a shock for her - on top of everything else - to hear that her brother’s changed his mind about being with one person and one person only.” He finally smiled at that - it was barely a smirk but still there, and you took it as a sign. “Sometimes I st-”

 “You questionin’ me too?” He leaned in closer, hands moving from where they’d been to rest on your thighs, grip tightening as he spoke. “Why’s it so hard to believe that I…” You cut him off by leaning in to kiss him, fingers curling around the bottom edge of his t-shirt. Pulling away reluctantly to take a breath, you opened your eyes to look at him, speaking carefully. 

 “No. I’m not questioning you, especially not after the way you’ve been with me since we’ve been back in California.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. “You wouldn’t be doing all of this for me and to help me if you didn’t care.” Chewing on your lower lip for a few seconds, you continued. “Guilt makes people do a lot of things, but Logan, this is way more than that, and I think… I think she knows that as well as I do, and it scares her.” 

 “I do feel guilty, though, because he shouldn’t have…. It shouldn’t have taken this to be able to …” He looked lost - just for a few seconds - and then recovered. “But you’re right, this isn’t about guilt, it’s about needing to make sure that you’re doin’ alright and that you recover from this without doing what I did.” He lifted one hand from your leg and let his fingers trail up your bare arm, resting his palm on your shoulder. “Because I love you, and don’t want you to think that I don’t.”  He sounded vulnerable, but you didn’t let him pause for long before you leaned in again, resting your head against his shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. 

 “She isn’t going to handle hearing what he said or seeing those videos well, Logan. She’s going to… it’ll kill her.” He stayed quiet, shifting next to you and putting his arm around you as he turned to kiss the top of your head. “But as soon as she does, there won’t be any doubt, especially since him telling Tanner who I was and what to look for and when to ride in is all on there.” Logan agreed with you, humming quietly. “That’s why it’s so hard to be around her, because every time it’s like she’s waiting for me to tell her this is all a misunderstanding, that by some miracle he isn’t a… a monster, and I can’t do that. Even if he didn’t…” You ran your fingers over your abdomen, feeling the wound through your shirt. “Do this to us, it’d always be there, and he can’t… he doesn’t get Delos. He doesn’t get your sister, and he doesn’t get to pretend like he’s not doing anything wrong.” Logan’s body went rigid next to you as you said your next words. “Even if you and I weren’t together or you hadn’t told me how you felt? I’d still see this through.” 

 You knew that if those things hadn’t been true, the likelihood of William choosing you would have been slim to none, but the man hadn’t had confirmation that Logan loved you; he’d only seen you and Logan together a few times, only had an idea of what you meant to the man sitting next to you - so there was still a chance. “But we are together.” Logan tugged on your shoulder, pulling you upward into a sitting position and forcing you to meet his gaze. “And I… you know how I feel, so…” He glanced down. “So there’s no reason to think about anything else.” You’re right. “I’m sorry that you had to hear that conversation,” he continued, saying your name quietly. “It shoulda been between me an’ her, because you’ve gotta focus on what comes next.” 

 “Stop.” You stood, putting your hand on your hip and rolling your eyes. “I can do two things at once, and her seeing - and hearing - me say these things now might make what she hears later a little less difficult to listen to.” 

 “It won’t.” Logan stood too, smoothly moving to walk behind you, heading for the door. “Nothing’s gonna make that easier for her, but that’s not your problem.” He too paused in front of the glass door, looking back at you. “You don’t owe anyone a goddamn thing.” Deciding to lighten the mood, you followed the man back into his house, taking a seat at the bar that separated his kitchen and living room and watching as Logan stood in front of the fridge, looking through the contents. 

 “You’re wrong, Logan.” Waiting for him to turn, you leaned forward, bending your good elbow and resting your chin atop it. Head cocked to the side, he watched you, amused. “I owe you a couple things as soon as my ribs and arms feel better.” He laughed at that, and you watched as the look in his eyes shifted back into one that you hadn’t seen in weeks. He’s been so careful, but it’s… he still wants me. “I wish it could be right now.” Logan stepped away from the refrigerator, keeping the counter between you as he leaned in, reaching over to grip the side of your neck, thumb settling behind your ear. 

 “You have no idea,” he whispered, leaning in as far as he could to kiss you, lips lingering. “No idea how much I want that, too.” He traced his tongue along your lips without warning, causing you to part them, and before you could react, Logan was kissing you deeply, his long fingers holding onto the edge of the counter the only thing you saw before your eyes shut. When he finally pulled back, the groan leaving his lips identical to the one that escaped yours, you watched Logan swallow as he straightened up, running his fingers through his hair and eyeing you. “But we’re gonna wait til you’re better, because…” He pressed his lips together, resting his elbows back on the countertop and eyeing you from a safe distance. “Because I won’t hurt you… or even risk it just to get off. It’s not worth it.” He’s talking about himself, about when he…  

 Anyone that looked at Logan would be able to make a lot of assumptions about him - about his character and personality, about what he expected from life - and many of them would be right, you knew. But as the two of you eyed each other across the gleaming granite, you knew that even more of them would have been wrong. No, you won’t. No matter how much I’d beg, you wouldn’t. Not with me. “I know.” It was only two words, but you caught the relief in his eyes, realizing that he’d expected you to fight with him. “Because the sooner I’m better, Logan? The sooner we can put that piece of shit where he belongs for the rest of his life… and go back to living ours.” You weren’t sure exactly what that meant - at least in terms of being with Logan, but you knew that it meant no more careful touches, no more barriers between your bodies when you kissed - and no more hesitation. “As long as that’s what you want.” Adding in the final sentence made you wince inwardly, but Logan’s smile was reply enough, the man quickly making his way to your side of the counter and moving behind you. “Logan, wh-”

 “Shh.” He wrapped his arms around you - carefully - crossing them over your chest and pulling you back against him, his head dropping down so that his lips made contact with the side of your neck. “It is.” You brought a hand up, fingers squeezing his forearm tightly and then raised it more, curling your fingers around the back of his head and dragging them through his hair. He didn’t need to say anything else because the way he was holding you said it all, and so you relaxed into his body, letting go of the conversation that you’d had with Juliet and focusing on Logan. 

 “Good.” He hummed a reply, kissing his way slowly across your skin, and you took as deep a breath as you could, eyes flying open at the realization that there was very little pain associated with the action. Logan mumbled an inquiry at your sharp inhale, his beard scratching against your skin, but he didn’t pull away and you shook your head slowly, fingers still moving lazily against his scalp. “Nothin’ Logan. Just starting to feel better, that’s all.” I’m going to be fine, and William’s finally going to get what he deserves. 

---

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[anotheronechicagobog]

The Heroic Heralds of the Hermann Horde

Part 1

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: swearing, tension, parental issues

 A/N: You should read my fic ‘Tylenol and Tequila’ part three for some relationships to make sense but it can be read without having done so, the story focuses mainly on the Hermann family (or Hermann Horde as I have dubbed them) but there’s some stellaride and upstead in here as well.

Being one out of five kids was exhausting. There were pros and cons that they all had to deal with. Lee Henry, Luke, and Annabelle got new clothes, Lee Henry because he was the oldest, Luke because hand me downs were too worn when they got to him, and Annabelle because she was the only girl. Kenny, Luke, Max, and Annabelle got away with pretty much everything because they didn’t have to set an example (and the only times they did get in trouble usually had more to with a bad call their dad had than anything else). Kenny was unintentionally favoured by their dad more because he has made it very clear he wants to be a firefighter like his dad. Max was favoured by their mom because of his traumatic birth. Kenny, Luke, and Max were closer because Lee Henry was the firstborn and not only had Cindy and Christopher decided to wait a few years before having more kids but also because he had to be the responsible older brother/third parent most of the time, his parents hadn’t intended for that to happen and they felt guilty about it sometimes, but they needed his help and made sure he got at least an hour of free time (this didn’t include homework or chores) a day. Annabelle felt left out frequently because she was the only girl and while she didn’t fit the girly girl mould, she just didn’t share a lot of interests or societal problems with her brothers. So the Hermann’s were their own unique brand of love and chaos, and they were alright with that. 

Lee Henry had gotten a part-time job for Friday nights and weekends as a lifeguard. People liked to joke that lifesaving ran in the family, but that wasn’t the case. Lee didn’t want to ever rush into a burning building, he never wanted to let worry and fear linger over his family’s heads day after day. Wondering if every unexpected knock on the door or phone call was a death notice or call to the hospital. He didn’t resent his dad for his career, but it had affected a lot of his life choices. The reason he became a lifeguard was because when he was 10, almost 11, his dad fell through the floor of a burning building.

He remembers the phone ringing, wondering if it was Susan from his granna’s quilting club, or Kraken (Karen) from the PTA. His mom answered with a cheerful hello but when she made no other noise and the room suddenly felt thick, he looked up, and he saw his mom’s face. She had gotten so pale he could see her veins, her eyes were wet and had sunken in, her mouth moving like she was screaming so loud it would shatter windows but nothing was coming out, and then she collapsed. Her knees just gave out underneath her. Lee jumped up to try and keep his mom from falling on the floor. He was too weak to catch her so they landed together on the hardwood together with a thump. She still couldn’t say anything, she started shaking, so Lee grabbed the phone. “-Ms. Hermann? Are you still there? Did you hear me? Your husband fell through the floor of a burning building, he’s on transport to the hospital-”

“In ambulance sixty-one?”

“... I’m sorry who am I speaking to?”

“Lee Henry Hermann, son of Christopher and Cindy Hermann. Is my dad being taken to the hospital in ambulance sixty-one?”

“Yes, but I should really-”

“Which hospital?”

“Lakeshore medical centre, I should really speak to-”

“We’re on our way.” He hung up, remembering the words his dad has said to him a thousand times, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. “Hello, yellow taxi? I need a cab to take five people, one adult and four kids, to Lakeshore medical centre. My Dad got hurt and mom can’t speak.” It was a flurry of running and car seats and firefighter turn out gear that wasn’t his dad��s. That wasn’t cool anymore. That he couldn’t stand to look at or smell. So when no one was looking he got up and, calmly, walked to a closet. He walked inside, closed the door, and let it all out. He cried, muffled his screams with his forearms. He ruthlessly scratched his arms, and hit himself. In the head, chest, thighs, feet. He knew right then, from the look on his mother’s face, from the grimness behind uncle Randy’s eyes, from the tearing feeling in his chest, he could never do it. He could never be a firefighter.

When he returned to the group, his long-sleeved shirt was rolled down and he’d stopped at the bathroom before heading to the cafeteria to make sure he looked okay. He was carrying two plastic bags that were filled to the brim with sandwiches and water bottles. He was spotted by uncle Randy first. “Lee Henry! There you are, what’ve you got there?”

“Some food and water, I figured we’d all need something to eat and drink, we might be here a while after all.”

“Yeah... Hey, I heard that you helped get everyone here, and you’ve been really calm and level-headed throughout this whole thing. You’ve done really well, why don’t you sit down and we’ll keep you company til we hear some news about your dad? Severide can pass around the grub, okay?” Severide made his way over to the oldest Hermann child and gave him a proud smile. “I for one, am not even remotely surprised that you’re so calm. Your old man is a firefighter, remaining calm in stressful situations and helping others is in your blood. Should we be expecting another Hermann at 51?” Lee felt his heart sink into his gut, but thankfully Boden called for all the members of 51 to have a talk in one section of the ER before Lee could answer.

Lee took one last walk around the pool, to make sure he hadn’t missed any puddles or items when cleaning the deck while the last of the stragglers got out of the pool and the stands when he heard a loud crack. He whipped his head around and found a teen about his age lying on the floor at the bottom of the stands. He rushed over and methodically went over his injuries, calling out orders to the other lifeguards and people around him. He and Kylie got the guy on their backboard and his neck stabilized. The paramedics arrived quickly. “Lee Henry?”

“Hey Brett, so we have a teenage male, unsure of age or name, with a head laceration, possible neck trauma, and loss of consciousness. He fell off the stands and hasn’t so much as opened his eyes, one of the other lifeguards went through the change rooms to see if there was anyone waiting for him but they couldn’t find anyone. I noticed him come in a couple of hours ago, but he didn’t socialize with or appear to have come with anyone. He just came in and sat down at the top.”

“Alright, well you did a good job, we’ve got it from here.”

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

The next morning he was met by his dad, smiling from ear to ear. ”There's my boy.” Christopher began patting Lee Henry on the back. ”Brett said you were amazing, guess you'll be joining me at 51 pretty soon, huh? And tonight we are going to celebrate, the entire firehouse is coming over and we're gonna do a pot luck.”

