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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

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take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi)

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete.

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now.

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news.

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright.

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now.

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots.

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine.

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?)

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all.

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen.

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it.

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs.

“Michael!”

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air.

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!”

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves.

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands.

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly.

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?”

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.”

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice.

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices.

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return.

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest.

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all?

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands.

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team.

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs.

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!”

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation.

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return.

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak.

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?”

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time.

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?”

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?”

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in.

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?”

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud.

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.”

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.”

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter.

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.”

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream.

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for.

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena.

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops.

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again.

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!”

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up.

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge.

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway.

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.”

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.”

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out.

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best.

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail.

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly.

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.”

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions-

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?”

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut.

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps.

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well.

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to.

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before.

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Like you did that much.”

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye.

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs.

“Fair.”

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow.

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future.

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever.

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team.

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits.

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?”

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they?

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body.

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well?

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further.

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him.

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own.

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?”

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words.

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?”

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.”

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?”

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red.

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?”

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome.

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break.

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain.

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.”

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own.

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake.

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point.

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.”

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.”

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time.

Keep your head down.

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.”

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race.

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!”

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.”

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again.

“Thanks, guys.”

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings.

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?”

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.”

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs.

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?”

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back.

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?”

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!”

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition.

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down.

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it.

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap.

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter.

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder.

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own.

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it.

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off.

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off.

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak.

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod.

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams, watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team -

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena.

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?”

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners.

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route.

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out.

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused.

“Gottem.”

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting.

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them.

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby.

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?”

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective.

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second -

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!”

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own.

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue.

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay.

The smile slips off his face.

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on.

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what?

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply.

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all.

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it.

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity.

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all.

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow.

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down.

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red.

---

“What the hell was that?”

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence.

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?”

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes.

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-”

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?”

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter.

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-”

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?”

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?”

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features.

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“...liar.”

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down.

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward.

“Quackity!”

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-”

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops.

“LET’S GO!”

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows.

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time.

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself-

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.”

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?”

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze.

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.”

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder.

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp.

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention.

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.”

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..”

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.”

“Thanks for everything, Scott.”

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.”

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?”

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?”

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.”

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him.

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.”

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached.

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.”

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.”

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure.

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?”

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head.

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.”

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly.

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.”

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.”

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life.

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.”

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow.

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?”

#-> my writing #my writing :D #c!Quackity critical #tw trauma #tw abuse #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw needles #tw hospitals #tw emotional distress #pandora's vault #prison arc #god this was so fun #hope you all enjoy !!#long post

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sarcasticallybee · 4 years ago

Text

Not according to plan

Liam Dunbar x Reader

This is a one shot where you are Scott's little sister and the pack saves you, and you bond with Liam. I know stupid but hey.

"Y/n hurry up!" Scott hollered up the stairs to his sister, you.

"I'm coming! Coming coming!" You hollered back quickly pulling your sneakers on.

Scott stated that you were coming with him to a pack meeting. Apparently you could be in danger if he left you alone. You sprinted down the stairs slipping down three before catching yourself.

"I'm ready let's go!" You hollered grabbing your backpack and sprinting out the door.

Scott quickly followed you and you both hopped into Stiles' Jeep.

Driving to Derek's didn't take as long as you thought, but his home was pretty isolated and creepy.

"Scott you have some weird friends..." You said taking in the whole houses' appearance. Scott just shrugged and walked up to the porch knocking on the door.

"Derek, it's Scott!" He hollared. A tall man came to the door glaring, and if looks could kill you would so be dead.

"Oo someone is cranky." You teased.

He growled at you. Literally growled. Before you could say or do anything Scott interjected.

"Derek, this is my little sister y/n. Y/n this is Derek." Derek had a look of understanding and then he smirked.

"So you're the little runt Scott and Stiles were talking about! The one that couldn't protect herself!" He looked smug as your face turned red.

Oh yeah you were really pissed, even so you smiled.

"And you sir must be the sour wolf I'm told about who doesn't know when to pull his head out of his ass!" You grinned smugly.

Derek looked pissed but just glared.

"Anyway let's get inside. The pack meeting needs to be started. Immediately." Scott growled a little annoyed.

"Right." Derek grunted turning and walking inside your brother, Stiles, and you following close behind.

"They're here." Derek stated leaning against one of the walls.

"Y/n! It's so nice to see you again!" Lydia shrieked.

You smiled.

"Hey Lyds. Where's Ali?" You inquired tilting your head. It took all she had not to squeal.

"She couldn't make it today but I promise I'll let her know you said hi." You were about to respond when Derek interrupted.

"Listen girls this isn't a reunion. This is serious. So stop jabbing, sit down, and listen." You growled at him your eyes changing from sweet and innocent to ready to kill.

"Look mutt I suggest you don't tell me what to do." You smiled once again and sat down.

The mood change surprised everyone in the room, including your brother, except for one. Liam. He'd seen that side of you before. When a girl was being bullied, you stood up for her. The guys had run away with piss streaming down their legs. He would've laughed had he not known why. He was terrified himself and he was pretty far away.

"Alright! Calm down guys we need to figure out this whole thing. There is something targeting out friends and families and we need to stop them." Scott interrupted Liam's thoughts.

"Right, but do you have any idea what you are looking for or are you just fishing for ideas?" You inquired.

Everyone looked to you and then down slightly shameful.

"Great! You morons were planning on just going in blind and hoping for the best! That wouldn't work and it's reckless and stupid." You exclaimed.

Honestly if they do this all the time how the hell are they still alive and not trying to kill each other?

"Look runt you are only here for your safety so shut your yipping trap." Derek growled obviously pissed you were giving an opinion.

"Okay hot shot what's your big plan then?" you crossed your arms glaring.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it.

"Exactly. None of you have a plan. How do you plan to protect your friends and family like that?" You sighed.

They had no answers.

"Okay guys don't pout about it. Work on it. Let's get to work!" You smiled softly, giving everyone a little nudge in the right direction, and a light of hope.

~Le time skip to an hour later~

"Everyone got that?" Scott asked as he looked at everyone in the room.

Soon everyone agreed and knew what to do.

"Great let's hope this works. Y/n let's go." Scott grabbed your backpack handing it to you.

"K Scotty~" you sang skipping out to the Jeep.

"She's cute." Derek grunted to Scott.

"And smart." Lydia added walking out the door.

"Yeah. I'm sure she'd be a great asset to the pack Scott. Keep her safe and close." Derek stated.

Scott nodded and went outside to meet with you and Stiles.

"Let's go home guys." Scott smiled.

Once you arrived at the house it was around 9:00 so you went up to your room and watched some YouTube. Just random videos and somehow you had ended up on a how to talk to giraffes video. You laughed uncontrollably for a while until you heard something at your window making you stop. You looked at your alarm clock. 11:23pm. Where did the time go?

You walked towards the window and looked out your phone gripped tightly in your hand. A snarling something jumped at you from outside scaring you terribly. You fell backwards and your heart raced. Your breathing became labored and you quickly crawled into the hallway.

"Scott! Scott the thing is here and wants to eat me!" Your voice quaked as you slipped into your brothers room.

You looked around but didn't see him. You quickly grabbed the baseball bat in the corner and hid in his closet calling your idiot brother. Bzzz! Bzzz!

"Hello? Y/n?"

"Scotty I swear to God if you don't get your ass here now-" You were cut off by glass shattering in your room.

"Y/n oh my god are you okay? Y/n!?" Scott asked his voice full of brotherly worry.

"Does it sound like I'm okay!? Please hurry!" You trembled.

Scott was about to answer when snarls filled the house. You hung up on your brother and held your mouth trying not to cry. Everyone had agreed to stay in pairs but here you were. All alone.

"Guys! We've got to go! This thing is after y/n! This was a decoy!" Scott yelled.

