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jamaisjoons · 5 years ago

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intro: her XII ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: light angst ⋆ fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: its basically just full of fluff, like nothing but fluff, reader is kinda stressed, but mostly fluff, minor possessive/jealous namjoon at the end

➵ 𝑎/𝑛: yeetHAW SURPRISE !! I managed to finish it off while on my break at work !! so here you go !!!

⏤ thank you to my love @shadowsremedy for beta reading this for me !

⇥ Previous || Masterlist || Next

Eyes strained from the hours of paperwork, you sink back into your seat before exhaling deeply, and rubbing your tired eyes, your shoulders deflate wearily. Lately, work has been even more exhausting than usual: the aquarium transferring two nurse sharks to the exhibit. However, as the head veterinarian, it meant that everything falls onto you to make sure it runs smoothly: that the sharks are healthy and well looked after, that they’ll acclimatise to their new tank properly, that they won’t undergo any major stress of any kind; just general things like that. Though, the last one was easier said than done. Moving and handling of any animals would cause them stress.

Taking another deep breath, you roll your shoulders - working out the kinks in them. Once done, you look back at the huge stack of paperwork. Thick manila files are piled one on top of each other - and all of them need to be read and signed. Different though they are, whether they be health records, or the transfer document or even just general admin work make up the stack - they all have one thing in common. Every single one of them mocks you ceaselessly; the foreboding tower reminding you of the amount of work you still have to complete.

Defeated sigh escaping your lips, you decide to get back to work. After all, lamenting your workload isn’t going to deplete it. Though, before you can start looking at the next file, your phone rings from beside you. With a side glance, you sneak a peek at the contact ID, only to perk up when your boyfriend’s name flashes across the screen. Work long forgotten, you automatically move to pick it up; your finger sliding across the screen as you answer the call.

“Joonie! Hey,” you answer enthusiastically. Already, you can feel the tension in your muscles fade - the sounds of Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook yelling while Namjoon hushes them instantly soothing you.

“Hey babe, do you know what time you’ll be done today?” Namjoon’s deep voice echoes across the receiver.

Eyebrows furrowing, you glance at the clock that hangs above the door to your office. Seeing the time, your eyes widen. It’s already half six; you were supposed to be done half an hour go. “Oh shit-” you breathe out, “I didn’t even realise the time. I’ve still got a bunch of work to do though,” you continue, almost despondently. It’s a Friday evening, which means that you have the weekend to look forward to - but, you can’t leave until you’ve completed at least the more important paperwork.

“Ah- okay. Will you be coming over or going home?” Namjoon asks.

You hear Jungkook yelling in the background, cries of ‘No! Come over,’ echoing across your speaker. Biting your lip, you stare at the pile of paperwork. Once again, it mocks you - letting you know you can’t clock out until it’s done - no matter how much you want to go home to Namjoon and the boys.

“I- I’m not sure. I may finish really late and I don’t want to disturb you or anything,” you reply, barely trying to hide the upset in your voice.

Hearing your tired, strained tone, “Come over Angel, we’ll have a quiet night in. It’s also Yoongi-hyung’s birthday tomorrow, so we’re probably going to do something,” Namjoon says. Face crumpling, you nod - a quiet night in with your boyfriend sounds just like the stress relief that you need.

“Babe?” Namjoon calls out.

Realising that he can’t see you, “Oh! Sorry- yes, that sounds great. I’ll come over when I’m done. Do we need anything for Yoongi’s birthday?” you ask, a slight frown on your face. The stress of work had clearly gotten to you - you had no idea that it was already Yoongi’s birthday. It seems like you were just celebrating Hoseok’s birthday yesterday. Not that you’d done much - he’d just wanted a quiet dinner; which of course, was easier said than done, when half the guests were toddlers.

“Hmmm no- although, Taehyung mentioned wanting to bake Yoongi-hyung a cake. But that sounds messy, and I don’t really know how to bake so,” Namjoon replies offhandedly.

Perking up immediately, “we can do that! Please, Joon? Can we bake? Pretty please?” you practically beg. Across the phone, Namjoon pauses, before you hear a soft laugh.

“Someone’s excited. But alright, we can do that. Well, you can. We both know I’m useless in the kitchen,” Namjoon answers. Suppressing a yelp of victory, you pump your fist in the air before stilling. Cheeks searing with the heat of embarrassment, you silently thank whatever guardian angel is watching you. At least your boyfriend hadn’t seen that. “Alright, I have to go. Taehyung wants a snack and he looks like he’s about to cry,” Namjoon continues.

Laughing, “well you better go then. If Tae cries, that’ll only set Chim off too,” you respond knowingly.

“Yeah, exactly. I’ll see you at home then,” Namjoon says. Then, with a sweet goodbye, he hangs up the phone.

Placing your phone back onto your desk, you turn back to the huge stack of paperwork. Invigorated by your conversation with Namjoon, and the thought of going home to your boyfriend and his sons - not to mention the prospect of baking - you suddenly feel a renewed fire in your stomach. Hastily, you grab the next file before you begin reading it. All of a sudden, you have a reason to finish up your work.

As you’d planned, after you’d completed all the important paperwork, you’d gone home to grab your baking equipment before driving straight to your boyfriend’s home. Seeing the stress on your face late last night, Namjoon had gathered you into his arms before taking you to bed - the boys already being fast asleep by the time you had arrived. You remember Namjoon helping you change, and how attentive he’d been the entire night; however, you don’t remember falling asleep. As a matter of fact, the only thing that you do remember, is that you haven’t had such good sleep in over a week. Somehow, falling asleep in Namjoon’s arms, had melted all the stress of your hectic week and you’d woken up feeling completely refreshed.

Thus, you find yourself in Namjoon’s kitchen the next day. Namjoon sits at the kitchen counter, his laptop and various pieces of paper scattered on the surface as he tries to get some work done. Tried, being the keyword. Really, he’d given up a while back and instead, his eyes are glued to your figure as you flit about his kitchen. You’re still dressed in your pyjamas and, well, so is he. In fact, no one had really felt like getting changed, and so even his sons are still running about in last night’s clothing.

Still, his eyes rake over your figure. With your hair piled into a messy bun on the top of your head: stray flyaways flying about everywhere as you concentrate on baking Yoongi’s cake, and dressed in a pair of loose flannel bottoms and his hoodie: the large grey article of clothing hanging from your frame; you’re the epitome of comfort. Flour stains the material, and he can see little gooey strings of eggs in some spots. You’re nothing but an unkempt mess - but still, you look incredibly endearing.

Soft melodious music echoes through his speakers, your body softly swaying to the beat as you hum along to the tune and involuntarily, Namjoon finds his eyes softening at the utter ease in your figure. The sweet scent of vanilla wafts through the air, causing Namjoon’s mouth to water at the sugary, enticing smell. You’re in the middle of icing the cake - Namjoon’s eyes following your graceful movements as you cover the sponge with the creamy frosting.

Helpless under your enchantment, Namjoon decides to abandon his work: it’s not like he was getting anything done in the first place. Standing up from his seat, he crosses his kitchen and within a few moments, you feel your boyfriend behind you. Namjoon’s strong arms curl around you, his hands loosely resting on your hips. At the feel of his comforting presence, you instinctively relax further, your back moulding against his chest.

His head immediately drops down to your neck, his nose nuzzling the flesh as he presses his feathery kisses to the column of your throat. Feeling his plush lips brush over your supple flesh, “Joonie, stop that,” you giggle.

“No,” Namjoon pouts, pressing another kiss to your skin - this time just under the corner of your jaw.

Playfully batting his face - Namjoon narrowly dodging - “I’m trying to concentrate!” you reprimand, thought from the light laughter in your voice, Namjoon knows you’re not really mad. So, instead, he lets out his own teasing growl before squeezing your hips.

“So was I, but you distracted me. So, now I’m going to distract you,” he replies. You roll your eyes at his logic, but don’t say anything else. Rather, you return back to frosting your cake.

Namjoon steps a little closer to you, his arms snaking around your hips so he can hold you in his arms. You feel his large palms intertwine before resting against your lower abdomen. Softly, his body sways with yours, the two of you moving to the beat of the music. Namjoon knows he’s not the best dancer, yet, with you in his arms, he can’t help, but follow the gentle swaying of your body - the movement coming easily to him. Meanwhile, from beside the two of you, Taehyung’s little form peers over the edge of the counter, his little hands braced on the marble countertop as he pokes his head over the ledge. “What are you doing now?” he asks, his eyes following your movements curiously.

“I’m crumb coating the cake - so that none of the cake crumbs gets on the outside later on,” you reply without skipping a beat.

“Do you like baking, Noona?” Taehyung’s soft voice continues as he turns to you in intrigue. Breaking from your concentration while you run the stainless steel palette knife over the edge edges, you glance at Taehyung.

“Mhm, it’s one of my favourite things,” you reply. Taehyung nods his head, but turns back to the half iced cake. One eyebrow raising, you attempt to suppress a little giggle. “Do you want to help me, Tigger?” you ask. All of a sudden, Taehyung perks up before nodding enthusiastically.

From behind you, Namjoon uncurls his arms from your frame, only to pull one of the barstools closer before picking his son up and depositing him onto the cushion. Once he’s sure his son is safely on the stool, he turns back to you - only to be stopped when Jimin tugs at his trouser leg. Motioning to his father with grabby hands, Jimin looks at his father with wide eyes and a soft pout. Immediately, Namjoon bends over, and stepping to your side, easily lifts Jimin up into his arms.

Turning his eyes, Namjoon lets out a soft chuckle at the sight of his final child. Unbothered, Jungkook sits with his back to one of the cabinets - his eyes glued to the screen of his game and a bowl of snacks situated next to him. Unlike Jimin and Taehyung, it seems Jungkook couldn’t care less about the cake. Though, he supposes, it makes sense: since it was originally Taehyung’s idea - and Jimin always wanted to do whatever Taehyung did - and vice versa.

Namjoon turns back to you - just in time to see Taehyung reach over to grab the bowl of icing. However, in his son’s enthusiastic haste - he almost knocks into the cake. Acting on reflex, honed from years of chasing his troublemaking twins, Namjoon’s hand shoots out and steadies the cake - his fingers gripping the cake board to prevent it from toppling over.

Turning to his middle child, Namjoon looks at him with soft reprimanding eyes, “be careful, Taehyung, we don’t want to ruin ____’s hard work now, do we?” he says.

“Sorry, daddy,” Taehyung says sheepishly.

Seeing the slight pout, and the way his eyes darken, “It’s alright! We got it in time, didn’t we?” you say, winking at Taehyung while petting his hair. At your words, and realising you’re not mad at him, the sadness in Taehyung’s eyes fades away. Once he’s perked up, you angle the handle of the palette knife to Taehyung.

Eagerly, but with more restraint this time, Taehyung grabs the utensil from you. You help him dip it into the bowl of icing - then, wrapping your large hand around his, you both begin layering the frosting over the rest of the cake. With the two of you frosting the sponge, Namjoon and Jimin stand next to you both - Jimin pointing out different places that need more buttercream while Namjoon simply watches. Though, every now and then his eyes dart to the buttery icing, his mouth salivating at the mere sight of it.