Lee Henry couldn't get a word in edgewise, just sighed as his dad walked away, over the moon. Lee Henry finished getting ready under the concerned eyes of his mother, who had witnessed the tension in his shoulders and fine line his lips went into. ”Are you okay, honey?”

”Yeah, I'm great. I'll see you after work.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his duffle and headed for the station.

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

Lee felt his stomach sink when he recognized the extra cars cluttering the street in from of his house. He rolled his shoulders back at the sound of heavy laughter coming from inside, knowing it was better just to face it head on. He was met with the smell of various kinds of foods, and was met with the sound of rowdy firefighters. ”Hey Herm, the guest of honour had finally arrived. Lee Henry, come over here!”

”Hey guys.” Lee spent the next two hours, after working a 10 hour shift of a labour intensive job, bearing everyone’s comments about the ’next generation of Hermann firefighters’, and constantly being pulled away from the food table! Donna made pallea and his mom made brownies! He just wanted to eat!

He was tired, hungry, and emotionally worn out when uncle Kelly pulled him aside. ”Hey, Lee, I didn't want to say this to your dad before you, but I made a couple calls, and was able to get you a spot at the academy for next fall if you want it. It'll be great-”

”I don't want to be a firefighter.”

”What?”

”I haven't since I was ten.”

”Lee, you don't have to-”

”I... It's just a personal choice.”

”But your dad... He thinks you want to be a firefighter.”

”He never lets me get a word in, just rambles until he has to leave for shift or Molly's.”

”What do you want to be then?”

”A doctor.”

”Ha, you’re a healer not a smokeater, huh?”

”Don’t laugh, you'll need someone to fix up your self-destructive ass when you fall through a floor in a burning house.” Lee just couldn't take it anymore, his emotions had boiled over, so he’d snapped. And now he needed to leave so that he didn't have to watch his uncle put all the dots together right in front of him.

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

He was hungry and in need of comfort. Both from food and people. So when Kylie jogged out of his house after him, he was grateful. They caught the el downtown and went to Bartolli’s, a favourite restaurant of the Hermann’s. ”You were pretty loud, when you were talking to Kelly, just so you know.”

He sighed. ”I figured. I texted my mom before we got to the station, told her where we were going, mostly to avoid her worrying, but I fully expect someone to show up.”

”It does seem like something anyone at 51 would do, they are very involved in each other's lives.”

”Hey, you've been dealing with this for a few months, I've been dealing with it my whole life.” Their conversation flowed freely, mixed with milkshakes and deep-dish pizza. 

”Do you know what you want to do when you get out of high school?”

”Definitely something that helps people, but I don't think I want to be a firefighter either. Kelly and Stella worry about me just going to school, I can't imagine how they'd feel if I was running into burning buildings! They'd probably only be okay with it if I was at 51 with them, and while I love them, I don't love them that much. I think something in law.”

”The only issue for us is how to pay for all that.”      

“We could join the military, but that does kinda defeat the purpose of not being firefighters...”

“Lee Henry? Kylie?”

“Detective Upton and Halstead, hi.”

“What are you two doing here? I thought that 51 was celebrating a big save you made.”

“Yeah, but it just ended up being a firefighter thing, you know how it goes, especially because apparently, you guys do the same thing.”

“Yeah, we do...”

“Well,” Halstead gave a smirk and a nod, “you two enjoy your pizza.”

“Thanks,” Kylie piped up, having not spoken much with the detectives, “and you two have fun on your date.” Lee and Kylie turned to go back to their meal, but noticed the frozen body language and panicked expressions of the two adults. They looked at each other, concerned, before Lee decided to bite the bullet. “Uh, guys? Are you okay? Should we call the other Halstead?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“... Yesssssss.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Have a nice night kids.” Upstead (what they were to be referred to as according to his mom) turned and bolted out of the restaurant, blushes and pizza in tow. “I really hope that they sort out their feelings, it’s getting a little exhausting and I don’t even spend that much time around them!”

“Amen to that.”

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

When Lee returned home it was late, and only the porch and living room lights were on. He entered the quiet house alone, having dropped Kylie off at her apartment before returning home himself. He locked the door, turned off the porch light, and went straight to the living room knowing that it was better to face his dead head-on than beat around the bush. “Dad.”

“Lee Henry.”

“We need to talk.”

“Apparently we do.”

“I don’t want to be a firefighter.”

“Well, I heard that pretty loud and clear. It was too loud to miss. You know I just don’t understand-”

“October 10th, 2012.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and uncle Matt fell through the floor of a burning house. Your ADSU went off cause the fall knocked you unconscious. I’ve heard Gabby say that that was one of the scariest days of her life. And I remembered you comforted her when she visited you in the hospital. But you didn’t comfort me-”

“Lee-”

“No. Let me speak for once. I was ten years old. And I had to call the cab company, and get everyone in the car, and keep everyone together, and make sure everyone was eating, and check-in with the nurses about your condition, and get school stuff organized for Luke, Max, and Annabelle, and make all the meals for a week, and get Granna and Grandad on an earlier flight back to Chicago, and manage your medication because mom was too stressed to. Your voice was ringing through my head the entire time, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. All that I was told that miserable week was that I was destined to be a firefighter like you. But I was just listening to you, and I realized that being a firefighter was the absolute last thing I want to be when I get older. I had always known in the back of my mind that your job was dangerous, but it didn’t hit me until that day, not even when uncle Andy died. I just... I had my blinders ripped off, and I can’t ignore the terror I feel every time you leave for work. And I see mom and the others feel it too now that there have been more close calls, and I can’t do it. I want you to know that I don’t resent you for it in any way, but I can’t do that to my friends and family. I can’t let the people in my life feel like they’re saying goodbye to me every time I go to work. And I’ve tried to tell you, but I can never get a word in.”

“I tend to do that apparently. Look, I’ll admit there’s a part of me that’s always wanted you kids to follow in my footsteps, but that is a very small part of me. I am actually really happy that you don’t want to be a firefighter because I know that I don’t have the strength to worry about you or any of the others day after day. It takes a special breed of people to do that, and I don’t come from it. If you want to be a doc, that’s great. I know that you’re more than capable and I’m really proud of you for being able to recognize that. I’m also really sorry. That you had to be so brave so young. Need you to know that I love you, that I am so proud of you, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I should have been.” Lee had never, ever, seen his dad cry. Christopher Hermann was always strong and firm. But here he was crying in front of his eldest son, exposing all of his vulnerable emotions to him. Cindy found them forty minutes later full-on bawling and clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. Finally making peace with each other.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For the one word asks - Peter + "drift"

CW: Whump involving a minor (character is 16) - although no direct physical harm is done to him during the drabble. Sickness, isolation, referenced shock collar. Captor bonding. Referenced abuse at the end.

There was an ache that settled into the boy’s bones and resolutely refused to leave. It dug itself into the marrow and lived there, a pounding, throbbing pain that was with him whether he was shuffling through the hallways with a handler at his side or curled up in his room praying to fall asleep just so he didn’t have to feel it hurt any longer.

He went to training, and the scrubber and broom seemed to fall out of his hands, and he kept missing when he tried to pick them up. They punished him for it, in all the ways they punished the ones like the boy, with their black sticks and the shock collar around his neck and with their hands at his hips and his face pressed into the floor, but the pain inside his bones was worse, after a while, than the pain they could inflict on him.

Eventually, they left him in his room.

He was dragged out to the bathroom and the showers, but left otherwise to lay on the cold tile shivering in his thin white shirt and black shorts, curled in around himself as tightly as he could get to stay warm. 

Handler Todd was the first one to care that he was sick.

Todd had been gone for two weeks, on vacation with his daughters - he told the boy all about it, they took a trip to Yosemite National Park, and the boy didn’t know what that was any longer but the words sounded sort of familiar, anyway. The boy got sicker and sicker and while he was sick, he thought about Todd, and how much he missed a kind touch and a nice voice, and he hoped Todd would show him photos when he got back, the way he’d shown him photos of Disneyland.

When he heard the soft beeping and the ssshhhh-click of his door unlocking and opening up, the boy didn’t move. He didn’t look up - the white light hurt his eyes now, and he kept one arm over his face all the time, desperate to find some kind of darkness to hide in. 

“435689, you up?”

It didn’t matter. When handlers spoke, you were awake, whether you actually were or not. The boy made a soft sound that he’d meant to be words but the words didn’t come, and stirred a little, keeping his hand shading his eyes as he slowly looked up, wincing at the sharp stab of pain in his head. 

“Oh, shit. You okay, kiddo?” Todd glanced over his shoulder, then shut the door behind him, dropping down into a crouch near the boy. “You look like hell.”

Did he? The boy hadn’t seen a mirror since he’d been brought into the Facility. He didn’t know what he looked like any longer. His eyes felt like sandpaper and he knew he’d been sweating, off and on, sick-sweat smell that needed another shower but he’d already had his shower, he wouldn’t get another one for a couple more days.

When Todd took his hand and slowly moved it away, the boy’s fingertips dropped onto the cold tile, and he sighed in relief at the press of Todd’s hand to his head.

Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up. No school for you mister, it’s cartoons on the couch and some good old-fashioned chicken noodle soup. Get the Tylenol, Greg-

He groaned at the spike of pain in his head. 

“Kiddo?” 

“Mom, I don’t feel good,” The boy said, softly. His voice sounded weirdly far away to him, as if hearing himself from a distance. “I think I’m sick.”

There was a silence, and Todd withdrew his hand.

The boy whimpered and tried to grab at it, to pull it back. No one had touched him in days because he might be contagious, and he was alone in his tiny white room until they used the catch-pole to make him go to the showers or the bathroom and he just, he missed it so much, he just missed someone touching him even just a little bit.

Even the ways that hurt would be better than being alone in here hurting by himself. 

“Stay right here, kiddo. I will be right back, I promise. I promise you.”

Todd pushed to his feet and was gone, and the boy’s pleas for him to stay were ignored and then unheard.

The boy drifted, for a while. The world was flat white light and white floor, white walls. He was sweaty but he shivered at a cold that would not cease, drying sweat on his skin only for it to grow clammy and gross again moments later. His hair stuck to his forehead, flopped around in greasy clumps. He couldn’t curl up tightly enough to be warm. He couldn’t cover his eyes well enough to make it dark. He couldn’t sleep or stay awake, and all he could do was drift.

Don’t you worry. I’ve already called the doctor, we’ll get you in by noon. I’m sure this is just some kind of flu or something, honey, I’m sure of it. But you have to eat something.

When was the last time the boy ate? He had no idea. He’d started throwing up the Facility shakes and they’d stopped giving them to him. All he got now was water. At least the water stayed down.

He had no idea how long Todd was gone.

He was pretty sure Todd was probably just him seeing things from the fever, anyway.

But then there was the ssshhhh-click again, and Todd came in with a bag in one hand and something big rolled up in the other. He let both hit the floor and dropped back into his crouch. “Okay, kiddo. Can you sit up for me, please?” He reached out, hands on the boy’s shoulders, and with effort they got him back up, leaning his back against the wall, tears running down the boy’s face from how much it hurt to move. 

Greg, I think he needs the ER, he’s really badly off. What’s our copay?

“Mom, I n-need a doctor,” He groaned, and cool hands settled his head back a little bit, let it rest against the wall. “I’m so sick.”

“I know you are, kiddo,” A voice sound, not his mother’s voice. He remembered her smell and her voice and her hands, but he couldn’t remember her face. “I know. Look, medicine first, yeah? Just drink what’s in this little cup.”

He drank. It tasted like flat grape soda made thick into syrup and he nearly gagged on it, but the hands gave him water to wash it down with. Then he was dipped forwards again, and he cried more at the ache, but something infinitely soft and warm wrapped around him and then was pulled together at his front, and he managed to crack his eyes to look down.

A blanket, soft fleece, and already he felt warmer in the chill air in the white room. The boy ran his fingers back and forth over it, looked slowly up through eyes bleary and blurry with tears and the ache, and saw Handler Todd watching him with concern and what the boy thought must be real affection on his face. “I can have this?”

He’d never had a blanket before.

Never been good long enough to earn one.

“Sure you can, kiddo. Just til you heal up. Now, you’ve got medicine - that’ll take down your fever in a little bit. Then I brought you what I give my little girls when they’re sick.” He pulled a six-pack of something out of a bag, and the boy stared at the little blue bottles. “It’s not… great, but these have a bunch of vitamins and shit, you need that. Technically it’s kind of a nutrient shake for toddlers who won’t eat, but hey, food is food. And also, this.” He pulled out another six-pack, and the boy knew Gatorade even though he couldn’t remember having had any in his whole life. He felt a thin smile find its way onto his face.