Everyone looked at him and finished their fights with the decoys, then sprinted to their cars and sped to the McCall's house.

~~~Back to you~~~

The snarling thing soon came to Scott's room sniffing you out. You were terrified. You gripped the wooden bat tighter ready to swing. Soon the closet door which you locked from the inside began to shudder. This thing was trying to get in!

"Oh my god." Your voice broke.

The shuddering immediately stopped. You were tempted to step out, but you'd seen the movies and that never ended well.

"Scott, please hurry." You whispered.

Just as your heart was beginning to calm down the closet door flew off the hinges and that 'thing' stared down at you. Your throat closed, leaving you gasping for air. The creature had spikes surrounding it's body, beady red eyes, rows and rows of teeth, clawed hands, a large hunched over body with a small, boney, skeletal skull. You quickly grabbed the bat and swung. It's head went flying off into a corner of the room. You expected the creature to fall dead, instead it walked over to it's head and picked it up, and placed it back onto it's body, a cracking sound filling the room.

You screamed loudly and ran out of Scott's room, bat still in hand. You rushed down the stairs slipping down them. All of them. Your breath was taken out of your lungs, but you quickly stood up and ran outside. No, you were not going to die like this.

You turned around and looked into the house. The creature was on the roof, beady eyes never blinking at you. Your breath caught in your throat as you quickly turned and sprinted into the woods. As if your luck wasn't bad enough the creature chased after you. That being said you were thankful Scott and Stiles insisted on teaching you how to run and dodge during a chase.

"H-holy hell!" You screamed.

This thing had to be 7 or 8 feet tall. You looked for an escape but saw none except for trees and a highway up ahead. A highway. You ran faster and hoped your judgement was right. As you sped onto the road you saw headlights. The car stopped immediately, but it wasn't any car it was a Jeep.

"Y/n!? What the hell are you doing!?" Stiles exclaimed.

"Running!" You yelled back as you quickly jumped into the back seat.

"Drive. Turn this thing around and DRIVE!" You screamed as the thing came out of the woods after you.

"Holy crap!" Stiles yelled hitting the gas. Scott was sitting in front quickly turned around to face you.

"Y/n, are you okay? How the hell did you out run that!?" He exclaimed as Stiles sped away from what ever that 'thing' was.

"I just ran! It came into the house and tried eating me! I hid in your closet with your bat, and-"

Stiles cut you off.

"Seriously do any of you play baseball!?" You and Scott glared at him.

"No." You both answered with deadpan expressions.

"Anyway! The thing IS STILL FOLLOWING US!" You shrieked as you looked behind you and on to the road.

Stiles took a sharp turn and headed towards the high school.

"Y/n! Does this thing have any weaknesses you could find!?" Scott inquired.

You looked at him your e/c eyes wide in shock.

"None. I knocked it's head off and it just walked over and put it back on." You stated still watching the 7 to 8 foot tall beast follow.

Once you were at the high school you ran to the lacrosse field, Scott and Stiles close behind.

"What the hell! Y/n are you okay?" Lydia quickly checked on you and soon gasped.

"Oh my god." She whispered.

Everyone was looking and you began to panic.

"What? What is it?" You stammered.

"Y/n did the thing touch you at all?" Derek questioned glaring at your back and side.

"No. Not at all I wouldn't let it get close enough." You answered.

"Then why do you have scratches and bruises?" He asked again as if you were guilty of something.

"I-i fell down the stairs. All of them. And also ran through the woods...?" You answered hoping it would satisfy him and his prying eyes.

" Right." You soon realized why everyone was gasping.

In the little time you had fallen your whole back and your ribs were blue and purple and red.

"Ouch!" You yelped when Lydia pressed on your spine.

"Look we don't have time for this the thing is-" you were cut off by a screetching. Everyone turned and saw the spiked beast.

"Still out there." You finished your voice soft.

"Liam! Get y/n out of here! Now." Scott ordered as they all went in for the attack.

Liam grabbed your hand dragging you to the locker room.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" He whispered checking you over himself.

"I- I am fine. Promise." You smiled.

In all honesty your back hurt like a bitch and you were worried about your brother. You were also terrified the thing would kill everyone you cared about and then would eat you making you suffer.

"You know I can tell when you are lying." Liam smirked at you softly.

You looked at him and rushed into his arms wrapping your arms around his neck sobbing into his shoulder. He was right you were lying, but after what you had been through who wouldn't be terrified?

Soon Stiles came in for both of you but found you both asleep on the floor in Liam's lap. He reported it to Scott, but they both knew you guys had a home to be too. Scott picked you up and took you to the Jeep, and Stiles woke Liam. Everyone was just ready to go home.

A/n

Soooo whatcha think? Good? bad? Anyway I hope you enjoyed this story! Have a magnificent time you unsupervised critters! 🐾💞

#liam x reader #liam dunbar #liam dunbar x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #liam dunbar imagine #teen wolf x reader

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 4 years ago

Note

Fic request if you have the time: The fight between Team Crastle & Skizz, but instead of Skizz dying, Impulse takes the hit from Grian's weapon instead. He could betray the Red Army, yes; but he could NEVER betray his closest friend. This action can either lead to him dying in Skizz's place or not, but either way, Skizz flees as the look in Impulse's eyes is one begging him to run.

*vibrates intensely* i will absolutely take any opportunity to change Skizz’s fate asdfghjkl

…

As the battle between the Red Army and the crastle begins, Skizz hangs back with Martyn, firing arrows up at the people inside. He knows they’re his friends, but he can’t think about that now. Right now, they’re his enemies. His bloodlust is stirring inside him, and he can’t hold it back much longer.

“Look, Impulse is in there!” gasps Martyn suddenly. “I can see him! He’s with them!”

“What?!” Skizz yelps, following his friend’s gaze.

Sure enough, he can see Impulse’s unmistakable face in one of the windows. Anger and confusion and hatred bubbles up inside him, mingling with his barely restrained bloodlust and creating a potent mix.

It doesn’t take long to explode.

Letting out a battle yell, Skizz takes off running towards the door, ignoring all three other members of Dogwarts calling his name. He shoves his way into the crastle, leaping over a pressure plate right by the door, and dashes for the stairs.

When he gets to the top, he spots Grian and Impulse standing by the slit windows, firing arrows out. They both spin round as they hear him enter.

Without stopping, Skizz charges straight at the nearest one, who happens to be Grian. Grian lashes out with his sword, but Skizz is so consumed by his bloodlust that he can’t quite react in time.

But as it turns out, he doesn’t have to.

Facing his best friend, Impulse dashes in front of Grian and takes the hit. He cries out as he feels the tip of the blade slice into his skin. Thankfully, he’s far enough away that he doesn’t take the full swing, but it still scores a long, fairly deep cut right down his back, from the middle of his shoulder down to his left side.

Grian gasps and takes an involuntary step back, staring at Impulse with wide eyes. “Impulse!”

Skizz pauses when he hears Impulse’s cry, stunned into silence. As Impulse sinks to his hands and knees, trying his hardest to stop the bleeding, he looks up with teary eyes and meets Skizz’s gaze.

Run, Impulse’s anguished expression is saying. Please….!

And it’s at this moment that Skizz fully realises how much danger his life is in.

While Grian is distracted with Impulse, Skizz turns and flees, climbing out the window and taking a running leap into the moat. He almost regrets this action as he remembers the magma trying to drag down anyone unfortunate enough to fall into it, but clearly the moat wasn’t properly finished; around the back here, it’s deeper and only filled with water, no jagged rocks or magma or anything, and Skizz is able to swim to the edge and climb out with no trouble.

Panting hard from exertion and adrenaline, he takes a moment to stare up at the window he just escaped from, his brain trying to comprehend what just happened. Impulse is on the enemy’s side… but he spared Skizz’s life. Whether intentional or not, he took a hit for Skizz and allowed him to flee.

After allowing himself a minute to recover, he rushes around the side of the moat, dodging arrows fired at him from Tango on the roof.

“Skizzle!” yells Ren as he approaches. “You’re alive! We had no idea what’d happened to you!”

“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to worry you. How’s it going out here?”

“We’ve landed a few solid hits on them,” Martyn says, lifting his shield to block an arrow that’s about to hit his face. “But not taken anyone out yet.”

“Impulse is down,” reports Skizz. “I can tell you that. I saw it.”

“Down? I didn’t see a death notif in chat.”

“He’s not dead, but he’s not gonna be able to fight.”

Suddenly, an explosion sounds from somewhere near the crastle.

“Aim for Scar!” Martyn yells suddenly, pointing. “Aim for Scar!”

Skizz and Martyn draw back the strings on their bows at the same time, before simultaneously letting them go. Both shots hit their mark.

GoodTimeWithScar was shot by Skizzleman

“Look at you, getting three red deaths in one day!” Martyn says approvingly. “Good job on acting so quickly.”

Skizz smiles briefly but it quickly drops. “Guys, we gotta retreat. We’re still outnumbered and they’ve got the advantage of the crastle defences.”

“He’s right,” says Ren. “We’ve taken out three of them; that’s enough for today. Retreat!”

Led by Ren, the group retreats back towards the walls of Dogwarts. On the way, Skizz’s thoughts drift back to Impulse and he can’t help wondering if his best friend is okay. He replays the event in his mind and from the way he moved, there’s no way Impulse didn’t intend to jump in front of him. Impulse took a potentially deadly hit for him. But why? He clearly chose the crastle alliance over Dogwarts.

So why would he save Skizz’s life...?

…

That night, Impulse is trying to sleep in his room at the crastle but he can’t manage it. Lying on his right side is getting uncomfortable but he can’t roll over without shooting pain in his shoulder and back. Luckily, Scott has done a great job at cleaning and bandaging his wound. But that doesn’t stop the pain.

Trying to ignore the discomfort, his thoughts go to Skizz. When he made the decision to betray Dogwarts, he never expected that to include betraying Skizz. He’d tried, of course he’d tried. But in the end, he just couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t betray the man he’s called his brother for decades, even in a world where he knows it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

Now the question is… does Grian suspect Impulse took that hit on purpose…?

After a while, he hears a quiet knock at his door. “Come in,” he responds sluggishly.

The door quietly opens, but Impulse can’t move to check who’s just entered.

“Hey,” comes Tango’s voice. “How are you doing?”

Impulse tries not to wince as Tango appears in front of his limited vision. “Sore and stiff. And sleepy. But can’t sleep.”

Tango chuckles. “I bet. No sleep downstairs either; the battle is all anyone can think about.”

“Not surprised.”

After a pause, Tango speaks again: “Impulse, what exactly happened back there? Grian said you jumped in front of him.”

“I was trying to defend Grian,” Impulse responds. “But I was so focused on attacking Skizz that I didn’t realise Grian was also attacking until it was too late.”

“How could you not have seen Grian swinging a sword around?”

“I was just so hyperfocused on trying to defend him from Skizz.” Impulse snorts. “I hope you’re not accusing me of something, cuz this injury hurts like hell.”

Tango holds up his hands. “Not accusing you of anything. I just wanted to ask you directly, cuz Grian seems to think you did it deliberately.”

Impulse forces a quiet sigh. “Tango, I know you know Skizz is my best friend, but I chose my side, remember? I fully committed to you guys.”

“Yeah, but you do realise how it’s hard to fully trust you, right?” Tango responds. “Once you’ve shown yourself willing to betray one side, it’s hard not to be suspicious that you may do it again.”

“Tango, listen to me.” Impulse unflinchingly meets Tango’s gaze. “It was an accident. I hundred percent intended to kill Skizz when I inadvertently got in the way of Grian’s sword.”

After a moment, Tango nods and looks away. “Okay.”

Impulse marvels at how good at lying he’s become. He’s practised making eye contact and sounding confident in his words, because he knows that this is what gets him caught lying more often than not, especially by Tango, who’s known him for many years. But now he’s used his method on both his best friends and neither have seemed to pick up on his lies, so he must be doing something right.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you in peace.” Tango rises to his feet and reaches out, clearly to pat Impulse on the shoulder, before remembering his friend’s injury and awkwardly dropping his hand. “Try to get some sleep. ‘Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Impulse closes his eyes as Tango leaves, his nerves a little more settled. Maybe he can actually get some sleep now.

“Night, Skizz,” he murmurs. “Love you, buddy.”

#3rd life smp #3rdlifesmp #skizzleman #impulsesv #tangotek #rendog #inthelittlewood #grian #vaunna’s requests

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Note

What do you think the greatest brotrayal of all time would be?

What?

Somewhat of a challenge, not sure I pulled it off, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :D

Thanks to @janetm74 @scribbles97 @vegetacide and @tsarinatorment for various read throughs and cheerleading :D

Sorry, Scott :D

-o-o-o-

Scott glared at his brothers.

Virgil, John and Gordon stood in a line on the comms room hardwood floor all looking straight ahead as if they were in a military inspection. Which was particularly odd since only one of them had ever been in said military.

Hell, even his grandmother was ramrod straight beside them.

Scott was absolutely beside himself. Still dressed in his uniform, complete with its coating of mud, he had no doubt that his appearance was anything but reassuring to the brothers standing in front of him.

Not that he cared. This was beyond it all.

This was so ludicrous that it was hard to even suspect Gordon as the culprit.

Though he was still the most likely despite his arm being in a sling.

Scott eyed his fish brother. He had a scratch above one eyebrow that hadn’t been there when Scott left this morning.

But then a lot was different on Tracy Island since he left this morning.

The most obvious difference was the Thunderbird stuck at an angle where the pool was supposed to be.

His ‘bird was shining in the late afternoon light, her silver hull gleaming as she sat at a sixty-degree angle just beyond the balcony, her wings gouged into the concrete of the patio.

Virgil shifted where he stood on his crutches and Scott felt the briefest flash of guilt at making him stand there. His engineer brother had been grounded for the last week with a broken ankle, along with Gordon and his broken arm. Which is why Scott had been in Two today with the currently guilt free Alan.

His youngest brother stood off to one side, apparently caught between shock and relief that he wasn’t to blame.

“I’m waiting for an explanation.” For several things.

The room still reeked of burnt furnishings. Whatever had happened in the kitchen had left it black and under a haze of smoke that had infiltrated the villa.

As if to comment, John sneezed suddenly. His space brother sniffed and screwed up his face before he realised Scott was eyeing him. He, too, was standing on crutches, something he wasn’t doing this morning.

And still no-one said anything.

Not even Grandma, and honestly that was a kicker.

“Gordon-“

“What are you looking at me for?”

Scott shot him a flat stare. “History.”

“Hey, the last time I borrowed One, I brought her back in one piece.”

“Complete with Eau de Polecat!”

“That does not automatically put me at fault. Besides this was an emergency.”

Scott blinked. A little progress. “And?”

But Gordon clammed up and went back to staring at the portraits on the far side of the room, every bit the WASP Lieutenant Tracy he actually was.

Scott turned to John, his ever-faithful source of relevant information.

“J-“

“I’m sitting down.” John turned and crutched his way past Scott and into the sunken lounge without another word.

Scott stared after him.

“Honey, are you feeling okay?” His grandmother followed his space brother and began fussing over him and his leg, both completely ignoring Scott.

What the-? “How. Did. This. Happen?!” Okay, so he might be yelling just a little, but the cause was sufficient. He turned to his trusted first. His best friend. His brother. His Virgil.

Said brother was looking rather pale. “Virgil?”

Sad, dark eyes looked up at him. “I wanted to make you popcorn.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil was frustrated. Virgil was always frustrated when he was grounded and today sported no reason to change that attitude.

Worse, he had had to watch Scott take his ‘bird out to a mudslide. His big brother was not a fan of flying Two, but since Virgil had a busted ankle and Gordon an equally busted arm, that was the deal today.

To top it all off, mudslides sucked big time and Scott and Alan would likely come home exhausted, especially since two of their brothers were currently unavailable to assist.

So, to help just that little bit he had spent the last couple of hours hobbling around the kitchen slapping together something that could be considered a relaxing meal for that evening, vetoing any chance of Grandma getting into the kitchen and destroying stomach linings.

It helped that Grandma was in Wellington with Kayo.

To top it off, Virgil had put together an apple pie, Scott’s favourite. He had also made sure there was a bucket of triple chocolate ice cream in the freezer for Alan – one that he had stashed away for emergencies just like this.

The last thing on his list was to make some candy popcorn for the squirt and put some kernels aside ready for popping later so they would be nice and warm for the movie.

He was in the process of heating the oil when Gordon burst into the room as if out of nowhere.

Virgil to dropped a spoon.

Damn sandshoes were silent.

“Hubert’s dying!”

“What?” His back creaked as he picked up the piece of cutlery.

“Hubert, the albatross that collided with the window and broke his wing.”

“What albatross?” The oil began to smoke a little so he turned the heat off. His Gordon radar was at full alert – this would likely take a while.

“Yesterday? Upstairs? How did you not hear that?” A blink. “Okay, it was five am. You don’t exist before ten, I’m sorry.” The sarcasm was dripping and a little caustic. “Regardless, Hubert has gone limp and I think he’s dying, Virg. Help me please.” The accompanying clasped hands reminiscent of either prayers or vigorous begging, complete with a sling that wasn’t doing what it was supposed to, were a little over the top.

“Okay. Fine. Show me the patient.” He reached over and nudged the broken arm back into its sling while Gordon glared him.

“Hurry up.”

Virgil grabbed his crutches and followed Gordon to the stairs before darting sideways and thumbing the elevator doors open.

“Okay, fine, hop-a-long.” Gordon jumped down the last few steps and hurried into the elevator with Virgil.

He bounced on his heels the entire way to the infirmary level.

Virgil watched his agitation and realised that whatever was wrong with this bird, Gordon had invested himself in it, much like every other injured animal he had dragged home since he had learnt to walk.

Gordon ushered Virgil into the infirmary and to his horror, he found the limp sea bird strapped secure in one of the beds. “Gordon, have you heard of hygiene?”

“It’s fine. The sheets are clean. He’s safe.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

But Gordon’s whine drew him into examining the bird, which, considering it was avian, did not comply with the human knowledge Virgil possessed.

“I don’t really know, Gords.” Virgil stabbed at the infirmary’s computer interface, interrogating the net for baseline vitals for an albatross. Hell, he didn’t even know which species.

“It’s a Gibson’s Albatross.” Gordon was stroking the unconscious bird gently with his fingers.

This was not the first time, nor was it likely to be the last time Virgil found himself in this situation, though the species did vary. As always, his answer was. “I’m sorry, Gordon. You need a qualified vet.”

“But I set his wing. He should be getting better.” Gordon’s age regressed around animals and tended to break Virgil’s heart in the process.

“I’m sorry, Gordon.”

“For goodness sake, we’re International Rescue!” The plea in his brother’s eyes stabbed right where it hurt.

But then those eyes widened and a light bulb went off above Gordon’s head.

Or it could have been a pre-emptive precursor for the migraine Virgil suddenly knew he was going to end up with.

“No, Gordon.”

“But he’s dying!” Gordon grabbed Virgil by the arm. “It’s our job to save lives.”

“How exactly are we going to get him to the mainland? Neither of us can fly.” Virgil wasn’t going to admit it, but the bird didn’t look like it was going to last long enough for another family member to make it home. “I’m sorry, Gordon.” He was already calculating how to cheer up his little brother.

“No!”

He sighed. It wasn’t as if he wanted the bird to die. Hell, if he was hail and healthy, he would have already put it on Tracy Two and be halfway to Auckland by now. But there was no way he was risking himself or his brother in a plane with a broken limb. Maybe Kayo might get back in time?

But then the inevitable happened. He should have seen it coming.

“We can take Thunderbird One!”

Virgil blinked. “What? No!” God, no, Scott would kill him.

“This is a life, Virgil! What makes a bird’s any less important than a human’s? It’s his life, our house has endangered it, and now we aren’t doing anything to help save it? How is that fair?” Gordon’s fists were now clenched at his sides, the sling yet again ignored. Fiery carnelian glared at Virgil. “I can’t do it with my arm, but Thunderbird One doesn’t require feet to operate.” A flicker of his eyelids. “This is on you.”

Virgil stared at his little brother.

A glance at the limp bird on the bed.

Back to Gordon, ever so fiery and passionate.

Virgil reached down, unfolded Gordon’s fist and pulled the sling back into place.

Ten minutes later he found himself doing what he did every time this kind of situation happened.

Thunderbird One launched with Virgil at the helm and Gordon clutching a desperately ill albatross in the back seat.

-o-o-o-

Scott stared at his second eldest brother, the man with whom he trusted so much. Virgil had literally held Scott’s life in his hands on several occasions.

“You borrowed One to take an injured bird to the vet.”

Virgil shifted where he stood. “It was to save a life.”

Scott turned to the lounge and glared at John. “And you let him fly with a broken ankle?”

John returned the glare with equal strength. “Are you kidding me? This is Virgil we’re talking about. I thought One was safer in his hands than yours.”

“What?!”

“It’s not like he’s going to do anything stupid with your ‘bird, is he?”

There were no words, so Scott just gestured in the direction of the pool.

With both hands.

“Yeah, well, probabilities can’t predict everything.”

The flippant, non-answer went straight to Scott’s head and rattled around in there for a moment or two before he chose to file it for later or risk implosion. John was rubbing at his foot and Scott latched onto it to save his sanity. “How did you hurt yourself?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, the kitchen caught fire. Kayo had already been called out again and I was worried about Grandma.”

“And?”

“I tripped.”

“Over what?”

“My own feet! It’s not every day you see Thunderbird One get stuck in the pool!” John glared at Scott. “Cahelium on concrete is very loud.”

Scott stared at him, not willing to face the image those words inflicted on him.

“Why was the kitchen on fire?”

But then something Virgil had said popped into his mind. He couldn’t help it, he rubbed his face with his hand. “Grandma, why didn’t you wait for Virgil to get home?”

“He left the popcorn on the counter, dear, I was trying to help.” Grandma wasn’t looking at him. John’s leg appeared to need a good rub right at this very moment.

John was wincing.

But with that explained, Scott had no choice but to turn back to Virgil, who was still standing clinging to his crutches.

Why hadn’t he sat down? He was ever so very sorry looking and Scott’s heart melted at the edges.

“Virgil, what happened?”

Brown eyes slowly peered up at him.

God, did he really have to deploy that little brother expression. Thunderbird One was down for the count, stuck in the damned pool and the brother responsible wasn’t even letting him stay angry. Goddamnit! How does a thirty-year-old man regress to six-year-old like that? Those eyes were the same eyes Virgil deployed that time he crashed Scott’s bicycle.

As if in answer, something whacked Scott’s thigh.

Ow! “What the hell?”

Looking down he found an extremely large seagull with a bandaged wing glaring up at him. Their eyes met and it squawked.

Very loudly.

“Hubert! What are you doing down here?” And suddenly, there was a race on around the comms room, Gordon chasing the waddling bird as it methodically thumped everyone with its wings, took out a pot plant and to Scott’s horror, one of Dad’s souvenirs. Both toppled with a crash as Gordon continued to chase Hubert around the room.

Alan joined him a moment later.

Part of Scott wanted to yell the building down, but most of him just wanted to know how the hell his ‘bird had ended up stuck halfway into her launch bay.

So, he turned back to Virgil and asked again, perhaps a little louder over the ruckus as the stupid bird scrambled over John in its eagerness to torture everyone.

He approached his brother carefully and placed a hand on each arm. “Virg, What happened?”

“It was an accident. I’m sorry, Scott.”

“That much is obvious. What malfunctioned?”

Brown eyes were suddenly not looking at him.

“Virgil?”

His brother straightened a little. “You have too many damned levers.”

“What?”

He seemed to be saying that a lot today.

“I pushed the wrong lever, okay? It’s on the left on Two and One has it on the right and I yanked on it to slow and the wings deployed. Wrong lever, sorry, okay?”

Scott stared at Virgil, his jaw slowly dropping as his hands lost their grip on his brother and just hovered mid-air beside him. “You used the wrong lever?”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad.” Virgil was looking at his feet. “Can I sit down now?”

Scott’s mouth was still open and he had to force himself to close it. “Sure.” So his voice was a little bit higher than normal…

Virgil didn’t hesitate, clutching his crutches and hurriedly tapping his way over to the lounge.

Behind Scott there was a sudden crash and the sound of breaking glass as both Alan and a bird squawked at the same time.

Scott didn’t turn to look. He just stood staring at his ‘bird, still gleaming in the late afternoon sun, still sticking out of the pool.

His jaw may have dropped just a little again.

But nothing more was said.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #flyboytracy's fault

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superhero--imagines · 4 years ago

Text

* There’s so many ways this can go

* But I bet you’d meet him when you moved into his apartment building

* It’s in this -for lack of better words- shitty building in Gotham

* But it’s the best you could do with your budget, plus it’s the only building with a gate

* Not that it means much in Gotham, but something is better than nothing

* (Also if you have a pet/dog, they aren’t charging a pet deposit)

* Jason is someone who lives on the same floor, either next to you or across from you.

* I’ve got two headcanons about neighbor!Jason

* He’s either a friendly neighbor who engages you in small talk whenever you run into each other

* Or he’s incredibly reserved, you hardly ever see him and when you do he enters and leaves his apartment so quick you can’t get a word in

* Overall you don’t really talk to him much

* Honestly you’re probably a little intimidated by him

* He’s like 6’0 and 250 pounds of muscle

* He’s also a beautiful man, so you’re also a bit intimidated by how you’re attracted to him

* Jason barely registers that you’re his neighbor tbh

* So many people filter in and out of these apartments he’s stopped forcing himself to remember their names

* He only notices you when Dick is with him at some point, helping him carry some things from Bruce’s mansion

* “I’m starting to think you’re pretending to need help so you aren’t suffering alone”

* “It took you this long to realize that?”

* You come back from work at this point, in your cutest outfit, you’d had a good day so far

* Riding the wave of confidence you wave at them before disappearing into your apartment

* “They’re pretty cute” Dick whistles, and Jason looks to where you stood

* “I guess” well you did have a pretty face, and every once in a while he can hear your music from his apartment

* It’s always lo-fi beats or something relaxing

* it’s kind of cute too

* “Do they live alone?” Dick asks, and Jason shrugs

* You’re pretty quite, not many visitors, he likes that. The less people around the better