Eventually, once the cake has been iced, you drop the palette knife back into the bowl before pushing it to the side. Unnoticed to you, Namjoon’s eyes follow the movement, his eyes lighting up when he notices a soft mound of the buttercream still left over. Briefly, he contemplates whether he can sneak some away from you and his sons - but that will have to come later.

Meanwhile, you cross the kitchen, and grab your bag of store-bought decorations. If you had more time, you’d consider making them yourself - but sadly, that wasn’t the case this time. Upending the bag, you scatter the boxes and packets across the counter. Immediately, Taehyung and Jimin squeal - their small pudgy hands moving to grab the different packets.

“This one!” they both shout simultaneously, holding up different packages of cake decorations. With a laugh, you nod at both of them.

Stepping back slightly, Namjoon watches as Jimin and Taehyung move in closer to you, their knees perched on the barstools as their hands and chests lean onto the counter. Taehyung’s face is a picture of concentration as he hands one of his embellishments while Jimin points out where you should put them before they swap, Jimin handing you one of his decorations and Taehyung pointing out where you should put it.

There’s no real rhyme or reason to the way the boys garnish the cake and shortly, it’s covered in a plethora of random decorations. Soon, both rainbow coloured and chocolate sprinkles clutter the top, various different embellishments, from chocolate buttons to sugar flowers, litter the cake edges sporadically; and the borders are piped in different sized peaks of soft buttercream. Namjoon knows you love to bake: you’d mentioned once in passing that you used to do it as a stress reliever during university, and he also knows that cake decorating is one of your favourite things: your Instagram feed chock-full of random pastry chefs and amateur bakers. Yet, you still listen to his sons - entertaining their chaotic creativity as you adorn the cake with a plethora of confectionary and colours.

Jungkook is the only one still not involved, by some surprise, and with a quick side glance, Namjoon sees his son’s eyes still glued to the screen of his game console, his hand reaching for his snacks every now and then. Realising both you, and all three of his sons, are otherwise preoccupied, Namjoon turns back to the bowl of icing left forgotten on the side of the counter. Instantly, his eyes light up, and with sneaking glances towards you and his sons, he licks his lips before turning back to the bowl.

Slowly, Namjoon steps away from you - moving purposely so as not to arouse your suspicions. For most of it, you barely notice him, too engrossed in your cake - however, his strange actions garner Jungkook’s attention. Putting his game down, Jungkook watches as his father sneaks across the kitchen, only to quietly pull out a spoon and dip it into icing. Slowly, Jungkook waddles to his father, eyes trained on the way Namjoon licks up the sugary cream from the spoon.

“Daddy, can I have some?” Jungkook asks as he tugs his father’s leg - trying to draw Namjoon’s attention.

“Okay, but don’t tell Noona,” Namjoon quietly whispers. Easily, he picks up his son, only to place him onto one of the seats before pushing the bowl towards him. Jungkook quickly nods - but doesn’t say anything else, instead, poking his little fingers into the frosting.

So engrossed in your cake, you barely notice Jimin sneak away - leaving you and Taehyung to your devices as he joins his father and younger brother. However, after a little while longer, Taehyung disappears as well. Nonetheless, you chalk it down to getting bored and continue to finish up the last of the cake. Once it’s done, you let out a little victory cheer before looking up. However, the first thing you notice, is that Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s fingers are all in the bowl, their lips stained with the white buttercream frosting.

“What are you doing? You know that’s basically all sugar - it’s not good for you. What would Namjoon say-�� you automatically begin reprimanding. However, when you spot your boyfriend next to them, looking equally guilty - plush lips wrapped around a metal spoon - you let out a little sigh and shake your head. “You know what, he won’t say anything because I have a feeling he’s the reason you’re eating plain buttercream in the first place,” you continue, looking at him pointedly.

Immediately, the three boys nod.

“Daddy said not to tell you! It’s all his fault!” Jungkook says, pointing to his father.

“Yeah! Daddy said we could,” Taehyung chimes in. Swiftly, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down on it in order to suppress your giggle.

“I saw Daddy and Jungkook eating it, so I wanted to as well,” Jimin butts in.

“Jimin! Taehyung! Jungkook!” Namjoon gasps, looking at his sons in utter betrayal. The sight of his shocked eyes causes you to splutter, and then, immediately you’re laughing.

“Oh my god, they totally ratted you out,” you snicker. Across the counter, Namjoon pouts, his sons giggling to themselves too.

“I can’t believe this. My own sons sold me out to my own girlfriend,” Namjoon teasingly laments. With another snicker, you cross the kitchen and towards him. Standing in front of him, you wind your hands around his waist and leaning on your tiptoes, you kiss the tip of his nose.

“It’s what you deserve, letting them eat plain sugar like that,” you answer, your eyes twinkling with mischief. Naturally, Namjoon’s arms wrap around you as he draws you closer to him.

Dipping his head down, he brushes his lips against yours, causing you to gasp. Reflexively, you poke your tongue out to lick your lips and a breathy moan falling from your mouth when you taste the sweetened vanilla on your lips. “It’s not funny, my love. I’m really hurt, you know. Will you kiss it better?” Namjoon asks, a roguish smile curling onto his lips. His warm breath fans across your face, your eyes fluttering as the saccharine aroma of both Namjoon and the buttercream wafts through your nose.

Breath hitching in your throat, your hands trail up his chest to curl around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “It’s a figurative hurt, where am I supposed to kiss?” you reply cheekily, your own eyes twinkling with mischief as you look up at him through the thick of your lashes.

Once again, Namjoon hums. It’s deeper this time, however - a little more sensuous. “I think I know,” he replies. Then, without giving you any time to think about it, his lips descend onto yours.

Cake box in one hand, and Jungkook holding your other, you walk into the lobby of JinHit’s building - Namjoon ushering in his twins behind you. As soon as you get in, you notice Seokjin and Hoseok standing, speaking to each other.

“Hyung!” Taehyung calls out, tugging on his father’s hand as he tries to run towards them. Immediately, Seokjin and Hoseok turn around, greeting the five of you with a wave.

“Oh wow, did you buy a cake?” Seokjin asks, peering at the white cake box in curiosity.

Immediately, “Noona baked it! Hyungie and I helped!” Jimin says proudly, a bright smile on his face.

Hoseok quirks his eyebrows, “did you now? And where was Jungkookie in all of this?” he questions, turning to the youngest.

“Playing games,” Jungkook simply shrugs, not thinking anything of it. His deadpan answer causes Hoseok and Seokjin to laugh before they nod.

“Alright, and I assume you just watched?” Seokjin chuckles while clapping Namjoon on the back.

Before he can reply, “watched? More like distracted me and then ate the rest of the icing,” you snort - once again looking at him pointedly. Namjoon’s mouth curls, his ears burning bright red as he pouts.

“Oh yeah, that makes sense,” Hoseok replies, nodding sagely, “did he try eating sugar out of the spoon again?” he continues. Both you and Seokjin snicker, Namjoon letting out a sigh of exasperation.

“Can we just go? We’re here to celebrate Yoongi’s birthday, not make fun of me,” Namjoon pouts, a slight whiny tone to his voice. Seeing the sheepishness in his eyes, you adjust the cake box in your hold before shuffling closer and kissing his jaw in comfort. Head angling down to you, Namjoon smiles softly in thanks before returning your kiss - his lips brushing against your temple.

“Gross,” Hoseok gripes playfully, causing both you and Namjoon to stick your tongues out at him.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go, Yoongi’s probably wondering where we are,” Seokjin says - playing peacemaker in Yoongi’s stead. Then, he gestures the lot of you to follow him.

Contrary to Seokjin’s words, however, Yoongi was in no way waiting for you. Walking into the meeting room upstairs, you come to an empty room - Seokjin letting out a sigh of frustration. “God damn it! I told him to meet us here. Did he forget?” Seokjin grouses, his eyebrows furrowing in exasperation.

“Knowing hyung, he’s still in his studio,” Hoseok points out. His words, however, only causes Seokjin to let out a sigh of frustration.

“Let’s just go to his studio,” he replies before ushering you out of the room. Once again, he navigates the lot of you through the various corridors of the building - before you come upon a large wooden door. A gold plaque hangs on it, the words ‘Genius Lab’ embossed in black on the metal plate.

Aggressively, Seokjin begins knocking - practically banging his fist against the door. “Yah! Min Yoongi! Did I not tell you to be in the meeting room?” he yells. Instantly, the door swings wide open, Yoongi standing in the doorway.

Quirking an eyebrow, “I was waiting - but you’re like ten minutes late - so I decided to do some work,” Yoongi replies, his face passive as usual.

“Sorry, there was a bit of traffic,” you apologise with a small bow. Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, however, before he can say anything, Namjoon’s sons are running up to him.

Jimin and Taehyung wrap their arms around each one of his legs, Jungkook standing between them and winding his own arms around Yoongi’s waist. “Yoonie hyung! Happy birthday!” they sweetly chorus at the same time. Immediately, Yoongi’s face softens, and instinctively, he pets their heads, a shy smile on his face while he nods at them.

A bright grin plastered onto his face, “Noona, Hyungie and I baked you a cake!” Jimin says proudly, causing you to shyly hold up the cake box. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle slightly before he’s stepping to the side. Taking his cue, you all quickly enter his studio.

Swiftly, you unbox the cake, and while Hoseok holds it up - you sing happy birthday. The entire time, Yoongi’s cheeks are bunched up under his eyes, his bright gummy smile on display while he bounces in place. After you’re done, and Yoongi’s cut his cake, everyone sporadically finds seats around Yoongi’s studio. Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung sit on the floor, the younger twin in the older man’s lap as Jimin happily eats his cake beside them. Seokjin sits on the sofa, Jungkook in his father’s lap - leaving you to sit on the sofa arm besides Namjoon.

“So, are you working on anything interesting?” you ask, idly chewing on your cake while addressing Yoongi.

Nodding, “I’m actually working on a new song - do you want to hear?” Yoongi asks. Eyelids blowing wide open, you freeze in place before your jaw drops open.

“A-Are you sure?” you stutter out. Was he really offering you an exclusive sneak peek of his future track? God, sometimes you really forget that your, now, closest friends are huge musical celebrities. Sure, your own boyfriend is a famous rapper, as is Hoseok, but other than that discussion about their upcoming tour, you’ve never really gotten involved with their jobs. Namjoon rarely tended to bring it up at home, wanting to focus more on his sons and your relationship. Besides, Yoongi had always been your favourite rapper - and just the thought of getting to listen to a demo of his song has your heart racing.

“Earth to ____?” Seokjin says, waving his hand in front of your face with a playful laugh. Quickly, you bat his hand away before glaring at him with a pout, your cheeks heating from embarrassment.

“Look at her! She’s blushing like a little girl, oh my god,” Hoseok begins taunting, then he pauses. “Wait- didn’t you mention Yoongi is your favourite rapper when we first met?” he asks, a knowing smirk curling onto his face.