“You brought so much for me,” He whispered. “Is it, is this just for me?”

“Just for you, kiddo. I ran home and picked it up from our food stash in the house.”

“Cool. Th-thank you,” The boy said, and took the Gatorade the man offered him, drinking its cool sugar-sweet flavor in little sips that somehow, miraculously, stayed down like water. “Can… can I see a doctor?”

Todd sighed and sat down next to him. “I asked, they said no. Not sick enough.”

The boy blinked at him, still sipping the Gatorade, holding it in both hands like it was precious. “If I… if I get sicker I’ll be dead,” He said, softly.

“No you won’t, you’re probably past the worst of it by now.” Todd shrugged. “Just keep hydrated, and try to drink two of those little Pediagrow things each day. I’ll get you some peanut crackers once your appetite’s back. Just takes time, this flu is all over the place in the Facility right now.”

The boy wanted to argue, but he’d used up all his energy in the words he had already said. Instead, he pulled his blanket closer and leaned sideways until his head rested on Handler Todd’s arm. 

They sat there like that for a while, until Todd said, “Want to see my pictures from Yosemite?”

The boy smiled and looked up at him, grateful Todd had come back, that he cared that he was sick, that he had had fun on his vacation with his family. The boy didn’t have one any longer. It was nice that someone else got to.

“This is what you do for your kids when they’re sick?” He asked.

Todd laughed, pulling up a photo of the sunrise over mountains. “Sort of. My babies lay on the couch watching cartoons all day.”

“I think I got to do that, before,” The boy said.

Todd glanced at him and then shrugged. “Maybe. But you don’t remember any of that, right?”

There was a warning in his voice, an edge. Todd was still a handler, and memories weren’t allowed. The boy quickly shook his head, and settled in to look at the photos Todd had taken of places that looked so terribly familiar but the boy could not remember ever having seen.

***

Later, when he is sick - the whole first year he was sick all the time - he’ll lay on his mattress on the floor in the tiny little room he calls his own, and Dex will be the one who sits with him. 

The room isn’t any bigger, but it stays dark when he needs it to, and it’s his own. The sickness lasts just as long, but there is medicine right from the start, and there are other people who care.

Peter knows to be grateful for this, even when being sick doesn’t stop her from leaving bruises on her bad days.

When Peter cries for Todd in his sleep, Dex holds his hand and knows it is a handler he is calling for. It is Dex who combs his hair back from his forehead and lays the blanket over him when he kicks it off. It’s Dex who tips the little cup of syrupy liquid to his lips. It’s Dex who feeds him Gatorade and saltine crackers and Sebastian makes him chicken noodle soup to sip from coffee mugs he can barely hold in shaking hands.

Still, he cries for Todd, in his sleep.

He can’t remember if there was ever anyone who cared before him.

[saundraswriting]

Need Some TLC Chapter 7: Sick at Bucky’s

SUMMARY:You make you way home after the longest week in a long time. You more tired then you every have been coupled with the beginning of the flu. You decide to take the Captain and Sargent up on their offer. They force you to res

WARNING: None

You pursed your lips and eyed the red key with hesitation. You did promise to use the key if you needed to sleep after a rough stint at the hospital. You were tired-beyond tired-and not feeling well. You wanted to use the key, you knew that you were in no shape to care for yourself. You were dizzy and cotton mouthed. You could feel yourself swaying as you blinked. Your heart was racing and you knew you were dehydrated. This was definitely time to use the key, even if they weren't there F.R.I.D.A.Y would be able to monitor you for them.

'Maybe they only offered out of politeness and responsibility. They only see you as an obligation. Captain America would surely offer his apartment out of neighborly obligation. Maybe they don't like me anyway.' Your thoughts grew more and more depressing and anxious, your sleep deprivation getting to you. While you debated on taking the two men up on their proposition your feet chose to make the decision for you. You stopped outside their door and fingered the key. 'Fuck it! They won't mind. I certainly don't. Maybe they will even be here to keep me company.' With that thought you inserted the key and turned. You hadn't seen Bucky before work in a day or two, you vaguely remembered him mentioning needing to be in the compound. You took a deep breath and slouched against the door using your body weight to push it open.

You stepped in quietly closed the door hoping to be unobtrusive. You pulled your bags off and sat them on the floor, keeping the strap in your hand. You looked up to scan the apartment, once and then twice before you recognized the crowd of people in the living room. You squinted and looked at the key in you hand and back to the room. Your eyes were having trouble focusing. You finally locked on to blue eyes staring at you in obvious concern. Bucky was sitting on a couch by himself.

"I'm sorry." You said to the room. "Sargent Barnes and Captain Rogers told me to come over if I ever needed to. I have worked a lot lately." You yawned deeply and swayed. You were struggling to stay on your feet after a 20 hour day. You were slowly losing your ability to stay awake but you couched down to gather your bags. The migraine you had shoved away was coming back with a vengeance. "I can go? I don't want to interrupt." Bucky interrupted before you could make to leave.

"Y/N, c'mon. Lay down. You need to sleep. You are always welcome here. Now let go of the bag and come here." Bucky patted the couch next to him. You did as he said letting the bags slouch against each other on the floor. Steve and the others watched with thinly veiled interest. Most didn't know who you were let alone why you had a key or why Bucky was being so soft and dotting. You stumbled over to Bucky like a drunkard, not able to focus. Steve was glad he cleared a path for you. You sat on the couch with a groan and with Bucky's encouragement and help laid down. Almost instantly you were settling. Bucky smiled and pulled off your shoes and socks and emptied your pockets. He reached up and gently took your ponytail out. He tucked a pillow behind your head and wrapped you in a blanket. You sighed deeply and gave a  final wiggle to get comfortable.

"You okay, sweetheart? I have been worried." Bucky said as he tucked you in.

"Fine. Just want to stop. Tired. People just need to do their job." You spoke with forced enunciation, a choppiness to your words. "I am cold and nauseous and achy." You slurred. The sensation of being taken care of, of safety and closeness helping ease your tense muscles and tired brain into drowsiness.

"I know, darling. A good rest will help put you to rights." He began rubbing your feet where they rested in his lap. You peered up at him with suspicion.

"You are doing this on purpose. I should stay up. Keep my schedule. Somewhat." You told him. He glared at you with a twinge of heat. "Or, I can just lay here and take a nap." Bucky nodded and rewarded you with a smile. "Fine don't let me sleep too long. You have company." You ordered. He nodded but the twinkle in his eye told you that your next few days would be spent in his care getting better.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. I will wake you in a few hours." Bucky murmured in your ear, adjusting the pillow and blanket. With that you fell asleep between one breath and the next.

Bucky watched you for a few minutes. He instinctively counted your rapid, shallow breaths and fast, hard  heartbeats. Your face was pale and blotchy, a grey tint at the very edges of your skin. Bucky felt his concern and worry grow in his chest.

"Steve, do we have a thermometer?" Bucky asked smoothing a hair from your face. It was greasy and he could feel the dry shampoo build up in your roots.

"Want us to leave the room?" Clint teased. "We can leave if you want." Bucky knew even though he was joking, Clint and the others would leave if asked.

"Stop. She is sick and tired. She came here for comfort. I am trying to reteach her affection and friendship. She doesn't have anyone-by circumstance or choice I do not know. I want to be there for her. Like she is for me. Us." Bucky said.

"Bucky, even I can tell from here, she has a fever. You want me to call Bruce?" Steve asked. He handed over the thermometer, telling Bucky to just scan your forehead.

"Bruce isn't that kind of doctor he continually tells us. She is actually a healthcare professional." Bucky took your temperature and winced at the number. "101.3. The is a little high. She should stay here this weekend."

"Agreed. But we both knew she was staying even before the fever. But let's get to lunch and games. She'll sleep like the dead." Steve's lack of concern in his weekend being crashed confused the others but they said nothing.

The group began bickering over what to do for lunch and which game to play. Eventually they decided on pizza and Trivial Pursuit. While they ate and played, Bucky split his attention between his friends and you. He didn't want to keep you on the couch for too long. He was also thinking of ways to get you fever down and rehydrate you. A loud bout of laughter rang through the apartment, Natasha glowering at Sam and Clint. The sudden noise broke through your sleep causing you to stir and whine softly.

"Hush, darling." Bucky murmured in your ear. You settled at the sound of his voice. Clint looked on with warmth in his gaze. He was always a sucker for people in need. His apartment buildings were always full of people trying to get back on their feet for something.

"Wake her in two hours. That will give her one full R.E.M cycle. Give her some regular water or Gatorade and some soup broth to help rehydrate her. Give her some Tylenol to get the fever down at first then bed. Then tomorrow push fluids and good food. She should be better in no time." Clint told Bucky as the pizza arrived and everyone scrambled for some like vultures. Bucky nodded and thanked Clint as he stroked your hair or rubbed a thumb on your ankle while your feet rested in his lap.

"Okay. I know she has been neglecting herself. She baseline is dehydrated, overworked, sleep deprived, and malnourished. I have a lot to fix. She doesn't even seem to understand that she can rely on people or that she deserves  basic things. I know that she has some mental health problems-who doesn't-but I want her to know that working through them like this isn't healthy. I want her to know she can rely on us. on me. to help." Bucky told Clint. Bucky felt better with instructions. He made a mental note to research modern medicine to better help anyone in the future. The relief settled him so he could play games and enjoy his friends.

The predetermined two hours was just about up, Bucky was thinking on how to wake you up when your phone began vibrating. The caller ID screen read Work. The vibrating made you stir but Bucky snatched it off the table before you awoke and answered it. The team instantly was silent.

"Hello?" Bucky was hesitant, he didn't want to invade your privacy and he didn't want to wake you just yet either.

"Hello. I'm sorry? I was trying to reach Y/N? I am Diane from Mercy Hospital General Care Ward." The woman on the other end of the call was polite but confused.

"This is her phone. She is unavailable. Can I take a message?" Bucky sounded calm but his right hand was clenched tightly and his eyebrows dipped together in a frown.

"I know that today is her first day off in sometime but I needed to ask her-" Bucky didn't let her finish before he rejected her statement.

"Absolutely not." Bucky's voice was as sharp as flint.

"Pardon me?" Diane's voice rose in pitch.

"Y/N has just gotten off of 4 16 hour shifts and 2 20 hour shifts. Just this week. She is ill and tired. I am sorry to disappoint you but she will continue to be unavailable until Tuesday as scheduled." Bucky was firm and just shy of rude, he was not giving on this issue even a millimeter.

"Very well. Thank you for your help. I hope she feels better. Good day." Diane hung up not waiting for Bucky's response. Bucky placed the phone back on the table trying not to move you too much.

"Good job, Bucky!" Steve grinned at his friend. Everyone looked on bewildered.

"Bucky, that maybe was a little too far? She should've made that decision herself?" Pietro asked.

"No, she would've forced herself to go in. The state she is in would do more harm then good. She knows they need her but she also knows they need her healthy. I took away the guilt of saying no from her." Bucky defended himself.

"Also me going in with a little bug can lead to huge problems, even if I am careful. Who was it on the phone? Everyone knew I was unreachable until Tuesday, unless it was an emergency." You cut into the conversation with a yawn.

"Y/N! I am sorry did we wake you?" Steve leaned over the back of the couch by Bucky's shoulder.

"No. I heard you talking but I was freaking out about oversleeping and next thing I know, I am awake. Sort of." You said while stretching. "Claudia was definitely right."

""Claudia?" Steve repeated.

"A night nurse, I knew. She told me that sometimes it is good to sleep with people near. Humans are social creatures when sleeping too. Helps the brain relax." You explained to Steve before turning to Bucky. "You didn't answer my question."

"Diane."

"Man, fuck Diane. I hate her. Thank you for telling her no for me." You smiled at Bucky, who smiled back feeling relief. "What was my temp?" You asked seeing the thermometer on the coffee table.

"101.3." Steve said. He and the others watched as you blinked blearily around the room.

"Temporal? Then it is probably 102 even 103. I have a high grade fever. I will need to push fluids." You pushed up to a sitting position, throwing a hand out to ride out the dizziness.

"Your iron is low. You are anemic." A man with short dirty blonde hair said.