* “I think they have a dog.” He recalls seeing you walk a dog early in the morning, slightly concerned, this is Gotham after all

* “So no boyfriend?” Jason raises an eyebrow

* “Please don’t date my neighbor Dick.”

* “Why, do you want to be their boyfriend?”

* He shoves another box into Dick’s arms to get him to shut up

* Jason notices you a bit more after that, he notices you when you’re at the mailbox getting your mail, or when you’re climbing up the stairs with bags full of groceries

* Unfortunately everytime he sees you it’s followed with “oh, it’s that person that Dick thinks is cute.”

* Which usually makes him grimace.

* One day though, as he’s getting mail he notices a few of the letters he has have your name on them

* Looks like the mail person got the unit numbers wrong

* He sighs, more human interaction he doesn’t really want

* He’s considering just waiting for the post office worker tomorrow so he can slip it in your box, when he sees you in front of your door

* “Hey, I got your mail by accident” he says, sticking out the package. You grasp it with both hands

* Jason can’t help but think about how small your hands are compared to his

* well, someone would surely find that a little cute

* He doesn’t realize he’s staring until a finger digs into the corner, ripping open the plastic.

* “Oh cool, I’ve been waiting for the book for a while, thanks so much!”

* The smile you give him should be illegal

* He can feel his face grow hot, as he nods

* “N-no problem” he mumbles, escaping into apartment.

* It doesn’t really bother you, you go into your own apartment, excited to start your new book

* The back of Jason’s head rests against his front door

* Okay he gets it now, yeah you are pretty cute

* After that things get a bit smoother between you two

* “Is that a new book?”

* “Yeah, I picked it up on my way home, I’ve been meaning to read it for a while”

* “That ones okay, but I like the one the author wrote before better.”

* Jason’s pretty well read, so you two end up mostly talking about books

* “If you want I can write you some recommendations”

* “Sure I would love that!”

* And here comes that smile again, Jason’s not a Virgin, so he doesn’t understand why every time you smile his face erupt into flames and he can’t think right

* “I’ll leave it on your door later”

* Talking about books turns into trading books

* “Hey, you wanted to read Murakami’s short stories right?”

* “Oh, Thank you! Also I got your mail haha!”

* Jason’s starting to wonder if the postal worker is trying to set you both up

* “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

* Jason’s really not

* “I’m just a little tired”

* Just then a cough escapes him

* God dammit

* “Do you want to come in? I have some tea that might help”

* Tea does sound good, but he shouldn’t, adorable neighbor or not he should keep some distance

* “I also have some whisky, if you’re a believer in the medicinal effect of hot toddy’s.”

* Aw hell

* Thats how Jason finds himself in your apartment, sitting on your couch, looking at your rather impressive book collection

* He knew you liked to read, but he’s still impressed

* “Here.” You hand him his hot toddy and a coaster

* He takes a sip and grimaces

* “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

* Your face erupts in flames, you honestly weren’t. In truth you were expecting to get rejected. So to see him here, at your apartment, petting your (dog/cat/bird/etc) is pretty surprising

* “I’m kidding” Jason says, noticing you blush “I like them strong too”

* You’re a little nervous that things will get awkward, but Jason’s a pro at the art of conversation (when he wants to be)

* “You like Scott Fitzgerald?”

* From there the conversation falls into books, to music, to things that are deeper

* “I don’t know, I just thought I’d be further ahead by now yknow?” You say, leaning back in the arm chair.

* Jason’s sprawled out on the couch, no longer trying to make himself as small as possible

* “Where did you think you would be?”

* You’re both drinking straight whisky at this point

* “I don’t know, I just never pictured myself spending all my time at a job I hate. Living in an apartment where the floorboards are coming out, and the paint is falling off the ceiling”

* It’s true, the paint does fall off the ceiling. One time the drywall fell off in a clump and landed beside him when he was sleeping.

* “And honestly, I thought I’d at least have a boyfriend”

* Jason’s head pop up to look at you

* He can be your boyfriend

* The words are dancing on his tongue, but what comes out is:

* “Relationships are over rated, I haven’t dated anyone since 2016”

* “2018 for me,” you grin “I can’t tell if that makes me the winner or the loser though”

* You both laugh, and for a moment Jason thinks that you’re just like him, lonely in your own way

* Maybe you can make each other happy

* But he extinguishes the thought as soon as it comes to life

* He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home

* And as he takes another swig of whisky, he realizes he might be drunk

* So he lets himself laugh with you, excusing himself once it starts to get late.

* “Hey Jason, I realized I don’t have your number.”

* You give him your phone, and he has to try extra hard to make sure all the numbers are entered correctly

* “Cool, I’ll text you about what time is good for us to go to that book store you mentioned.” You say before closing the door behind you

* Jason doesn’t remember inviting you to his bookstore, but he still finds a grin curling onto his face

* You slide against your closed front door

* Your face is burning, and you feel way more embarrassed then you should

* He just looked so handsome when he was smiling, and he said he hadn’t dated anyone for even longer than you

* It doesn’t help that you had quite a few drinks, so you took a shot

* The worst that could happen was that you would have to laugh it off as wanting to be his friend

* Or wanting to know who his book supplier was

* Both were equally true

* You’re feeling even more embarrassed when you feel you phone buzz

* Jason: Do you have the weekend off? We could go then

#batman imagine #jason todd heacanon #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #the red hood x reader #the red hood imagine #batman imagines #superhero imagines #superhero fanfiction #dc comics imagine #bruce wayne imagine #superhero--imagines

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after-avenging-hours · 5 years ago

Text

Out of Time [2]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist with dates on chapter releases - tag list will not be used for this series

Summary: After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5766

Warnings: Major character injury, triaging a wound, blood, stitches, gets a bit feelsy at the end

“Whoa! Hang on!” He doesn’t quite have the strength to keep you standing. But he follows you down as you collapse to make sure you don’t hurt yourself even more. He wraps his arms around you, pulling your body into a frame much smaller than you’re used to.

The gun in your hand clatters to the floor and you then press that hand into your throbbing side.

Steve blanches when he sees the weapon. “Is that yours?” he questions.

You shake your head weakly. “No. It was one of theirs.”

His brows raise in surprise. He knows that dames carrying weapons were more likely to have them taken by their assailants, not the other way around.

You look down at the hand clutched to your side, peeling your palm back to see that it’s completely covered in red. “Shit,” you curse, gritting your teeth. You close your eyes tight and tilt your head back against the brick wall, attempting to will the pain away, so it’s not completely clouding your senses.

Steve follows your line of sight and pales when he sees your blood. “Oh my God… I need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Your eyes snap open and you grip the collar of his shirt. “No hospitals,” You urge. You can’t be tied down to a hospital bed and potentially miss your window of opportunity. “I just,” you huff, your head dizzy now from the rapid movement. “Need to get someplace safe.”

“Miss… You’ve been shot. If we don’t get you-”

Your groan of pain cuts him off as you push yourself into a more upright position. “Is there blood on my back?” you question breathlessly.

“Wha-” Steve gapes for a second, before leaning over your body to check. “Yes…” he confirms. “A lot.” He leans back once more the look of concern returning to his eyes tenfold.

“That’s actually a good thing.” You tell him. “Means it’s a clean shot. Through and through. A hospital’s not going to be able to do anything that I can’t do myself with a bit of first aid.”

Steve finds himself only wanting to ask more questions, but he knows if you don’t start applying that first aid quickly, then you really will need a hospital. “My apartment is just around the corner,” he offers without thought.

More likely to run straight into trouble rather than think things through, it doesn’t even cross Steve’s mind that maybe he shouldn’t get mixed up in whatever this is. He grabs the gun, knowing that it wouldn’t be a good idea to just leave it behind. He looks around the alley to make sure there aren’t any other witnesses.

“Do you think you can stand?” he asks, almost wishing Bucky was around to carry you, but he knows Barnes would have his head over this.

You nod once, shifting one arm around his shoulders while removing the one from your side to grip the brick wall for purchase. You mentally count to three before pushing yourself up, Steve trying to do what he can to help. You release a guttural cry of pain with the movement and your vision goes black for a second. You hold still, keeping your grip on Steve and on the wall while you huff for breath.

You wait for your vision to clear and for your head to stop spinning before you give Steve a nod. “Okay. Let’s go.” You bite your lip to keep your whimpers in while you limp along with Steve holding you up.

It’s slow progress to make it down the alley and into a small courtyard area surrounded by apartment buildings. “I’m on the second floor,” Steve gives you an apologetic look when you reach the base of a set of metal stairs.

You release a long breath and grit your teeth before taking them on. Each step feels like an icepick getting jammed into your side. You nearly pass out after reaching the top but managed to keep it together a few more steps to reach his front door.

Steve is immensely grateful that he remembered his key this morning and doesn’t need to fumble around looking for it. The door opens with a push and he quickly shuffles you inside. He helps to lower your body onto the modest brown couch in his living room that Bucky got from him at a yard sale. The cushions are a little stained, no matter how he’s tried to clean them, the pillows are mismatched, and there’s a soft floral perfume scent permanently attached to the thing from the previous owner.

You give yourself a second to catch your breath before you begin pulling your shirt out from where it’s tucked into your skirt and start undoing the buttons. Steve’s eyes widen and his ears turn pink when you completely remove your top. You catch the way that he stares and would laugh if you weren’t in so much pain. You mentally pat yourself on the back for getting the vintage lingerie set for Steve’s birthday a few years ago. It certainly came in handy to keep your whole outfit authentic.

“Do you have clean linen and hot water?” you ask, needing to give him something to do for a quick moment.

He snaps out of it and nods. “Yeah,” he confirms before disappearing deeper into the apartment.

You wait for a second to make sure he’s really gone before hiking up your skirt to unclip the small pouch you have attached to your thigh holster. Opening the pouch, you turn it over to dump the contents onto the couch cushion next to you. A slim metal case, about the size and shape of a smartphone, falls out first, followed by what may appear to be a series of Barbie doll accessories. There’s a tiny red bag with a white cross that you pick out from the items.

Everything else goes back into the pouch before you open the metal case and reveal the series of discs inside. The ones on the left have red in their center, while the ones on the right have blue. You take a blue disc and throw it at the miniature first aid bag, allowing it to grow back to normal size.

“Thank you, Scott Lang,” you mutter under your breath, closing the metal case and returning it to the pouch. You clip the pouch back to your thigh holster and pull your skirt back down.

You have the first aid bag open and are rifling through the various compartments when Steve comes back into the room. He stops short and looks at you with confusion. “…Where did you get that?”

You turn to see him standing in the doorway, a few hand towels draped over his shoulder while he carries a large ceramic bowl. “Oh, that’s perfect.” You indicate for him to bring the items over. Ignoring his question.

Pulling a packet of painkillers from your kit, you rip open the foil and take them dry. You follow that up with a drop of hand sanitizer into your palm and work the liquid gel over your hands and between your fingers. Steve places the bowl of water at your feet and kneels down next to it. You then hand him the bottle of sanitizer.

“What is this?” he questions.

“Isopropyl alcohol mixed with aloe gel. It will disinfect your hands. You just need a small drop.”

“Okay…” he looks a little unsure, but follows your lead and drops some into his palm. He hands the bottle back and mimics your earlier movement to spread the gel. He then drops a towel into the bowl, letting it soak up the water before he wrings it out and folds it into a neat square.

You thank him softly when he hands it to you and you then press it to the wound on your front. “Can you get the exit wound?” you ask.

He nods once, wringing out a second towel and then presses it firmly to your back. He tries his best to keep his focus on the task at hand, despite having your breasts, pretty much at eye level. Before this, the closest he’s ever been to seeing a woman dressed in only a brasserie is the mannequins at Macy’s. What in the world would Bucky think, if he found out there was a half-naked woman in Steve’s apartment right now? The bastard would probably congratulate him, honestly.

“That should be good enough.” Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Just clear the dried blood from around the wound.” You’ve gone back to rifling in your kit and pull out a small aerosol canister. The cap comes off with a pop and you quickly aim and spray directly onto the wound at your front. The substance inside comes out as a sort of gel spray, but soon begins to froth and bubble where it makes contact with the wound. “Here,” you give the can to Steve.

He takes it hesitantly. “That looks like it hurts.”

You laugh dryly. “It’s a gunshot wound. It already hurts.”

Can’t argue with that. Steve aims the canister and sprays the mystery substance onto your back wound. You take the canister back, cap it, and put it away. You can already feel the gel beginning to work its magic. Given to you by Shuri during one of your visits with Steve to Wakanda, the gel was a coagulant to stop bleeding, but also could promote cell regeneration to expedite the healing process, and even worked as a numbing agent to dull the pain. It certainly helps when getting to this next part.

“How are you with needles?” you ask, pulling out a curved needle and some stitching thread next.

He gulps audibly before he slowly nods. He and Bucky have had to stitch each other up, more than a few times, but neither of them were surgeons by any means.

Seeing the worry on his face, you try to ease his fears. “It doesn’t need to be perfect, just enough to keep the wound closed. The gel will be able to take care of the rest.”

“Okay,” he agrees, taking the needle and thread from you.

With the gel and the painkillers beginning to take over, you finally have a clear enough head to actually be able to take him in. It’s a little strange seeing him like this in person. You’d seen the photo that gets taken at Camp Lehigh and your Steve had eventually opened up enough to paint his own picture of what his life had been like pre-serum. But you never thought you’d see it with your own eyes.

His clothes hang loose around his frame, nearly engulfing him. The air of stoic confidence you’d grown used to is nowhere to be seen. His shoulders are rigid, back tense, and he almost looks a little uncomfortable to be so close to you. That’s certainly different. The Steve you knew had always been comfortable around you, even from the day you met.

You had been working at the SHIELD Headquarters in New York when Steve’s body was found in the Arctic. You didn’t actually get a chance to meet him at the point, and after the Battle of New York, you were relocated to the other side of the country. Then, after SHIELD fell, you ended up moving overseas. It wasn’t until after the whole Ultron fiasco that you were recruited by Natasha to check out the Avenger’s compound in upstate New York.

You’ll never forget the look on his face when Nat stepped out of the way to introduce you. His eyes had lit up like the sun peeking out behind a cloud and when he smiled your heart had stopped. You’re also pretty sure you may have swooned a little. He shook your hand and held it tight. You remember how he had looked deeply into your eyes like he was seeing into your very soul, and then his gaze flickered all over your face like he was painting your picture in his mind. He then welcomed you to the Avengers, without even giving you an initiation test.

You try to find hints of that Steve in this one. The more you look, the easier they are to find. The eyes are obvious. Highly expressive that he has a hard time concealing his emotions. His brows still furrow the same when he’s trying to concentrate. His ears are still red, which is a good sign. This means he’s not completely unaffected by you.

“My name’s Vic, by the way,” you introduce yourself just as he’s finishing up the stitching on your front wound.

His gaze lifts up to meet yours. “Steve. Though, somehow you already seem to know that.”

You give him a look of confusion, trying to understand what he means, but then you recall saying his name when he first reached you in the alley. You quickly try to come up with an excuse. “I didn’t, actually. You look like someone I know. His name is also Steve,” you try to play off. Badly.

“Huh. Small world.” The corner of his mouth tilts up into the barest hint of a smirk. It’s still enough to make your heart race.

Even 95 pounds soaking wet, you’ve still got it bad for this man.

You hand him a pair of small surgical scissors to cut the thread. While he gets to work on stitching up your exit wound, you grab the supplies you need to finish triaging the front wound. You apply a small amount of disinfectant cream over the stitches before packing it with sterile gauze and taping the gauze to your skin. Steve helps you do the same on your back once he’s finished with the stitches there. After that, you take a long strip of self-adherent bandage tape to completely wrap your torso.

“That should do it. Thanks, Steve,” you send him a smile as you begin to pack up and close your first aid kit.

“Is that standard-issue?” Steve askes, nodding to your kit.

You breathe out a soft laugh. “Not quite,” you respond cryptically. “But a girl’s gotta be prepared.”

He raises a brow. “Do you often find yourself running into men with guns in back alleys?”

You mimic his look. “Do you often find yourself running toward the sound of gunfire rather than away?”

He blinks once, then shrugs, his shoulders relaxing a little. “More often than I should, if Bucky had anything to say about it.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing outright. “This Bucky sounds like he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Maybe you should listen to him more often.”

He scoffs. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

“Trust me when I tell you that getting shot really isn’t high on the list of things I’d consider fun,” you tell him with a grimace.

That sobers him. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t.” He drops his gaze and busies himself by rinsing your blood off his hands with the water in the bowl that has started to turn pink. “So, what does ‘Lady V’ mean?” he asks, the curiosity getting to him.

He looks up and catches the confusion in your eyes before his gaze drops to your chest. You realize he’s talking about the tattoo written in a curling script below your right collar bone, the letters framed on either side by a pair of small wings. Your Steve had actually been the one to design it for you.

“It stands for Lady Victory,” you explain. “It’s my code name.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You’re an agent?” he questions like he can’t believe it. His cheeks then flush as he attempts to backtrack. “I mean- not that you couldn’t be. It’s just you’re so beautiful, you could have been anything. And not that there’s anything wrong with being an agent, it’s just-”

“Steve…” You say his name gently, trying to get him to breathe, while a smile of amusement creeps onto your face.

“Sorry,” he mutters, dropping his gaze once more and releases a long breath. “Just, why go for something that’s so high risk?”

You take a moment to compose your thoughts, trying to figure out how best to answer his question. “We all have things that call to us. Be it duty or a sense of purpose… I don’t know. It just always felt like the right path for me. And believe it or not, looking like just another pretty face can actually be advantageous in this line of work. People will often underestimate you.”

Steve releases a long sigh. “The underestimating part I could handle. Been dealing with that my whole life. But I can’t even get enlisted. They take one look at my medical record and write me off before even giving me a chance. How did you do it?”

You realize where he’s trying to steer the conversation. At this point, he would have already tried to enlist and thus been rejected, four times. “Just because it’s the right path doesn’t mean it’s the easiest. Keep trying. Keep moving forward and eventually, you’ll end up where you’re meant to be.”

He shoots you a wry smile. “You make it sound so simple.”

You huff out a laugh. “Oh, it’s definitely not. But if it were, it wouldn’t be quite as satisfying when you finally succeed.”

He releases a low hum, letting your words sink in. “So, Lady Victory…” he says like he’s tasting the words in his mouth. “Is that where ‘Vic’ comes from?”

“It is,” you confirm.

He nods like he’s pondering over something else. “A guy takes you in off the street, then helps you patch up a bullet wound, and you don’t even give him your real name?”

You can’t help but grin at his cheekiness.

“I mean, Bucky probably won’t even believe the story to begin with.”

That promptly wipes the grin from your face. “Steve, you can’t tell anyone that I was here. Not even Bucky,” you urge desperately. You’re already terrified that there are going to be ramifications from this interaction, you have to try to prevent it from rippling out even further. “I… I should go.”

“Go?” he repeats, startled.

You turn to grab the first aid kit and your blood-soaked shirt, wincing when the movement tugs at your wound. “I’ve already put you in enough danger as is.”

“Do you think those men will come back?”

You shake your head, feeding your arm through the sleeve of the shirt on your injured side, and pull it up onto your shoulder with your good arm. “I don’t know. They might.”

You feel Steve’s hand settle over yours, stopping your movements. You pause and meet his gaze. “Well then, all the more reason you should stay. They won’t find you here and I can’t send you back out there injured and into the night.”

“Steve…” You know you shouldn’t. The longer you stay, the more you’ll risk messing up the timeline. But looking into his eyes, you can’t find the strength to pull away. The image of your Steve laying in the hospital bed looking steps away from death’s door pops into your head. Comparing that to the one in front of you; alive, breathing, vibrant… It makes you want to grab onto him with both hands and never let go.

“Stay,” he repeats once more.

“Okay,” you find yourself breathing the word out without thought.

His eyes soften and his hand gently squeezes yours before he pulls back. “And I promise not to tell anyone about you as long as you give me your real name.”

You huff out a laugh, dropping your head and shoulders. “You’re a sly one, I’ll give you that much.” Lifting your gaze back to his, you tell him your full name.

He grins victoriously and you can feel yourself falling in love with him all over again. He holds his hand out for you to shake. “Steve Rogers.”

You find yourself matching his grin as you place your hand in his. “It’s nice to meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Your hands shake once before he pulls back and moves to stand on his feet. “Now, how about I get you something to wear that’s not covered in blood and bullet holes?”

You look down at the shirt you only have half on, your cheeks flushing with heat. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

He moves deeper into the apartment once more, leaving you alone. You pull your shirt back off and lift it up to take in the damage. It’s pretty bad. Even if you could get the bloodstains out, the two bullet holes didn’t really help matters. Huffing, you toss it into the bowl of water and do the same with the two damp towels, also covered in your blood.

You grunt quietly as you attempt to push yourself up and off the couch. The pain killers may have dulled a majority of the pain, but movement causes a sharp sting to push through. You kneel onto the floor and try to keep your torso as straight as possible as you lift the bowl into your arms and straighten back up. The movement is a bit awkward, but you manage successfully without pulling your stitches.

You follow Steve’s direction to head deeper into the apartment in search of the kitchen. It’s not difficult to find, as the apartment is fairly small. A short hallway separates the living room from the remainder of the apartment, with the hall opening into the kitchen on the left and with the bedroom and bathroom doors on either side to the right. There is light pouring out of the open bedroom door and the sound of Steve rifling through various drawers and his closet.

You turn into the kitchen and set the bowl down into the sink. Tipping out the bloody water, you open the tap from the faucet to fill the bowl once more. There’s a bar of soap on the edge of the sink next to the faucet, which you grab and start rubbing into one of the towels to work up a lather.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind you.

You glance over your shoulder to see him standing there, some folded, striped pajamas in his hands. “I didn’t want to stain your towels,” you tell him.

He moves in next to you. “I’ll take care of that. You just worry about healing your injury.”

You set down the soap and towel, rinsing your hands clean. There’s a fresh hand towel by the sink, which you use to dry your hands before taking the offered clothing. “Thank you, Steve,” you tell him, holding the clothes to your chest. He nods once, dipping his head to avoid your gaze. He never was any good at accepting gratitude. “Really.” You insist. “I don’t know many people that would take in a complete stranger and help them the way you’ve helped me.”

He shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “Bucky is always telling me that I’m reckless in my pursuit of doing what I think is right.”

Isn’t that the damn truth…

“Besides,” he continues. “You’re also pretty trusting of a complete stranger that offered to take you in.”

Your sweet laughter reminds him of springtime. “I’m a pretty good judge of character,” you tell him, smiling brightly. It lightens your heart to see him relax just a bit more around you. Your fingers fiddle with the fabric of the clothes in your arms. “Well, I should probably go get changed. Thank you, again, for these.”

“Oh, sure,” he sweeps his arm to the side, gesturing for you to walk past. “They’re actually Bucky’s, so I hope they fit okay. I figured my clothes might be too small…”

You catch the slight shift in his demeanor when he brings up one of his biggest insecurities, pre-serum.

Reaching out, you gently touch a curled finger to the underside of his chin. You guide his face back up until he meets your eyes once more. “Chin up, Rogers. You’re looking far too glum for a man that’s got a half-naked woman walking around his apartment.”

You grin teasingly when his whole face goes red. “Oh, I-I didn’t look!” Almost instinctively, his eyes dip down the length of your body, before they widen in horror when he realizes what he’s just done.

You giggle girlishly. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold it against you.” You then turn and step out of the kitchen to head for the bathroom.

With the door firmly shut and locked behind you, a long breath slips past your lips. “Girl, what are you doing?” you whisper to yourself.

Stepping over to the sink, you muster the courage to look at yourself in the mirror. You look a little worse for wear, but that certainly comes with the territory of getting shot. Your lipstick is smudged and your hair is a mess. You can’t do much about a shower right now with your freshly tended to wound, but hopefully, by the morning, the healing gel will have had enough time to make at least that possible.

Removing your thigh holster, you open the pouch again and use another particle disc to bring your toiletry bag back to size. You run through your night routine as quickly, yet carefully as possible, feeling the tension of the day beginning to weigh on you, and now all you want to do is sleep. With makeup removed and teeth brushed, you manage to track down and extract all the hairpins from your hair. From there, you move on to shedding the remainder of your rumpled uniform, including your stockings and heels. The sight of blood down the back of your skirt makes you grimace when you realize it’s probably gotten onto Steve’s couch, too.