Features twisting into a scowl, you sneer at him, “well it’s definitely not you. You’re too mean to me,” you snidely reply, before sticking your tongue out.

Wincing jokingly, “ouch, you really wound me, ____” Hoseok dramatically sighs, clutching his heart and shaking his head.

“It’s because I’m the nicest to her,” Yoongi chimes in, nodding sagely.

“Hey! I’m nice to her,” Hoseok yells in indignation.

However, ignoring Hoseok, “Wait- Yoongi, are you sure I can listen?” you ask, remembering Yoongi’s first question.

He turns back to you before nodding and rolling his chair a little to the side. “Yeah, come on,” Yoongi beckons. Eyes lighting up with joy, you shoot off the sofa and over to him in an instant.

The moment you move, Namjoon blinks at the unexpected movement. The entire time Hoseok had teased you, he’d felt a little upset. Of course, he’d always known Yoongi is your favourite rapper - and he’d never begrudge you for it. Nonetheless, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little upset that he’s not your favourite. Gaze trained on you, Namjoon watches as Yoongi pressed one of the headphone speakers to his ear, offering the other to you, before opening up the track and clicking play.

As soon as the beat begins, your eyebrows knit together, your lips a firm line. He knows the expression well: very rarely do you bring home paperwork - both of you prefer to keep work out of your relationship - but the few times you have, he’s watched that exact same expression of concentration, your pen flitting over the papers. Every now and then, your eyes twinkle, a short gasp falling from your lips as you nod to the beat. Unable to help himself, Namjoon cannot stop the swell of jealousy, sadness and a slight twinge of possessiveness that wells up inside him.

When you shuffle a little closer to Yoongi, your ears pressed together as you share the headphones, Namjoon knows he can’t watch anymore. Quietly, he passes Jungkook over to Seokjin before shuffling out of the room. Hoseok and Seokjin look at each other, exchanging a brief knowing glance between themselves. As soon as you spot Namjoon’s movement from the corner of your eye, before you watch him softly slam the door shut, you draw away from Yoongi.

Turning to the other two, “Is he okay?” you ask, your eyebrows knotting together in concern.

“I think he’s a little jealous,” Seokjin replies softly. For a moment, you almost dismiss him, until you see the seriousness in his eyes.

“What? Why?” you ask, confusion lacing your voice.

“Just watching you and Yoongi, maybe? Like we all know there’s nothing going on, but like, yeah,” Hoseok tries explaining, rubbing the back of his head. “He’s probably a little mad too,” he continues. Seeing your face fall, Hoseok quickly shakes his head, “Not at you! At himself for feeling the way he is- he’s probably just trying to control himself and needed a breather,” he finishes. Placated by Hoseok’s words, you nod, knowing he’d never lie to you. However, his words don’t stop your heart clenching in your chest, your stomach dropping. You’d never wanted to make him feel upset - or jealous.

“I think I’ll go speak to him,” Yoongi cuts in, already getting up from his seat. Quickly, you shake your head, already shooting up to your feet.

“No!” you abruptly interject. Shuffling over to the cake, you cut a large piece of it before placing it on a paper plate. “It’s okay. I think it’d be better if I go. Watch my boys for me yeah?” you say once you're done, before shooting out of the room, not even waiting for a response.

The moment the door slams shut, the three of them turn to each other. “Do you think she noticed she used ‘my’ or…?” Seokjin asks.

With a wistful smile, “No, I don’t think she did,” Yoongi replies, shaking his head fondly.

“Well, looks like your Noona may become your mommy soon,” Hoseok chimes in as he directs his attention to the boys.

Ecstatically, Taehyung turns in Hoseok’s lap, looking at the older man in wide-eyed wonder. Standing up in his lap - Hoseok wincing when the entirety of his weight pushes down on his legs - Taehyung presses his pudgy hands against Hoseok’s cheeks before squishing them together, “Really?” the toddler asks, his voice full of excitement and hope.

Laughing, Hoseok nods his head in Taehyung’s hold, “really,” he replies. Seokjin and Yoongi nodding along to his sentiment.

a/n: this was actually supposed to have smut in it but like it got so long without it that i’ve just decided that the next chapter will be solely smut 🤡 so owo look forward to that !! whenever it comes out !!

Kofi | Masterlist

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avengerscompound · 4 years ago

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The Tower: Family - 9

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2443

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of past child abuse

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 9: Ghost of Family Past

It wasn’t long before I felt settled in the new place. I loved the house out at the compound and I was glad we had it, but it had been so large that it still felt a lot like a hotel to me. This new layout at the tower and the familiarity of being in the place where I’d spent so much time, I felt at home. Not to mention it was nice being in the city again. We could order in food, something that had been impossible out at the compound. It was great having the big meals where we arranged them all by type and then just took what we wanted again. People had gone back to stealing things from each other’s plates. All these little habits that had been a huge part of our collective lives were coming back and I loved it even after a few days.

Things quickly found their rhythm too. Natasha and Wanda’s morning sickness was hitting hard in the morning so they were generally staying home. Wanda was in full nesting mode. She was spending a lot of time with the kids and looking at baby clothes online. Natasha was working in the office, going over mission briefings, and compiling intel. She also was adamant that we did not take the kids out without her, so she would finish work in the afternoons and take them and anyone else that wanted to go to the park and the library for storytime. Her new cloaking powers meant that they were going to be able to live a fairly normal childhood in the end. Or at least, paparazzi free.

I was mostly spending my time between the lab and home and planned to keep it that way as long as I could. So far I wasn’t getting any morning sickness. I was still really only barely pregnant, so all those signs hadn’t kicked in yet, though I was expecting them to start soon. Mostly I was just relaxed and enjoying life returning to normal.

Bucky had booked Tyr and Spotty in to be groomed and the two of us went to take them to the groomers during our lunch break one day not long after getting back. It was the first time I had gone out without Natasha since the wedding and so my first experience with the paparazzi after they got word that I had married Tony Stark.

They had been grouped around the front door and security had to push them back as we made our way out with the dogs. Mostly they were calling out my name and asking about the wedding. Some seemed to be trying to make Bucky angry for some inconceivable reason. Yelling out to him about being a second choice. Luckily he was good at keeping his reactions neutral. He just put his arm around me and pulled me a little closer.

“Should have gone out the back,” I said.

He shrugged. “They’re around there too. Just ignore them. You’re all glowy so the pics are gonna be nice.”

I giggled. “‘Cause that’s what I care about.”

“Just keep walking, don't engage. Security will keep them out of arm's length and if they get past them, they won’t have any arms when I’m done with them,” Bucky said.

“Bucky!” I scolded.

He chucked and rubbed my shoulder. “I was kidding.”

“How long will we have to worry about them?” I asked, looking back over my shoulder at the crowd following after us.

“They’re just greedy ‘cause they don’t get how the wedding thing worked. They’ll get over it soon. It’s not like they’re gonna catch us going out that way very often,” Bucky explained. “If it makes you feel any better, the dogs think they’re fucking annoying too.”

I laughed. “Oh no, babies,” I cooed and reached down and scratched Spotty’s back.

“You better pat Tyr too,” Bucky said. “He’s jealous.”

I bit back more laughter and pet the Cavalier awkwardly as we kept moving.

“Elly!”

The use of my less formal name by someone in the crowd drew my attention and I turned to see who had called out. The voice was familiar too, and yet it wasn’t until I saw who was calling out to me that I recognized who it was.

“Elly, please.” My younger sister was being held back by two security guards, looking at me imploringly. I hadn’t heard from any of my family in years. I had kept in touch with my sisters for a little while after I ran away from home, but when they started dating what my father would have considered the right people and I remained the black sheep. The last time I spoke to any of them was around the time I had been kidnapped by Madame Masque and only then was I calling my father once a month so he wouldn’t send out the police to find me.

“It’s alright,” I said the security. Bucky looked at me confused. “It’s my sister,” I explained quietly as they let her through.

He nodded. “Keep walking,” he said, his voice low and serious.

I started walking again letting Amanda catch up to me. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. Or why she was here. It wasn’t like people hadn’t known where I was for the past six years. I’d been in the media on and off since my first date with Tony.

“Tell us what you want,” Bucky said as she pulled up next to us. There was a growl in his voice. He was angry and protective and worried Amanda was here to hurt me.

“It’s okay, Buck,” I said rubbing his hip. “Let her say what she wants to say.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” Amanda said.

“I didn’t exactly keep in touch either, Mandy,” I said.

She shrugged a little. “I know but I was the one that stopped first.”

I could feel Bucky tensing more and more as we walked. I slipped my hand into his back pocket and looked up at him. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. He scowled at me and nodded but he didn’t relax at all.

“So… what?” I asked. “You suddenly got into the mood to make amends and you thought rather than calling or reaching out to me online you’d stalk my home?”

“It’s not like that,” Amanda said. “You cut us all off when you started -” she waved her hand in the direction of me and Bucky. “-all of this. We haven’t been able to get through to you.”

“We?” I asked, not sure who exactly she meant by ‘we’. Then the rest of what she’d said sunk in. “Wait… what?”

“Mom and dad. They’ve been trying to get through to you, but they can’t get past your security,” I stopped walking and it took a few steps for either Buck or Amanda to realize I wasn’t with them anymore.

“El?” Bucky said, turning back to me.

“Why wouldn’t I have been told that my parents were trying to get in contact with me?” I asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know, doll,” he replied. “Would you want them to?”

“I - I -” I shook my head, trying to clear it. My brain was a jumble of thoughts that involved my abusive parents trying to get back into my life and my overprotective spouses not telling me shit that directly involved me again. “How long? When did they first try?”

“We need to keep moving, El,” Bucky said.

“When?!” I shouted. The paparazzi had all started taking pictures in a frenzy like this was the best scoop they’d ever gotten. Bucky moved to me quickly, putting his arm around my waist.

“Come on, darlin’. Not here,” he said quietly.

I nodded and we started walking again. “When was it?” I asked again.

“When they read about the wedding,” she said.

“Oh, that’d be right,” I snarked, rolling my eyes. “And you haven’t thought about me at all? You have a niece and nephew and it didn’t cross your mind.”

“Well, so do you,” Amanda retorted. “You’re hardly in a position to judge me for that.”

“You have kids?” I asked, frowning as I looked her over. She looked a lot like me. Her hair was cut short, in one of those ‘I want to speak to the manager’ styles, and she was dressed in a grey skirt suit. But aside from the styling differences between us, there was no mistaking this woman was my sister.

“Yes, three,” she said. “And so does Olivia, and so does Ian.”

“Right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

We’d arrived at the dog groomers and Bucky turned to Amanda. “Wait here,” he growled.

Amanda drew herself up, obviously not used to being ordered around by random strangers. “Now listen here…”

“No, you listen to me,” Bucky hissed. “You ambush us while we’re out walking the dogs and you think you get to run the show? I don’t fuckin’ think so. You’re gonna wait here while we drop our dogs off and then we’ll talk.”