"Huh?" You blinked at him. "Oh, yeah. But not from being sick. I haven't been eating well." You narrowed your eyes at the man who you were speaking to, then widened them in recognition. "Sargent Barnes...I know we discussed me trading baked good for name-dropping bragging rights but I think it will have to wait." You said.

Bucky laughed and helped you sit up. "They aren't here for your baked goods today. They are here for Team-Bonding. Anyway sweetie, lets get you some fluids and food and meds. Then you can go to bed in my room. Bucky took your elbow in hand and helped you stand up and guided you towards the kitchen.

"'Bucky, it's nothing to make a fuss about. I am fine. Let me go home, please I have chores to do." You halfheartedly pulled at you arm.

"Y/N, I don't think so. Come on, food, water, meds, sleep, hun. In that that order. I will even loan you my shirt to sleep in." Bucky's grip didn't slacken at your tugging. You looked between the kitchen and his front door before the words registered.

"The red one?" You asked quietly like it was a secret. "It is my favorite."

"If you want. You can have anything you want." Bucky kept the thrill he felt when you admitted to having a favorite shirt of his. Bucky wanted to repeat his demands but knew that you knew them.

You felt like shit and having someone to dote on you wouldn't be unwanted. You knew from past experience that being sick was terrible but being sick and alone was unbearable.

"Fine. I will eat and take meds then I will go home. I am not interrupting your Team-Bonding any more than I already have." You tell Bucky. You peek at his teammates-who some you recognize and some you don't-you were trying to look like they weren't just watching the two of you. Bucky nodded at you with an overly innocent look.

"Yes, My dear. Whatever you say." You flinched at his words and Bucky looed at you with a question in his eyes as he helped you sit down in the kitchen island.

You sat down ungracefully still groggy and wibbly. You placed you head on crossed arms but kept your eyes on Bucky. "Don't call me that. That is what my dad called my mom when they would fight." You mumbled.

"Okay, baby-girl, okay." Bucky pulled out a bowl and served you some soup he'd been simmering for a while. You stayed slumped in your chair patiently, zoning out, listening to Bucky puttering around the kitchen and the others playing their game. Bucky glanced over to you and saw your glazed over eyes and pale skin and purple smudges under your eyes. He felt his heart clench at your appearance. Bucky brought over the bowl, pressing featherlight kiss to your hair. "Here's some soup. Full disclosure? This is yours, from when Steve's nightmares started acting up last month? I froze it and thawed it out to eat today." You huffed a laugh and leaned your weight into Bucky's chest for a second before pulling away to eat. Bucky sat down next to you. Tylenol and water found their home next to the bowl of soup. You began to dig in, slowly. Bucky sat with you for a bit.

"Good idea to freeze it. I need to make some stuff. Especially if I am going to use it as bribery to meet everyone. Sargent Barnes? Go on and play. You did your job. I will eat drink and be miserable right here, then I shall steal your clothes and bed. You'll never get rid off me then." You tried to get him to go to his teammates, guilt flooding you for taking him away from his team.

Bucky only grinned at you, dimples showing, eyes lighting up. "That is kinda the plan, doll. Minus the be miserable part." Bucky ruffled your hair affectionately.

"Cause I'm your girl?" You said teasingly. But you could hear the insecurity behind it and knew he could too.

"Yep. My girl. My best girl." Bucky said without hesitation. You beamed at him, reassured for now. you nudged him with you elbow. "Go on, play your games. I think, though, Trivial Pursuit is an unfair advantage for the others considering you were locked away like a pint of Ben and Jerry's for 70 years."

Bucky tuned in time to see everyone direct their gaze from the two of you. He sighed but said nothing, knowing the behavior was born from concern for him and curiosity about you. Not just anyone had a key to their apartment or free rein over it either. Bucky turned to see you went back to eating. He sat down to go back to the game. "Okay, we got at max 45 minutes until she is out again. I gave her nighttime cold medication instead of regular Tylenol." Steve clapped in friend on the back in support. They would apologize when you woke back up again.

"You gonna introduce us? She said she wanted to meet us." Natasha asked. Bucky could see how antsy everyone was to meet you. He knew his answer wouldn't help. "Not right now. She needs rest. One day yes. She won't appreciate being dropped into a first meeting. She works very hard and she is very important to me. I don't want to cause her distress."

"I know that isn't what you guys want to hear but please be patient. She is amazing, she was completely unfazed when we asked to help her move in and she realized who we are. She didn't freak out or anything. Just thanked us and dropped off cookies. She is a polite and considerate woman who deserves our respect. She'll want to meet you when she believes she won't embarrass us." Steve took over when Bucky trailed off. "She takes care of us when she can, because she doesn't take car of herself." Steve raised his voice to carry into the kitchen.

"That's fucking rich coming from the multiple 4-F-lying-on-government-forms-jumping-without-parachutes-reckless idiot." You snapped back finally standing up from the table. You eyed the dishwasher but ultimately decided to put you bowl in the sink, you headache had shrank but you still feared it falling off if you bent over.

"If you have time to sass Steve, you time to take meds." Bucky reminded you.

"I just took them, dad." You stuck your tongue out at him. "Do I get to be introduced?" You smiled but Bucky could see the tense set of your shoulders and how your eyes jumped from person to person.

"Nope. I am not giving you any excuse to skip your nap. Go on, if you want to take a show-"

You moaned in delight. "Oh, god, yes, please." You shuffled over to where you knew the bathroom to be not paying attention to how Bucky was struggling to push down thoughts of how else he could get those noises out of you.

"Everything is in the bathroom." Bucky called out as the door shut. He spun to face Steve, eyes wide and hands wringing. "Steve" Bucky whined pitifully.

Steve looked up to see Bucky's distraught look. Steve offered no support only shaking his head in amusement.  Bucky flopped down, feeling dramatically unsettled. He was aware he had a possessive streak a mile wide and you were going to be wet and slippery in his shower, using his soaps, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed. It was enough to fell a weaker man but Bucky was better than that. He would respect your boundaries and wait for the proper opening. Laughter from the game grabbed his attention, he chose to actively follow the game feeling guilty about his raunchy thoughts and neglect of his friends. "Sorry, guys. I didn't mean to ignore you."

Natasha didn't say anything just smiled knowingly at the ever so slight sheen of sweat at Bucky's temple. The Maximoff Twins waved away the apology.

"Dude, if I was you, I would have kicked everyone out and taken care of my girl." Sam said.

"She would have left first. She sees herself as the second choice. Something I hope to unlearn her of. I want to help her more, slowly I am learning her personality. But I constantly freeze in the moment. She's always so busy. I am trying to help by making her lunch and keeping her place tidy. That really seemed to help." Bucky said.

"That is a good idea. Why not invite her as your date to the Stark Charity Gala in a few months?" Sam suggested. Bucky seemed to think on it for a moment and looked to Steve, who nodded.

"Fine. I will ask her to the gala. that should give her time to find a dress and get off work." The group cheered lightly. "But!" They paused. "I will only ask her as my official date if Steve asks Tony. No matter what I will ask her to go for a night out because she deserves it." Bucky challenged his old friend. The other members of the team cheered once more. Steve and Tony's mutual pining was frustrating enough, adding on Bucky and yours's was nauseatingly frustrating.

The excitement of the possible feelings resolution was enough to get everyone involved in the game once more. Bucky kept an ear out for you in case you needed something. 20 minutes later and you shuffled out of the bathroom, looking extremely refreshed. Bucky almost swallowed his tongue, his red shirt and sweat draped off your much smaller frame and he could smell his shampoo in your hair and his body wash on your skin.

"Sargent Bar-"Bucky shot you a look. "James." Earned you another. "Bucky" You sighed. "Bucky, Steve, everyone, sorry I ruined you afternoon. I didn't mean to intrude." You played with the hem of his shirt, looking small and tired.

"We already covered this. You didn't ruin anything." Bucky said firmly without any heat. You flinched anyway. "I gave you a key. I want you to use it. I didn't give it to you with conditions, I gave it to you for both my sanity and yours." Bucky got up and walked over to you. "I am glad you used it today. Please understand, you are my best girl. I want you here, wearing my clothes, smelling like me. I want you with me, near me, all of it." Bucky paused. He was coming on strong and he didn't want to push you away.

"I know. But...I don't want to assume anything.:" you said quietly into his chest. Bucky pulled you into a tight hug. He rubbed your back with one hand and stroked your hair with his metal hand.

"Assume away, pretty girl. I may have reached out because you had helped us so much but now? I want you around because I want you and I care for you." Bucky held you tight for another moment.

"Okay. I am sorry. I am a mess. I get whiny and insecure when I am sick." You pressed your face deeper into his chest.

"Y/N, you are a registered nurse, living on her own in NYC. You are friends with most if not all the Avengers. You are sweet and amazing and compassionate. I know sometimes the hard days turn into hard weeks and you get lost in the fog but you are working through it. You know when to ask for help even if you hate it. You aren't a mess. Maybe a little disheveled but that is easy to straighten out." Bucky pulled away slightly to slid his left hand to your back and his right to your thighs, picking you up to cradle in his arms. "Now, let's get you into bed. You still have two day off and a cold to get rid of."

"Okay, Bucky. Thank you." You mumbled. You wanted to tell him to put you down but the idea of being coddled and carried won out quickly. Your awareness was getting fuzzy around the edges. "You didn't give me Tylenol did you?" You said as Bucky tucked you into his bed. He turned on some music very softly to drown out the noise in the living room, not answering you.

"You need anything, ask me. I mean it, anything. Until then...Sleep tight, my sweet girl. See you later." Bucky kissed you temple, heading towards the door.

"Thank you, sweetheart." You mumbled before nodding off. Bucky physically melted, tension leaving his back and shoulders as he shut the door.

[speedycubed]

use the sleeves of my sweater.

summary: luke had been glad when his dysphoria shifted from being in the wrong body to being in no body, but that all comes crashing around him after playing the orpheum.

notes: this story features trans & autistic luke. i draw from my own experiences as an autistic transmasc individual when describing things that have to do with those features. // crossposted on ao3 if you would rather read it there.

triggers: descriptions of dysphoria, unsafe binding (not taking a binder off for extended periods of time & exercising in a binder)

The one thing Luke had been on board with after becoming a ghost was the lessened dysphoria. Without a corporeal body, most of the dysphoria the first few weeks had been about being intangible as opposed to being in the wrong body. It was blissful to have something else to focus on when it came to his body.

But after he had adjusted to being a ghost, and especially after the Orpheum performance, dysphoria came smashing back into his life. It had happened one day in rehearsal. He was jumping around, strumming his guitar as he always did when he felt a pressure on his ribs. Luke stopped jumping around, deciding to stand still, figuring that would solve his problem. A few minutes later, after they finished that runthrough, he sat on the couch, claiming to be worn out. That was when he felt it.

The press of his breasts against his binder.

He had died wearing it and since they didn’t need to breathe anymore and were made of air, he felt no need to ever take it off. After all, the phantoms had been distracted by the fact that they were ghosts with no bodies to speak of to focus on changing clothes. Even after they figured out that they could, it was all just to regain some normalcy in their (after)lives.

But after jumping and sweating for the hours of rehearsal, he was finally feeling it. That was going to bruise.

Luke looked up, noticing the concern in Julie’s eyes. “It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss concern. “Just my ribs hurt after all that exercise.”

“Your ribs? That’s weird. Don't you mean, like, a stitch in your side or something like that?” she asked, wanting to make sure her boyfriend was okay.

Fuck. He should have just gone with that. Now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Most people don’t get rib pain from exercise. They get other types of pain, sure, but this is a trans issue.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Luke pointed at her, nodding to cover his shame at almost getting caught, “That’s what I meant. Have a stitch in my side, yep, that’s what my pain is.” Stupid brain making him flap his hands and stutter through the agreement. Now she would know something was wrong.

“Okay. Well, if you can take it, there’s some Tylenol in the bathroom behind the mirror.” She nodded, dismissing herself, a worry still clear on her face, but not wanting to make it worse.

As soon as Julie was out of the studio, Alex was next to Luke, sitting on the floor in front of him.

“Take it off,” Alex said, voice stern.

Luke laughed it off, which only made the pain worse. “Take what off?” His nervous laughter filled the studio followed by coughing.

“You think we didn’t notice?” Reggie said from up in the loft. He tossed one of Luke’s bigger hoodies that still had the sleeves on it over the railing before poofing to be next to the guitarist. “You died wearing it and haven’t taken it off since.”

Luke huffed, crossing his arms. “It’s not like I needed to breathe! And until just now I didn’t even notice the pressure.”