Unhooking the back of your bra is a bit difficult to manage while injured, but eventually, you get it. You slide the garment off, letting it pool to the floor. Checking in the mirror, you find that your undies didn’t make it unscathed either from all the bloodshed. With a sigh, you push them off your hips and down your legs.

You dig through the cupboards and drawers under the sink until you find a clean washcloth. After soaking it and wringing it out, you use the damp cloth to remove the last bit of dried blood from your skin before sliding into the pajamas. God, they’re so vintage. Baby blue and white vertical stripes with a pocket square on the left breast. You make the adjustments you need to feel a little more comfortable in them; rolling the cuffs and pants, and tying the drawstring.

You run both your undies and skirt under the tap, rinsing as much blood as you can out of them, but anything more than that will need to be dealt with in the morning. You fold the skirt in on itself, leaving the dry side out and the damp side in, with your undies tucked inside as well.

You then find a place to hide your toiletries, not wanting to use a particle disc just yet, since you’ll need them in the morning, along with your first aid kit. Gathering your clothes and holster into your arms, you venture out of the bathroom. You can look into Steve’s room from across the hall and find him standing next to his closet, buttoning up the shirt of his own pajamas.

Like a moth to a flame, you find yourself entering the space. His scent hits you and it brings tears to your eyes because he still smells the same. Walking into his room here smells exactly like walking into his room at the compound. It smells like coming home.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, noting the slightly distressed look on your face.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts and force a smile. “Yeah, just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Well, you should lie down, then.” He indicates to the full-sized bed, with a corner of the covers pulled back already.

You move toward it, setting your clothes on the bedside table next to a small lamp and reach out to finger the covers. You turn and take a seat on the mattress. It’s a bit lumpy, but the fatigue is really starting to settle in, so you’re sure it won’t matter.

Steve watches you for a moment before turning to leave the room.

“Wait, where are you going?” you ask.

He stops, turning to you in surprise. “I was going to sleep in the living room,” he states like it’s obvious.

The distressed look comes back to your face. “Will you stay?” you ask, your vulnerability cracking through. Last night, while he lay dying in the infirmary on the other side of the compound, you’d struggled to sleep by yourself in a room that smelled like him. No matter how exhausted you felt, you know you won’t be able to sleep comfortably if you had to do that again.

He looks a little conflicted. “Are you sure?” he questions.

You hold his gaze when you nod.

“Okay…” he relents, though he still sounds unsure.

As he begins to head over, you turn to push the covers back and shuffle toward the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he questions, stopping his movement as he was preparing to walk to the side you’re currently settling into.

“Moving, so you don’t have to sleep by the window,” you respond automatically as you settle under the covers. It’s one of his weird quirks that you’ve grown used to. He’d explained once that before the serum, sleeping near the window would make his asthma worse if there was a slight draft. After the serum though, he still didn’t like it, because he’d grown more sensitive to lights and sound. So, you always took the window side wherever you both slept together.

You pat the empty space of the mattress and grin, “Come on, Steve. I don’t bite. I promise.”

He reaches to turn off the bedside lamp before he slowly lowers himself down onto the mattress, legs tucking under the blanket. He looks like he’s ready to bolt at a moment’s notice as he lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling. You lay on your side, so you won’t irritate the stitches on your front and back while you sleep. You tuck your hands under your pillow and close your eyes.

A few moments of silence pass. “Steve, you’re never going to fall asleep if you keep your muscles tense like that,” you whisper in the dark.

You feel his body shift around slightly beneath the covers. “Sorry… I’ve never done this before,” he admits.

You want to laugh because he’s freaking adorable, but you hold it in. “Turn on your side,” you encourage. He hesitates a moment before complying and turning onto his side to face you. “Close your eyes.” There’s just enough street light coming in from the window to be able to see him. He holds your gaze for a second before his eyes close and he releases a long breath.

You untuck one of your hands and reach up to gently run your fingers through his hair. He tenses up even more with the first touch, but your nails scratch at his scalp in a way that makes him shiver. Your hand slips down the back of his head and curls underneath his ear before you move back up to his forehead and do it again.

The longer you keep doing that, the more the tension eases from his body, until he’s completely relaxed. Just a few more passes of your fingers through his hair and soon his breath evens out as he falls asleep. Your hand curls around the bottom of his ear one more time before your palm settles on the edge of his jaw.

He looks the same when he sleeps here as he does in your time. His features soften, that pinch no longer between his brow and the stern tilt of his mouth eases up. He gains an air of innocence and loses the weight of the world that he carries on his shoulders.

You watch over him for a minute. Memorizing his features before you shift closer. You dip your head down, tucking it beneath his chin to bury your face into his chest and you gently wrap an arm around his waist. He stirs a little but doesn’t awaken.

He feels different, but you’re still able to draw comfort from his closeness. A huge portion of the weight he normally carries has now fallen to your shoulders, and God, are you feeling it. If you fail in getting a sample of the formula, or if you take too long and the components break down before you’re able to get it to Dr. Banner, then these may very well be the last moments you’ll get to share with Steve.

If there’s any hope of salvaging the timeline, you’ll disappear by morning and be nothing but a dream to him. If you forsake the timeline and stay, not only could you mess up your chances of getting the serum, but there will also be the potential for a domino effect to spiral out and shift the entire course of Steve’s future. Could you really risk that just for a few more days of basking in his presence?

On the flip side, do you really have the strength to walk away? Sure, you’re terrified of failing the mission, but you’re even more terrified of losing out on your last few moments together, should you fail. And what if, by some tiny miracle, you could have your cake and eat it too? What if you could succeed and still spend time with him.

If there’s one thing you know for certain… you’re not ready to let him go.

Just as that thought crosses your mind, Steve’s arm curls around your waist, pinning your body against his.

Taking that as a sign, you push all remaining thoughts out and settle comfortably against his chest. You’ll stay till morning and then see how the rest pans out. For now, you’re safe in his arms and you’re going to cherish this as much as possible. With eyes closed and legs tangled, it doesn’t take long for you to join Steve in the realm of sleep.

Part 3

#steve rogers x reader #pre serum steve x reader #skinny steve x reader #40s steve x reader #captain america x reader #out of time

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hopesbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Rosey Inn

Summary: Ten years ago you left your small town and small-town boyfriend believing you were destined for bigger and better things. But when your mom passes away and leaves the family Inn to you, you’re forced to face all you left behind.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Maybe two curse words, fluff, angst, loss of parent

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: This was written for @wxntersoldiers 6k AU Challenge, I had the prompt Roomates!AU.

Also a huge thank you to @starbxcks for beta reading this. Love you to pieces. (PS spot the gilmore girl reference and i’ll love you forever)

This was not the plan. None of this was the plan. Your entire life had meticulously put together to reach one goal. And now? Now you’re sharing a house with a boy you haven’t seen in a decade, back in your home town, and owning an inn.

Talk about cliche.

The town of Rose Hill is quaint. One supermarket, one high school, everyone knows everyone’s name quaint. The people are kind and overly lax in security and come together for events. It sits near a beautiful lake and is known for its tourism. The kind of place people dream of living. The perfect American lifestyle.

Just not your dream. Since you were little you wanted one thing. To be a big shot New York lawyer. The kind that people know will get them off for any crime, and anything. You were going to be the success story of Rose Hill, the one to get out. The one to make it.

And you did. Got accepted into an Ivy League, finished school, and joined a practice. Until you got the phone call, that your mom passed away and left the family business to you. There went all your plans, all your dreams, everything. You were right back where you started in Rose Hill.

The Rosey Inn was a landmark, built long before your grandparents were even born. Passed down through generations of L/Ns. Each owned/managed the inn and raised their families in it. You spent your childhood hiding in the maids closet, tasting the chef’s recipes, tending to the front garden, and reorganizing the books in the front room.

You didn’t play alone though, you had Bucky. Bucky Barnes was your best friend and eventual boyfriend. His mom was a maid for the inn, and the pair of you grew up together. He was your everything and first love. But when you left for New York you wanted a fresh start, one that didn’t include the boy who’s life aspirations were to own a hardware store. So you dumped him and left, without saying goodbye.

Your past was but a distant memory. Until you were back and looking at the familiar inn.

“Y/N! Oh, how I missed you!” you hear the voice of Wanda, your best friend say.

“What are you doing here!” you ask greeting the red-headed girl. She had moved here Junior year of high school and you became fast friends. She was the only one you had contact with after leaving.

“Well, I took over as nighttime manager. And when I heard about your mom I decided to fill in on daytime until you could move back. I’m so sorry about her Y/N,” she says with sincerity in her voice.

“She’s been sick for a while, I’m just happy she’s out of pain now,” you say and pull her into a hug.

“I’ll let you settle in, then tomorrow we can go over the inn and what needs to happen.”

“Thank you Wanda for everything,” you say and head to the house.

The inn set back from the road, with plenty of space in front for parking and picnic areas. Behind it sat a large outdoor eating area, and a gazebo. But if you take the trail to the left, it leads to your childhood home. A three-bedroom house, with two floors and far enough to not be part of the inn, but close enough you could be there in case of an emergency.

You expected the place to be overgrown and in need of a cleaning, but it looked as new as the day it was built. And a car was out front.

When you get closer to the house the door opens and you swear you jump ten feet into the air, only to hear the voice of the one person you hoped to avoid.

“Been a while sugar,” he says smiling.

James Buchanan Barnes looks as good as he did ten years ago when you abandoned him. No scratch that, he looked better. The years did him good, his jaw was more chiseled and light scruff covered his face. His arm filled out and he wore a button-down. He looked refined, older but damn good looking.

“Sure has handy boy,” you smile back. “What are you doing in my home.”

“Must have your lines crossed, I live here now,” he says mischief across his face and eyebrow raised.

“In my childhood home?” you ask perplexed.

“Your momma was having a tough time the past few years and needed some help. She said I could live here if I helped her out. And when she got sick she put the house in my name too, saying you would need just as much, if not more, help when you got back.”

“So we’re roommates?” you ask hoping this was all a joke.

“Sure are,” he smiles, “let me help you with your bag.”

“I have movers coming in a few days with the rest of my things, just brought enough until then.”

You walk into the home and it’s not the dusty and doily place you remember it. The furniture is all-new, and the decor is modern. The living room has a grey fabric couch with navy throw pillows and a coffee table with a cookbook and tray on it. There’s a sleek floor lamp next to it and a flat-screen tv across atop a tv stand with movies neatly packed inside. A soft rug is on the floor with a diamond pattern on it. The entire room looks like a page from a catalog and if your suspicions are right the rest of the house is as follows.

“I took the guest bedroom when I moved in, so your old bedroom is still yours,” he says and you nod heading up the stairs following him to your childhood bedroom. When he opens the door you see it’s the one room that hasn’t changed. It still looks as it did when you were 18 years old and leaving to be on your own.

“I’m gonna have to update this room!” you say pointing to the outdated poster on your wall.

“Your mom didn’t want to change it, she insisted it remains the way you left it,” he says with a sad smile. You may have lost your mom, but that didn’t mean he didn’t lose her too.

“So many memories in this room,” you say and let a few flood back. Bucky’s cheeks heat up and you look down ashamed. He had to be thinking of the time the two of you first made love. You were 17, had the house to yourself, and did what you could on the small twin bed.

“I’ll leave you to settle in, then we could get dinner?” he asks and you nod. You unpack the few outfits you brought along and mentally map out what furniture you’ll replace with the one from your apartment. After getting a little bit of the initial shock of being back, you sit down and take a deep breath. Not only were you going to be running an inn, but apparently you were going to be roommates with the only man you’ve ever really loved. Life really does throw curveballs, doesn’t it?

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

The rest of the night was slightly awkward. Bucky ordered pizza and the two of you made idle chit chat while eating it. He offered to hang out with you, but you wanted to get up and going early so you decided to retire to your room instead. He gave a pained smile and wished you a good night.

The next morning you woke up at dawn, a habit you had from being in law. Late nights and early mornings. After showering you get dressed in nice pants, a blouse, and some sneakers since you would be walking a lot today. You made a mental checklist of what needed to be done: meeting with Wanda and looking over the inn, visiting the safety deposit box, and arranging for a storage unit for the rest of your furniture.

When you got downstairs Bucky was already dressed, in dark jeans and a flannel shirt over a faded t-shirt.

“Morning,” he said and slid a cup of coffee your way.

“Thanks,” you say and take a sip from the mug.

“I took the day off from the store and figured I could help you out today.”

“You didn’t need to do that. You’ve already done way more for my family than you ever needed to.”

“I love your family, even used to think they’d be my family one day,” he says. The last part comes out quieter than the rest and you feel a flood of guilt.

“I’m meeting with Wanda in twenty minutes, but after could you help me run errands around town?”

“Anything. I gotta fix up the back steps to the inn this mornin’ anyway. Might as well do them now,” he says lowering the coffee cup. He goes across the counter to where his glove is and puts it over his hand.

Back in high school, he was attempting to make a table for his ma. He got distracted though and sawed into his arm. They had tried to save it, but the damage was done. Word had gone through the town and one woman told her fiancee (who just happened to be Tony Stark CEO of Stark Industries) and Bucky got a state of the art metal prosthetic. But you guess he was still embarrassed by it and hid it around everyone. Everyone but you it seems.

The meeting with Wanda was exhausting. She went over everything from payroll, to linen deliveries, to the filing system. There was a wedding scheduled three and a half months from now that took the majority of the time, as your mom was originally in charge of the day. But everything seemed manageable with help. You moved Wanda to the official daytime desk manager and promoted Clint Barton to the nighttime manager. Wanda said he functioned best at night anyway. She introduced you to the other members of the team, Vision (her husband) was the head chef. Scott Lang was the bartender at night and events, Peter Parker was the bellhop on duty at the time. She said you would meet the rest of the staff at a later time, and that there weren’t any bad seeds in the bunch.

The two of you ate lunch together in the dining room and she filled you in on the staff gossip, little things to help run the inn better. Like how Clint needed coffee or would forget he was even alive, or how Peter Parker could usually lift more than you’d think but if MJ (his girlfriend walked in) he would almost always get distracted and walk into a wall.

After lunch, you texted Bucky (he had given you his new number last night) and met him at his car.

“How was lunch,” he asks, walking up to you. His sleeves were rolled up now and he had sunglasses on. His hair is a mess and his undershirt has paint stains on it. He’s got his toothy grin plastered across his face, and it’s the exact same one you fell in love with as a teen.

“Good, you fix up those stairs?” you ask and get into his car. He had a dark green pickup that was in desperate need of a wash. There was a toolbox in the back, but the front was spotless.

“Yeah, even painted over them too.” Bucky was always the fixer. Helped out whenever he could, and didn’t mind getting a little roughed up in the process. It was always the biggest difference between you. Your life was carefully crafted and there was no room for mess.

The ride is quiet. You don’t even know what small talk to make with him anymore. Do you bring up sports? Ask about his mom? Tell him about New York? It all seemed too stiff and meaningless.

You finally get to the bank and he offers to pick up some tea for you and him while you go to empty your mom’s safety deposit box. He knew this was something you needed to do alone, so he gave you your space.

The bank had one small room of the locked boxes, and the teller came with you holding the second key to the box. Once the box was unlocked you moved to a small table and chair surrounded by walls for privacy. The bank teller leaves you alone with the contents and you take a deep breath in.

Inside the metal box are a few papers, your parent’s marriage certificate, and the deed to the house and the inn amongst them. There are also a few family heirlooms, two necklaces, and a ring. Your great grandpa’s watch is also in the box. But what sticks out is a letter with your name on it. You pull it out and read it.

“Dear Y/N,

If you’re reading this then I’m gone. We both knew this day would come and would bring you home to where you belong. Years ago you left, and I know you needed to do that. You had dreams of a better and bigger life, but you have to know in your heart that Rose Hill is where you need to be.

I’m sure by now you have seen that Bucky lives in the house. He moved in a few years ago to help me out, and I told him to stay after I go. Y/N, I know you don’t want to hear this- especially from your mother, but he is the one. You two were meant to be. As soon as you stop running from that, you’ll feel at peace. He’s a good man and you need to let him have your heart again.

I trust you’ll handle the inn with grace and hopefully not sell it. It’s been in our family for many lifetimes, and I want it to continue that way. But if it’s too much give it to James. He’s family whether the pair of you are together or not.

Be kind to yourself dear.

Love,

Mom

You place the letter down and let the tears fall. It was too soon, you should have had her longer. And despite your best intentions of coming, staying a few months maybe a year and finding new owners you know you have to stay for good now. And for Bucky, you don’t even know. Bucky was the past, wasn’t he?

After you left the bank you went by a storage place then back to the room. The past three weeks have been a blur. The wedding was in less than three months and the bride decided to change the entire decoration scheme to be more ‘woodsy than classical’ and you were still figuring out what that even meant. Besides that, you were trying to figure out how to run an inn. People required directions you didn’t have so you were overwhelmed.

Between the running around you were spending all the time you could reading articles and going through the binder your mom kept. You never really understood how much time and energy your parents put into running this place. Growing up you just thought they greeted people and were friends with the staff. It never dawned on you that running an inn is more than just owning the property.

The spare minutes you had left were spent settling into your old life. Originally you planned to come back for a year and then move back. This was going to be a blip on the radar of your life. But you know now that was unrealistic and this is where you belong. So you officially list your place rather than lease it for a year. You formally quit your job, and you’d still have to fly back eventually for cases next year but that was a ways away.

In the mornings you shared a coffee with Bucky, and at night the two of you ate dinner together. It was comfortable but awkward. Which was your fault. You knew it was your fault, you broke his heart and left. But you just didn’t know how to fix that.

Most mornings were silent. You weren’t a morning person and Bucky wasn’t a talker. But today he had something to say. It only took three weeks, but better late than never.

“Natasha and Steve invited us over,” he says and you nearly drop your cup.

“They got back together?” you ask completely shocked.

While Wanda was who you stayed in touch with and one of your closest friends, Natasha was your best friend beside Bucky. The two of you met in dance class and became close. In middle school, she started dating Steve, who is Bucky’s best friend. They were the perfect pair, she was the fiery redheaded dancer and he was the timid but loyal baseball player. However, in Junior year of high school, they broke up after Natasha got drunk at a party and admitted that Steve wasn’t her first.

He had felt betrayed that she lied and broke up with her and she sobbed on your shoulder for a whole week. You and Bucky got in a fight about it too because he had taken Steve’s side and said she shouldn’t have lied. You fiercely defend Natasha though. It wasn’t her fault she had a hookup with an asshole that she tried to forget.

“Yeah. After high school, Steve and I got a place together while we went to the community college. One day we decided to go to a party at the university in the city. And the next day Natasha was in my kitchen. They had a ‘benefits’ only relationship for a few months before realizing they were idiots and got back together officially. Tied the knot maybe four years ago?” he explains.

“I’d love to see them again,” you say cordially. Hopefully, they didn’t resent you for leaving.

“We’ll go over for dinner?” he asks and you nod.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Good morning!” Wanda sings when you see her. She’s awfully cheery today and dressed up. She has a black lace dress with a high neckline. She’s wearing a pair of velvet burgundy heels and looks stellar.

“You are way too happy and look amazing today. Why?!” you ask laughing and she laughs with you.

“I may have an appointment with an adoption agency today,” she says smiling.

“WHAT! Oh my god! Wanda, that’s so exciting!” you say and pull her into a hug. Wanda’s wanted kids since you were 16 and found out a few years ago she can’t get pregnant.

“I don’t want to get too excited because it’s going to take a while. But we’re starting the process,” she says.

“I wish you and Vis the best. I’m so excited Wan.”

The day went by in a flash. Wanda had to leave early so you were on your own for part of the day. But it went good and you were finally feeling like you had this in the bag.

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

You get back from work and change into more casual clothes. When you get downstairs Bucky is waiting in a leather jacket. You can tell he’d showered since work because his hair is still damp and he isn’t covered in his signature dirt and sawdust.

“Ready?” he asks and you smile.

“As I’ve ever been,” you say and he leads you out to his truck. Your car had been brought here two weeks ago so you didn’t have to rely on him to drive you everywhere anymore but it made sense to go in one car for this.

The Rogers live in a nice house with a large backyard across town. It’s no more than a 15-minute drive, and you arrive at the house with a flower garden outside and scattered kids’ toys in the yard.

“They have kids?” you ask your eyes widening at the idea of Natasha Romanoff with children.

Bucky laughs, “Twins! A happy surprise though. You’ll love my godchildren.”

“You’re a godfather?” you ask trying to not let the sadness of all you missed seep in.

“Yeah, why they hypothetically trusted me with their literal children I don’t know.”

The two of you walk up to the door and before you can open it a flash of red hair is seen and then you’re encompassed in a tight hug.

“I really missed you,” she says and the two of you move in a circle without letting each other go. A few tears fall from your face but you wipe them away.

“Hi Natty,” you say and she smiles pulling apart. She moves your hair from your face and tilts her head at you.

“If it isn’t my best friend finally. You look amazing. I really missed you,” she says and pulls you into another hug. It seems she holds no malice against you and a weight leaves your shoulders.

“I missed you too Mrs. Rogers,” you say and tilt your head smirking.

“C’mon in Steve’s cooking and I have two people for you to meet.”

When you walk into the living room you’re greeted by two three-year-olds.

“Y/N meet Sarah and James,” she says motioning to the two blondes. “Sarah and James meet your aunt Y/N.”

The two kids wave and smile and say hi synchronously. They were adorable and had Natty’s eyes.

“No hello to me?” Steve says coming in the room and you walk over and give him a hug. “We missed you here, big shot.”

“I missed you guys too. All of you,” you say and look over at Bucky. He lets a small smile cover his face but drops it when he sees you looking.

Over dinner, they fill you in on what you missed. After school, Natasha took over the local dance studio and turned it into a competition studio that was doing fairly well. They were winning titles and having girls travel just to be taught by her. Steve on the other hand became a teacher and is teaching high school history as well as coaching the baseball team. It’s as if no time had passed and the four of you are talking like you did growing up. The kids warm up to you and sit next to you and draw pictures with you.

When their bedtime comes Bucky and Steve wrangle them and agree to read stories, so Natasha pulls you outside to the patio.

“So,” she says and you give her a confused look. “What’s it like living with your ex-boyfriend?” she says and you gulp.

“Oh. That,” you say. “That is bringing up feelings I don’t want.”

“I always thought you two would get married at 19. He was so lost after you left. We all were but especially him. And he still looks at you as if you hung the moon.”

“I broke his heart, it’s not fair of me to do this to him again,” you say and she grabs your hand.

“Babe, you were young and messed up. Don’t let that get in the way of your happiness.”

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

Natasha’s words hang on your conscious for a while. Every time you look at Bucky for the next two weeks you think of them.

The two of you start talking over coffee in the morning, and there’s definitely long wanting gazes and the need to be close. He’ll touch your hand when handing you something, and you’ll fix his hair and lay your head on his shoulder while watching movies.

He tells you jokes over texts and you send him gifs every time he complains about a customer. You were falling back into the way you used to be and you are so happy.

On Friday he asked if you guys could talk after work. Which was his right, he needed answers and you needed to ask about your mom. It had been two months now since you returned and you needed to air it all out. But knowing this made you feel jittery all day long. You kept spacing out or walking into the wrong room and everyone could tell you were a mess. It got to the point where you were doing more harm than good and Wanda sent you home.

It turns out that Bucky had finished early that day too because when you got home he was there.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“Hi sugar,” he says smiling.

“You finished your day handy boy?” you ask and take your jacket off and hang it on the hook.

“Sure did. Only had a few customers at the store and figured I could close up early. And there was no fixing to do at the inn so I figured I would come back and relax for the night. How about you?”

“Wanda sent me home. Said I was ‘hurting her flow’. You wanna order some food tonight?” you ask trying to keep up some small talk.

“What I really want is to get drunk and have you be honest with me,” he says bluntly forgetting the politeness his mama taught him.