Amanda took a few steps back like she was facing a wild animal. Bucky put his hand in the middle of my back and guided me inside. “You okay?” He asked.

“I … I don’t really know,” I admitted. I didn’t know how I felt. It was a mess.

“Tell her to fuck off then,” Bucky said, picking Tyr up and putting him in my arms.

“She wasn’t the one that hit me, Buck,” I said. “She was a kid in that house too.”

“Right,” Bucky huffed. He picked up Spotty and we carried them to the counter. We checked them in and were given some paperwork and a time to pick them back up and Bucky took me aside. “Alright, this is what we’re gonna do. We’ll take her to that bar on the corner. Get something to eat and get to the bottom of why exactly she’s here. Then we’ll get the dogs and go home and you can think about it, alright?”

I nodded. I couldn’t fault the logic. He went to move and I grabbed his arm. “Why didn’t anyone tell me they were trying to get in touch?”

“I don’t know, El,” he said. “I promise if I did I’d tell you. I’m guessing either Steve or Tony said not to let their calls come through, or they just haven’t got that far into the messages while we were away.”

“Right,” I said.

“You can ask them tonight,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. I’m here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

I nodded and we went out to find Amanda. She was waiting with our security detail and Bucky approached her. She took a few steps back, and I saw that same kind of terror in her eyes I always felt when I knew I was in trouble. It made me feel sick and I hurried up to Bucky and took his elbow. “Mandy,” I said quickly. “Can we have lunch? Talk this over?”

Her eyes flicked from Bucky to me and she nodded. “Yes. Yes, please.”

We walked down to the bar in silence, me clinging to Bucky’s hand. We were given a booth in the back and some of the security took a booth near us, while others waited outside. After a quick peruse of the menu, Bucky went to place an order for us. I wanted nothing more than to order a whole tray of shots and just drink myself into a coma, but thankfully rationality won out.

“Ended up with someone just like dad after all, didn’t you?” Amanda snapped when Bucky went to the bar.

“Bucky is nothing like our father,” I hissed, balling my fists under the table.

“Right, looks it,” she snarked.

I clenched my jaw as I tried not to completely lose my temper. I wanted to just yell at her that she didn’t know him and she didn’t know me. That I hadn’t ever felt safer with anyone than I had with the people I was with. But there was no point. She had her idea of what he was like and while he was in angry protective mode, that wouldn’t change.

“Why are you here? Really?” I asked. “And why now?”

Bucky returned to the table with a number, a glass of white wine for Amanda, a beer for him, and a pineapple juice for me. He sat close to me, putting his arm around my shoulders and resting his hand on my hip.

Amanda’s eyes flicked to Bucky and back to me and she let out a breath. “Mom and dad asked me to come. You’d blocked them on most things, and they tried calling the Avengers people, but they weren’t getting through. They want to see you.”

“Over my dead body,” Bucky growled.

“Buck, honey. I really need you to not do that,” I said. He huffed and took a drink of his beer.

Amanda took a sip of her wine and fiddled with the glass. “They did think about it when you were pregnant.”

“But they waited until I got a rich husband, huh?” I snarked.

“They’ve changed, Elly,” Amanda said. “Dad’s mellowed out.”

I shook my head. “Uh-huh. And the fact they’ve chosen now that I’ve married one of the most famous billionaires to get in contact is a coincidence.”

Amanda sagged a little and blinked her eyes. “Elly, I know it was harder for you than the rest of us. I know that when you ran away they just wrote you off. When it came out you were in this big -” she waved her hands again.

“Polyamorous. The word you’re looking for is polyamorous,” I hissed.

“Right, that,” Amanda said. “He completely lost it. Said it was going to look bad on them. That if people found out he’d lose his position.”

“You’re not spinning it in his favor there, Mandy,” I deadpanned.

She sighed. “I know, but… he’s your dad. And they’re your kid’s grandparents. They’re really good grandparents.”

Bucky stiffened up. “If you think for one second, I’m letting my kids near that monster…”

Amanda leaned over the table and put her hand on mine. “Please, Elly. Consider it. For me.”

There was a fear in her eyes and I looked down. There was a thread that joined me to her. It was very faint and hard to see with all the other much brighter ones. I looked at it and I knew… we were family and I was going to have to meet with my parents.

// NEXT

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kickingitwithkirk · 4 years ago

Text

Deuxième Omega

Summary: Jensen is not dealing well with his unexpected divorce and before the ink is even dry, he is pushed into another union with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Omega!OFC

Word Count: 3363

Warnings: A/B/O, angst, angry Jensen, cursing, alcohol abuse, parental manipulation, arranged marriage, Alpha dominance over Omega, unintended injuries.

A/N: So, get this; a lot of my original writing ideas from my weird as hell dreams about Sam Winchester but for some reason Jensen is starring in this one. I’m gonna blame the bad PMS I’m having for all the angst in this.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles family. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse.

*Supernatural doesn’t end in season 15 and some dates/events have been altered to fit the story.

*no beta, all mistakes are mine *photos found online

Jensen was sitting slouched on the leather couch staring at the paperwork that had been dropped off by courier this morning, official notification of the dissolution of his marriage to Danneel when Jared entered his trailer. “It’s not gonna say anything different no matter how many times you look at it.”

“I know,” Jensen sighed heavily, “never thought I’d be in this position.” He tossed the papers on the table and picked up his beer draining it in one go.

“You better not drink anymore, we’ve still got two more scenes to get through before we can leave tonight.”

Jensen rolled his head towards Jared leaning across the kitchenettes bar counter with a very concerned expression.

Jensen had always been a social drinker, he did love his beer, the slight softness over his toned stomach was the biggest indicator. But there had been constant uptick in his drinking during the mandatory two year waiting period for an Alpha/Beta divorce. So far, it hadn’t seriously interfered with work but there had been several instances of his obvious imbidding that Jared, Alex, even Misha ended up pumping him full of coffee to get him through.

“Then let’s get them done so I can get really fucked up before that shit show happens tomorrow.”

“Jack, give this new marriage a chance. Your dad said she’s a good match right? You never know, maybe it’ll work out like Gen and me.” Jared’s marriage had been a private match and he was happy with the Omega that his family had chosen.

Jensen snorted, getting up and walking out of his trailer, “Yeah, you lucked out with her, not always the case. Look at me, I’m getting a second hand Omega.”

*** To say the atmosphere in the private arrivals area was strained was an understatement. The Ackles were seating several feet apart awaiting their son.

“Mommy…daddy, how’s it..go..going?” They both turned in unison to see their very drunk middle child staggering towards them followed closely by Jared and Clif.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, how could you show up in this condition!” Donna Ackles snapped as he gave her a cheeky smile before passing out. “Fuck!” Jared blurted out, catching him before he face planted onto the tiled floor.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki you’re to blame for this!”

“I’m the one who’s been there for him, not the one forcing him to do something he’s not ready for! This is on you, I’ve tried to get him to stop but he’s hurting like hell and you don’t care!”

“You can’t speak to me that way young man! I always knew you came from trash and this proves it.”

Jared let his inner Alpha surface, eyes glowing red in anger, “If you ever speak disparagingly about my family again…” Clif quickly stepped in between them giving Jared a look.

“I’ve had it with you inserting yourself in our family business! I’ll make sure you never have contact with Jensen outside of work ever again!”

“You go ahead and try, Jensen’s forty two years old and more than capable of making his own choices. The only reason he’s agreed to this is because you’ve duped him into believing this is the only way to uphold your family’s social standing in the Dallas Pack because all you care about is how you look to those fucking country club bitches!”

“Alan, could you please bring the car around so we can get away from this embarrassing situation.” The older Alpha gripped his mates arm giving her a firm look of disapproval and steered her towards the exit. They could still hear her grousing, “how dare he deliver Jensen in this state,” as they went out the door.

Jared hefted his friend over his broad shoulder and carried Jensen back out the private entrance as the SUV pulled up. Clif opened the back door and helped Jared place him in the vehicle, carefully laying him across the seat.

“How bad has it been for him?” Alan inquired after Clif shut the door so his mate couldn’t hear.

Jared pulled off his beanie, running both hands through his hair, not hiding his frustration before answering, “He’s been in a downward spiral, drinking continuously, got him to stick to beer. I found him looking at the divorce papers and as you see… ”

Alan sighed heavily. Jensen’s divorce came out of nowhere, everything on the surface appeared good between him and Danneel but in hindsight he realized there were telltale signs all along, the biggest was her reluctance to have children.

Anytime anyone inquired she waved it off, saying she wanted to wait till Supernatural had ended, it wouldn’t be fair to leave all the responsibility for rearing their pups predominantly on her, she wanted Jensen there, to be a hands-on father.

Alphas were involved to an extent in care and raising of pups, but it was unusual for one to be as hands on as the Betas or Omegas were.

Jensen was one of those exceptions. Whenever with his siblings, he was right in there helping, never turning down a chance to play with them, even princess tea parties with his only niece. When on vacation or at conventions with Jared and his mate, he always was willing to help with their pups.

“I want to formally apologize for what Donna said, she overstepped the lines of etiquette. This is no excuse but she doesn’t know how to handle this situation. Jensen’s always been her favorite and she personally picked Danneel as his mate, it’s been a slap to her ego.”

Jared smiled, “I accept your apology Alan. Jensen’s always said his mother has been a…handful.”

Alan laughed, “That’s the diplomatic way of putting it,” he signed again, “Donna’s family always spoiled her being the only Omega, somewhere along the way she’s forgetting that being part of Dallas society doesn’t give you the right to treat others badly.”

*** Late next morning

Jensen was sitting on the edge of his hotel bed contemplating how he got here.

He thought Danneel was the one. When they were introduced by his mother a few months before his twenty seventh birthday they instantly clicked and started dating that night.

Jensen proposed six months later, couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found a love match. Danneel stated she wasn’t ready to give up her career yet, so they compromised and decided on a long engagement.

Supernatural started filming its fourth season when Kripke announced that the series would end with season five. Danneel also found out her current role was being written out of the series she was in about the same time so they set the date for May 2010.

Jared’s surprise wedding in February that year reaffirmed Jensen’s desire to settle down and start his family in a few months. They bought a home outside Austin like Jared and his new mate Genevieve. Things were going as planned, then the unexpected happened.

A couple months before they finished filming the CW announced Supernatural was being picked up for season six under new leadership.

Jensen returned to Vancouver not long after they were married. Danneel continued working, doing guest starring roles on other series and was cast in the occasional recurring role of Jo.

Every year when the show went on hiatus Jensen would bring up about starting their own family, he was feeling the biological pull more and more. Once again, she stated it wouldn’t be fair for them to have a family and him be a drop-in father, and moving to Vancouver full time, nope, he worked too many hours.

Danneel started dabbling in other interests outside of acting and in 2018 they opened The Family Business Brewery with her family. A few months later Jensen was served with the divorce announcement.

*** “Jensen, it’s time.” He looked up and Alan was saddened by the lost look in his son’s eyes. There was a resignation in those green eyes that never existed before. Saying nothing Jensen got up, slipped on his suit jacket and walked out of the room.