“Breathe?” Alex and Reggie looked up, seeing Julie with a water bottle in hand. The bottle dropped, plastic making it bounce a couple of times before stilling. “And the thing with rib pain earlier…” She walked up to her boyfriend, kneeling in front of him. “You don’t have to answer, but this sounds familiar. I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t be asking unless I figured that knowing would make me able to help more. Luke—” Julie looked him in the eyes, wishing she could hold his hands as she spoke to give some comfort, but that might make it worse. “—are you trans?”

Luke looks up, fear in his eyes. Thoughts ran through his head a mile a minute. How did she find out? Is she going to want to date me anymore? Is she going to quit the band? How will I cope if she leaves? Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

She seems to see his panic and backtracks. “I’m so, so, sorry if you’re not and this makes it seem like I’m assuming things, but with the breathing problems and the sudden need to rest and the rib pain… It all sounds like what one of the boys at school was talking about during one of our gay club meetings. And if you are I want to be supportive and help in any way that you’ll let me.” Her words rush out, apologizing for what she said, telling them that it was rude of her to ever ask and that she shouldn’t have, it’s none of her business, that she wouldn’t have asked without a reason.

The other two boys in the room got it, nodding along to her apology while they tried to comfort their friend.

But the one she was apologizing to didn’t hear any of it. Luke was quiet, his brain still telling him that this was a bad idea. All he could do was let out some tears before grabbing the hoodie Reggie had brought him and fleeing off to the bathroom to change.

Yanking his binder off proved to both lessen and enhance his dysphoria. Now he couldn’t feel the pressure of having his chest tied down, reminding him that he had breasts, but now everyone else could see that he had them. Luke put his shirt back on, slipping the hoodie over his head, and poofed off to the beach where he didn’t have to deal with the fact that he was just basically forced out of the closet by his girlfriend.

He chewed on the sleeves of his hoodie, having chewed the strings out long ago, staring out at the people on the beach. Now everything felt wrong. His skin pulled tight and he felt all of the body dysphoria he thought he had escaped after becoming a ghost.

The corners of his sleeves were soaked in his saliva before he got tired of staring at the people on the beach who all just reminded him of what he could never be. He poofed into the bike shop that stood where the Peters’ house had once been.

There was only one worker, a teenager dressed in all black. But it was the music playing over the speakers that he really noticed. It was classical. Something he didn’t expect from a bike shop, but it helped. Classical had been the only genre he ever listened to before developing his own music taste. His mother and father were both classically trained string players who had signed Luke up for viola lessons as soon as he expressed interest in his parents’ instruments, so their house was always full of symphonies.

As much as it hurt to hear music that he always associated with his parents, it was nice to have something else to focus on. Now Luke just focused on picking apart the instruments used during each section, wondering how he would play it if given the sheet music. It was calming to try and remember each position and each fingering. It was calming to try and pick apart each line, each note, in order to try and find the key.

His concentration was broken by the sound of the phone ringing. The employee sighed, rolling their eyes as they picked it up. At the same time that happened, Luke heard a little “poof” next to him. He turned only to see Alex.

“How did you even think to check here?”

“Saw your silhouette in the window as we checked the beach,” Alex said.

Luke groaned at the “we.” That meant that the others were here.

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

Luke fell silent once more. A part of him was glad that the boys hadn’t spilled his secret. It wasn’t theirs to tell, after all. But another part of him wished that they had just told Julie. That would have taken all of the pressure off of him.

He looked at Alex as the final notes of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons: Summer” faded and the host began to introduce the next piece.

“Can you tell her for me? I’m pretty sure that she already knows after earlier, j-just confirm it for her.” The guitarist hated that he had to ask—it put unfair pressure on Alex. Having to ask someone else to come out for him was a coward’s move, but Luke was so, so scared. He didn’t want to have to face Julie, knowing that no matter what she said, it was likely to worsen his mood. And that would worsen his dysphoria as his mind sat in its darkest corners.

“Yeah.” Alex nodded, poofing back out to the beach.

Luke turned around in the bike shop so he could see his bandmates. Even though he couldn’t hear them, he could tell exactly when the words left Alex’s mouth. He could tell because he knew Julie’s body language. He saw her nod and bite her bottom lip before opening her mouth to talk.

He could imagine her voice as she told the boys how she didn’t love him anymore. Logically, Luke knew that this wouldn’t be something that Julie would break up with him over. She often talked about Los Feliz’s gay club (the offical title was the Los Feliz GSA, but no one called it that, according to Julie) and suppoting her non-cis friends. But anxiety is a bitch. The voice in his head said that the reason he saw tears on his girlfriend’s cheeks was because she thought he had lied to her. The voice in his head said that he was about to get broken up with.

Luke decided that the voice in his head was a little bitch and poofed out of the bike shop, landing next to Julie.

She turned to him, wiping her tears. “You know I don’t think of you any differently because of this, right?” Her eyes were wide, pleading him to soak in her words. She loved him and nothing would change that.

I kn-know, j-just…” He pursed his lips, bringing his sleeve up once more. Luke hated his stupid stutter, especially when it came to difficult conversations. He chewed on his sleeves, trying to find the words. “Anxiety.” It was all that he could come up with as an explanation without devolving into word vomit.

Julie nodded in understanding. “Anxiety’s a bitch.”

The group fell quiet as Luke flopped onto the beach. He removed his sleeve for a moment to ask for hugs, which the boys gave. Julie sat next to him and held his hand so she wouldn’t be seen hugging air. They may have figured out how to talk to them in pubic (a pair of cheap earbuds with the wires cut off made for an excellent pair of fake AirPods that made people think she was just on the phone), but they couldn’t figure out how to make her be able to touch them in public without looking insane.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was out of line, that was an invasive question that I shouldn’t have asked. I keep talking about boundaries and yet I completely broke one of yours today.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was muffled from the stimming, but the words were easy enough to make out.

Julie looked to her metamour, asking for help. Reggie had known Luke a lot longer, so she figured he might be able to get the point across a little better. Reggie shook his head. This was between her and Luke.

“Hey buddy, are you better enough that Alex and I can leave? I think you and Julie need to have a talk—boyfriend to girlfriend.”

Luke snorted. “But you’re my boyfriend, idiot.” His eyes got sad once again, “But you’re right. See you guys.”

Reggie and Alex poofed out, heading back to the studio.

“You may say it’s fine Luke, but that’s not going to stop me from apologizing. I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“But y-you’re my girlfriend… Doesn’t that make it your bus-business?”

“Only if you wanted it to be. If it’s to become my business then you have to be the one to make it my business. You would have had to have told me first.” She shed a few tears, trying to hold back from crying until they finished this conversation. “I’m sorry I took that opportunity away from you.”

“I wanted to tell you, but I figured it didn’t matter anym-more—” he laughed at Julie’s confused eyebrows, “I haven’t felt major body d-dys-dysphoria until t-today. And I’m air, so I haven’t taken off my b-binder all this time.” Julie gasped. “It’s off right now if that’s what you’re worried about,” he glanced at his chest, nervous. “But, yeah, it’s not like I can do anything about it. I’m intangible, so I’m stuck in the body I had when I died.

“I figured that I would t-tell you down the line, after we had m-more time to get used to our relationship. But then dysphoria hit me all at once during rehearsal. Suddenly I could feel all of the things that I got rid of when I be-became a ghost.

“Sorry that you have a broken boyfriend.” He ended his explanation and stared down at the sand, putting a finger in his mouth, nibbling on the tip to give his sleeve a break. He didn’t want to ruin another one of his dysphoria hoodies. A few holes were nothing, but too many would destroy the sleeve.

“You are not broken. Not in any way.” Julie says, grabbing onto Luke’s shoulders so he has to look her in the eyes. At this point, she only cared about getting her boyfriend to believe her, not the people who would think she was crazy as she held onto nothing. “You are Luke, mine and Reggie’s precious boyfriend, a massive dork, guitarist for Julie and the Phantoms, one of the best songwriters I’ve ever met. There is nothing wrong with you—you’re just you. No one is broken, they just have different pieces. Please don't ever refer to yourself as broken ever again.”

“Okay,” he whispered, fear still jostling his thoughts around. “Let’s go home and cuddle pile with Reg.”

Julie laughed softly, sounding like a fairy from Tinker Bell. “Sounds amazing.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Silent IV

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: John Tracy, Scott Tracy

Part 4 of my response to @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Taste challenge. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Answering reader’s questions?  Only halfway through a fic?  More likely than you think.

Sleep didn’t come easily for John.  It never had done, not even before last weekend, but now he couldn’t sleep at all until he knew all his brothers were safe in their rooms.  That indicator was Scott; until Scott came into their room and settled down in bed, John could be sure that at least one brother was still up.  As Scott would never go to bed until Virgil and Gordon were settled in the room next door, and Alan was asleep in his own bed, dragged in to their room almost as soon as they’d got home, his eventual stumble into bed was the sign John needed that the others were all as okay as they could be right now.

Even the stars had abandoned him.  Sat in the window, a favourite seat of his, with a neglected book in his lap, there were no pinpricks of light shining through the darkness.  Clouds had stayed gathered ever since the avalanche, blocking out both the sun and the stars.  Somewhere beyond them was Dad, on a mission to the moon.  John wondered if he knew, yet.  Grandma had said she’d contact the space agency, but communications from Earth to the moon were difficult.  It had always been a sore point between the older boys and their father – off again for months, two year old Alan barely knew who his Daddy was – but now it was a gaping wound.  John had always been fascinated by space, but he swore he wouldn’t go until he knew he could keep in contact with his family.  Always.

Equally as difficult as getting a message to the moon, apparently, was trying to travel when so snowed under even the cars couldn’t move, and planes refused to fly.  There was no snow here, and if John never saw a snowflake again it would be too soon, but Grandma’s state was snowed in.  Grandma was adamant that she’d find her way to them soon, and John knew she was doing everything she could to move in with them, but it felt as though the world itself was conspiring against them.  Every day that passed, Scott lived in greater and greater fear of uninvited visitors arriving on their doorstep.  John refused to admit it to anyone except himself, but he did, too.

Alan snuffled in the corner, clutching his newly inherited but tatty and old teddy bear close in sleep. The two year old didn’t understand what was going on, and John and Scott were both painfully aware that he was the most likely to bring the uninvited guests to their door with an innocent comment. From the conversation he’d heard when they’d got home, something Alan had said on the way home from playgroup had been too close for Scott’s comfort today.

Scott hadn’t been himself, either.  None of them were themselves, Gordon retreating into himself, Virgil pretending everything was fine but flinching at every reminder of Mom with tears in his eyes.  John wasn’t even sure what had happened to him; he could barely remember what life had been like before the avalanche now. Life and responsibility had ganged up on him and Scott all at once and now any free time he might have had was taken up with cooking and cleaning while Scott handled their younger brothers. But John didn’t think all that – Mom’s death, new responsibilities, three brothers in need of assurance and a sense of normality where there was none to be had – was the all that was preying on Scott’s mind.  Not after Alan’s loud complaints about Scott being stinky and Scott’s perfectly reasonable explanation.  Perfectly reasonable, except for one thing.

Scott didn’t have gym on Wednesdays.  John knew his brother’s timetable, even if Scott didn’t know that.  No gym on Wednesdays, just after-school basketball he’d quit at the start of the week.

Whatever had driven him to empty an entire can of deodorant over himself, it wasn’t gym, and John highly doubted it was an accident, either.  But he knew Scott wouldn’t talk to him about it, even though his eyes had been red when he’d come out of his too-long shower and he’d caught the smallest glimpse of something dark on his arm when his sleeve had ridden up during dinner.  Alan had jumped at him from his chair after they’d eaten, as per usual, and normally Scott could catch him with ease.  This time, there’d been the flicker of pain as Alan had collided with him, before he’d covered it up with some light-hearted scolding for being reckless.

John didn’t like the theory forming in his mind, and knew that tonight he wouldn’t sleep until he put it to rest, one way or the other.

It was midnight by the time Scott stumbled into the room, assuring him that Virgil and Gordon were both asleep and put that book away and go to bed now, John.  John hadn’t turned a page all evening, but dutifully obeyed, placing the bookmark back in the same place he’d retrieved it from hours earlier and setting the book on the bedside table before sliding underneath his covers and closing his eyes.

Waiting.