“Well, Okay. That- We can do that. Still need some food I’ll order some Chinese.” you say pulling out your phone to order delivery from the shop down the road.

An hour later the two of you have eaten and are both slightly tipsy.

“Why’d you break up with me Y/N?” he asks finally.

You turn to him and shrug, “I wanted to be successful and I thought I needed someone who wanted the same success as me. I wanted to leave the past behind and that meant you. But I was too chicken shit to tell you. James, I regretted it every day.”

He gulps audibly and takes a long swig from his drink.

“I was so lost. I was going to marry you. Move up north with you. I knew that was where you needed to be and I wanted to be who you needed too.” he says.

“You were who I needed. Still are if we’re being honest. I just didn’t know that then.” you say and look down embarrassed. I thought you’d have moved on now. Settled with a nice girl, maybe Maria or Darcy. Had a few kids.” you admit.

“Can’t settle down when you’re still hung up on a girl,” he says and you look at him.

“Bucky I still love you. But you don’t deserve me. You deserve someone better.” you say.

“I deserve you. And as much as I want to show you that we’re both drunk and you’re still dealing with grief,” he says.

“So what now?” you ask.

“Now we wait. Make sure this is right and not just unresolved feelings,” he says.

“And if it is?” you ask.

“Then I move out and we pretend this never happened,” he says and downs the rest of his drink. You follow suit.

“Can I ask something?” you say after a few moments of quiet.

“Anytime sug, I’m an open book.”

“Was she mad? I didn’t come home when she got sick and I barely talked to her after dad died. I should have come back. I was a bad daughter,” you say and a tear falls down your face. He grabs your hand that was peeling a label off the bottle.

“Honey, she wasn’t mad. She was so proud of you. Told everyone about your cases and watched the news whenever you were mentioned. You made her so proud.”

“Thank you for being there for her.”

“She was my family too. I think we should get some rest though. It’s been a long night,” he says and you nod and head up to your room.

The next morning you wake up with a headache but see medicine and water on your bedside table. It’s then you decide that you were gonna try to make it up to Bucky. There was a chance to mend this and have the relationship you once had, and you had to take that chance. No way were you losing this man again. Once was hard enough. So you decide this time around you have to court him.

When the pair of you were young, only 13, Bucky had learned from Natasha through Steve at the time that you liked him. So he made it his mission to properly court you. It had started with notes and small trinkets, and after two weeks he knocked on your door with two bouquets of flowers (one for your momma and one for you) and asked your parents if it was alright if the pair of you dated.

They had of course said yes, knowing Bucky his entire life and planning your wedding with his parents when you were still kids. But back then you didn’t break his heart. Now you needed to figure out a way to mend it.

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

There were two weeks until the wedding and you decided you needed to ask Bucky to be your ‘date’ there. He was obviously already invited because he was needed to make sure nothing broke and if it did it could be fixed. But you wanted him there as yours.

You woke up the next day early and went into town to get his favorite bagels and a rose. You got back to the house just as he made it downstairs and gave him the flower and food.

“Thank you? Why go through the hassle when we have food here?” he asks.

“I’m wooing you.”

“Doll, you do not need to woo me. I’m already wooed!” he says laughing.

“No, I messed up. And you deserve to be properly apologized to. So I’m wooing and you’re going to let me.”

“Okay,” he says shaking his head and taking a bite from his bagel.

Day one: success.

Day two starts when he gets back from work. You tell him that the pair of you are going on a date and tell him to wear a good pair of shoes. He gives you a weird look but agrees. You bring him to a club outside of town and once he sees it he can’t stop laughing.

When you and him were 16 you decided to try and get into a club. You both had horribly made fake ids and dressed up to look older. You were obviously turned away, but his car had refused to start after all that effort. So you both danced outside to his mp3 player while you waited for AAA to show up.

“I figured we could recreate that night, without AAA and the awful heels,” you say and he nods his head. You pull into the abandoned lot you spent hours in years ago. After parking, you grab your phone and put on a playlist of songs that were popular at that time and spend the next two hours just dancing. Completely embarrassingly and in a way nobody your age should. But it’s nice and the pair of you just let go.

Days three and four aren’t that eventful as you both have a lot of work. So instead you hide little notes throughout his things both days. They’re nothing special, just enough to let him know you’re thinking of him and how much you like him.

Day five you greet him after he closes the hardware store with a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers hat. His grandpa had loved the team and told Bucky all about them. You had to scour online for the hat and it was worth it when you saw the look on Bucky’s face. His eyes widened and he pulled you into a close hug. You would never admit it to him but you took a deep inhale of his scent.

Day 6’s plans were changed when Steve called and said Nat didn’t feel good and wondered if you would take the twins for the day and night. You told them you had to check with Bucky but would head over as soon as you heard from him.

Bucky of course was over the moon to have the kids over so you went and grabbed them after hanging up with him. When you got there Steve had packed each kid an overnight bag and handed them to you with their blankets and stuffed animals. Apparently Bucky bought them for the twins when they were born and they refused to sleep without them.

The twins were ecstatic to sleepover ‘aunt y/n and uncle Bucky’s place’ and babbled to each other the entire drive. You got there and saw Bucky’s truck so you figured he took the rest of the say off for the kids.

The rest of the day was spent running around the yard and showing the kids the inn and it reminded you so much of your childhood with Bucky. You wouldn’t mind your own kids playing here too you think to yourself.

After getting the kids to eat dinner and putting them to bed in the guest room you’re wiped and fall asleep with Bucky on the couch.

You wake up early the next day to little hands patting your shoulder. You manage to get up without waking up Bucky and bring the kids to the kitchen. Day 7 would be breakfast in bed you suppose.

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

It was one week now until the wedding and you were stressed. The mothers decided to come in now and make your life a living hell by trying to undo everything the couple had done. Thor and Jane had made it perfectly clear to ignore their parents and you were doing your best to.

You told Bucky to meet you at the inn today since you couldn’t make it out to him, and when he arrived you had Vis make your lunch and the two of you picnic in the garden.

Day 9 was a big one because you were asking Bucky to be your date today. You lit candles around the house and had a big sign asking him to be your date. It mimicked how he asked you to prom all those years ago.

You got dressed up and waited impatiently for him to come home. When you heard his car you dimmed the lights in the house and held the sign for him to read. He came in and smiled at your setup.

“Doll, of course, I’m going to be your date,” he says laughing and pulls you close to him.

“You know you don’t need to do the rest of your wooing. We can just make it official now,” he says and you shake your head.

“James Buchanan you let me finish my last 5 days.”

“I just want to kiss you,” he whines and you laugh at his frustration.

“Soon Handy Boy I promise.”

Day 10 you go to the old drive-in theater with him. Wedding prep is just about done and you had the night off. You fill his truck with blankets and pillows after telling him the plan and having him grab snacks and drinks for you both.

The place is playing Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice in a Tim Burton back to back showing and it’s a good excuse to spend the night watching good movies and snuggled close to the man you love.

Day 11 and 12 you bake for him. The first of two nights cookies, the second muffins. He thanks you for both but asks if you’re trying to Hansel and Gretel him.

Day 13 was the day before the wedding and the entire family had come into town. The entire inn was rented out to the Foster-Odinson clan. It was all hands on deck and it was the fullest you’ve seen the inn yet. But despite the craziness, everything runs smoothly.

Midway through the day Wanda gets a call she was approved to adopt and was so excited she yelled it out. The entire place let out collective squeals (even people who had no clue who Wanda was) and the day just had a good tone to it.

For the last day before the wedding, and your last night of the ‘wooing’ you cook Bucky dinner. He’s surprised by the fact the house doesn’t burn and compliments your meal at least ten times. You tell him about Wanda and Vision.

“Do you want kids?” he asks and you nod.

“I want a bunch of kids. I want to raise them here too. With you,” you say and he chokes on his drink.

“God Doll, I want that too but don’t be that blunt about things. I’m getting older, don’t need a heart attack.” You laugh and he smiles.

· · ──────────·🌹· ───────── · ·

After what feels like a lifetime the day is finally here. You’re up and out of the house before Bucky even wakes. He’s sleeping in since the store is closed today and he doesn’t have to be at the inn until 11 am.

The bride and her bridesmaids are all drinking coffee and nibbling on light pastries when you get there. The makeup and hair team she hired should be here in around an hour. Jane has gel eye patches beneath her eyes and one of the bridesmaids still has their hair in a towel.

After checking that they’re all there and everything is running smoothly you check in on the kitchen staff. They all say things are on schedule and you nod and go to find Scott to ensure that the bar is fully stocked.

On your way to check with Scott, you find Peter carrying the suits up to the groomsmen and he wishes you a good morning. Scott, you find a few minutes later organizing the liquor. Everything seems to be running smoothly.

A few hours go by and it’s an hour until the wedding starts. You thank your lucky stars that everything runs smoothly as the guests start showing up. You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see Bucky in a suit. He looks fantastic and you practically drool.

“How’s my favorite wedding coordinator,” he asks and you smile.

“She’s fantastic. How’s my favorite handy boy,” you ask in return.

“He wants to know if he’s waited long enough for his kiss.” You laugh at him.

“He has. He should know that there’s a certain girl fully in love with him who would die for a chance to be his girlfriend again,” you say laying it all out.

Bucky smiles widely, “I love you too Y/N. It would be an honor to be yours again.”

Before you can reply to him he pulls you close and smashes his lips against yours. There’s so much want and need in the kiss and you can almost feel the years lost in it. He doesn’t hold back at all and reaches one arm around you to pull you as close as possible. The other holds your hand and he keeps his lips moving in time with yours.

And you know that it’s everything you need. He’s everything you ever need.

#wxntersoldiers6kauchallenge #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #catws

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shaekingshitup · 4 years ago

Text

MIRACLES HAPPEN

DAY ONE: TANGERINE

A/N: Y’ALL! I WAS DUPED! @teakturn puts out a 25 Days of Christmas every year and my dumbass said I would do it too. But I decided to add a little diversity to the culture and we’re doing a Chrismukkah adventure this year on this blog! This is picking up after this request that I got earlier this year. None of this shit is proofread because I am literally just writing by the seat of my pants so read at your own discretion. I will probably end up rewriting this entire mini series in the future. But enjoy it now. If you wanna be tagged, lmk! Also, I know that in In Sight I said there was a cure for COVID. Swap that out for a vaccine y’all. Viruses can’t be cured.

Word Count: 2300

DAY ONE: TANGERINE

December 18, 2022

“Baby you ready?!” Tre called into the house as reached into the basket on his way to the garage. He came up empty handed for the keys to his Lexus. Opening the door to the garage, he saw Sol sitting in the passenger seat of the running car.

Tre walked over to his baby as Sol smirked at him.

“You late again,” she said.

“I’m never late,” Tre said opening the door and climbing in, “You just early as always,” he shot back as he put the car in reverse. Sol playfully rolled her eyes. After two years of being together, this was always their running joke. The first time they’d met, she’d been pacing back and forth awaiting his arrival. Even after finding their own groove, she still found herself being the one waiting for him- but, he always made it worth it so it was hard for her to complain.

Tre pulled out of the driveway and clicked the remote to shut the door. Out of instinct, his hand went to Sol’s thigh when he put it in drive. “Did you grab my yarmulke?” Tre asked as he threw her a glance.

“Please don’t insult me. This ain’t my first feast Nemo.” the indignant manner which she spoke had her and Tre struggling to keep in their bouts of laughter. “Yes, baby. They’re in the backseat.”

“Good. Good. What’s the other name for them again?” Tre asked as he merged onto the nearly empty highway. A five a.m call time could be a blessing and a curse.

“Kippah” is the Hebrew word for the male cap and “kippot” is the Hebrew word for the female cap.” Sol answered on autopilot as she mused on their situation. She was still taken aback that they’d been contacted by Black Juice to begin with. She’d been following them ever since they’d done that feature with Drake talking about how his own Jewish faith influenced his career path. Although she wasn’t as active in her Jewish faith as she’d wished she’d been in recent years it was still a huge victory to be acknowledged by the leading Black Jewish media network. Okay so maybe they were the only Black Jewish media network. But that definitely meant they were in the lead! She wasn’t stupid to think that this kind of opportunity would have come without Trevante in her life. But, she wasn’t gonna knock it either.

This 8 Days of Miracles was the perfect task she needed as she figured out what the next step was for her career. Now that she’d finally finished her academic portion of her career she wasn’t sure how to proceed. So throwing herself into this project and hosting both her family and Tre’s for the holidays was the best distraction she could ask for. This time always gave her hope and made her realize that any kind of bullshit she’d put up with wasn’t in vain. It was her annual reset. New Year’s be damned. It also made her feel closer to her father and there wasn’t anyone in this world she’d loved more. At least that’s what she’d thought. She felt pressure on her thigh from the number one contender for her heart as Tre gave her a slight squeeze.

“What’s on ya mind Sunshine?” Sol looked down at his hand and couldn’t help but cheese. She still beamed every time he called her by that nickname.

“I was thinking about my dad and how proud he’d be to see me reppin his faith,” Sol said absentmindedly touching her necklace. Tre listened attentively as he grazed his thumb against her thigh in a gentle motion. “ I mean, I don’t know if he could have known that all of the years he instilled in us the value of miracles when we were children we’d still be celebrating Hanukkah after he was gone.”

“I’m sure he didn’t know.” Tre started out slowly. He honestly wasn’t even sure if she’d finished her thoughts, “But, he probably hoped you would.” The phone rang as they turned off the street and into the lot. “STEPH 👷🏿‍♀️💪🏿” flashed across the Caller ID on his dashboard. Tre clicked the answer button on his steering wheel as Sol handed him his badge to show to Nico, the Security Attendant.

“We’re at Security Steph,” Tre answered as he nodded at Nico.

“Okay good. I just wanted to make sure we were starting the day off on time.” Tre and Sol shared a glance.

“Woman don’t start with me. Call time is 5 and it’s 4:39. We don’t play that late shit over here and you know it.

“Well, I also grabbed your favorite donuts from Craft Services so no one else would steal them and I wanted to know how long I had to hoard them for your ungrateful self. I can put them back if you’d like sir,”

“Steph. You can ignore Tre.” Sol chimed in. “We appreciate you and will be walking in the door in exactly 2 minutes. Tre is parking as we speak. We’ll see you soon.”

“Tre, you lucky you have her. Keep her if you want to keep the best managent in town. Bye y’all!!” Steph sang as she hung up. Sol let out a cackle because Steph refused to be referred as anything other than a managent as Tre stood there dumbfounded at how he was being left out to dry. But he knew better than to go against two black women before he’d even finished his morning coffee. He just hopped out the whip and opened Sol’s door so she could do the same.

Once they’d gotten their morsels of food, gone through hair and makeup and snapped a few photos for Black Juice and their own social media accounts, they were back on the road headed deeper into LA. They had a cameraman in the backseat filming their every move, one car guided them to their location and another followed them as they maneuvered through the cars that were poppin up for their morning commutes. Sol was on her IG live and answering any questions that popped up about where they were headed and her Hanukkah festivities. She watched as the number quickly jumped from 5,000 viewers to 13,000 and counting. She wasn’t sure what this many people were doing up at this hour but she wasn’t complaining. Tre’s mama was of course one of them. He was a mama’s boy through and through and she was always there to support him at any opportunity she could. Sol made sure to greet her specifically. Tre bopped his head to some Jill Scott- being careful not to let his yarmulke fall. Sol sipped some hot cocoa from her thermos and sang off key with him. As soon as they turned on a residential street, she felt awash in a new warmth that the hot chocolate couldn’t touch. She shook Tre’s arm enthusiastically.

“It’s time!!” she beamed, “Are you ready?!” Tre chuckled at her immediate change in attitude. The car in front was already parked and the camera crew was out on the sidewalk.

“Yes Sol. I’m ready to spread some holiday cheer. Let’s go make somebody’s day he said. Before Tre could even put the car in park, she was reaching for the handle”

“AHT AHT AHT” Tre barked out loud causing the cameraman man in the backseat to jump,“ Tre was already exiting the driver’s side and pointed his finger at her as he crossed in front of the car “Don’t even try it.” Sol rolled her eyes and pouted as she waited the few seconds for him to open her door.

“Thanks Tre,” she stuck out her tongue. She was like a kid in a candy store and was ready to full out sprint to the front door. The IG live comments were flying.

Okay Daddy Tre! I need a mans to talk to me like that. 🥵🥵

Did this man just bark at her? 🐶

Loook so long as he handles this backdoor he can open any other door that he pleases sis!

Y’all females is wylin as usual.

Sol glanced at them. “Imma need y’all to stay out of grown folks’ business and just enjoy this holiday work we are puttin in okay” She handed her phone to another crew member and grabbed Tre’s hand to drag him to the front door.

She pushed the button for the doorbell but no sound rang out. Tre gave three succinct raps on the door and heard someone rushing down the stairs. The door was flung open by a woman in black slacks and a blinding blue polo emblazoned with a nametag that ironically labeled this young woman as “Tangerine”. She couldn’t be more than 25 years old and the toddler saddled on her hip only added to her youthful appearance.

“Hi Tangerine,” Tre began, “My name’s Trevante and this is Sol,” he gestured to Sol at his side.

“Hi?” Tangerine answered confused at this couple and the cameras that followed them.

“We’re here today with Black Juice, a local Black organization that highlights the experience of the Black Jewish community and we’re doing 8 Days of Miracles,”

“Okay..” Tangerine said not sounding any less confused. “ I’m not Jewish.” Sol took over as she could tell that Tre’s efforts weren’t getting them anywhere.

“We’re here because your friend Kira sent in a letter telling us about how great of a mother you are. She said that you’ve been working two jobs here to support you and your daughter.” At this, Sol smiled at the baby, “She told us that the second job you have is for daycare expenses alone. We wanted to come out here today and let you know that we see what you do and how hard you go to make sure you give your daughter the best. So, we wanted to help you out and give you this. “ Tre gave her the envelope he had in his hand. It read “Day 1: Tangerine”

Tangerine took the envelope as Tre explained. “We’ve paid for your daughter’s child care for the next two years so you can give yourself a break.” She opened the envelope to see the receipt from Tiny Tots Kindercare and didn’t even know what to do.

“I don’t know what to say.” She paused for a moment as what this truly meant registered in her mind. “I can quit this job and actually spend more time with my baby and focus on my candles.”

“Your candles?” Sol asked.

“Yeah. I make candles by hand. I took a few classes and have played with a few scents. Some friends have asked me to make them some and I’ve been waitin to be a little more secure with my money before I start at it.” she answered exhaling deeply.

“Do you have any candles right now?” Tre asked peeking a little further in her apartment. Sol slapped his arm.

“Could you be any nosier?” she chastised with love.

“Yeah I have some. Do you mind holding Layla?” she asked but she practically threw the child into Sol’s arms as she ran to grab her stash of candles. Sol put on her sweetest voice and spoke to Layla about how old she was and if she liked her friends at daycare. When her mom came back Sol could see the sheer joy that she had when showing off her handiwork.

Tangerine went through all six of her candles and their various scents with them and by the end Tre had bought each one. She was floored and couldn’t do anything but cry at the way her morning was turning around. It wasn’t even 7:30 and she’d already gotten 2 years of childcare, a reason to quit her grocery store job and someone who actually wanted to buy her candles.

Before they left, Tre made her promise to hit him up when her site and IG were live so he could get more candles and share it with all of his friends. Sol returned Layla to her mother saying her goodbyes and grabbed Tre’s hand to head back to car. She leaned on his shoulder and he could see the contentment in her eyes. Sol almost forgot her phone before a crewmember handed it back.

She came back to the IG Live trying not to get too emotional. “Look at that y’all! Day one of Hanukkah is off to a start and we’ve already proved that miracles happen! Y’all better stay tuned in over the next week so you can see who we pop in on next. You never know if it could be you! Thanks to Black Juice for giving us this opportunity to turn someone’s ordinary day into something smile about. Y’all betta check them out so you can see the full footage of what we’ve got goin on! Bye y’all!

“Bye y’all!” Tre called out. They answered a few more questions with Black Juice, said their goodbyes and climbed back into their car.

“Can we go back to bed now?” Tre asked as he pulled back onto the main road and his hand founds Sol’s thigh again. Sol laughed.

“I mean if that’s what you prefer we can. I had some other things in mind.” she suggested.

Tre raised his eyebrow. “I swear you see one baby and you always go 0 to 100”

“Look, I just believe in practicing all aspects of having a child! Even the making part.”

Tre threw his head back laughing. “I’m wit it babygirl”

DING!

“That’s me” Sol said. She looked at her phone screen. A text from “Mama Rhodes” popped up. She’d sent some Pinterest looking bible verse again.

This was the third one this week. It dampened her mood immediately and caused her to groan. The text read:

Seeing you with that little girl made me so happy for the good Christian grandbabies that you and Tre will be blessing me with in the future. I thank Jesus for the miracle of you and my baby everyday XO.

“Tre, I got another one from your mom. When are you gonna talk to her?”

Tre sighed. “I promise. I’ll talk to her soon and it will definitely be before your Chrismukkah Extravaganza. Don’t sweat it baby.”

Sol did her best not to think about how pushy his mother was being about this raising Christan grandbabies nonsense ever since they announced they’d be partnering with Black Juice. All she could do is trust Tre and do what she was best at: wait.

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

@ghostfacekill-monger @thadelightfulone

#trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes fanfiction #trevante rhodes x oc #shaekingspeaks #25 days of christmas challenge #25 days of christmas #im going to bed now #chrismukkah #hanukkah #I WILL DO SETH COHEN PROUD #okay bye

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fandomrewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Season 3a; Episode 11: Alpha Pact

Hello all! After this one there is only one more chapter of season 3a! If you guys are liking the story and want to be added to the taglist let me know! As always constructive criticism is welcomed. And please make sure to answer my pinned post if you like the 100!

Season 3a; Episode 11: Alpha Pact

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend

Warnings: panic attack, swearing

Word Count: 4,112

Season 3a masterlist

Hearing someone running down the stairs, I turned to see Stiles. "Where's Scott? Where's my mom?"

Stiles sighs, "Jennifer took your mom. And Scott..." He trails off.

"Stiles, what happened?"

"He went with Deucalion." My mouth falls open in shock, unsure of how to process this new information. Rather than thinking about it right now I decided to turn back around to try and get Derek to wake up.

After a few more agonizingly long minutes Derek slowly blinks his eyes open. Spotting me and Stiles above him, he pushes himself into a sitting position and asks, "Where is she?"

"Jennifer? Gone." Stiles answers.

"With my mom." I quietly add, still trying to process the fact that my only two family members are with psychopaths.

"She took her?" Derek questions.

Stiles nods, "Yeah. And if that wasn't enough of a kick to the balls, Scott also left with Deucalion. So get up. The police are coming and we need to get you the hell out of here."

Stiles and I both help Derek off of the elevator floor, "What about Cora?" The Alpha asks, concerned for his sister.

"She made it out with Peter and Isaac." I answer as we make our way to the exit.

"You should go with him, (Y/N/N)." Stiles speaks up.

I quickly shake my head, "No, I'm staying with you." Stiles sighs but nods.

Before Derek gets the chance to leave, I pull him into a quick hug. "Be careful. And please keep us updated."

Derek awkwardly pats my back, "Uh, yeah. You too."

Stiles raises his eyebrow in question once Derek is gone, "What? I'm his favorite. I can get away with doing things like that." I shrug in response.

Stiles shakes his head, though a small smile forms on his lips. "Let's go wait for the cops." He says, leading me over to the waiting room chairs.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles and I sat side-by-side holding tightly to each other's hand. We needed some sort of comfort since both of our parents were taken by Jennifer and Scott decided to be friendly with the demon wolf.

We looked up at the sound of the hospital doors opening. My mouth fell open as I saw an FBI agent making his way towards us, "Do you think he saw me? Can I make a run for it?" I quietly ask Stiles.

"I'm pretty sure he saw you." He gave my hand a squeeze. "I'll be right here for you the whole time."

Once the Agent approaches I quickly look down at mine and Stiles entwined hands, refusing to make eye contact. I start focusing on my breathing, counting inside my head but also focusing on the words exchanged between the two guys near me.

"A Stilinski at the center of all this mess. What a shocker." My jaw clenches at his words and I can feel Stiles becoming more annoyed by the second. "Though I do wish you weren't here, (Y/N)."

Neither Stiles nor I answer. "Do you think you can give me some answers without the usual level of sarcasm?"

"If you can ask them without the usual level of stupid." Stiles replies, glaring at the man.

I start to play with Stiles fingers as I hear the Agent speak once more, "Where's your dad and why has nobody been able to contact him?"

"I don't know. Haven't seen him in hours." Stiles answers.

"Is he drinking again?"

"What do you mean again? He never had to stop." Stiles spits out.

"That was you." I mumbled under my breath, but both men heard me.

The agent sighs but chooses to ignore my words, "But he did have to slow down. Is he drinking like he used to?"

"How about next time I see him I give him a field sobriety test? We'll do the alphabet starting with F and ending with U." Stiles angrily says, making me smile lightly.

"How about you just tell me what the hell happened here?" The agent asks, trying a different approach.

"We don't know. We were stuck in the elevator the whole time." Stiles answers, sticking to the lie we came up with earlier.