Alan mentally shook himself but that nagging feeling was back once again, something wasn’t right about this whole situation.

*** The Uber stopped at the back door of the small country church. The woman in the backseat thanked the driver and got out, pulling the garment bag with her. She walked to the door and rang the bell. It opened revealing the minister’s wife.

“You’re very late, the wedding is starting in fifteen minutes.” She said, hurrying up a staircase to the second floor and entered an empty room. “Where is your family? They should have arrived already to help you get ready.”

“There is no one coming,” the woman replied as she hung the garment bag over a closet door next to the mirror attached to it. The minister’s wife’s jaw dropped in surprise, “and it won’t take me long to get ready. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

She unzipped the bag removing a veil and shoes having arrived already in her dress, chosen by the groom’s mother, and attached the veil to the headpiece holding back part of her simply styled hair. She looked at herself for a moment before pulling the front part of the veil over her face then joined the minister’s wife who was to escort her to the chapel. She placed the shoes she wouldn’t wear until after the ceremony on the small table outside the double doors and took her place in front of them.

Jensen was sitting in the first pew of the small country church wondering why this place was chosen for the wedding as Donna and Alan made their way to sit next to him. His siblings, Joshua and Mackenzie, were already seated in the one behind him with their mates as the rest of the Ackles clan that had been invited filled up the rest of the pews.

He looked over at the bride’s side. There was not a single person seated in any of those pews. He frowned, finding it strange, wondering where her family was when the intro music started.

The minister took his place and gestured for him to rise. Jensen couldn’t move, his body feeling like it was tied down with lead weights. “Jensen!” His mother hissed at him in a low tone.

Suddenly, he felt himself get up, urgently needing to get away from her as his inner Alpha became agitated, as if it sensed something was amiss.

Each secondary gender pairing had their own ceremonial traditions so he was required to remain facing forward when the music changed and the doors behind him opened.

As the guests stood Jensen focused his senses on her as she proceeded down the aisle. He couldn’t scent her, too many different scents mingling together to isolate hers. He listened to the whispering material of the dress as she slowly walked, finally stopping next to him. In his peripheral vision he could see her head bowed under the thick veil obscuring her face and hair, her hands were clasped together in front of her, devoid of a bouquet.

The minister started speaking, talking about the obligations each Alpha and Omega were required to follow as dictated by the book. Jensen inhaled sharply, realizing what was occurring.

This wasn’t the common ceremony but the ancient, traditional version that only the extreme believers still used today. There was absolutely no out for either party from once the proceedings started.

If he objected to the ceremony he would be shunned by his pack, his family would be forced to never acknowledge him again or suffer the same censure; if the marriage didn’t work and they separated, he was responsible for her care as she would be set aside from society and forced to live in isolation.

He looked over at his parents, Alan was pinching the bridge of his nose trying to quell his anger knowing that his mate had put Jensen in an impossible situation as Donna sat there with a fake, placid look.

His own mother had irrevocably bound him to this Omega for the rest of his life.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, neither party was required to say anything, there was no exchange of rings or a kiss at the end. The minister finished the ceremony and turned to the altar signing the marriage certificate with a quill pen dipped in ink. Jensen signed next, his hand was shaking so violently in anger making his signature barely legible.

The Omega didn’t sign, only her name was required for legality and the minister filled it in. He poured a powder on it to set the ink, blew off the access, rolled it up and tied it with a piece of twine before handing it to Jensen offering his blessings for a fruitful marriage. It took every ounce of his acting ability to politely smile, shake his hand, thanking the minister for the proceedings.

He turned, marching out without acknowledging his bride and she obediently followed behind him, pausing to grab her shoes along the way and scurrying to the waiting limousine climbing in after him.

Jensen sat in the back on the farthest side pouring himself a drink from the bar as his new wife sat quietly near the still open door. A few minutes later Jensen was on his third glass of whiskey when his parents climbed in and the chauffeur shut the door. He started the limo and as they pulled out Alan pressed the button to close the privacy window between them.

The tension in the back was so palatable an icebreaker couldn’t have cut through it. “Donna how could you…” Alan was unable to say anymore, his disgust for what had happened thick in those few words. “I did nothing wrong,” she snapped back, “I only had Jensen’s best interests…”

“Like when you threatened to sabotage my friendship with Jared again? By the way, Clif’s the one who dropped the dime on what happened after I passed out last night, not Jared, so you don’t get to blame him for that too.” Jensen threw back the rest of his drink before continuing.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve ever been ignorant of your disdain for him ‘cause the clan he comes from isn’t good enough for those highfalutin bitches in your social circle. Or how you’ve persuaded me to do this only to find out you took it to the extreme, forcing me into an impossible situation, accept this marriage or lose everything. Congratulations mom, you are still the queen bitch, sorry, bee, your precious reputation is secure.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. The limousine pulled onto the grounds of the country club in front of its grand entrance. Jensen got out before the chauffeur finished putting the car in park leaving his new wife to scramble out behind him as Alan and Donna got out the other side.

Jensen finally took a good look at his bride. She was in a simple, modestly cut, long sleeved dress, the only adornments a row of buttons down the bodice, no jewelry and apparently a pair of shoes that didn’t fit as she was struggling to get them on.

She was still fussing with her left shoe when he spoke in a stern voice, “Since our wedding was in the traditional, we’ll continue with its edicts. You are not to remove that veil, acknowledge or speak to anyone. You will not leave my side for any reason. Where I go, you go, three steps behind me. Nod once if you understand.” She nodded once.

“Son, I think…”

“Dad, as the traditional also states, I’m well within my rights to make demands of my Omega without interference, am I not?”

Alan acquiesced, “Yes, you are.”

“So” Jensen rubbed his hands together, “let’s go celebrate this disaster, shall we.” Putting on a fake smile, he went into the venue to greet his family with his Omega obediently three steps behind him.

*** Several hours later

“This shit has got to stop cause I swear it’s the only time I’m doing this dad.” Josh grunts, annoyance thickening his voice as he helped guide his inebriated brother to his hotel room. “Come on.. have ‘nother drunk, ‘posed to be celebrating my disaster marriage to that…’mega..don’t even want her.”

“Jensen, shut the fuck up! I’m not gonna stand here and let you insult your mate.” Josh snapped at him.

Jensen ripped his arm loose, “ ‘en go, not stopping you…and she’s not my mate,” his free arm waves unsteadily as he points towards his new wife standing by the main door, “my real mate took my money, my home, my fucking heart!!!”

Josh turned his back on his brother, “Jensen, I can’t stand seeing you like this, you need to get it together.” He headed for the main door, pausing to speak to his brother’s new wife, “I’m sorry he’s taken his anger out on you now. My brother is a good man, an honorable Alpha,” he stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “there is far more to this than what you’ve been told, please be patient with him.” He left slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck him,” Jensen muttered staggering into the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed slumped over.

“Jensen, your brother is right, you have got to pull yourself together. Therefore, as the Alpha of our clan, you are banned from our family. When you are back to being yourself, the Alpha you once were, you may appeal for re-admittance.”

Alan then did something he hadn’t done since Jensen was a small child, he bent over and placed a kiss on his son’s head, “I love you and I want my son back.” Nodding to his new daughter in law he left.

It hurt him tremendously knowing he wouldn’t see his son for a long time but it was for his own good. Now his Omega was the only one who could help him mend. Hopefully Jensen would see this marriage wasn’t the biggest mistake he’s imagined it to be.

Jensen didn’t move until he heard someone shuffling their feet. He looked up squinting at his new wife still standing by the bedroom door. Sitting up straight he grunted at her and passed out, falling backwards on the mattress. She slowly walked over and hesitated a moment before reaching out touching his shoulder, shaking him.

Getting no response she sat down near him lifting her right foot, gingerly removing the ill fitting shoe with a gasp and then repeated with her left. The blisters on both her heels that had busted open earlier were raw and had bleed. She detached her veil and wadded it up, stuffing it in a shoe and bent over untying Jensen’s and removed them too.

Standing up she gripped both his jacket lapels and hefted him upright to lean against her as she worked it off letting him flop back down and unbuttons his shirt leaving him sleep the case of everything he drank off. She left a pain reliever and bottled water on the nightstand.

Quietly shutting the bath door she found the dress had too many small buttons down the back. She laughed mirthlessly at the irony she was stuck in the dress like this marriage. Pulling the skirt up over her knees she sat on the counter to soak and clean her sore feet in the basin.

Once the worst of the ache was gone she pulled the drain and climbed off to finish washing up the best she could. The mirror reflects back the emotional toll of the last few months in her eyes.

She went over to the bed only to find her husband had moved, sprawled out over its entire surface. Searching for extra bedding and not finding any she gave up going back into the main room and curled up on the couch hoping to find a comfortable position to get some sleep for a few hours so she could briefly forget what her life had become.

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

#alpha!jensen ackles x omega!ofc #alpha!jensen ackles #alpha!jared padalecki #a/b/o ofc #supernatural a/b/o #alpha!jensen ackles x omega #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #a/b/o rp

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years ago

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Breakable Heaven (pt. II) - p.l. dubois

Part I

Part two is here! Things start to heat up in this chapter, exciting stuff’s happening! I hope you guys like reading it as much as I’m loving writing - please slide into my inbox, let me know what you think! Reblogs are amazing too, it’s how we know people are liking what we’re putting out and helps to reach more people! (Plus it’s one of the joys of my life to read the tags. Seriously, so much fun.)

Part II (7.2k)

June 18 (fri)

“If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to sell it,” Laurel said, running a hand through her hair. “The fewer people who know the truth, the better.”

Pierre nodded. “Agreed.” He sat back in his chair. “What do you think your parents will say?”

Laurel laughed. “Uh, they think I’m seeing someone, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “it was easier to just say I had a boyfriend than deal with their endless pestering, you know?”

“So they’d buy it if you just told them you were getting married?”

She shrugged. “I think so. You know we’re not particularly close, they haven’t met any of my boyfriends since I was in high school. So if I told them I was engaged, I don’t think they’d bat an eye, if I’m honest.” Pierre could sense there was more to the story, more that she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t want to press. “What about yours?” she asked.

“Well, we’ve got a couple options,” Pierre said, cracking a smile and leaning back into the cushions. “It was a drunken mistake.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Then they’d just tell us to get a divorce.”

“We fell in love after the first date.”

“Even less believable,” Laurel said, the corner of her lip twitching.

“Or…,” Pierre said, kicking his feet up on the ottoman, a wicked grin on his face, “I got you pregnant and want to do the right thing.”

Laurel snorted. “Little issue there.”

“What?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

Pierre ducked his head, blushing. “Right. There’s that.”

She nodded. “There’s that.” She tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “I’ve got it.” Pierre looked up. “We’ve been friends for a long time, couple years or something. Madeline went to York, so we met when you and Patrice came to visit. We realized we had feelings for each other a few months ago, everything moved super quickly since we already knew each other and had that foundation.”