He heard Scott pad over lightly to check on Alan, making sure he really was asleep, before his big brother finally shuffled into bed himself, turning the lights off.  He’d shared a room with Scott for years, knew how his breathing shifted as he fell asleep.  The shift happened, and he counted the minutes in his head.  Five of them, and then he couldn’t wait any more, the burning need to know slipping him out of bed, palming his under-the-covers reading light (a present from Scott, two years ago, after he’d got fed up of John insisting on having a light on to read when he just wanted to sleep; Mom had laughed and told him he still wasn’t allowed to read all night) from under his pillow and slipping across the room to Scott’s bed.

Scott was a light sleeper, and John shouldn’t be doing this, but he needed to know.  The comforter folded back easily, and holding his breath John reached for the hem of his brother’s top, lifting it up just enough to see his fears realised.

Mottled bruising splattered across his torso, deeper and darker in some places than others.  It was painfully familiar – John had had the same, last year, until Scott found him out in a similar way and dragged names out of a tearful eleven year old in the middle of the night.  They’d both been in the same school then; Scott had made it perfectly clear the next day that anyone who so much as touched a hair on any of his brothers’ heads would be dealing with him and his friends, who would be delighted to return it with interest.

John didn’t have bruises any more, but now Scott had moved up into the world of high school and there was no big brother to make fearless challenges on his behalf.

A hand caught his wrist.

“Go back to bed,” Scott said flatly, tugging at his arm lightly until he let go.  The fabric fluttered back down, hiding the incriminating evidence again.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” John asked instead, keeping his voice down.  The last thing they needed was for any of their brothers to wake, especially Alan.

Scott scoffed, but John’s reading light caught pain in his eyes.

“Tell who?” he demanded, sitting up and wincing as he did so.  John didn’t think it was a good thing that Scott hadn’t even attempted denial first. Scott always denied it when things were wrong and he wasn’t okay.  Then again, none of them were okay.  None of them would be okay for a long time.  “A teacher? They’d just try to call Mom, and when they don’t get through they’ll be breaking down the goddamn door.  Grandma?  She can’t get here any damn faster.  Dad? He’s not even on the fucking planet!”

“Shhh!” John hissed as his voice get louder.  A sleepy snuffle came from the corner of the room, and they both froze.  It was several long minutes of silence before they relaxed, assured that Alan hadn’t woken up after all.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He knew why.  It was the same reason he wouldn’t tell a teacher, wouldn’t risk any adults realising that there was a family of five children living without a single guardian in the state.  Scott had been trying to protect him, projecting an air of invulnerable big brother so John would relax and forget the very real fear social services might catch a whiff of abandoned children.

Scott wouldn’t admit that, of course.

“What could you do about it?” he demanded instead, remembering this time to keep his voice down. “We don’t even go to the same school, and even if we did, we can’t draw attention to ourselves!”

“I can handle Alan so he’s not kicking you in your already busted ribs whenever you pick him up,” John retorted. “I can cover for you while you get pain killers.  Just because I can’t help you outside doesn’t mean I can’t help you at home, Scott.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” Scott protested, and John rolled his eyes.

“I’m offering,” he pointed out.  “You have taken some pain killers, right?”

“How do you think I got all of two seconds sleep before a pesky little brother stripped my bedclothes?” Scott grouched.  “Yes, I took some tylenol when I was in the shower.”

“Cold compress?” John asked, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Right little rescue scout you are, huh,” he grumbled.  He knew as well as John they’d had a first aid session only two meetings ago.  It felt like two lifetimes ago.  “Shower.”  John reached for his top again, only to get batted away.  “It’s fine, John.  Stop fussing and go back to bed.”

John scowled at him.

“We talk about this now, or we talk about this at breakfast with Virgil, Gordon and Alan listening in,” he promised.  From the flash of anger in blue eyes, it was only the fact that Alan was sleeping in the same room that restrained Scott from exploding at him.

“What’s there to talk about?” he ground out instead.

“Who.”  John stated.  “How long. Why now.”  The glare he got promised retribution later, but less than a week ago John had watched a wall of snow crush a skiing hut with his mother inside. Maybe Scott’s glares would be scary again one day, but their ski trip from hell was still too raw.

“You don’t know them,” Scott muttered after a moment, and John knew he wouldn’t have caved if he wasn’t also raw from the loss of their Mom, and the responsibility crushing his shoulders.  “I thought they were my friends, until yesterday.  Apparently they only liked me because the team kept winning whenever I played.”

“They’re beating you up because you quit the team?”  John wished he was surprised, but while sport had never been his thing, enough of his schoolmates were sport-mad that he could see them doing exactly that. Scott didn’t answer, but his eyes gleamed with tears in the faint light.

It made John angry. Who measured friendship by how successful someone was at a sport?  Who dropped their friend right when they were needed most?  Even if they didn’t know what was wrong, surely a friend would accept a change in hobbies?

He might not know them, but these unknown so-called friends of Scott were going to go down. How dare they make his brother cry?

The tears Scott turned his head away to hide could have just been grief about their Mom, but given the context of their conversation, John knew better.  It was also the sting of betrayal, and he wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Scott,” he said, muscling his way onto his brother’s bed and tugging gently but determinedly on his wrist until he caved and lay down.  “As soon as Grandma’s here, you have to tell her.”

Stony silence greeted him, and he pulled the comforter over the pair of them, nudging insistently at Scott until he had enough room to be comfortable.  “If you don’t, I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” Scott lashed back, rolling on his side to face away from John.  “Get out of my bed.”

“You didn’t let me suffer in silence,” John reminded him, staying where he was.  He wasn’t as clingy as his brothers, but right now he didn’t want his own bed.  “You’re right, even when we do have a guardian here, I can’t stand in front of you and threaten everyone that wants to hurt you.  But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let it happen.  Grandma will do something.”

“Grandma has the four of you to worry about,” Scott mumbled, and John rolled his eyes.  Whoever said older was wiser had clearly never met his older brother.

“Grandma has five grandsons and she’ll worry about us all,” he reminded him.  “She’ll find out somehow, even if we don’t say anything. You know she will, and then she’ll be sad you didn’t tell her straight away.”

Scott groaned in defeat, then rolled back over with another, pained, groan.  How long did Tylenol last?

“I know,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes with his sleeves.  “I know.”

John shuffled a little closer, pressing their shoulders together.  Once they got bigger – Scott was already hitting a growth spurt – they wouldn’t be able to fit easily on the same bed, but for now, they both fit well enough side-by-side.  After a moment, Scott’s head rested against his on the pillow, and fingers tangled with his own where their arms were pressed together.

“We’ll survive,” Scott muttered, squeezing lightly.  John nodded, and squeezed back.  “Grandma will be here soon.”

It was both a promise and a plea.

Part V

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. vii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt vii: anything that touches

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.4k (sorry I’m a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance from here on out. Uhhh brief mental breakdown that implies disassociation, and also some weird Joseph/Deputy if you squint real hard. Like REAL hard.

Notes: This chapter was a blast to write, mostly because I got to revisit that ICONIC scene (iykyk). That's pretty much the last in-canon thing we're going to have; the dialogue is essentially the same, but it felt important for me to have Elliot's experience of what it was like, when she was still soft and new.

Y'all the HOPELESS romantic in me is SUFFERING through these two but. I swear!! I swear. I SWEAR. Also anyone who tells me John doesn't want a partner who can put his ass in the dirt can fight me in hand to hand combat, because home boy needs it.

Thank you, as ALWAYS, to my sweet talented beautiful incredible @starcrier for proof-reading when this stuff is still in trash stages, and the ever-dutiful and perfect @empirics, who doesn’t even go here and yet???? Still stans and ships like she do. We love.

As always, thank you again to everyone who reads/comments/whateva! I’m so grateful for anything and everything and I just want to make it clear that I would not continue writing without you. Tysm!

John had never felt dread like this.

It was strange, the way it crept upon him as they walked to the trees. It was dark out, but the clouds had cleared so the moon and stars above were perfectly visible; it wasn’t as though he couldn’t see, and the closer they got to the trees, the more assured John felt that the van was there, or had been there. He supposed he didn’t know if the cultists had made off with it or not.

No, he wasn’t feeling dread about the fact that they were on foot, or that Boomer was nowhere to be seen, or that it was dark, or that he didn’t know for absolute certain that he was going in the right direction.

He felt dread because they were alive: because they were free, because there was no cultist in sight. He felt dread because Elliot was clutching his hand in hers, and her other hand was gripping his forearm, and she no longer moved with the surety of the apex predator she had made herself out to be in a very short period of time. Her feet hit the ground with heavy, unsteady thuds, their progression through the field and to the trees painfully halting. He had a very vivid memory of Elliot telling him, I’d rather you let me eat shit when he’d tried to steady her from falling, just a few days ago.

She wouldn’t look at him, either. Not directly in the eyes. He didn’t know if this was another side-effect of whatever they’d laced her with, or if it was Elliot, or if it had anything to do with the way she’d tried to pull away from him when he’d first found her in the field.

“Elliot,” John said, trying not to sound frustrated as her nails dug into his arm, “loosen your grip a little.”

Her lashes fluttered. She said, “Okay,” but then nothing changed, even though she looked like she was trying, as though the faculties with which she normally operated were so severely hindered that she wasn’t even aware if her body was doing the things she was willing it to.

He didn’t bring it up again. Even when he thought certainly her grip was going to bruise, even when his arm began to ache.

By the time they got to the trees, the moon was high in the sky, and John’s legs burned with the effort of merely walking. That was all it had been, walking, but the longer he turned it over in his mind that they were headed into a trap, the more laborious the movements became. They waded through the trees, the moonlight only barely filtering through now, until he saw it: the van.

At first, he felt relief. And then, immediately after, crashing into any good mood he might have left, was the paranoia. Why did they leave it? he wondered, hesitating. A trap. They want us to get back into the van.

But if they were trying to trap them, why wouldn’t they have just... kept them?

“John.” Elliot’s voice dragged with exhaustion. When he looked at her, her cheeks were flushed with fever, and her pupils were still huge—but not as much as before. “I’m so… tired.” Her body swayed a little, her eyes struggling to stay open; she was crashing, hard and fast.

“Stay here.”

Carefully, John pried his arm out of her grip, sitting her down in the nook of a tree’s roots before creeping his way over to the van. It was empty, and open, as though the cultists had just taken them and left it as it was. He wasn’t about to get caught a second time, so he moved quickly—climbed into the back, grabbed the backpack Elliot had filled with food and Tylenol, and reached for where he thought the guns were.

“Fuck,” John said. Gone. Everything else was left, except for the guns. And his glasses. Fuckheads.  

He stuffed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter into the backpack before he slid out of the back of the van and made his way back to Elliot. Her face was buried in her knees, her fingers absently curling and uncurling, something that John knew was just an Elliot thing—he’d seen it when she was at her most stressed, when she was trying hard to stay rooted.

John reached out and touched her shoulder. Even though he’d been clambering through the brush, the gesture startled her, her head jerking up and her eyes looking at him for just a second before diverting.

“We can’t stay,” he said urgently. “Come on.”

She nodded numbly before she took his offered hand, hoisting herself to her feet and trailing after him past the van and out closer to the road side. He thought, briefly, about yelling for the dog, or trying to whistle the way Elliot did, but the idea of making a violent range of noise to fetch a beast from somewhere deep in the woods—if he even was there—did not sit right with him. So instead, he found them a spot that was still within the trees, but pressed into the slope that led up to the road, and sat Elliot down again.

Now that he had a moment to sit, a moment to think, his brain flipped a switch into a necessary, self-preservation panic. Just a little adrenaline, to keep him awake, surely; because he didn’t want to be sleeping any time soon.

John couldn’t push the image of Elliot, pressed against the earth, crying , out of his mind. What had she seen? What did they do? His mouth burned with the itch to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when her eyes couldn’t stay on one place for more than a second.

“They didn’t—they didn’t do it to you?” Elliot asked him, after she took the tylenol he gave her dry and picked a chocolate chip out of a granola bar. John turned his gaze to her, cocking his head to the side. She still carried with her that dreamer’s sway, that soft loopy tone to her voice that reminded him she wasn’t yet quite herself again, but he thought it sounded like she was clearing up. Hopefully.

“Do what to me, deputy?”

She blinked down at her hands. “Drug you.”

He hesitated. He’d certainly gotten something , though he didn’t think it was anything like what they’d given Elliot. “Not the same,” he said after a second. “But I was asleep, for a while. For hours. I don’t know how long.”

“I wish I had been sleeping.” Elliot’s voice was miserable. She had never been so small, he thought, than in that moment, and she tipped her body over until the side of her face was on the ground. And then, after her eyes had drifted shut and a lapse of silence had passed, she mumbled, “They probably thought I was a bigger threat than you.”