"You're not the one who put the name on the doors, are you?"

For the first time in the conversation I look up, exchanging a look with Stiles. "What name?" We ask together.

"Argent. Do you know who that is?" Stiles and I both nod in response, not feeling the need to answer considering the agent probably already knows who they are too.

"Well you can leave Stiles, I would like to talk with my daughter."

"I stopped being your daughter the day you left me and Scott. If Stiles is leaving I am too. And you can't make me stay." I glare at the man. I look back to Stiles and tug on his hand, "Come on."

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles and I quickly make our way to the Argent's to let them know that their name was left on the elevator doors at the hospital. "The word is Guardian, Allison. More than anyone, you know that's a role I haven't exactly lived up to lately." Mr. Argent says to his daughter.

We move down the hall, walking into Mr. Argent's office. "But she took Mrs. McCall and Stiles' father. That's not a coincidence." Allison argues.

"I'd also consider the fact someone put your name in large block letters on the elevator doors. That kind of felt like a pretty big warning to me." Stiles adds.

"I think it might have been Morrell. I think she knows a lot more than she lets on. She might even be trying to help us."

"Well she needs to get on that a lot faster since the lunar eclipse is less than two freaking nights away."

Stiles fell into a chair as I chewed on my bottom lip. "Stiles, don't give up hope." Mr. Argent says, looking at the teenager.

"They could already be dead."

"I don't think so. There's something about Jennifer's tactics. It's like she's still positioning. Still moving pieces into place."

"And you're one of them." Allison says.

"Okay." Mr. Argent sighs, "Then let's not wait around to see her next move."

He lays out a map then continues speaking, "Everything she's done has been on a Telluric Current. So Melissa and the Sheriff have to be somewhere on one of the Currents, right?"

"That would make sense." I answer. Though Mr. Argent is looking at Stiles.

"Stiles, if we're going to find them, we need your help."

"You seriously want to go after her? Have you even seen what she's been able to do? She tossed Scott across the room like it was nothing." I place a comforting hand on Stiles shoulder as he speaks, understanding his concern and frustration.

"What if she just takes you like the others? I mean, no offense, but what's the difference between you and them?" Stiles continues.

"I'm carrying a .45." Mr. Argent places the gun on top of the map. "Maybe she can heal from a shot to the leg and a few slashes to the face. But, personally, I'd like to see how she holds up with half her skull blown off. We've got one priority right now. Find your mom," He says looking at me.

He then turns to Stiles, "And your dad. We've got a map and every clue we need to figure this out. The only thing we don't have is time. Which is why I need all three of you."

"We can do this. We have to." I say, giving Stiles’ shoulder a squeeze.

Stiles nods in response, "Where do we start?" We all gather around the map as Mr. Argent pulls out a black light.

"The place where the sacrifices have been committed have usually been different from where the bodies have been found. I think the placement has to do with the strength of the Current. So there's the School, the Animal Clinic, the Bank."

"What about the motel?" Stiles asks.

"I don't think she'd take them that far."

"This still looks like too much ground to cover. We could spend weeks looking at all the possibilities." Allison says.

"She must have some sort of pattern that she follows." I add in.

"She wouldn't use the same place twice, would she?" Stiles questions.

"Only if she didn't succeed the first time." Mr. Argent says. He moves his finger to point at the bank.

"Scott's boss?" Allison asks her father.

"Deaton. It was her only failure. That could mean something."

"So we should go check it out, right?"

"Definitely."

"But that's just one place so far. We need more help." Stiles says.

"What about Lydia?"

"Lydia? What can she do?" Mr. Argent asks.

"She's found a few of the bodies without meaning to. It has to be related to the supernatural but we're not sure what she is yet." I answer. I then turn to look at Allison, "We can try to see if she knows anything but she still doesn't know how to control it. And if they are still alive she may not even be able to help."

Allison and her father nod. They then turn to start collecting weapons so that they can go to the bank and try to find my mom and the Sheriff. Stiles and I look on in awe as we see the two Argent's pull out weapon after weapon. "I thought you guys were retired?" Stiles asks.

"Retired, yes." Mr. Argent says, "Defenseless, no. Now make sure your phone's on. If you hear from Scott, let us know immediately."

"I'm thinking that's going to be kind of unlikely." At Stiles' words, he, Allison and I share a look.

"The three of you, try to remember he's just doing what he thinks is right. I've seen that seventeen year old boy come through more often than most men I've known. Don't give up yet."

"I'll never give up on my brother." I say, a look of determination on my face. Stiles gives a nod as we turn our attention to Allison.

She isn't paying attention to us but rather looking towards the door. We follow her gaze to see Isaac, "How did you get in here?" Mr. Argent asks.

"Through her window." Isaac replies, glancing at Allison. "Sorry. I just. I want to help. I can't shoot a gun or use a crossbow. But I'm starting to get pretty good with these." He opens his hand to reveal his claws.

"We'll take it." Mr. Argent says.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles and I are now sitting in Lydia's room, telling her about what occured at the hospital. "I don't believe it. Scott can't really be with them. He can't be." She says, shaking her head.

"You didn't see the look on his face. It was the same one I saw on my mother when the doctors told her there was nothing they could do. It was just total hopelessness." Stiles replies.

"I still think he'll come through. It's Scott we're talking about. He'll never do anything to harm someone." I say.

"What do I do?" Lydia asks, "I mean I get that I'm like some kind of human Geiger counter for death. But I don't know how to turn it on and off yet. All I know is she tried to kill me because of..." She trails off.

"Because of what? Lydia?" I ask, lightly grabbing my best friend's hand.

"She called me a Banshee. (Y/N/N), you were on the right track. I'm a Banshee. She was surprised by it. What if that's not why she tried to kill me?"

"Then why did she?" Stiles questions.

"That's what we need to find out."

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles, Lydia, and I walk through the school hallways. Lydia keeps glancing at her phone, "Aiden's not texting me back."

The sound of my phone beeping stops her from saying anything else, "What? Oh God, what is it now?" She asks me as I look at the text.

"It's Isaac. Jennifer took Allison's father. That means she has all three of them now." I reply. I stare down at my phone and quickly reply only to shove it in my pocket a second later.

Lydia's voice breaks me out of my thoughts, "Stiles? Are you okay?"

I quickly turn to face him, seeing that his breathing is becoming irregular. "No." He mutters out.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"He's having a panic attack." I answer, already knowing the symptoms.

I gently take him by his arm as I bring him into the locker room. "Just think about something else. Anything else." Lydia says as she follows us into the room.

"Like?" Stiles asks.

I lower him to a sitting position as Lydia continues, "Happy things. Good things. Friends, family- I mean- not family."

"I love you Lyds, but please shut the fuck up." I say as gently as possible.

"I can't- I can't." Stiles says, breath becoming more rapid. His hands are placed firmly on his knees. Without much thought I gently grab his face, forcing him to look at me.

"Stiles. Look at me. Focus on my voice. Match my breathing." He gasps for breath, still not being able to stop the panic attack. Finally, I close the distance between our faces and kiss him.

After a brief moment, he gently begins to kiss back. Our lips slowly part, Stiles' body relaxes as he opens his eyes to look at me. "How did you do that?" He quietly asks.

"Holding your breath helps you regain control of your breathing. When I kissed you, you held your breath."

"I did?"

"You did."

"How did you know that holding your breath helps?"

"I started having panic attacks after my dad left. Plus I used the same trick on Isaac not too long ago." I shrug.

"Thanks, that was really smart."

"It was nothing." I shrug once more.

Lydia speaks up, "Well if I was really smart I'd tell you to sign up for a few sessions with the Guidance Counselor. Both of you."

"Morrell." Stiles says.

"She knows more than you'd expect."

I scoff, "Yeah, you can say that again." Stiles and I share a knowing look. I help him stand back up so that we can go talk with Morrell.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Once we made it to Morrell's office we saw a girl waiting, "You here for Ms. Morrell?" Stiles asks.

"No, I thought this was gym class." I would have laughed at her sarcastic reply if we weren't in such a rush to find the woman in question.

"Sweetheart, we're not in the mood for funny. Do you know where she is?" Lydia questions.

"If I did I wouldn't have been waiting here for twenty minutes. So how about you three back out the door and wait your turn."

"We're not here for a session."

"Well I am. And I've got some serious issues to work on."

"You're Danielle. You're Heather's best friend." Stiles says, realizing who the girl is.

"I was Heather's best friend. We've been working on that issue three times a week."

"Hold on. Did you say Morrell's twenty minutes late?" Lydia asks, bringing the attention back to her.

Danielle nods, "And I don't know why either. She's always on time."

Lydia turns her attention to Stiles and I, "I was seeing her at the beginning of the semester. She was never late. Not even a minute."

"Three guesses on where she is." I say looking at Stiles.

"I want to know what she knows." Stiles replies. He starts rifling through papers on her desk then moves to the filing cabinet when he doesn't find anything. I turn to help as the other two look on in shock.

"What are you two doing?" Danielle asks.

"Trying to find her."

"Those files are private."

"She's kinda right." Lydia pipes in.

"Here's yours." Stiles says, pulling out Lydia's file.

"Let me see that." Lydia grabs the file from Stiles hand. She opens it, looking inside. The rest of us looked over her shoulder to see.

"Wait. That's your drawing."

"Yeah, I know. It's a tree."

"You're good." Danielle says, impressed.

Lydia brightly smiles, "Thank you."

"That's the same one." Stiles says.

I gently pull the drawing out of the file to get a better look as Lydia asks him, "The same as what?"

"The same one I've seen you drawing in class."

"It's a tree. I like drawing trees."

"No, he means it's the same one. Like the exact same." I reply, finally tearing my eyes away from the drawing.

"Let me see your bag." Stiles says. He opens her bag to pull out her notebook. When he opens it we see the same drawing found on page after page. The only difference is the size of each drawing.

"Okay, you can have my session. You've got bigger issues." Danielle replies, she stands up and walks out of the room, though the rest of us don't pay much attention.

"What is this?" Lydia asks, clearly frightened.

Stiles and I are both quiet as we study the drawings, "Wait. What if it's not supposed to be looked at this way?" I speak up. I take one of the drawings and turn it upside down.

"I know where they are." Stiles says.

"The root cellar." I add, voiced laced with disbelief.

After putting Lydia's file back where we found it we rushed out of Morrell's office. "It's the Nemeton. That's where she's keeping them. It has to be."

"(Y/N), Stilinski!" A voice calls from down the hall.

"I'm not dealing with this right now." I say as soon as my eyes meet my fathers.

"I will, don't worry." Stiles reassures.

"We'll go to Derek's. Him and Peter will know where it is." Stiles nods at my words. I grab Lydia's hand as I tug her away.

"Was that your dad?" Lydia asks.

"Yes, I don't want to interact with him anymore than I need to."

*_*_*_*_*_*

I reach to open the loft door without knocking but stop when it slides open to reveal Peter. "You." Lydia says in shock.

"Me." Peter replies.

Lydia's anger rises, "You."

Peter winces at her tone, "Me." He says once more, almost sounding apologetic. "Derek. We have visitors."

Peter steps back to let us in. We walk past him to see Derek beside Cora. "How is she?" I ask, laying a gentle hand on the Alpha's shoulder.

"Not getting any better." He replies. He then turns around to properly face Lydia and I. "What do you girls need?"

We quickly explain the situation to both Peter and Derek and wait for them to reply. Though when they answer, it isn't what we wanted to hear. "You don't know where it is?" Lydia asks, confused.

"We did. After a few memorable experiences, though..." He shares a look with Derek. "Talia- Derek's mother and my older sister- decided she didn't want us ever going back. She knew how dangerous it was. So she took the memory of its location from us."

"So how do we find out where it is?" I ask, my frustration rising.

*_*_*_*_*_*

After leaving Derek's loft we met up with Stiles, Isaac, and Allison at the Animal Clinic. All of us, plus the vet, stood around an exam table, "It has to be on a Telluric Current. Maybe even at the axis of two. Or where all intersect. I know it's where Derek took Paige to die." Stiles speaks, glancing at me as he says the last part.

"My dad and Gerard were there once. But Gerard said it was years ago and he couldn't remember where it was. And my dad obviously isn't going to be able to tell us now." Allison says.

"Mine either."

"She took everyone who would remember." Lydia pipes in.

"Then how do we find this place?" Isaac questions.

"That's the same question I asked Peter and Derek. They didn't have an answer." I reply.

We turn to Deaton, "Doc?" Stiles asks.

Deaton sighs, "There might be a way. But it's dangerous. And most importantly, for it to work... We're going to need Scott."

*_*_*_*_*_*

Stiles, Deaton, and I stood in front of Stiles jeep. The headlights of the car lighting up the darkness around us. Scott steps out from the shadows, slowly making his way over to us. "How did you find out?" Scott asks.

"Lydia. You?" Stiles answers.

"Morrell. But none of the Alphas know where it is either."

"If this works, are you going to tell them?"

"I can't stop Jennifer without them."

"How about we concentrate on finding your parents first?" Deaton pipes in.

Scott nods, "What's the plan?"

"Essentially, you, Allison and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for your parents."

"So we die for them?"

"But he can bring us back." Stiles says. He then turns to Deaton, "You can definitely bring us back, right?"

"Hopefully, yes."

"Hopefully?" I ask, bringing the attention to me.

"You remember the part where I said it was dangerous?" Deaton then turns to Scott, "If it goes right, the three of you will only be dead for a few seconds. But there's something else you need to think about. This is a dangerous thing in more ways than one. You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton. A place that hasn't had power for a long time. When it did, Beacon Hills was quite different. This kind of power is like a magnet."

"A magnet for the supernatural?" I ask.

Deaton nods so Stiles speaks, "Doesn't sound any worse than what we've already seen."

"You'd be surprised what you have yet to see." Deaton ominously says.

"Is that it?" Scott asks, hoping that that's all there is to worry about.

"No. It'll also have an affect on the three of you. You won't be able to see it, but you'll feel it every day for the rest of your lives. It'll be a kind of darkness over your heart. And permanent. Like a scar."

"Like a tattoo." Scott whispers.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Reconvening at the Animal Clinic, Scott, Stiles and Allison step towards the tubs filled with ice. "All right. What did you bring?" Deaton asks the three teenagers.

Stiles holds up his dad's badge, "Jennifer kind of crushed it in her hand. I hammered it out a bit. Still doesn't look great."

"It doesn't have to look good if it has meaning." Deaton's eyes then move to Allison.

She holds up a silver bullet, "Is that an actual silver bullet?" Isaac asks, looking at it cautiously.

"My dad made it. It's sort of a ceremonial thing. When one of us finishes learning all the skills to be a Hunter, you forge your own silver bullet as a testament to the code." Allison replies.

"Scott?" Deaton asks, looking at my twin.

He holds up mom's watch, "My dad gave this to my mom when she first got hired at the hospital. She used to say it was the only thing in their marriage that ever worked."

Stiles looks it over, "It says water-resistant. Not waterproof."

"I don't think she's going to mind if it saves her life."

"Okay, the three of you will get in. Each of us will hold you down until you're essentially... well, dead. But it's not just someone to hold you under. It's someone who can pull you back. Someone with a strong connection to you. A kind of emotional tether."

Lydia immediately starts moving towards Allison while I move towards Scott. "(Y/N), you go with Stiles."

"Scott's my twin though. I'm pretty sure we have the biggest emotional connection." I say, giving the vet a questioning look.

"You'll be able to bring Stiles back and Isaac will be able to bring Scott."

I look in between Scott and Stiles, unsure what to do. Scott gives me an encouraging nod, "It's okay."

We all take our places and the trio steps into the tubs. They shiver as they sit down and Stiles turns towards Scott, "By the way, if I don't come back and you do, you should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Scott quickly glances at me seeing an unreadable expression on my face. I give him a brief nod then he turns back around to focus on the task at hand. In an instant Isaac, Lydia, and I all push our respective people under the water, waiting until they lay still.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @crazy-fan-101 @rogershoe @judayyyw

#teen wolf #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf rewrite #series rewrite #sister mccall imagine #lydia martin imagine

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xmalereader · 5 years ago

Text

Javier Pena X Son! Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

ANOTHER CROSSOVER BITCHES!!!! I really enjoyed the Mitch Rapp and Javier Pena one so why not make another but with stiles stilinski instead?! And YES it’ll be supernatural to be prepared!!

Summary: Reader is javiers son and the two of them move to California in a small town called beacon hills where Javier works their as a deputy and reader meets a lot of new people. The two aren’t only new to beacon hills, they are secretly hunters as well.

Warnings: Supernatural, Javier being a sassy bitch and a hot dad, reader is his son, stiles is still working as an FBI agent, fluff, language, werewolves, hunters, crossover between teen wolf, supernatural, and Narcos because FUCK IT!

—

“Again.”

He grunts in frustration as he takes out his gun and reloads it, holding it up he begins to shot down the cans that his father had set up for him. The two were deep in the woods of beacon hills, practicing on their shooting.

“Otra vez.” Again

“Can I at least take a break?” He grumbled out, lowering down the gun to his hip. Giving his father a look as he sighs, rubbing his face. “Fine, but only a short one.”

With that the young adult smiles and walks over to his bag, bending down to take out a water bottle and some snacks that he packed for hismelf.

Javier Pena and Y/n Pena were both hunters of the supernatural. They have moved from Colombia to California after Javier finished his time at the DEA, only helping since the most wanted man was a jinn, making people’s ‘wishes’ come true without them noticing. He was the only one who knew what he was and he made sure to keep a secret until they got him, so of course he has to kill him without getting noticed, sort of made it look like an accident.

He became a hunter at a young age and never really got the hang of it until he worked for the DEA after that he ends up taking in Y/n, a street boy that he met during one of his chases. Damn kid helped out a lot more than anyone else on his team. He remembers rounding the corner only to see a young kid holding ‘his’ target down, pinning him onto the ground as he held a blade to the mans neck. Javier was very impressed that he ends up adopting the kid, making him a future hunter and teaching him about the supernatural.

“You need to practice your aim, your a shitty shot.” Said Javier as he sits next to him, stealing his snack as y/n pouts and glares. “I know im a shit shot but I’m better with blades.”

“A blade won’t stop a werewolf.”

“It’ll Slow then down if you aim correctly.”

Y/n smiles big at him as Javier chuckles and ruffles his hair, earning a laugh from the other. The two have been living in beacon hills for almost two months now, it was a very small town that everyone knew each other. It was easy for them to work with, making a list of everyone who lived here as they kept record of the people.

This place was known for its supernatural which was another reason why they came here. They weren’t hunters who killed for fun and pleasure, no, they killed those who need to be killed. They’ve once stumbled upon a group of witches who were helping people, giving them no reason to hurt them and in return they became allies.

Y/n kept record of every supernatural being and creature in a notebook, sketching out their forms and writing down notes in case he needed them in the future. Javier wasn’t so smart and tried to remember everything until one day they almost got killed by some ghouls.

“Why are we here again?” He suddenly asks, taking back his bag of snacks and putting them inside his bag. Javier rolls his eyes and sighs, “I got a call from an old friend saying that he heard about some crazy stuff going on down here.”

“Like?”

“Sacrifices.”

Y/n shudders. “You sure it isn’t a cult?” He rasies a brow. “I mean it could be a cult but also other things such as; Minotaur, Fenrir, druids—“ he holds out his fingers and shrugs with a sigh. “It could be anything really.”

Javier shakes his head, the kid knew too much about the supernatural that he feels like he’s the one being taught. “Like you said,” he leans his back against the tree. “It could be anything.” The two are silent as they watch the sunset, it was getting late and they’ll have to return back home soon. Apparently it isn’t safe before or after midnight so everyone had to be indoors during the night time but since the two hunters weren’t afraid of anything they didn’t seem to care.

As y/n picks up the empty cans and piles them up in a corner he hears Javi moving around behind him, flipping through y/n’s journal as he reads more about the different creatures that they have Encountered. “I heard that there’s a true alpha in this town.” He blurts out, getting y/n’s attention.

“A werewolf? But a true alpha, those are rare arent they?” He approaches Javier and snatches the book away from him. “Don’t tell me you want to kill one.” He deadpans.

“No, you crazy?” Javier glared at him, bending down to pick up the backpack. “What In sating is that we can get his help, if he’s the alpha of beacon hills than maybe he can help us find our guy. We can talk things out and see what we can get.” He explains, walking through the woods as y/n follows close behind him.

“But how would we approach one without causing trouble? Let alone get ourselves killed.” He tucks the book away in the bag, causing Javier to slow down with a roll of his eyes. “This is a small town and we can approach one easily without causing chaos.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I don’t do promises I can’t keep.” Javier grumbled out as y/n laughs at him.

—

“A new family has moved into beacon hills.”

“Wow, who thought it was a good idea to move here? I mean this place is a dump.”

“Stiles—“

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

The McCall pack was having a meeting, latelty they have stumbled upon some crime scenes that Involved human sacrifices. At first they thought it was the Nemeton again but this was different. After they found out that these human sacrifices weren’t just for eating but for sport as well.

It disgusted them to know that many innocent people were being killed for fun, they were losing lives and people of beacon hills are growing even more worried.

They had everything handled until a new family moved into beacon hills and for such a small town they immediately knew who they were and what they were doing here.

They heard that the family would only be staying for awhile and how they have just moved from Colombia, what a worst time to be moving to beacon hills.

“You think these new people are the ones behind it?” Asked Derek as he leans back in the wall with arms crossed. “I mean it’s oblivious, they move here not to long ago and then two days later another body shows up, I mean we know everyone in beacon hills who is supernatural and not but this family is new. We have to know who they are.” Said Scott, he was determined to know.

“Okay first of all, calm down.” Said Stiles, cutting his best friend off as he held up his hands. “Scottie these people just moved here and we can’t blame them for the bodies that are randomly showing up.”

“He’s right.” Said Derek.

“Thank you.” Stiles nods at Derek before turning back to face Scott. “Let’s investigate them first and see what they are like I mean—I may or may not have broken into the record room back at work but I did do my research and got some information about them.”

“Isn’t it illegal to do that?” Liam asks, sitting by the stairs.

“Not when your working with the law.” Stiles said back, pulling out a file of information about these two newcomers. He opens the folder and sets out two pictures. “This is Javier Pena and Y/n Pena, they are both father an son—not by blood but still family.” Stiles began to explain as he spreads out more pictures.

“Like you said, they have just moved from Colombia and as it turns out, this guy worked for the DEA.” He points to a picture of Javier sitting at a bar and drinking a beer.

The pack approach the table as they take a look at the pictures and information. Stiles, working for the FBI, was able to get all of this information with a snap of his fingers. He was smart and knew what to do when it came to situations like these. He knew that Scott was the kind of person to get straight to the point but stiles always wanted evidence before doing anything rash.

“Oh he’s cute.” Said Lydia as he held a picture up of Javier.

Stiles frowns, reaching over to snatch the picture from her. “All we know he can be dangerous.”

“That’s never stopped me.” She grins, earning an eye roll from him.

“Anyways, I was able to get enough information about them, that they don’t show any signs of danger really. Their just regular people.” He shrugs, rubbing the back of neck as he looks at his work one last time.

He noticed Derek reach out to pick up a picture of y/n. In the picture he was sitting at the park back in Colombia and writing in a notebook, he brings the picture closer and noticed a sketch of a strange creature on it. “Stiles did his research and found nothing dangerous about these two,” said Derek as he pulls out his phone. “But you haven’t done all your work.” He begins to dial a number.

—

“Yeah we know them, we worked with them once their also hunters—did you talk to them or something? Because I’m going to be honest they aren’t really the friendliest. I mean they just come back from Colombia and they have been through some shit.”

“Wait you know them?!”

The pack we’re talking to the Winchester’s, a pair of brothers that they met a long time ago and have helped each other. The boys too weren’t the friendliest and have attacked them at first sight but once they settled things down they were able to talk it out and become allies.

“Are we not going to state the fact that they are hunters?” Again, stiles continued to Interrupt the phone call that lies on the table with speaker phone on. Everyone ignores him as they speak to Sam. “Wait, so their trust worthy?” Asked Scott as he waits for the other to respond.

“Yes, they are but try not to do anything that’ll get them to hurt you.” Said Sam as he arranged some books on the other side of the call. “They can get pretty dangerous.”

“They are badass too, so don’t mess with them.” Said Dean as he stands next to Sam, listening in onto the phone call as he grins, Sam can only roll his eyes but agree. “He’s not wrong.”

“Okay, will approach carefully and not do anything to alarm them.” Said Scott as the brothers on the other line hum in agreement. “Thanks guys.” He hangs up the phone and hands it back to Derek.

“So, who wants to approach some hunters?” He gives off a nervous smile as the others avert eye contact.

#teenwolf x male reader #male reader #stiles stilinski x male reader #javier pena x male reader #javier pena #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #narcos #fanfic #au #IM READY FOR THIS SHIT

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willow-salix · 4 years ago

Text

Fluffember prompt: Song

Day 15 of isolation on Tracy Island 2.0

“Oh my gods do I even want to know?” I yelled. I had walked innocently into the kitchen, as you do. You know it’s early-ish...okay it’s not the early but it's early enough in that I just woke up and haven't had my first cup of coffee yet. To me that’s as early as it gets, my day starts when I wake up and counts down from there.

So, I walked into the kitchen where Virgil had told me he’d left me what he was calling a coconut mocha. I think he’d made it with coconut milk and he’d chopped up one of my bounty bars to sprinkle on top. I don’t honestly know but I was there for it.