“So we thought ‘why wait,’” Pierre finished.

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Why wait, if we already knew.”

“It’s a classic friends-to-lovers story, a tale as old as time,” he sighed wistfully.

Laurel slapped his shoulder. “This is serious,” she said, but she was smiling all the same. “Okay, so we’ve at least got that worked out. Madeline and Patrice will obviously know, but other than that…” She trailed off.

He nodded, and an understanding passed between them. “It’s a need-to-know basis.”

“It is.” Laurel shifted her laptop on the coffee table, squeezing closer to Pierre so he could see the screen. “So, we have to go down to the courthouse for a meeting with the court clerk who will perform the ceremony, bring birth certificates and ID, and —”

He glanced over at Laurel, her tongue caught between her teeth. “And?”

“You have to publish a declaration of intent to marry twenty days before the wedding. Online. In public.”

Pierre looked oblivious. “So?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “So, it has the date of the wedding and our full names and our whole entire addresses. And in case you’ve forgotten, you’re kind of a professional hockey player.”

He shrugged. “All due respect, Laurel, but,” he glanced at the website, “who actually checks these things?” He had a point there, she thought, but she wasn’t about to let him win.

“But your address, you’re not worried about that getting out there?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But my building’s got a receptionist and I’ve got locks on my doors. And plus,” Pierre added, “I’ve really never had much of a problem flying under the radar here. When I go back home, back to the suburbs, sure. And a little bit in Columbus, obviously. But there’s what, two million people in Montréal? I’m not on the Habs, so even the hockey fans here really couldn’t care less.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Also, uh, living situation. We should probably talk about that.”

“You’re moving in with me?” He said it like a question, but not as if it was something that would surprise him, or something he was opposed to. He said it like it was something he already knew the answer to. “I’ve got three rooms, plenty of space, Phil and Georgia would love to have a new sister. You and Piper would fit right in,” he said, reaching down to scratch her behind the ears. “Plus it’s got a great gym in the lobby, you can cancel your membership to that seedy place downtown with that trainer who always stares at you when you do weights.” Laurel’s ears perked up; she was surprised he remembered. She did have a gym downtown that she tried to make it to a few times a week, and there was that one creepy trainer, but she had only mentioned it to him once in passing. “Plus it has hot yoga once a week, and I know you’ve been dying to try.” That much was true.

“At least let me help pay for rent,” she tried to bargain.

“Nope!” he said, wincing a second later. “I didn’t mean it in like a patronizing way, I know you’re perfectly capable of pulling your own weight. I meant like I bought it outright, so there’s no rent to be paid. I’ll let you pay the electricity bill if you want?”

Laurel grinned. “That would make me feel better, thank you.” After looking at her computer for a minute, she spoke again. “How long have you had the apartment for?”

Pierre scratched his chin. “Couple years? I bought it after signing the contract this year. Some guys buy a Lamborghini, I bought an apartment. I don’t own the place in Columbus though.”

“How come?” Laurel asked, though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

“Even with the contract, so much is up in the air. I could get traded in the middle of the season, or in the summer or whenever, and I don’t want to have just bought a house when I’ve got to move to Vancouver or wherever when the ink hasn’t even dried on the papers.”

This time, it was Laurel’s turn to leave with an unsaid question. “Is tomorrow good? To go down and get everything squared away at the courthouse?”

He bobbed his head. “Yeah, I’ve got some off-ice training in the morning, but any time after noon or so is good for me.”

Laurel nodded, making a few taps on her computer. “Okay, I’ve got us booked in at one, that good?”

“Yeah,” Pierre said, nodding in affirmation. “Now I’ve got to come up with an excuse to drive to my parents’ and get my birth certificate.”

---

It didn’t actually turn out to be all that difficult for Pierre; he made the drive back to Saint-Agathe-des-Monts later that afternoon, telling his parents he needed it to renew his health insurance card. He wasn’t sure they actually believed him, but his mom didn’t bat an eye before handing it over. Pierre spent the rest of the evening at home, cooking pasta, petting the dogs, and wondering what in the hell he had agreed to. He wasn’t second-guessing himself, not by a long-shot, but when she clicked that button to book their appointment, the gravity of the situation finally started to hit him. In less than a month, he was going to be getting married.

June 19 (sat)

Laurel met Pierre on the steps of the Montréal courthouse at a quarter to one the next day, clutching the straps of her tote like a lifeline. “Woah, Laurel, you’re holding that like you’ve got a bomb in there,” Pierre said.

She flashed him a nervous smile. “No bomb, just very official very legal documents. Don’t want to lose it.”

He held out his hand. “You ready?”

Laurel was surprised at the gesture. Not shocked that he was being kind, but that he was cognizant enough to recognize that she was nervous, and wanted to do something about it. She took his hand. “Ready.”

It only took a minute to find the office, and a few more before the receptionist called them back to the clerk’s office. She introduced herself as Juliette Bergeron, congratulated them on their engagement, and asked to see the paperwork. Passports and birth certificates were handed over, signatures were signed on dotted lines, and half an hour later, they walked out of the courthouse with an appointment for a wedding on July 10.

“Well, there’s that crossed off the checklist,” Laurel said, leaning up against the handrails as they stood on the courthouse steps. They had actually made a real checklist, a series of tasks on a shared Notes page of everything that needed to be completed before the wedding. Book the ceremony and post the public notice were done, but there were still a dozen-odd tasks left before they actually could get married. Starting with telling their parents. While they had developed as airtight a cover story as she supposed one could when they were committing what would charitably be referred to as citizenship fraud, they had agreed it was going to be far less messy to “come clean” as fiancés than after the wedding. Laurel had wanted to text them the news, or call so early they’d still be asleep and she could just avoid the conversation altogether, but Pierre had convinced her to FaceTime. “I know you guys aren’t super close, but I think they deserve that much, Laurel,” he had said, and he was right. Deep down, she knew he was right.

“Ready?” Pierre asked, rubbing her back soothingly.

Laurel flashed him a tight smile before pressing her mom’s contact. “As I’ll ever be.” Three agonizingly long rings later, her mom picked up.

“Laurel? What are you doing calling, honey? Is everything okay?”

She let out a nervous giggle. “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my parents?”

“No,” Cheryl clucked, “but to be fair, you don’t call often.”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck in discomfort. “That’s true. Uh, anyways, is dad there?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” her mom said, starting to catch onto the fact that maybe this wasn’t quite your run-of-the-mill check-in call. “What’s this all about, pumpkin?”

The old term of endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, brought tears to the corners of her eyes. “Can you call him in? I’d rather tell you both at the same time.”

Cheryl nodded, worry crossing her brow. “Doug? Laurel’s on the phone, she’s got something to tell us. Sounds important.”

“Coming,” Laurel heard her dad say in the background. A moment later, he padded into view. “Hey, Laurel, Mom said you’ve got some news?”

Laurel nodded. “Yeah, just something I thought you guys should know. It’s not bad, you’re just going to be surprised, so I need you to keep an open mind, okay?”

“Who is he?” Doug asked, rubbing his forehead with an exasperated expression.

She blanched. “He? Who’s he?” There’s no way he guessed...right?

“The jackass who got you pregnant, who else?”

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “Pregnant? Who said I’m pregnant? I’m not pregnant!”

Both of her parents let out an audible sigh of relief. “Well, Laurel, what conclusion did you expect us to jump to when you called us out of the blue and said you had important news?”

Laurel bit her lip; they had a point. “Fair. But, uh, rest assured, I’m not pregnant. I’m smarter than that.” She paused, steeling her nerves. “Remember that guy I told you I was seeing a few months ago?”

Her mom squinted like she was looking into the sun. “Vaguely? You didn’t really tell us much about him. Just that he was tall, nice, you met through friends.” It was a believable enough explanation back then, and Laurel was beyond grateful it dovetailed perfectly into the story she and Pierre had conjured up. “You didn’t even tell us his name.”

Laurel reached out her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding the phone, and made a grabby motion for his hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers. “Well, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois—”

Doug interrupted. “Very French.”

She grimaced. “I do live in Québec, Dad. But anyways, his name’s Pierre-Luc Dubois and we’re getting married.”

They sat still on the other end of the call, so still that if it weren’t for her mom’s rapid blinking she would have thought the call had been dropped. “Married?” her mom asked softly.

“Yes, married.”

“How long have you even been seeing each other?” Doug asked, dumbfounded.

“A little under six months. I know it’s not long, and I know it seems sudden, but we’ve known each other for a long time, you know? We met when I was still back in Toronto at university, Madeline introduced us.” Her parents nodded; Madeline, they knew. Madeline, they had met. Madeline, they trusted. “And we finally realized a little bit after New Year’s that we had feelings for each other, and it’s sort of been zero to a hundred ever since. We thought, if we knew we loved each other and we knew we were done looking, then what was the point of waiting for a year or two for it to be a ‘socially acceptable’ time to get married.” Laurel finished.

Cheryl wrapped her hands around her mug of tea, eyelids still shooting rapid-fire blinks at the screen. “But, Laurel, we haven’t even met this boy, we barely know anything about him!”

Pierre squeezed her hand. “Actually, he’s just off-camera. Want to say hi, P?”

He walked into view, waving politely at the screen. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Klerken, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Laurel’s had nothing but wonderful things to say.” A little flattery never hurt anybody, he thought.

“Lovely to meet you, Pierre-Luc,” Cheryl said. “Forgive us if we’re still a little shocked, Laurel’s not normally one to spring things on us like this.”

He laughed. “Perfectly fair. I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to meet until now, but we’ve been trying to get used to the idea ourselves.”

Her dad leaned forward from his spot in the couch, giving Pierre as much of a once-over as he could from nearly 1500 miles away. “I’m not able to give you the normal talking-to I have with any of the other boys Laurel or Maggie have introduced us to, so this is going to have to do.” Maggie? Laurel had primed Pierre for the inevitable grilling, telling him that if it was anything like it had been in the past, it would be all bark and no bite. “So what do you do for work, Pierre-Luc?”

“I’m a professional hockey player in the NHL, I play for the Columbus Blue Jackets.”

Doug’s eyebrows went up. As much of a front as he tried to put up, he was still a middle-aged man from Minnesota, and there were few things that impressed middle-aged men from Minnesota more than their daughters being suddenly engaged to NHL players. “NHL, huh? That’s very impressive. So you’re from Québec, then?”

“Yes, sir,” Pierre answered. “My hometown’s a little outside of the city, but I live in Montréal now. My mom’s from Georgia, though, so I’ve got dual citizenship and some family still down there.”

Her parents didn’t take too kindly to the news that the wedding was in three weeks, since it was too tight a fit to be able to get time off, but promised to visit later in the summer to make a proper introduction to their new son-in-law. Her father continued to pepper him with questions about his hobbies, family, and how he takes his steak — according to the Doug Klerken rules, any man who orders anything above medium is not to be trusted — until Laurel mercifully cut him off, telling her parents they were late to meet up with some friends. “That wasn’t so bad,” Pierre said as Laurel slipped her phone into her purse, immediately plugging it into her portable charger as the FaceTime had drained all but 18% of her battery.