John fought the urge to smile. It only barely worked, and he was glad, because he didn’t need Elliot getting a bigger ego than she already had.

“Yes, Rook, you’re very scary and intimidating. All—what, four feet, eight inches of you?”

“I’m five foot four, you fuckhead.”

A wave of relief washed over him. He rested his head back against the tree, exhaling softly.

“Go to sleep, deputy,” he murmured,  “so you can go back to being the bigger threat.”

For the sake of both of us.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For the first time in what felt like years, Elliot slept.

It was fitful sleep, to be sure, plagued by a strange, blurring color-scape of nightmares and fever-dreams that haunted the corner of her sleeping vision. It all just lurked around the edges, never an image that she could pin down or find, only ever something that was present enough to fill her with a persistent terror. Voice melded into each other, overlapping; fragments of noise and color drifted in and out of her, like a tree shedding petals in a fiercer wind.

When she woke, light was just beginning to try and creep over the distant mountains. It wasn’t enough to feel like a real morning, like the day time , but enough that the milky glow of it filtered through the tops of the trees; the earth smelled wet and fresh, and her clothes were a little damp from sleeping on the wet ground. The sky stretched, gray and soft as wedding silk, through the tops of the trees. She wiped the water from her face.

I smell: the earth, the rain, the grass and wind. I see: the light, the sky, the tops of the tress. I feel —

“Ah, sleeping beauty awakens,” John said. His voice sounded gravelly; maybe he hadn’t slept at all, this whole time, which somehow made her stomach twist a little even though she didn’t want to care about what John did or didn’t get to do.

“Fuck off.” She groaned, coming into a sitting position and feeling her head immediately swoon with the effort. The back of it pulsed with a splitting pain, and she remembered the red-haired man from before, telling her to go back to sleep just before he slammed her head into the floor of the van. “God—what the fuck —”

“It’s so lovely,” John intoned, and she got the impression maybe it wasn’t lovely at all, “to have you back at full capacity again, deputy.”

Elliot pressed the heel of her palm to her head. “That asshole that works for Ase smashed my head in before he drugged me.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

She stilled and closed her eyes against the splintering pain at the back of her head; she heard John shift where he was sitting, and then his hands against hers, brushing them away from the back of her head. Elliot tried not to think too much about how warm his hands were, how comforting the calloused feel of them was, or how gentle they were when he combed the hair out of his way. He clicked his tongue a little, hands dropping from her hair, and suddenly Elliot’s stomach plummeted, too; the loss of contact sent her poor little drug-addled lizard brain reeling.

“Well, you’ve got a nasty cut,” John said after a moment, “which is mostly scabbed over. And a bump that will probably be the size of an egg by the time it’s done.” His voice slid her out of her strange little panic, her desire to grab his hands and put them back on her face, even when that exact nightmare she’d had was stopping her from being able to meet his eyes for very long.

Elliot swallowed thickly. “Goody.”

She thought she could hear a smile in his voice when he said, “I’m sure you’ve had worse, Rook.”

“Don’t call me that.” She tried to force more heat in her voice, but she was so tired ; it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. John made a mild noise that might have been amusement, and then shifted where he sat before coming to a stand and stretching. Elliot asked, “Did you sleep?” and then immediately kicked herself ( because why would she care ), but it was too late to take the words back.

Her gaze flickered to John’s face and then immediately away. The strange dream—nightmare?—that she’d had of him, cradling her face, his touch searing through her, my Elliot , lingered on her skin still, heavy like a cinder block tying her down. It made it hard to look him in the eyes; she was afraid she’d see the flowers again.

“No,” he replied, and if it bothered him that she wasn’t looking at him very much, his voice didn’t sound like it. “Someone had to make sure those crazies didn’t come back.”

She scoffed, struggling to her feet. “The term crazies coming out of your mouth is impeccably comedic.”

“I’ll be here all night.”

Elliot shouldered the back pack and glanced around. The forest was quiet, and there was no sight nor sound of Boomer anywhere. She could only hope that he’d been out and away from the van when everything happened, and that he’d had the good sense to stay hidden. He was a smart boy. She tried not to worry too much.

At least, she would keep telling herself that, until proven otherwise. But she wouldn’t be whistling for him anytime soon—not with how easily they’d been tracked down by Ase and her fuckhead assistant.

“I suppose we should go on foot from here,” she said, a little mournfully, regretting the reasonable nature of her statement. She saw John grimace out of the corner of her eye.

“I suppose so, deputy.”

She heaved a sigh, fingers fluttering over the cut on the back of her head absently before she nodded. Her clothes were wet, she was nursing a raging hangover from whatever the fuck she’d been drugged with, and she’d eaten half a granola bar in a little over twenty-four hours. And if the drag of her breaths in her chest — even when she was taking a normal inhale — were any indication, sleeping in wet clothes had done nothing to improve her sickness.

Elliot set off, marching through the underbrush to get out of the woods and closer to the road. They passed the van again on their way out, and she thought, fuck, I’d kill John to get one more cigarette out of there, but she knew she shouldn’t. They probably had some kind of—bomb, or tracking device, or—

But in her heart of hearts, she knew that wasn’t true. They didn’t utilize machinery the same way that Eden’s Gate did. And if they wanted her and John dead, well. They would have killed them already. So even though she knew this, and thought it to herself, she couldn’t bring herself to go back to the car.

I see your color, mor, Ase had said, her voice like a thousand whispers against her skin. Elliot’s throat felt tight. She turned to John suddenly and said, “Hey, do you speak Swedish?”

John brushed past her. “What do you think?”

“How are you so unhelpful, and all of the time? Don’t you get tired of being useless?”

He laughed, and Elliot felt a little spark of indignation light in her chest. All of John’s strange tenderness—and she hadn’t forgotten, even if it was fuzzy, the way he’d held her face and said it’s me, Elliot, like he was supposed to be a comfort to her—

(and he was, now, what a sick thought, )

—was gone, and instead she kept thinking about the stupid fucking expression on his face when he’d said, so you think I’m attractive, then , because there was nothing more irritating than John Seed knowing he was attractive. It wasn’t like he needed her to tell him, so why he’d tried to wriggle the words out of her was beyond her comprehension; although Elliot supposed it could be explained that John hadn’t had anyone chant yes at his face for perhaps twenty-four hours, so how was he still sustaining himself? He must be craving attention, starved for it.

“You are the most annoying fucking person I’ve ever met,” Elliot announced, so that she could abruptly shove any and all thoughts of John’s hands on her face out of her head, huffing a little as she worked to catch up with him.

And then John turned around so suddenly that she careened straight into his chest, his hands landing to steady her shoulders—( warm, she thought absently)—and he said, “I know,” with all of the arrogance that she knew him to have. “Give me the backpack, deputy. If they are tracking us in some sick game of hide and seek, they’re going to hear you huffing and puffing from fifteen miles away.”

Elliot mustered all of the spite she had in her—which was not as much as she would have liked—and said, “I hate you, John Seed.”

“You’re going to have to find a new slogan,” John rumbled, sliding the backpack straps off of her shoulders, “because that one just doesn’t ring very true anymore.”

She let him take the backpack; not because she liked that he was being helpful, but because her shoulders screamed in relief. The more and more sober she became, the more her muscles ached, like she had been involuntarily tensing all night, and now they burned . John might as well have punched her entire body over and over again, with his stupid rings.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, fishing the tylenol out of the bag and swallowing two. John rolled his eyes.

“Look, I can tell when you’re lying to me,” he said. “And I know that I’m irresistible, not only because I saved you—”

“Do not —”

“—but because, as a man of God, I am infinitely more wise than you, as well. If there is one thing that I would know about a woman of wrath, Deputy Honeysett, it’s that the one thing she wants is to feel in control of herself, and I’m exactly the man who can give you control.”

Elliot could have, perhaps, not picked a less-Godly man than John Seed; the only exception would be one of his brothers. His words rattled around in her skull. Was this the stupid shit he told himself? That he could give her control? Here, in the woods—soaking wet, sick, split open, walking for God knows how long on foot—and that’s the sales pitch he was going with?

Her jaw clenched, blistering the headache behind her eyes under an impossible heatwave of pure ache , and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re—fucking—”

John waited, patiently, much to her fury: but the words would not come to her, color fractals splintering even when her eyes were closed, driving frenzied neurons to fire off pain signals over and over again. When she opened her eyes, for a second, an aura stretched across her vision, like someone pulling saran-wrap tight right over her face. She thought she might puke.

“I’m fucking...?” John prompted, and when she only shuddered a breath, his tone shifted a little. She couldn’t tell what to , but his voice was different when he said, “Deputy?”

He sounded, quite suddenly, like he was very far away from her. She tried to open her eyes again. The world wobbled unpleasantly, and the ground stretched beneath her until it felt like she was on a moving conveyor belt. She saw herself , standing there numbly, heels of her palms pressed against her eye sockets in a desperate attempt to quell the migraine.

“Elliot.”

John’s hands came to her face, yanking her back into a painful reality. He was too close now, smelling like wet earth and forest and a little bit like sweat, the rough, warm palms of his hands holding grounding her back to reality. He said, “Earth to Elliot.”

“Yes,” Elliot managed out. She couldn’t muster up any vitriol; one of her hands gripped John’s wrist where it cut through her peripheral. “I’m here,” she added, and she didn’t know why she said it like that , like she’d been somewhere else—maybe because she had. “Just—this head wound is really fucking with me. We have to get moving, and—”

She heard, a few feet away from them, the sound of a car door slamming. Her brain immediately jumpstarted; first, she thought, oh those fucking Swedes, and then her brain tried to say, or maybe it’s Jerome, or Grace, or —

It was neither of them. Through the haze of pain, Elliot heard the sound of Eden’s Gate’s radio playing, the sound of boots hitting the pavement.

“Well,” Joseph sighed, “if it isn’t the lamb and her shepherd.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Joseph Seed is a particularly difficult man to pin down.

She never meets him once, either before she goes off to the Academy or after, and she’s glad for it. After she gets back to Hope County, after she gets cleared by the psychiatrist, after she gets back to life-on-normal, she thinks she’d be happy to never see Joseph Seed. Not because she isn’t religious, but because she doesn’t like his brand, because the doomsday-ing and the wriggling past legalities of owning land or, perhaps, even people make her skin crawl.

Elliot doesn’t think she’d ever be able to walk herself into his compound. She doesn’t think she’d ever be able to look Joseph Seed in the eye, but she doesn’t have a choice , the helicopter planting them squarely in the compound. 

The ground is wet, fresh from a recent rain, and slips underfoot. The night is clouded above with no stars in sight. She feels almost like she’s in a dream, Joey walking ahead of her as the U.S. Marshal bickers with Sheriff Whitehorse, back and forth. She’s barely listening. She feels eyes on them, burning, angry and defiant shouts coming from the onlooking Eden’s Gate members, and she hears the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

They get to the church. Inside, the congregation is singing Amazing Grace, and the crickets match its feverish pitch, sliding along her skin.

“Hudson, on the door and watch our backs,” Whitehorse says, when the Marshal— Burke , Elliot thinks absently, that was his name —acquiesces to doing things the way Whitehorse wants to do it. “Don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me.”

Elliot nods, her gaze focusing sharp again. Whitehorse has taken a risk, bringing her out when she was still so green; she wasn’t going to let him down. 

Not that he has much choice. They’re short-staffed as it was anyway.

“And you—” Whitehorse looks at Burke, his expression faltering, tired. “Just… Try not to do anything stupid.”

Burke claps him on the shoulder. He is all easy confidence, surety of foot, the kind of confidence Elliot wants to have some day. She hopes she doesn’t become tired, like Whitehorse. “Relax, Sheriff,” Burke says, “you’re about to get your name in the paper.”

But Elliot isn’t paying attention to them. She’s thinking about the armed men and women skulking around, and the dogs barking in the distance, and the sound of the singing from the inside of the church.

Joey’s hand briefly touches her shoulder. Her dark gaze is soft, and she squeezes Elliot’s shoulder before she says, “You’ll be fine.”

Whitehorse doesn’t look pleased by Burke’s comment. He doesn’t even look assuaged, mildly. He pushes the door open, and Elliot sticks close to his heel, as the singing comes to an abrupt stop; the church is dimly lit, with most of the light coming from behind the man at the front, his silhouette carved obsidian so that his features are obscured to her.

They walk slow. The man says, “ Something is coming. You can feel it, can’t you?”