“What the heck are you doing?” I continued to yell when no one stopped what they were doing, let alone answered me.

Alan was lying flat out on the table top, I mean, I’d seen worse to be honest, that boy sleeps in some strange places, but he wasn’t sleeping, oh no. That would be too simple. He was lying back with his mouth open and as I watched Gordon shook some cereal into his mouth.

“Gordon, what are you-” I started, pausing in total disbelief when he followed the cereal up by pouring milk in.

“CHEW! CHEW! CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!” he yelled, dancing around excited like a demented goblin.

Alan spluttered and choked a couple of times but he kept on chewing like his life depended on it, which it probably did, since he’d neglected to sit up.

“If he dies I’m telling Scott it was your fault,” I warned Grodon.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, not in the least concerned as he turned to look at me. It was then that I saw the front of his shirt was soaked with milk. I raised an eyebrow at him, he grinned in return.

“I give up with you both. Why are you doing this anyway?”

“All the bowls are in the dishwasher.”

I didn’t even reply to that, they are lazy little sods and I’d given up on them.

“I've given up on you,” I told them again, retrieving my coffee and snagging a couple of cereal bars to take with me, because today I was doing that thing with John again.

No! Get your minds out of the gutter! I meant forcing him to video call with my Mum again.

He hates it, she’s useless, she doesn’t move the camera so we are either looking at her chin and up her nose or the top of her head. She also has a habit of talking over you and interrupting after she’s asked you a question and you’re answering. John despairs and just sits there quietly looking cute while we chat.

***

“I swear I am so sick of walking into a room and finding you two doing something weird!”

“You get used to it,” John sighed, his eyes taking in the sight before him.

Both Alan and Gordon had something that looked like it had been cut from a wig, I made a mental note to check my clip in hair streaks, I recognised that colour of red, and it was currently being glued to their chins.

“This isn’t working,” Gordon complained after trying unsuccessfully to stick it on for the third time.

“I’m giving up, it’s making my chin itch,” Alan sighed, scrubbing at his chin with a wet cloth.

“What are you doing?” John asked in that tone that tells you that he’s absolutely done with your crap and wishes he was anywhere but there. Honestly he’d been like that for an hour already, I’d even gone so far as to sneakily lock the window in case he tried to escape my mum by diving out of it.

“Nothing much,” Gordon answered in a too casual tone that neither of us believed.

“Hey,” Alan said, seeing me standing there. “Can we borrow your makeup?”

“Erm...sure?”

“Cool,” Alan shot off to fetch it, for what purpose I couldn’t hazard a guess.

“Need a hand with anything?” I asked when he got back, practically dragging my big makeup box. It’s not that I use a lot, I just seem to accumulate that stuff, like odd socks and hair bands, it just appears in the box and I have no recollection of ever purchasing it. I told John that it’s magic appearing makeup and that it must be the makeup fairy but for some reason he wasn’t inclined to believe me.

“Nah, we’re good,” Gordon assured me.

“You’re not gonna do anything weird with it, are you?” I asked, suddenly rather worried about my eyeliner babies. I needed those to look human.

"No," Alan said in that long, drawn out way teenagers had that told you you were being ridiculous to even suggest it. How dare I be concerned about my own things?

"Fine, but you had better not wreck anything," I warned them. "Or you're buying replacements."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Gordon shooed us away with a wave of his hand.

"Come on, let's leave them to it," John suggested. "I'll make lunch."

"Now that's an offer I'd be mad to refuse," I answered, following him. We didn't get a lot of time alone to chill, so a nice, quiet lunch (that I don't have to make!) would be most welcome.

"Witchy!" Alan yelled from the lounge less than twenty minutes later. I put down the toasted sandwich I was eating with a sigh.

"Yeah?" I called up the stairs.

"Can you help us?"

I looked at John with a raised eyebrow, he shrugged in return.

Sighing deeply I grabbed my plate, dropped a kiss on his nose and climbed back up the stairs.

"What fresh hell is this?"

A mess greeted me, a scattered mess of makeup, discarded cloths and bits of chopped up hair which they had obviously both given up on. They looked at me so pathetically that I knew I'd help them. I knew it, they knew it, I was done for.

"Fine," I sighed, biting into my sandwich. "What do I need to do?"

***

"OK, almost set," I told them as I arranged Gordon's phone on a tripod, ready to record. "You two ready?"

Two hands giving the thumbs up poked up from the darkness of the stage they had constructed from a couple of chairs, old black parachute material and a couple of remote controlled flashing beacon lights and a stand rigged up for the ball.

"Alright, starting to record…now," I hit record and then switched on the music, the familiar beat starting to echo out around the lounge.

Their heads popped up and they bopped to the beat, keeping time. Perfectly on cue Gordon began to mime along while Alan pulled funny faces in time to the music.

I tried very hard not to giggle or stare too hard at their eyes, because that would most definitely set me off and I didn't want to distract them. After they had told me they wanted to make a music video I'd been sceptical, I must admit but they were doing amazingly well.

I awaited my cue and then started flicking the beacons on and off, having set them to different colours. They were perfect as disco lights, but the finishing touch was definitely the miniature disco ball they had found from parts unknown which I lowered by pushing down on the arm of the stand.

I clicked off the recorder when the song ended and left them to their editing with a promise of rounding up their family to watch the premier later that night.

***

"What are we supposed to be watching?" Scott asked.

"No clue," Virgil shrugged. "She just said the boys had a project."

"She wasn't broken when she came back," John added helpfully.

"It could be anything," Grandma sighed.

"Let's try to have faith in them, shall we?" Jeff told them. "Whatever it is I'm sure they worked hard."

The lights dimmed and the holoprojector lit up as Alan, Gordon and I slid into the room like heroes. I stepped aside so the boys could bow in greeting.

There was silence for the first few seconds as they watched the screen, unsure what the hell was going on, and then there was laughter, lots and lots of laughter…

Link to their music video is here:

#Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #thunderbirds are go #Isolation Island #Thunderbirds in isolation #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds 2015

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sweatersarecomfyy · 5 years ago

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I Have Wings - Part 5/6 (Bucky x Reader Series)

Other Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Series Summary: During Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier he wasn’t alone. A girl with wings was also the subject of super-soldier testing, unfortunately she never gets to tell Bucky how he feels during their time together. When they meet years later, she remembers him but he doesn’t remember her. Does she tell him what she remembers, or will that affect their growing feelings for each other?

A/N: Second to last part! This is a very good series, it’s full of fluff and angst, but it has a fluffy ending. I hope you enjoy it. If you would like to see the future chapters, please follow my blog or the tag #i have wings.

The mission went fine. Nothing really exciting happened at first. It was mostly surveillance and when we found the weak link involved in the terrorist group, he gave up really easily when he saw that members of the Avengers had come after him. After that it was just a matter of arresting the rest of them. It was long though. I had a lot of time to think. Too much time. Just sitting on a rooftop.

Every few minutes James's face would pop into my head. His smile, his eyes, his face the last time I saw him. I cringed every time I thought about it. Back when I first met him, I was weak, I was abused, and I wanted him to see me as I was now. I was strong. I had hurt him when we were pitted against each other, and then there was what he would feel if he remembered what had happened. He was already having a hard time dealing with the guilt of all the other stuff he did, if he knew that he had been forced to hurt me would he hide himself? Would he stop talking to me? I didn’t know.

But if I didn’t tell him, would he keep looking at me the way he had done last time I saw him. Scared, ashamed, and hurt? There didn’t seem to be a right answer to this and I don’t know if I wanted to test it either way. Maybe if I had told him about our past when we first met it would have been different, but then maybe he would have never gotten close to me. I stood by my decision not to do that. I wouldn't give up the past couple months for anything. Maybe if we had met in a different life where we hadn’t been the playthings of Hydra, things would be going along like a regular relationship. We would fight about dishes, or movies, or socks on the floor, and not some weird repressed memories. But that couldn’t happen, this is my reality.

“Angel, the contact is heading into the warehouse, do you see him?” I heard Sam through the com.

I looked across the street to see the man walking towards the warehouse, “I see him.”

“Move in, we need to get a look in one of the windows.”

I did a running leap off the roof and glided silently down onto the roof of the warehouse. I walked lightly across the roof, careful not to make a sound and looked around the outer edges to see if there was a window accessible to me. All the windows were small, and there was no sort of ledge, and I figured it would be pretty obvious if a girl with wings started flapping around outside.

“Sam, window’s a no-go, I’m gonna sneak in.”

“Careful Angel, give confirmation if you see the leader, if you don’t, get out of there.” He said urgently.

“I remember the briefing bird-brain,” I quipped.

He didn’t reply.

I got out my lockpick and quietly opened up the door on the roof, and half walked, half floated down the stairs. My wings were a lot quieter than Sam’s. There was a sort of catwalk all around the perimeter of the open space, very open, open enough that if I had decided to barge right out there they would have seen a shocked bird-person and shot her, me. Luckily none of them were looking up, and there were shadows, and a kind of pole thing that was not big enough to hid behind but definitely obstructed about half of their views of me.

I spotted the leader and was about to tell Sam when I realized my position. If I spoke, even softly, they might hear me. There were ten of them, and one of me, and I really needed the three heroes outside who were much better at incapacitating the enemies. Spiderman, Antman, and the bird brain. They would be here seconds after I spoke, but would it be enough? They had some really fancy weapons after all.

I took in a quiet, deep breath, and spoke as softly as possible. “He’s here, move in,” And just as I thought my feint whisper carried across the echoey warehouse.

The ten men immediately got into action as they yelled to each other and grabbed some menacing looking guns from the crates next to them. I ran along the catwalk, parts of it melting behind me as they missed literally all their shots. Either they were really bad at aiming or I was just faster than I thought.

I tripped as the walkway started giving way, and nearly got hit, and also realized they hadn’t just been aiming for me, but wanted me to get down. I saw the heroes burst in, Peter shooting webs, Scott doing whatever to make the bad guys beat themselves up, and Sam shooting up a storm. I smiled, and glided down to join the fray. While some of the men had already been knocked out or stuck to the wall with webs, I saw the leader grab a briefcase and run out the building.

I ran after him to be impeded by another guy who I took down with a couple punches. I upped my speed taking some flying hops as I got through the door, not far away from the leader.

He heard me and turned around, pointing his gun up in the air where I was hovering. He took a shot and missed, and then I went diving down at him. It was generally the easiest way to take people down because no one really expects a person to use their own body, going faster than gravity, to pummel down at them.

I felt a sharp pain in my side, he had hit me, and then I collided into him and the ground. Thanks to my fast healing powers, the ground didn’t really affect me. His gunshot, however, seemed to be something different than I was used to. It wasn’t healing straight away. He was knocked out though, and it seems like the rest of the people had been apprehended because I saw my friends running toward me.

“Did you body slam someone again?” Sam asked exasperatedly

“Yeah, you know me,” I smiled weakly, clutching my side.

Sam got busy pulling up the guy I knocked out while Peter and Scott stood by me. I grunted, trying to take a step forward and stumbling slightly.

“Woah,” Peter rushed up next to me, “Are you alright?”

“It’s not healing,” I removed my hand and saw blood.

“Dude,” I saw his eyes widen and he grabbed my shoulder to steady me. He looked a little closer, his face tensing slightly, “It looks kinda bad, why aren’t you healing?”

“His gun,” I was in a lot of pain, used to healing so quickly, “I think it might have been different.” I put my arm around Peter and he supported my weight.

“Let’s get you back to the jet,” He said, walking alongside me.

#i have wings #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #marvel angst #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #james buchanan barnes

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forpeopleidontknow · 4 years ago

Text

falling into you - h.o.

chapter four - lonely heart

mob!haz au

warnings - swearing, bruising, yelling, angst

author note - I hope you guys like this chapter! I made this one have some angst because why not. Also I made a playlist for the series so if you like to listen while reading, click here!

chapter three ✕ masterlist ✕ chapter five

“HARRISON!?”

He heard y/n call his name, it was panicked and shaky. All thoughts rushed out of his head. He dropped the ice cream he was holding and turned to run back to the tree, but then he saw you. You were sprinting, you ran straight into his arms.

“There was a man a-and he ha-d a gu-n and I thought I wa-as going to d-ie.” you start sobbing. Harrison engulfs you in his chest, trying to shelter you from everything else that was happening. Softly cooing at you in hopes that it would calm you down. He pulls out his phone.

“Were you there?” His voice was angry but kept it at a low volume.

“Yeah boss, I got her out. She ran away before I got her to the car.”

“Alright, I’ll walk her over there now. Thanks, Scott” After the events that just occurred, you weren’t focused on his conversation. You just wanted to go home.

“Hey princess, we are going to walk over to that car over there, okay?” You nodded your head, unable to form a sentence. Harrison kisses the top of your head, unwrapping his arms around you. He puts his hand on your lower back, guiding you to the car. He helps you in and shuts the door. You start tapping on the window, he opens the door again.

“Don’t leave, please stay with me.” Your tear-stained face broke his heart. He crouched down

“I wouldn't think about it. Just give me a minute with Scott.” He smiled, bringing his hand to your cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb. He gets up and closes the door again. You couldn’t hear them but you weren’t focused on trying to hear. You were just trying to make yourself as small as possible, bringing your knees to your chest and burying your head. Hearing the door open, you lifted your head. Harrison slides into the car next to you.

“Hey love, so we are going to go back to mine, you will be safer there then at your apartment but if you need anything from yours, we can send someone. Sound good?” You nodded your head and brought your body closer to Harrison. Laying your head on his chest, your legs still close to your body. His arm was around your waist. He was using his thumb on his other hand to rub shapes onto your leg and that’s how you two rode back to Harrison’s. I wasn’t a long drive, 30 minutes at most but you manage to fall asleep. Not wanting to wake you, Harrison picks you up and brings you into the house. Carrying you up the stairs into the room you stayed in last night. Laying the fuzzy blanket that was at the end of the bed on top of you.

You wake up many hours later, greeted by the darkness of night. The day had come and gone and you were confused about where you were. You start to recall the events that took place earlier this morning, not sure if it was a dream or not. You got out of bed and noticed the closet door was open. You walked inside and hanging up was a white jumper with a note on it.

“This one should match x- H ”

You take the jumper off the coat hanger slipping it over your body. You walk out of your room and wander down the hallway. You make your way toward double doors, you knock. No answer. So you knock again. No answer. You decided to just open the door. The first thing you see is the balcony doors, the moon casting light through them. You turned to the right, going through the archway, taking a look at his bed. It was huge, way bigger than what one person needed which led you to the thought, it must get lonely. Having this huge house to yourself, not being able to share this bed with someone. You decided to go look for Harrison, suddenly overwhelmed with feelings towards him so you head out the doors, closing then gently.

You walk downstairs and into the grand foyer. You looked around, still surprised nobody had seen you yet. Walking into the den you start to hear noises. They were muffled voices so you followed them, walking down a hallway until you were greeted by another set of double doors. Harrison didn’t expect his meeting to run so late, he wanted to be there when you woke up but that isn’t what happened. You pressed your ear against the door trying to listen in but only catching a couple of words.

“enemy ” “target” “y/n”

Why were they talking about you? You were so deep into your thoughts that when you backed away you tripped over your feet. Falling to the floor you caught the attention of the people inside of the room.

“What was that?” You heard Harrison’s voice then footsteps. The door opened shortly after. “Y/n? Are you okay?” Harrison’s eyes widened, face written with concern.

“I just stumbled, that's all” He helps you up from the floor so now you are standing in front of him. “My ribcage kinda hurts though.” You rub your side trying to subside that pain but only making it worse.

“What about your face?”

“What about my face?” Throwing him a confused look, he led you into the room. It reminded you of the library from beauty and the beast, just not as big. Not that the room was small but in comparison, it was less impressive. He brought you to a mirror that hung in the corner. It wasn’t until you saw your face that you realized what they meant. Splotches of blue, red, and purple vandalized the right side face. You brought your hand to your cheek, lightly tracing over the bruise, wincing at the pain it caused. Harrison was dumbfounded, he was no longer the collected and confident man that he portrayed in front of his men. Seeing the tears welling up in your eyes hit him harder any punch had. You caught his eyes in the mirror, you weren’t mad at him but you no longer felt the feeling you had beforehand. You walked out of the office fairly quickly, not bothering to check if Harrison was behind you, but even if you did check he wouldn’t have been there. He was standing in the office, the same spot he was when you looked in the mirror, frozen. Maybe it was fear, or shock, or hatred for himself for letting something like this happen to you.

“What do we do now boss?” Tuwaine

“We kill that son of a bitch.” Harrison whispers teeth clamped together. He was mad, no he was livid. At himself. At his men, at his staff, at the guy who did this to you and of course, fucking Ray.

Ray was the leader of a rival mob. They have been at war for many years now and since Harrison distanced himself from his family had nothing to use against him, until you showed up. It had slipped his mind completely, Ray would stop at nothing to be the most powerful Mobster in London. Fuck, he would even kill an innocent girl. Harrison snaps out of his thoughts

“Alright Tom, you lead the integration. Don’t kill him, just make him wish you would. Tuwaine you join him.” The gun shot from earlier wasn’t a real gun but it did knock him out long enough for the man to get stuffed in the back of a car and put in a warehouse. “Sam, Harry, and Jacob find out where Roy is and until further notice someone will be by y/n’s side at all times.” It crossed Harrison’s mind at the park before the events occurred to get you a bodyguard, now it was necessary. He would look in the morning, but right now being with you was the priority. He walked upstairs to your room. The door slightly cracked open. He opened the door a bit more to look inside. The lights were out, the only things emitting light was the moon and the bathroom. He walks towards the bathroom, catching you in deep thought. The sweater was off and your dress was lifted past your rib cage, you looked at it in languish. More bruises laid on top of your skin. Your forearm and rib cage painted with the same blue and purple color scheme. Tears slipping from your eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” You were taken aback. So absorbed into your thought that you hadn’t noticed Harrison in the doorway of the bathroom. You pull down your dress and flatten it out with your hands. You look back up at him.

“What is going on?” Your voice had an underlying tone of anger and it didn’t slip past Harrison.

“I wish I could tell you bu-“ you cut him off. Ever since you got here you had been in the dark and you weren’t going to take it anymore

“But what Harrison, huh? You can’t tell me because of what? Will it put me in danger? I’ll be scared? Well it’s too late for both of those now isn’t it? Now fucking tell me!” You were mad, not angry enough to start screaming but your voice was raised.

“Y/n, I wish I could-“

“Cut the bullshit Harrison, you aren’t protecting me…. Just tell me what’s going on?” Your voice lowering the last part of the sentence. He walked away from you and sat at the bed. This was it, the moment Harrison was coming clean. He lowered his.

“I live a life that you might not agree with and I didn’t want to tell you because…” he took a deep breath in “Well I wanted to keep you safe but I was also.. scared of losing you.” He looked up at you. Looking for some kind of reassurance but your face was blank. You were angry and confused, you wanted to tell him that he couldn’t lose you but at this point, you didn’t know what to expect.

“Y/n... I’m the boss of the largest mob in London.”

The words didn’t seem true. They couldn’t be true. He couldn't be a cold heart person, could he? You recalled the interaction with the bartender, the fear he instilled into him. The doubt you had slowly washed away, getting replaced with fear and anger.

“Y/n, say something... please.”

“I’m leaving.” you grabbed the sweater and started to walk toward the door but Harrison jumped in front of you, blocking the way.

“You can’t leave, there are people after you. You would be in too much danger.”

“SO NOW YOU CARE IF I’M IN DANGER?!?!” You were fuming.

“I COULD HAVE AVOIDED THIS IF YOU HAD JUST TOLD ME TO BEGIN WITH!” Harrison didn’t know what to do. Nobody had really yelled at him before, especially not someone like you.

“Either let me leave or get out.” He just stood there.

“GET OUT!” You threw the sweater at him and walked back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Harrison stood in that spot for what felt like hours but it was only minutes. He finally turned to walk out the door. He muttered two words before shutting the door.

“I’m sorry.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

I’m starting a blurb series called “brothers” which is a holland!sister au! The first blurb will be released on Monday!

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cracked-pean · 4 years ago

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Get the Memo

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Derek Hale, Sheriff Stilinski (Mentioned), Cora Hale (Mentioned) and OFC! Cousin Stilinski.

Word Count: 3017

Warnings: Stalking (I think that’s what you call it. That’s what I’m gonna go with.) but really it’s more fluff so don’t worry too much.

Summary: People just don’t seem to get the memo around here.

Requested by @stellastyless

Masterlist

A/N: Hi dudes.So as you can see. Yes this is a request. My first one actually. I’m gonna be honest. I was excited and nervous when I saw i had a request come in. I was scared that I was gonna mess it up, or it would turn out wrong and not be what they expected it to be. So, that’s why it took a while for me to post this up. But, honestly once I started writing, I got in the zone and this basically took a mind of its own. So, I hope you enjoy it. Sorry for any errors.

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

It was a normal weekday, the middle of March, the Spring season was just beginning to bloom and the weather outside was nice and cool. Just right for families and their kids to be out and about. But, it was also the season for final projects to be assigned for students, and Stella just happened to be one of those students. Her dark and platinum streaked hair hung loose off the edge of the bed as she laid upside down. A book was being held above her face as her eyes scanned the pages. There was a book report that she had been assigned that was due by the end of May, when she was due to finish. Of course, Stella wasn’t one to slack off on school work. Always one to be ahead of such things. She didn’t receive perfect grades by doing nothing.

Just as she was about to turn the next page, her bedroom door slammed open.

“Hey Cuz, it-”

“Ow, fuck,” the girl swore as her book made contact with her face. Sure any item would hurt, but since it was a hardcover. Well, it just caused her pain a bit more. “Dammit Stiles. Haven’t you heard of knocking,” Stella sat up while holding her nose.

Stiles stifled a laugh, “Not my fault you decided to hang around like a Bat.” He got shot a glare from her blue-grey eyes.

While she put away her book on her desk, he walked in and made himself comfortable on her bed.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of?” Stella leaned on her desk with her arms crossed against her chest.

“Dad’s got the night shift, so it’s just gonna be us two tonight for dinner.”

Stella has been living with her Uncle John and cousin Stiles for 2 years now. There were some things circling about her in her hometown. Some lies were being spread from people she thought were her friends, could trust them, and loved her just as much she did them. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. So she thought enough was enough. After thinking it would blow off, Stella decided to leave. Right after graduation, she discussed it all with her parents and moved to Beacon Hills to live with her uncle and cousin, and continued her studies there.

The Stlinkins were more than happy to have her. Especially Stiles. Despite the 3 year age difference between them, those two were like siblings. So, once he heard the news, the then 16 year old made everything ready for her. Cleaned the house, the spare bedroom where she would be staying and bought some things she would like, to decorate her room with. Sure all that wasn’t necessary to do. The girl could care less, as long as she felt welcomed, but the sheriff didn’t have the heart to stop his son. He was quite amused if he was being honest.

“You mean, us two plus Scott right,” she questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Well I mean, if you wan-”

The girl interrupted his blubber, “I know he’s downstairs, dude. You two aren’t exactly the quietest of pairs,” she teased.

The two walked down the stairs into the living room. There on the couch sat Scott scrolling through his phone, he looked up when he heard the cousins making their way over. He gave Stella a smile and greeted her. She returned him a small one and muttered out a quiet ‘Hey’ then made her way to the kitchen.

It wasn’t that Stella didn’t like Scott, she was just a bit closed off. She didn’t really trust people that often anymore, since everything happened. Sure she was polite and greeted them and such, but making them her friends was not on her list. So when she moved here, she had to grow used to being comfortable around the guy. Scott did have the face of a cute little puppy, but Stella wasn’t going to fall for it so easily. It wasn’t till a few months later that Stella accepted him but as more of an acquaintance. It was with all Stiles’ friends that she’s met. Just mere acquaintances.

“Ok, well we don’t have any groceries to make anything, cause somebody forgot to buy them,” she said while shooting a look at Stiles, who was avoiding eye contact. “So you guys decide what to get as take out and I'll just go pick it up.”

With that she went up to her room to get ready. There wasn’t much for her to do. She still had on her clothes she wore for class earlier. A black tank top criss-crossed on the front, and knee ripped jeans. All she had to do was put on her ankle boots and her light jean jacket. She unplugged her phone and went down to meet the boys.

“-ask nicely. You’re paying anyway.” Stiles stood in front of a smiling Scott, with a look of betrayal on his face.

“So what’s it gonna be boys?”