Laurel made a face. “They’re good people and they care about me, but…” She trailed off. “They never really understood why I’d want anything more than I was given. Anything more than the status quo. And it’s just caused a lot of friction between us.” Her eyes flashed as she remembered something. “One more thing.” Pierre’s ears perked up. “If and when you ever talk to my parents again, just...don’t bring up politics.” Laurel grimaced.

“Republicans?” he asked sympathetically.

She nodded. “Trump-supporting Republicans. It’s another one of the reasons we don’t talk much anymore. I’m liberal, I’d probably be NDP if I could vote here, and we just don’t share the same values on a lot of things.”

“That’s got to be pretty rough on you,” Pierre said.

“Yeah,” Laurel admitted. “Probably more than I want to let on, but I think it helps that I’m able to get some distance.”

Pierre took a deep breath in. “Your, uh, your dad mentioned something that I wanted to ask you about.”

Shit. Laurel had been able to avoid the conversation for long enough, but she was beginning to push her luck, and she couldn’t run forever. “Maggie?”

He nodded. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I thought I should ask.”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Laurel said. “Um, long story short, Maggie’s my sister. It’s July, so…” she did the mental math in her head, “she’d be almost 31. Total free spirit. She left town pretty soon after she graduated, came back every so often but not nearly enough. Last I heard, she was an au pair in Italy.”

“And when was that?”

“Two years ago.” Pierre figured that was as good a time as any to drop the subject, so he did. They had decided that, while they were still downtown, it would be a good opportunity to get the ring shopping out of the way. Pierre looked up the highest-rated jewelry store on Yelp, and they set off on foot.

Pierre opened the door for her as they stepped inside, greeted by a slightly over-enthusiastic salesman. “You paid for the ceremony fee, so I’m paying for the rings, okay?”

Laurel scoffed. “Hardly a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I’ll live,” he said, smirking.

Laurel had been wandering around by the solitaires for a few minutes when Pierre walked up behind her. “I know this isn’t going to be the wedding you’ve always dreamed of,” Pierre said, “but we’re going to make it the best we can.” He looked down at the cases, Laurel’s fingers dancing over the edge of the glass cover. “When you were in high school, or university, did you ever think about what kind of wedding you wanted?” Laurel gave a small nod. “And what kind of ring did you have?”

“I’ve always liked halo cuts,” she said softly.

Pierre inched his hand towards hers, wrapping his fingers around hers. They tensed for a second, but then relaxed into his grip. “Then let’s go get you that halo cut.”

There was no one else in the store aside from the salesman, so the couple was enveloped in a comfortable silence as they browsed. Her eyes stopped on a beautiful floral halo ring with an oval diamond. Pierre nodded to the salesman, who carefully took it off of its stand and handed it to Pierre, who carefully wiggled it onto Laurel’s fourth finger. If she closed her eyes, she was almost able to pretend that it was a proposal. Laurel brought her thumb to the ring, delicately running it over the pavé band with the ghost of a smile on her face. “What do you think?” Pierre asked, as if he couldn’t already tell her answer from the look on her face.

Laurel looked up at him. “I love it. It fits perfectly.”

“Like Cinderella’s slipper.” He turned to the salesman. “Combien ça coûte?” (How much does it cost?) Laurel heard a number that made her swallow hard, more than anything she’d ever have bought for herself, but Pierre insisted it was a non-issue as he handed his card over. “He said that they’ve got another sample one in the back, and you’re welcome to just wear that one out if it fits.”

“Sounds good.” The salesman handed over the bag with Pierre’s ring and her matching wedding band, thanking them for their purchase before opening the door back into the sunny Montréal afternoon. Laurel craned her neck to try and sneak a peek inside the bag. “Don’t I get to see yours?”

Pierre cracked a wry grin. “Gotta wait until the wedding, babe. Can’t a man have a little mystery?”

“Fair enough,” Laurel said, not missing his use of the pet name but brushing it off as simply a spur-of-the-moment choice. “Do you want to do the honors?” she asked, referring to the all-important checklist.

Pierre opened his phone with his spare hand, deftly navigating to the app and tapping twice. “Four down, seven to go. We’re on a roll.

June 24 (thurs)

Surprisingly, telling Pierre-Luc’s parents hadn’t been nearly as intimidating as breaking the news to her own, at least for Laurel. They were shocked — and confused, and had a lot of questions — but were welcoming nonetheless. Patrice was almost like a second son to them, and the fact that she already came with his stamp of approval went a long way into calming them down. “He’s always been quite the romantic, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. And he cares deeply about the people in his life. That’s you, now,” his mom had said. They drove up to meet them that Sunday, having brunch in his childhood home. That was, in essence, their first real “test” as a couple. They had never had to sell their relationship to anyone before; even when going out with Madeline and Patrice after their “engagement,” nothing ever seemed like it had changed. This time was different. This time had to be different.

His mom fawned over her engagement ring, asking her to spare no details in retelling the story of the proposal. Lucky for her, however, Laurel was the former president of the University of Toronto improv club, and coming up with background stories with exactly zero minutes to prepare was something of a specialty for her. Laurel immediately gushed about how unexpected it was; she was just expecting an evening walk through downtown until they turned down one of the piers by the basilica, reached the end overlooking the river, and Pierre dropped down on one knee. “I think I knew that he was the one way sooner than that, but it’s nice to finally have it be official,” she had said.

Laurel shook herself out of her memories, turning the door into the locker room. She grabbed a pair of scrubs out of her shared locker — she had never met Alice, the other nurse who used it, but they had made a habit of leaving each other Post-it note greetings — and stripped off her t-shirt and jeans. Shimmying on her scrub pants, she tied them, leaning back into the locker to get her bag as the door shut behind her. She glanced over to the door, waving to Claire. Claire was sweet, a transplant from Vancouver who had lived in Québec as a child and decided to come back to work. She was sweet, having just started working at the beginning of the summer, but she was young, even younger than Laurel. And while her perky and energetic nature lent itself well to the dynamics of the floor, it was a lot for her to get used to. “Hey!” Laurel said, waving as she pulled a chain out of her purse, trying to discreetly unhook it.

“Hey!” Claire responded, perky as ever. “How has your week been?” She worked Mondays and Thursdays with Laurel, but had the Saturday night shift as well.

Laurel threw her hair up into a bun. “Good, good, busy. Met up with some friends yesterday, so that was nice, but not much. Took Piper to the dog park.” With my fiancé, she neglected to add. She twisted her ring off, trying to slip it onto the chain without Claire noticing. Like most of her married colleagues, Laurel had taken to wearing her engagement ring on a chain around her neck while at work instead of on her finger. It was under her scrubs most of the time, keeping at bay the questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer, and made it much easier to pull on and off gloves when the occasion called for it. But Claire was eagle-eyed, catching the sparkle of the diamond just as she slid it onto the chain.

She audibly gasped. “Is that an engagement ring?”

Laurel had to think fast; once again, her improv skills were called up to bat. “No? It’s, uh, it’s a family heirloom, it was my grandma’s. Guess I didn’t think too much about which finger I put it on.” She could tell Claire didn’t quite believe her side of the story, but thankfully, she didn’t press.

“If you say so,” she said, giving a not-so-subtle wink.

June 27 (sun)

Laurel was sat in her living room, her TV on in the background as she scrolled absent-mindedly through her phone, savoring her last few hours before she had to go to bed for her 5:30 wake-up call. On a whim, she opened her Twitter. It wasn’t an app she used all that often — mostly just to keep in contact with the handful of high school and college friends who didn’t use Instagram — and she was well aware that she’d probably have to limit her use for her own sanity when she and Pierre went “public” after the wedding, but she liked being able to keep up with everyone. She followed her friends, a handful of celebrities and a few journalists, but her timeline wasn’t flooded with updates. Then she saw the little blue alert on the bottom. One new message. Clicking to her inbox, Laurel saw that it had been sent by Madeline four minutes earlier, a link to a tweet that just had the caption: “you should probably see this.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Laurel pressed the link. What could be so important that Madeline would have sent a message with that kind of urgency? And why didn’t she just text it? God, I hate puckbunny blogs, Laurel thought as she read the handle. Her eyes raced across the screen. So I was looking up the address of my friend’s wedding earlier since I lost my invitation and didn’t want to tell her, and saw this under??? I know he can be a private guy, but tell me you guys don’t think this is for PLD. Her eyes froze as soon as she finished reading, praying that somehow they were talking about a different PLD, that they hadn’t been found out and their cover hadn’t been blown and she wasn’t about to have a panic attack for the first time since junior year — and then she saw the screenshot. Of their wedding announcement. Their public wedding announcement that not only had their full names and places of birth, but the location of the ceremony, the time, and their addresses. God, this is exactly what Laurel had been worried about. She immediately reported the tweet for exposing personal information, then made the poor decision to look at the comments section. Some people insisted it was legitimate, some convinced it was just photoshop, some were convinced that it couldn’t be Pierre-Luc even it looked like him, because he was training in Columbus for the summer, right? Thank God, it didn’t seem like anyone had done a deep enough dive to figure out who she was; there weren’t any screenshots of her accounts or photos of her in the comments section. It was eight minutes from the time she reported it to when it was taken down, and while Laurel was grateful for the quick response, she felt like she was on a cliffside, one foot off of the edge, until it had been deleted.

Her phone lit up with a text notification from Pierre. Funny thing happened today.

Oh God, Laurel thought. Had he seen it? He hadn’t.

My mom asked what you were planning to do about flowers and got very upset when I said we didn’t have any plans. She let out a tense breath. Flowers, she could do. She wanted to get your number to send over the names of a few florists she knows in the area, but I thought I should check with you first to make sure that’s okay.

Laurel smiled, her right hand draped over the side of the couch to scratch Piper behind the ears. That sounds great, P.

As promised, his mom texted Laurel soon after, coming armed with recommendations of Montréal florists. She echoed her son’s words almost identically; You deserve to have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of even if the circumstances are different, she had written. Her eyes pricked with tears as she fell asleep.

July 3 (sun)

It was a week before the wedding, and Laurel had started to pack up her apartment. It seemed much more practical to do it in stages then try to finish everything the weekend of the wedding. So she sat with Pierre on the floor of her bedroom, moving boxes between them as they packed away into the next season of her life. Some things, she obviously couldn’t put away yet — she still needed clothes and toothpaste, and they hadn’t been able to get all of her pots and pans down to the Goodwill yet. But books and keepsakes could be boxed up, and unless there was a snowstorm in July, she didn’t need her parka either.

“Oh, what’s this?” Pierre asked as he pulled a few more volumes off of her bookshelf. Laurel groaned when she saw what was in his hand.

“The 2013 Cloquet Senior High School yearbook. My sophomore year.”

He burst out laughing. “This, I’ve got to see.” He opened the cover. “Your mascot was the Lumberjacks?”

Laurel ducked her head, her cheeks heating. “Regrettably, yes. That’s what happens when your whole area used to be milling towns.”