His voice is a rich-willow timbre, decadent. The gathering of the cultists turn, their eyes piercing into the trio. Elliot’s heart is slamming against her rib cage. She doesn’t have a gun pulled—would never, not without Whitehorse’s blessing—but she wants to, not to fire but to warn. To keep them away.

“We are creeping toward the edge, and there will be a reckoning. That is why we started the Project—”

They’re dirty, and bedraggled. Elliot’s throat tightens. Why would they choose this? Why would they want to be like this?

“—because we know what happens next. They will come. They will try to take from us—take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith.”

Burke looks back at her, his hand floating and tense, ready to pull his gun at any moment. But he beckons her with a crook of his fingers and she does as he bids. Closer now, Elliot can see that the man is not alone; to the left, a tall, rugged red-head, his arms crossed, his expression stony. To the right, a soft young woman, dressed in white, dreamy. And just behind Joseph, a handsome, dark-haired man; a man that Elliot recognizes as John Duncan, but now is told by Joey is John Seed .

Joseph’s shirtless, which should be ridiculous and comedic but only serves to make him look both polished and feral in equal amounts. Golden light from outside drenches through a window cut to be the same shape as the emblem of Eden’s Gate, and it bathes him; he is golden, soft and sharp all at the same time.

“Sheriff, c’mon,” Burke says, because he is not charmed; he, too, thinks it is ridiculous. Whitehorse holds up a hand to steady him. 

“We will not let them.” Joseph Seed’s voice flexes, furious and controlled. “We will not let their greed , or their immorality or their depravity hurt us anymore. There will be no more suffering.”

Burke is furious that the sermon —if it can be called that, which Elliot would argue that it cannot, knowing the Seeds—has continued this long. She hears him say, “No, fuck this,” and he pulls the paper out and holds up in front of the man’s face.

“Joseph Seed,” Burke bites out, “I have a warrant issued for your arrest, on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Elliot’s gaze flickers. She feels sick to her stomach. Joseph lifts his hands; he is soft, again, no longer fervent, no longer yelling, and his gaze fixes on her.

“There they are,” he says, his voice quiet. “The locusts in our garden.”

Members of Eden’s Gate—armed, ragged, feral —slide their way between them and Joseph.

“You see, they’ve come for me.” Other members are beginning to get angry. They’re yelling, now, as Joseph says, “They’ve come to take me away from you , they’ve come to destroy all that we have built,” and the voices raise in volume, and Burke puts his hand on his gun and Whitehorse yells for him to stand down and Elliot’s fingers itch and she thinks, oh, no, this is when I’m going to have to shoot someone.  

But Joseph steps down from his platform. His hands brush the shoulders of his supporters, and they part for him, quieting the crowd, quelling their noise. Behind him, John steps across the stage, his eyes narrowed and sharp, studying them; he moves like an animal, prowling.

“We knew this moment would come. We’ve prepared for it,” Joseph says, gentle. He ushers them away; they brush past Elliot, her head turning after them, thinking certainly one will grab her, choke her, kill her, but they don’t.

“— and I saw, ” Joseph is biting out, pointing at Burke, and then looking at the sheriff, “ and behold, it was a white horse. ” 

And then Joseph is looking at her. He lifts his hands to her. His eyes are fixed on her, and she feels a strange, uncanny thrill slide through her. Joseph looks at her like she is the only person in the room, like all others have blinked out of existence and it’s only them. 

That’s why, she thinks, the feeling of it making her heart ache a little. That’s why they choose to be this way. To belong to someone.

She knows that’s what it is. She knows that’s how he’s gotten these people to follow him: because he looks at them like this, with longing, like there is nothing in the world that he wants more than to take them into his embrace.

His voice is breathless, soft, covetous, jealously cradling her in velvet swathes: “ And Hell followed with him.”

Elliot feels frozen. Petrified. Her stomach churns. She can feel the eyes of the Seed siblings on her. Burke jerks his hand at her, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch.”

Joseph is holding out his hands, obedient and compliant. “God will not let you take me.”

Burke says it again, maybe different, she can’t remember because the blood is rushing through her head, so she does as he asks. Her hands might be trembling. She takes Joseph’s hands and slides the cuffs on them, and he leans into her like he’s going to breathe her in or swallow her whole and almost purrs —

“Sometimes, the best thing to do is to walk away.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John’s hands slid from Elliot’s face. The first thing he felt when he saw Joseph was relief —sheer, pure relief, that it wasn’t the Resistance that had found them and that it wasn’t Ase and her man again, but that it was his brother. Over his shoulder, too, John could see Jacob in the driver’s seat of the truck, his face stony and hard as always.

The second thing that John felt was dread.

Joseph’s expression was unreadable. It almost always was, he supposed, but now the fact that he couldn’t tell what Joseph was thinking struck a hot cord of fear inside of him, because he was reminded—now and painfully—that Faith was still lost to them.

“Joseph,” John managed out, his hands drifting now from Elliot completely, where before they had slid to her shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You could sound like it,” Elliot muttered, and he shot her a look before he turned back to his brother, immediately crossing the gap from him to Joseph, standing on the road. Joseph watched him steadily, and once he was within arm’s reach, John stopped, hesitating.

“We were on our way to you,” Joseph explained, his voice steady, a soothing balm to John’s frayed nerves. “We heard talk on the radios that our sister had been taken, but we didn’t get a response when we tried to contact you at the ranch.”

John nodded. “Yes, it’s—there’s so much to tell you—”

Joseph’s hands came to rest on his shoulders for a moment; and, much the same way that John had done to Elliot, Joseph took his face in his hands.

“We’re so glad you’re alive,” Joseph murmured, his expression softening just that much . John felt the relief flood his system immediately at the gentle contact—merciful, healing, the way Joseph liked to be. “And that our dear deputy is still with you. Compliantly, too, it seems.”

Elliot’s voice was hard as flint when she said, “Yeah, well, you missed the last twenty-four hours where this fucking idiot had us cuffed together.”

Behind the yellow lenses of his glasses, Joseph’s gaze flickered to wherever Elliot lingered behind John, over his shoulders. His brother stared at Elliot for a moment; there was something in the way Joseph locked his gaze on the blonde that made John’s stomach twist uncomfortably, and he couldn’t quite pin it down, either, couldn’t get it to stop squirming long enough for him to figure out what it was.

“And yet,” Joseph said after a moment, his voice a low drawl as his hands dropped from John, “you are here, unburdened.”

John turned to look at Elliot. She still had to be in pain; she might have been trying to hide it, because of Joseph, or maybe even still because of him , but he could see it on her face, in the way her fingers curled and uncurled themselves absently, absently digging her nails into her palms. But this little give-away of hers meant nothing to anyone else, because the lines of her face were sharp and unrelenting.

Elliot’s gaze did not once leave Joseph. John recognized on her face that same odd, cold calculation she’d had when she’d thought about choking that Eden’s Gate guard out. If there was, he supposed, one person that Elliot hated more than himself, it was Joseph; perhaps she was thinking about all of the ways she wanted to kill him , now.

“Well, coincidental, we were on our way to you , Joseph. There’s now a problem one size bigger than your little cult.” Elliot said, her shoulders relaxing. She crested the hill up to the road, her feet hitting the pavement with more surety than she’d had since she’d woken up. It was like seeing someone that she hated had poured adrenaline straight into her body, and now she moved with the same precision she always did—though if the weariness in her expression was any indication, she was only half capacity. “How lucky .”

Joseph gazed at Elliot, as though John didn’t exist—as though no-one and nothing else existed, in that moment, except for her. John’s stomach lurched again, once more, with feeling! a wicked voice shouted in his brain, rattling around, keeping him nice and distracted so that he couldn’t figure out quite what it was that it made him feel.

“Fated,” Joseph agreed. His voice was almost sly. “One could say.”

“One could,” Elliot shot back, “but one shouldn’t, if they don’t want to sound like an idiot.” The words shot a jolt of fearful anticipation through John—not only because he thought, Joseph is only so merciful , but because he was sure that it reflected back on him, the way she felt so comfortable insulting Joseph.

“Deputy,” John snapped, and she glared at him, her brows knitting together at the center of her forehead. Joseph smiled pleasantly.

“Mouthy,” Jacob said from the truck, his voice clipped, “for someone who wants our help.”

Elliot bit out venomously, “Fuck you,” just as John said, “ Elliot ,” their voices overlapping furiously, and she looked at him again. There was something accusatory in her gaze. John wanted to pluck it out of her, break it apart so he could figure it out: but there wasn’t any time for that now. 

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, like she was going to fight Jacob right then and there, and John wasn’t entirely sure that she wouldn’t, pushed enough. He turned back to his brothers and said, “She’s agreed to help and get Faith back.”

“Not for nothing.” Elliot’s add-in was sharp. “I get to use the radios to contact the resistance and tell them to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

Joseph’s gaze fluttered between them, just for a moment—landing on Elliot for a heartbeat longer than it did on John—and then he stepped back, gesturing for them to get into the back seat of the truck. The blonde stepped on without John, brushing past him and flinging the door of the truck open before hoisting herself inside.

“How much do you know?” John asked as he climbed in after Elliot, shoving the backpack behind one of the seats. He tried not to think about the way Elliot’s eyes stayed pinned on Joseph, or the way her body had gone rigid, like at any moment she was ready to throw her fists in the direction of the nearest Seed brother—and certainly now, she had her pick if that were the case.

“Enough,” Joseph replied. He closed the passenger seat door and Jacob pulled the steering wheel of the truck until it was turning around. “But I’m certain you’ll be of more help.”

John opened his mouth to elaborate and give what information he had at the top of his brain when Elliot said, abruptly and without pretense, “You’ve come so unguarded, Joseph. Doesn’t that make you nervous?” and John turned his head to stare at her in disbelief.

Fucking insane, he thought. She wants to die. Does she ever stop?

But Joseph only laughed. Through the rearview mirror, John saw his eyes make contact with Elliot’s, and he said, “Jacob is sufficient protection on his own.” He paused, something slick and cool in his voice when he added, “But your concern is touching .”

“That’s an interesting choice of word. Not what I would have picked, though.”

“When we heard the radio chatter,” Jacob interrupted, before John could will himself to tell Elliot to shut the fuck up while he was still within hitting range, “Joseph told everyone to hunker down while we identified the threat. For once, it wasn’t a little girl playing with a shotgun.”

The accusation lay there, unspoken: Jacob had made it clear many times that he was certain he could snuff Elliot out faster than anyone else, either deeming her useless or shaping her into the perfect killer. If Joseph would just let him, he’d said, he would see.

But Joseph had told him to wait. To let John—persuasion was his specialty. Let John show us.

And John didn’t miss the way that his brother said it; Joseph told everyone. An opinion had been overruled, and it wasn’t Joseph’s, and Jacob hadn’t forgotten.

Elliot’s mouth opened, rearing up to say something; the indignation had been lit in her gaze, furious. He would have been comforted that she was back to normal—no longer trembling, no longer somewhere far away from him—but he knew that Jacob had much less tolerant than Joseph did.

“I grabbed the cigarettes from the van,” John said tartly, before she could get going. “Smoke one.”

The unspoken words lingered. Chill the fuck out. Occupy your mouth with something else. Something that John didn’t think he’d say to her, out loud, unless he was feeling particularly confident that she wouldn’t strangle him to death in front of his brothers.

“Good thinking, honey ,” Elliot drawled. His eyes narrowed at her. She stuffed her hand into the backpack, searching until she found them. The blonde only looked mildly surprised through her rage that they were actually there. 

When she rolled down the window and lit it, John relaxed a little and continued, “We’ve had a run-in with their leader. They’re armed and organized.”

Elliot stayed quiet. She settled back against the seat, deep into the corner of it, closest to the window, as though she couldn’t stand how close to them all she was, and took a long drag of the cigarette. The orange end of it burned until it was a sunspot in his vision.

John’s gaze drifted over her for a moment. Still, she wouldn’t look at him; she only spared him furtive glances through the corner of her eye, but never met his gaze, never going farther than his mouth.

“Ah.” Joseph’s gaze remained fixed on the road, his voice interrupting John’s thoughts. “So there’s now one more breed of locusts in our garden, it seems. Easy enough to exterminate, I think.”

“And how, pray tell,” Elliot asked, her voice sly, “do you plan to get rid of a new breed when you can’t even get rid of the old one?”

Jacob’s fingers tightened and flexed on the steering wheel. John could see a small smile tick the corner of Joseph’s mouth.

“If you get one flat foot on the devil’s wing,” Joseph replied, “you can get him to do just about anything you want.”