“Thai. From the restaurant near the mall. But, can you also swing by the store and buy some tubs of ice-cream? Please,” with looks the two were giving her, you’d think they were in middle school and not seniors in high school.

Ice-cream? She thought. That sounds pretty good right now. Ok.

“Fine, but you’re taking my turn on buying groceries,” she walked towards the door and grabbed her keys. “Course I’ll pay my turn, but you’re going.”

“Yes, deal,” her cousin wrapped his arms around her and smooched a kiss on her cheek. She laughed and she playfully wiped it off. He handed her off the cash as well as what flavors to buy.

After a 15 minute drive, Stella arrived at the town plaza and parked. The thai place was just across the street from the convenience store. She figured it would be best to pick up the food first then head over to buy the ice-cream, so it wouldn’t melt from the wait.

While she was getting out, Stella noticed a group of three guys, around her age, hanging near by their own cars. They were all laughing and messing around, but they quieted down a bit once Stella walked by them to get inside the restaurant. The small bell above the door rang, signalling them they had a customer. Stella gave the front lady her order and was told to wait a few minutes as they got it ready for her. Once the cashier disappeared behind the double doors to the kitchen, the bell rang again. The brunette didn’t really give it much thought as she tapped on her phone, but she felt a bit weird afterwards. She scanned the shop a bit and noticed a pair of eyes looking right at her. It was one of the guys from outside.

He must have been the one to enter. He had taken a seat a few tables down from her, where she was waiting on her order. The guy gave her a small wave along with a flirtatious smile while his other hand propped up his head. Stella gave him a tight smile in return, and instantly regretted it. Old habits.

Apparently he took it as a sign to make his move, because he got up from his seat and made his way over to her. She sneaked a look behind him, where the doors to the kitchen, to see if the lady was out yet. She wasn’t.

Stella internally groaned. She wasn’t scared of him. She knew how to defend herself and could easily take him if need be, but that took so much work and she didn’t really feel like making a scene. So she sucked it up and decided to shoo him away first with words.

Words weren't helping and she was just about to snap at him. No matter what she did or threw at him (verbally) he could not take a hint. After waiting for a while, the lady finally showed up with two plastic bags apologizing. Stella waved it off nicely and without a second look towards the guy, she left in the direction to the convenient store nearby.

But that damn guy was very persistent in getting her attention. She was walking towards the crosswalk while trying to ignore his calls from behind her. Honestly, Stella was about to drop-kick him and make her way back to her car and drive back home, ice-cream forgotten. But she noticed another guy near the crosswalk light on his phone. As she neared, she got a better look at him.

Derek Hale.

Stella had seen him hang out with her cousin and his friends and knew he was in that small circle of people that Stiles’ trusted. From what she could gather up about him was that he was sort of the silent caretaker/big brother of the bunch. He was quiet but there were also times he would join in on the fun with the others. Derek and her would have small conversations when he would come over to the house when the others were over. They sort of had this pull towards each other that they didn’t seem to mind on having. But it was nothing further than that. Though a friendship was slowly growing amongst the two.

So before she could stop herself, the words seemed to blurt out of her on their own.

“Hey, babe.”

Derek’s head shot up at the loud shout near him and noticed the familiar hair and grey, blue eyes making their way over to him. There was a small confused look on his face when she got closer to him. Before he could fully react, the girl’s arms wrapped around him.

“Play along, the guy’s been following me,” she whispered in his ear.

That was all it took for Derek to reciprocate the hug and place a small kiss on her head while sneaking a glance behind her. The guy had slowly come to a stop with a bit of confusion on his face. He was sure that the girl had arrived on her own. He would have remembered the guy, he wasn’t hard to miss.

“Hey, I see you got the food. Ready to go?” Derek asked the girl just loud enough for the other to hear. And if the smile he had given her made her heart flutter a bit, she refused to acknowledge it.

“Yeah, just got to get the ice-cream and we’ll be good to go.”

Just then the walk sign glowed signalling the two that there were able to walk across. As if the two had done this a million times, Derek took the bags of food from her and she instantly latched her hand in his and wrapped her other arm around it and leaned her head on his shoulder as they made their way across.

The comfortness that came upon the two was strange. They had never been this touchy feely before. The only touch that had come between the two was a handshake. That’s it. However, the two did know that they were oddly ok with this closeness. They didn’t feel awkward or like it was force. With Derek’s history and also being closed off with people, the first time he had met Stella he did not have a problem or feel any discomfort from being in her presence.

Same with Stella. Even though she had wanted to be more cautious about the new people she met here. She had felt this strange pull towards the male.

“I’m sorry, I know this must be awkward for you. My mouth just likes to speak before it let’s me think things through. I’m sure you had things to do,” she spoke while nearing the store.

“Don’t worry about it. Cora knows I’m running late already, there’s no hurry. How long has he been tagging you?” he asked as he opened the door for her. Not once letting go of her hand.

The store was pretty big for being on the corner. It was big enough where they could talk in normal voices and not be heard by others on the other side. And for them, this was good. Because the guy followed them in.

“Eh, about 30 minutes or so,” Stella then began to explain to him how it happened as they walked up and down random aisles.

Derek started to feel a sense of anger and protectiveness build up in him. He didn’t know why. Was it because she was Stile’s cousin and didn’t want to upset him? Because if something were to happen to her Derek would feel at fault with him there? Cause he cared? Maybe even liked her?

“Now we’re here,” she leaned down to grab a few candy bags, “and since we are, you want something? It’s On Stiles,” she asked him as she held up ‘Troli Sour Gummy Worms’ and ‘Sour Patch Kids’.

He let out a small laugh, “I’ll take the worms.”

“Really now? Most people would go for the sour kids,” she tossed two packs of them into the basket she held.

“Well, I’m not most people,” he shrugged.

“No. You definitely aren’t,” Stella mumbled.

She turned towards him again and could catch a glimpse of the stranger still keeping tabs on them. Stella went to grab Derek’s hand again and he could feel her tense up. He gave it a small squeeze and pulled her closer towards him by wrapping his arm around her shoulder while hers was across her chest. No matter if Stella could defend herself the situation was still frightening. This guy has been following her for a while now and still wouldn’t leave her alone, even if Derek was with her. They then walked towards the frozen section nearby.

“He still there?” he asked quietly. His voice was nice and soothing enough to bring her nerves down a bit.

“Yeah,” she sighed and leaned in a bit into his chest. “I mean what more could this guy need to leave us alone,” She then paused as an idea came to her. She placed one of the ice-cream tubs in the basket and turned to smile softly at Derek. This was crazy but desperate times call for desperate measures. Derek’s back was toward the stranger so he wasn’t able to see the nervous grin Derek gave her.

“Kiss me.”

Derek’s eyes popped wide open. How could she say it so casually with that cute smile on her face.

“What?”

“Kiss me. It’s our last option at this point.”

Derek placed his hands on either side of her cheeks and slowly brought their lips to meet each other. Their eyes fluttering shut in the process. Her stomach started doing flips. She did not expect to have this reaction from it. His lips were soft and caused her body to have goosebumps. Stella’s arms came up around his midsection and grabbed a hold onto his shirt from the back.

Derek could not tell you what it was that possessed him. Could have been the idea to make this whole plan seem real as possible, the desperation to finally get rid of the guy or his compressed feelings were starting to make themselves known to him and this fake couple thing was just a boost. But once her smooth lips met his and he felt the warmth of her skin in his hands. He was gone.

What was supposed to be a short, quick kiss. Turned out to not being that. The two were like in a trance. They didn’t care who could see them right now. Sparks were going off in their heads and shooting through their bodies. And the reason behind this whole thing was long forgotten in their heads.

After what felt like hours, which was actually like a minute, they pulled apart. With Derek’s hands still on her cheeks and her arms on his waist, they just stared into each other’s eyes. Blue meeting green. They were slightly out of breath, from the shock they felt from the kiss.

“Did it work?” Derek was the first to break the silence.

“What?” Stella asked, still in a slight daze.

“The guy. Is he gone?” he asked while his thumbs softly rubbed her cheeks.

Stella blinked herself back to reality and shifted her eyes behind him around the store.

They were so occupied with themselves that the guy hadn’t realized that he had indeed left. He was still confused throughout the whole thing but, he had finally gotten the message and left the store.

Stella let out a small breath and relaxed completely. The weight lifted off her shoulders. She returned her gaze to the man in front of her and smiled.

“Yeah, he’s finally gone,” she embraced him in a hug and rested her forehead on his chest.

Derek smiled down at her but internally relaxed too. He was sure that this was not going to end well. But, thank god it was all settled.

“Thank you. I owe you one dude.”

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you’re safe now, that’s all that mattered to me.”

Derek wasn’t sure what to do next. But he for sure was comfortable in their place and didn’t want to let go. Stella was in the same boat. This whole experience was such a rollercoaster for the two. They obviously had feelings for each other, just didn’t know what to do about them. They were both sort of similar. The trust issues, the fear of being close to someone again. But they had somehow found familiarity in that. Because of their pasts, they knew what to do and look for from now on.

“Is it bad that I just want to stay here for awhile?” she spoke against his chest.

“No,” he pulled her closer to him. “I’m quite alright here too.”

And if the store clerk noticed the couple just standing near the back with melting ice-cream in their basket. They didn’t mention it or seemed to mind it. As long as they bought something.

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stilinskishit · 5 years ago

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Too Long (Teen Wolf Rewrite) - Chapter 20

**First couple of posts have a different title but I changed it because I didn’t like it :)**

Summary: Teen Wolf with a female main character alongside Scott and Stiles? Here it is. Ramie McCall is Scott’s twin sister and best friends with both her twin and Stiles. The trio’s friendship means the world to all three of them, so what happens when there are more than friend type of feelings present?

Tags: @multi-madison @purple286 @multifandxm353 @bralessandflawless @5secondsofmoxley @thesailbells @perrytheplatypus11

https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

A/N: One of my biggest pet peeves about Teen Wolf is they never address the trauma that all the characters go through with their friends dying, so I wanted to put in some actual feelings for the characters.

You can read on Wattpad or AO3 if you prefer, so you know :) (I love reading your comments so feel free to comment here, on AO3 or Wattpad)

MASTERLIST

Chapter 20 - Numb

Season 3, Episode 7

Ramie hoped that after their stay at the motel from Hell things would calm down some, but it was actually the opposite. There was some good news though, Derek was alive, but the alphas were still out to get him. The Darach was still wreaking havoc on Beacon Hills, and it seemed like the next set of sacrifices was centered around doctors, since two ER doctors that worked with Melissa had recently gone missing. This being the most recent theory among the pack lead to Isaac, Ramie and Scott sleeping on the floor in Melissa’s room the night after the kidnappings, to make sure she wasn’t the next person taken. Ramie woke up that morning to her mother’s voice.

“Boys! Ramona!” Melissa called out, causing Scott to shoot out of the chair he was laying in, Ramie to sit up quickly from the floor, and Isaac to leap up from where he was leaned over an ottoman that was now covered in drool. Isaac’s hand grabbed Scott’s as he stood up in panic, then quickly dropped it. “What the hell are you guys doing?”

“Uhhh, we were watching over you,” Isaac spit out quickly, Ramie and Scott nodding.

“We wanted to make sure you weren’t the third sacrifice,” Scott explained further.

“All three of you were asleep,” Melissa narrowed her eyes at them. Isaac scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, not looking at Ramie or Scott, who slowly turned to look at him.

“You were on watch last,” Scott jabbed a thumb at Isaac.

“What are you talking about, Ramie was on watch last,” Isaac spat back, looking past Scott to Ramie.

“Nope, I had first watch, you were on watch last,” Ramie said simply, yawning and attempting to crack her stiff neck from sleeping on the floor.

“I might have been on watch last,” Issac nodded, looking towards Melissa.

“My heroes,” Melissa said sarcastically, and Ramie let out a snort. Isaac subtly gave Ramie the middle finger, behind Scott’s back and out of Melissa’s view. Ramie snorted again, rolling her eyes at the curly haired boy. “Aren’t the sacrifices doctors anyways? Last time I checked I’m a nurse, no doctorate here.”

“It could be any kind of healer,” Scott insisted, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Isaac picked up the pillow he had been hugging in his sleep and set it back on the chair Scott had slept in.

“Well I don’t plan on being kidnapped by anyone any time soon, so you three need to get your asses to school,” Melissa said, throwing a pillow at Ramie, who had tried to go back to sleep on the floor.

…

Scott sent a frantic text to Ramie in the middle of the school day that said that the last healer taken was someone they knew, Scott’s boss, Deaton. Scott explained that Stiles was going to ask Lydia to try and use whatever powers she had to try and figure out where he was. Stiles, of course, roped Ramie into helping, and somehow Cora, Derek’s sister, ended up tagging along as well. The four sat in an empty classroom during study hall, waiting for Stiles to explain whatever his plan was. Lydia sat at a table next to Cora, and Ramie sat across from Cora on the other side of the desk, cross legged on the stool. Stiles was rummaging through the closet in the classroom, clearly looking for something specific.

“Here it is,” he called, walking over to the girls and slamming a box on the table in front of Lydia, knocking into Ramie’s knee in the process. He put a hand on her knee where he hit it, patting it softly as a sort of apology. Ramie looked up to see Cora’s eyes on the two of them, and looked down quickly, thankful her hair hid her face like a curtain.

“A Ouija board?” Lydia questioned in disbelief.

“Also called spirit board,” Stiles held up a hand towards Lydia. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Shot in the dark,” Lydia countered, and both Ramie and Cora let out a breath of air at the same time, causing Stiles to glare at the both of them. Ramie and Cora locked eyes and Ramie had to bite her lip to refrain from letting out a laugh.

“Would you just try it, please?” He asked, still sending a glare Ramie and Cora’s way. “Let’s not forget who this is for, Scott’s boss. He’s saved our collective asses on many occasions.”

Stiles picked the piece out of the box that you were meant to put your hands on and set it on the board as he spoke, Ramie immediately grabbing it and flipping it the other way around so the skinny end pointed towards Lydia.

“Wait so, don’t we all do this,” Cora gestured towards the board as Lydia put her hands lightly on the wooden piece.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, pulling up the sleeves of his flannel so they rested above his elbows. Ramie lightly put her hands on the piece, glancing up at Lydia, who had a look on her face that said she would rather be anywhere but there.

The Ouija board was no luck, as were many other ideas Stiles had for trying to get Lydia’s “psychic abilities” to work. Eventually, after Scott met up with them, they realized they should try and get information from Danny, since he was targeted by the Darach the same night as the kidnappings, but wasn’t a sacrifice.

Stiles dragged Ramie to the hospital with him to see Danny, who had been there since the night he was poisoned with mistletoe. Stiles insisted that Ramie had to come along because Danny was always nice to her, but Ramie knew Stiles just liked to drag her along on all his adventures because he liked the company.

When they got to the hospital Stiles and Ramie crept into Danny’s room to find him asleep. Ramie stood near the foot of his bed as Stiles walked towards his head, peering at him.

“Danny are you awake?” Stiles whispered. Ramie narrowed her eyes at him but Stiles didn’t notice, reaching a hand out towards Danny. He shook Danny’s shoulder, whispering his name again.

“Stiles,” Ramie hissed, giving him a death glare. Stiles held up a finger, not looking towards Ramie still. He reached up and hit Danny lightly on the cheek, whispering his name again. Ramie whisper-yelled at him for the second time. “Stop!”

Just as Ramie did so, Stiles hit Danny’s cheek a bit harder than before and Danny took a deep breath, causing Stiles to jump backward and slam into Ramie, stepping on her foot, hard.

“Um, ow,” Ramie seethed, pushing Stiles off of her. He gave her a sheepish and apologetic look and she rolled her eyes, pointing towards Danny’s backpack. Stiles immediately bent down, unzipping it and began rifling through the contents. Ramie stood over him, peering into the bag.

“What are you doing?” A quiet voice came suddenly. Ramie jumped and looked up to see Danny half-awake, squinting at the two of them. She smacked the back of Stiles’ head, who let out a small groan but straightened up, looking towards Danny.

“We’re not doing anything Danny,” Stiles said slowly. “This is a dream.”

Ramie smacked her hand to her forehead and Stiles looked up at her, shaking his head like he didn’t know what else to do.

“Why are you going through my stuff,” Danny groaned, his eyes still barely open. Ramie opened her mouth to reply but Stiles put a hand around her calf, signaling to her that he was handling it.

“Remember…. you’re dreaming,” Stiles said quietly to Danny, waving his other hand around a bit.

“Why would I dream about you going through my stuff?” Danny mumbled. Stiles’ head shot up from his spot crouched on the ground, glaring at Danny.

“You know what I don’t know Danny,” he said, annoyed, as if he wasn’t the one in the wrong. “It’s your dream. Take some responsibility for it. Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“Stiles,” Ramie hissed at the boy again, but Stiles waved a hand in the air, not looking at her. She glanced over at Danny who let out a snore, apparently believing that she and Stiles were really in his dream. When she looked back down to Stiles he was pulling out a stack of papers that looked like it was a report of some kind.

“Currents?” Ramie read the title. “Like electric?”

“I’m not sure, let’s call Scott,” Stiles said.

…

After meeting back up with Lydia and Cora, and Scott this time, the group figured out through Danny’s project and the maps Chris Argent had been working on, that Deaton should be in the vault, the same one Boyd and Cora were kept by the alphas. However, Scott ended up having to go on his own, because Derek was in trouble at his loft. He, Isaac and Boyd had planned to trap the alphas, but it didn’t work, and they needed help. They planned on filling the loft with water and electrocuting them, but the alphas somehow figured out this plan and cut the power.

Stiles floored it all the way to Derek’s loft, Cora jumping out before Stiles came to a full stop, sprinting towards the stairs. Lydia, Stiles and Ramie ran down below to an electrical closet, searching around to find where they could turn the power back on. Ramie stared at her phone, waiting for a text from Isaac and yelled to Stiles to flip the switch when she got it. The three then ran upstairs, hearing Kali, one of the alphas’ voice ringing out.

“Make the right choice next time Derek,” she called. “Join the pack.”

A second later, the twins walked out of the open door, followed close behind by Kali. Stiles skidded to a stop, as did Ramie and Lydia, both nearly running into him. Kali gave the three of them an evil grin and a small wave before jumping over the balcony railing and down into the parking lot below, followed closely by the twins. Ramie pushed past Stiles and continued running, stopping at Derek’s open door. Isaac was on the ground next to Mrs. Blake, their teacher from school. Both were staring into the loft, where Ramie’s eyes next went. In the middle of the floor, sitting in the 6 inches of water was Derek, holding onto Boyd, Cora right next to him.

“Derek…” Ramie said slowly, surveying the scene.

“It’s okay,” Boyd choked out. Ramie realized what was going on. Boyd’s white shirt was soaked with blood, Derek’s hand holding onto his stomach.

“It’s not okay,” Derek breathed out, his voice erratic. Boyd said something else as Ramie ran forward through the water. She could hear Stiles calling her name behind but ignored it, stopping as she stood behind Derek. Boyd fell to the ground as she approached, Cora leaning over him immediately. She began to sob, clinging to Boyd’s lifeless body. Ramie’s vision began to get blurry, looking between Derek and Boyd and Cora. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up, seeing Stiles with a hand on her shoulder and one on Derek’s. Before even thinking, Ramie leaped up, wrapping her arms around Stiles’ neck and the tears came, full force.

…

Ramie asked Stiles if she could sleep at his house that night. Scott had called Stiles and told him he found Deaton, alive, but Stiles then had to break the news to him that Boyd was dead. Scott picked Isaac up from the loft, who was definitely distraught, since Isaac and Boyd were pretty close. Ramie knew Scott would take good care of Isaac, and quite frankly, she didn’t have it in her to be strong and try and help Isaac feel better. She felt incredibly strange. Numb, almost.

“It’s weird,” Ramie said, when Stiles closed his bedroom door behind the two of them. It was the first time either of them had spoke since they left Derek’s. “I was never really close with Boyd. I saw him some when I hung out with Isaac, and whenever Derek and I trained together, but we were never really close.”

“Why is that weird,” Stiles asked, glancing over his shoulder as he dug through a drawer in his dresser.

“It’s just… terrifying,” Ramie said quietly. “That could’ve been Isaac. Or Cora, or any of us.”

Ramie sat down slowly on Stiles’ desk chair. Her pants and most of her shirt were still soaked from sitting in the water at Derek’s loft. Her hands had dried blood on them from holding onto Cora after prying her away from Boyd’s body. The shirt she was wearing was stained with blood, Boyd’s. She knew she had mascara running down her face, and that her hair was probably a mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She felt tears moving down her face again, and she couldn’t stop it.

“Hey,” she heard Stiles’ voice come quietly from across the room. He knelt down in front of the chair, she could see his knees as she stared at the ground. “We need to get you cleaned up.”

Stiles put a hand under her chin, lifting her face upwards until her eyes met his. She nodded, going to stand up, but Stiles reached up, the hand on her chin moving to wipe the tears from her eyes. His thumbs were gentle on her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes at his touch. His hands dropped from her face and she opened his eyes to find him standing in front of her, holding a hand out to her. He picked up a pile of clothes he had set on his dresser and she grabbed his hand, letting him lead her to the bathroom. He set the clothes on the counter and moved to turn on the shower, holding his hand under the water to check the temperature.

Ramie glanced over at herself in the mirror, and her previous thoughts were correct, she did looked like a mess. When she saw the blood covering her shirt, she felt herself begin to panic, her hands shaking as she immediately grabbed at the shirt, pulling it over her head before she could even think. She looked over at Stiles once she realized what she had done, who was just turning back towards her.

“I think that should be warm,” Stiles started, but stopped talking when he turned to find her standing there in just her bra.

“I’m sorry,” Ramie said quickly crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover herself. “It’s just, the blood, it-“

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, putting a hand on her bicep, rubbing his thumb up and down. “I’ll get rid of the shirt for you.”

He bent down and picked up the shirt, looking back up at her, careful not to move his eyes from her face.

“Yell if you need anything,” he nodded, moving past her and out into the hallway. “You okay?”

Ramie nodded at him, feeling the steam from the shower begin to fill the bathroom. She stayed in the shower for way too long and only decided to get out when Stiles’ voice filled the bathroom asking if she was alright. After drying off she grabbed the clothes he left for her, a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers for her to wear as shorts. She couldn’t help but breathe his scent in deeply as she pulled the shirt over her head.

When she entered his room he was sitting on his desk chair, scrolling through his phone. He had changed into a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, and his hair was flat across his forehead like he had been running his hands through it and flattened it out.

“I can’t find the air mattress, but I can go sleep on the couch,” he said when he noticed her entering the room. Ramie shook her head, padding over the carpet to his bed. She pulled back the covers and sat down, pulling the blankets over her crossed legs. Stiles walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, the outside of his thigh against her knee.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, making eye contact. Ramie broke it, looking down at her hands in her lap, which were playing with a loose string on his comforter.

“I don’t know,” Ramie said. “I feel… nothing. Like I know deep down I’m sad. Even though I wasn’t that close with him, it still hurts. But I feel like I should be sobbing or something, breaking down like Cora was. But I just feel sort of empty.”

“I know what you mean,” Stiles said. Ramie knew he was thinking about when his Mom died. They were young, but Ramie remembered it well. She and Scott spent a lot of time with him when his Dad was at the hospital with their Mom, but Stiles was the only one there when she died. Since they were so young, Ramie couldn’t help much more than hug Stiles when he cried and hold his hand at the funeral. But Ramie knew Stiles still held a lot of pain from everything that happened with her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Ramie started, but Stiles grabbed her hands, covering both of hers with his own.

“It’s okay,” he smiled at her, rubbing his thumb over the back of one of her hands. “I’m not trying to make this about me. I just wanted you to know that what you’re feeling is normal, and okay.”

Ramie could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she gave him a small smile. He leaned over and immediately wrapped her in a hug, his hand drawing shapes on the base of her neck, and her shoulder. They sat like that, for who knows how long, as Ramie cried. She heard Stiles sniffling too, and figured he probably was crying as well. Ramie pulled away first, because she had the feeling he wouldn’t until she did. He was one to do that, always making sure others were okay before he was. Ramie always told him he needed to put himself first sometimes, but he never listened. She was sure she was the only one who really noticed when he was hiding things.

“Can we just sleep?” Ramie asked, sniffling. She realized how heavy her eyes felt.

“Of course,” Stiles said, getting up and moving to the other side of the bed. He pulled the covers back and laid down, his back to the bed. Ramie adjusted her pillow and turned to look at him. He had turned off his lamp and the only light from the room came from his alarm clock, spreading red light across his bed. One of his arms was behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. He gave her a knowing smile and despite her head telling her no, she immediately curled into his side, placing her head at the top of his shoulder, so her head was practically nuzzled into his neck. With everything that happened, all she wanted was to go to sleep next to him, his hand drawing shapes on her back and her hand feeling the rise and fall of his chest as they fell asleep.

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