Pierre’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said everything was about the mines, doesn’t your dad work in the mines?”

“He does,” Laurel said. “They had to figure out something to do after all of the trees had been cut down, you know?”

Pierre got the feeling it was really more of a rhetorical question. “What was your school like?”

She placed one of her old Harry Potter books into the box. “Small is the first word that comes to mind. My graduating class couldn’t have been much bigger than 150 or so? We’d get snow days a couple of times a year, most of the time if it wasn’t a blizzard everyone would end up going down to the school anyways, we’d all have big snowball fights on the football field. Actually,” she said, pulling out her phone from her back pocket, “I think I might still have a clip of one.” She pulled up her videos, scooting over to Pierre and leaning into his side so he could see the screen. Raucous laughter filtered through the speakers; the only things in sight were snow forts and the tiniest bits of beanies peeking over the top.

“THIS. IS. WAR!”

Laurel snickered. “I think that sounds like Nicholas, he was the varsity quarterback for a few years. Usually was the one leading the sieges.” She put her phone away a minute later after the clip ended. “But other than that? There were actually a lot of pretty interesting elective classes, I got to take photography, work in the preschool on campus, take a class on Anishinaabe studies.”

“Anishinaabe?” Pierre questioned.

“There’s a Native American reservation in town, the tribe’s Ojibwe so that’s the language family we studied. A lot of kids at the school, including one of my best friends Kristen, live on the reservation, so I think they wanted to not only have the class available for Native students who maybe wanted to learn more about their culture, but also for non-Native kids like me, so we’re able to gain a respect for whose land we’re living on,” Laurel explained.

“Makes sense,” he said, flipping through the pages. He snorted. “This photo might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Laurel peeked over his shoulder, cringing at her school picture. “I really couldn’t have dressed any more 2012 if I tried, Pierre. Aggressively off-the-shoulder top, one of those godforsaken hair feathers, I bet you’d find dark wash skinny jeans if you could see from the waist down.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my fiancée like that,” Pierre said. “I like the look, I swear. You were such a cute kid, oh my God.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. What happened to me, right?”

He looked at her from the side. “Nope.”

June 9 (fri)

It was the day before the wedding, and Laurel was trying to find a dress. She had been planning on wearing one — even if it was a courthouse wedding, she still wanted to look nice — but then she had spilled red wine onto the light blue one she had been thinking of wearing as she ironed it in the living room, and she didn’t want to put all of her eggs in one basket if the Oxiclean didn’t end up working. She called Madeline in a panic, who promised to be over as soon as she could with a few dresses of her own to see what she could do. There was a knock on the door, and Laurel practically flew across the room to fling it open, gathering Madeline in a hug even before she had crossed the threshold. Madeline patted her clumsily on the back. “There, there, Laur. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to fix it.”

Laurel ran one hand through her hair, her curls as frazzled as her mind. “It’s got to be. Half of my stuff’s already over at P’s place, what, do you want me to wear a,” she opened up her dresser, eyeing its meager contents, “bralette and lacy thong to my own wedding?”

Madeline shrugged. “I doubt Pierre would mind,” she said casually.

Laurel almost choked on her own spit. “What do you mean?”

“Men are visual creatures, and you’re hot as hell, Laurel,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“Still,” Laurel said, opening her closet and grabbing every single left over dress from its hanger, trying to distract herself from Madeline’s words, “I’d rather not be arrested for public indecency. I’m trying to stay in the country, remember?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “I remember.” She thumbed through the dresses on Laurel’s bed. “You’re not wearing a black dress to get married,” she said pointedly.

“It’s pretty?” Laurel tried to reason.

“It is, but it’s a wedding, not a funeral.” She moved onto the next one. “Bright red bodycon is great for the club, but not sure coquettish seductress is the look you’re going for.” The next one was a striped sweater dress; it was the middle of summer, so according to Madeline, that meant it was out. There was a navy shift dress that “could work, but it’s a little too much work and not enough play,” her friend had said. Laurel tried on Madeline’s dresses, but seeing as how she had three inches on her, the hemlines weren’t exactly in her favor. Madeline pulled out the last of the stack, gasping softly. “This one’s beautiful, where’s it from?”

Madeline looked at it, a knee-length ivory lace dress, rolling her eyes good-naturedly at Madeline. “It was for Aurélie’s bachelorette party last year, probably explains. You were drunk off your ass that night.”

“I’m hurt by that characterization, but I don’t remember enough to correct you,” Madeline said. “It’s perfect though, why didn’t you choose this one in the first place?”

Laurel rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not sure?” Madeline gave her a look. “Fine, it just seems...It seems too much like an actual wedding dress. It’s white, or close enough, anyways,” she noted, fingering one of the delicate straps, “and gorgeous, and formal, and I’m worried if I wear it it’ll seem too real, and I’ll start thinking this is more than it is. Because all it is at the end of the day is a friend doing me a really, really big favor,” she finished, huffing and falling back onto her mattress.

“At the end of the day, it’s still a wedding,” Madeline corrected, laying down next to her. “And you’re still a bride and he’s still a groom and you deserve to feel beautiful and cherished and special on your wedding day, no matter its circumstances. And who knows? Maybe you two stay married, and fall in love, and you live happily ever after with your half-dozen dogs and 2.5 kids on some farm out in the suburbs.”

Laurel snorted. “As if.” But two hours later, long after Madeline had already left, she sat back on the bed, hand ghosting over the lace of her now-wedding dress, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Madeline had a point.

June 10 (sat)

It was the morning of the wedding, and Laurel was pacing her room in her sweatpants, Piper looking at her in confusion from the doorway. It was just past 7 and the appointment wasn’t until 10, but she still had to get dressed and do her hair and makeup and pick up the flowers and eat and — her internal monologue was interrupted by the doorbell. Still half-asleep, she ambled over to the door, pulling it open without even really checking to see who it was.

“Surprise!!” Patrice shouted, walking through the door, followed by Madeline and Pierre. “Madeline mentioned that you seemed a bit overwhelmed yesterday, so we thought we’d come over and get ready over here!”

Laurel shuffled out of the way as Piper jumped on Pierre, who laughed and calmed her down with a few scratches on her chin. She had really taken a liking to him and his two dogs, which had initially been a point of nervousness for Laurel. But they got along great, shared space well, and she seemed to love her new brother and sister. “That’s really nice of you guys, I appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “Um, I don’t have much food left because of the move, but I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard?”

“Silly you,” Pierre said, holding out a paper bag. “Did you think I’d leave my bride hungry on our wedding day? I got you sourdough french toast, should be on the top.” They had gone out to brunch once and she had ordered it, audibly moaning at how incredible it tasted. He remembered.

“And raspberry mochas!” Madeline said, presenting her with a cup.

Laurel took it, wrapping her spare arm around Madeline and kissing Pierre on the cheek. “This is incredible, guys. Really. I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“Exactly!” Madeline said, a perky expression on her face. “It’s a surprise!” She drifted into the kitchen, pulling out plates from Laurel’s cabinet and forks from her drawers. “Breakfast is served!”

Laurel let out a laugh as she grabbed the box with her french toast, taking a sip of her mocha. “I think the credit goes to the chefs at the restaurant, but whatever you say, Madi.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but we ordered it.

By the time they had all inhaled their breakfasts and cleaned the kitchen — Laurel and Pierre tag-teamed the dishes — it was almost eight, and Madeline whisked her into her room to get ready. “There should be a couple beers in the fridge, help yourselves!” Laurel shouted out the door as Madeline tried to wrestle her into the ensuite. For the most part, Madeline was good at listening to Laurel’s pleas against a dramatic makeup look. Muted rose lipstick, filled in her eyebrows, delicately pulled back her hair into a twisted bun. “Where’s your setting spray?” Madeline asked, rooting through her makeup bag.

“Top drawer on the left. Are you finally going to let me see?”

Madeline pulled the drawer out, uncapping the bottle and spritzing it over Laurel’s face. “Go for it.”

Laurel turned around, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Oh my God,” she said, turning her head so the glimmer of her highlighter caught in the early-morning sun streaming through the open window. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Don’t say that until you’ve put the dress on,” Madeline said, pulling it off of its hanger and draping it across the chair. Sweats came off and the dress went on, Madeline carefully pulling up the back zipper and straightening out her hem. Laurel bent down to put on her shoes, threading the silver straps through the tiny metal clasp before giving her leg a good shake. Madeline looked at her sceptically.

“What?” Laurel asked innocently. “I don’t want it to fall off halfway down the aisle.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door, Patrice’s voice floating in from the other side. “It’s 9:20, you two about ready to head out?”

“Coming!” Madeline called back, pulling Laurel up from the bed. “You ready, Laur?” Laurel gave a nervous nod. “Let’s go get you married.”

She stepped out into the living room, reaching up to her neck and fingering the silver filigree of her grandma’s wedding necklace, one of the only things she had left to remember her by. If she wasn’t able to complete the whole rhyme, at least she’d have her something old. “Who’s driving?” she asked.

Pierre wheeled around, mouth gaping like a fish when he saw her. Laurel immediately looked down to her dress, wondering if she had spilled one of her pre-wedding mimosas. “What is it?” she asked frantically. “Is there something in my teeth?”

He shook his head, tugging at the sleeves of his navy blue suit. “No, there’s nothing in your teeth, it’s perfect. You look beautiful.” They were in the car five minutes later, picked up the bouquet from the florist five minutes after that, and were outside of the courthouse by 9:50. Laurel took a deep breath, looking up at the glass doors of the Palais de Justice. Pierre threaded his fingers between hers, giving a reassuring squeeze. “You good?”

Laurel nodded, nervous but determined, sure that she was making the right decision. “Ready.” She barely remembered signing in, barely remembered going back to the clerk’s office, barely remembered her reading the mandated articles of the civil code. She gripped Pierre’s hands, giving him as much of a reassuring smile as she could, as the vows were read.

“Pierre-Luc Dubois, do you take Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, here present, to be your wife?” Juliette asked.

“I do.”

“Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, do you take Pierre-Luc Dubois, here present, to be your husband?”

“I do,” Laurel said, voice steady.

Juliette continued. “By virtue of the powers vested in me by law, I now declare you, Pierre-Luc Dubois, and you, Laurel Elizabeth Klerken, united in the bonds of marriage.” Patrice passed over the rings; Laurel slid Pierre’s onto his ring finger, he gently twisted hers to rest on top of her engagement ring. “You are now legally married. Allow me, on my own behalf and on behalf of all those present, to offer you our best wishes for your happiness. You may now kiss the bride.”

Laurel panicked for a moment, before looking up and meeting Pierre’s eyes. In the span of a second, she communicated her unspoken agreement with the tiniest nod of her head, and his lips were on hers. His arms were against the small of her back, hers wrapped around his neck, and even enough it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, it felt like hours. It felt like coming home.

#pierre-luc dubois #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey smut #nhl writing #pierre-luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl smut #nhl #hockey #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part eight Word count: ±2900 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically.

U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.

Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.

“Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles. “Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full. He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes. “What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins. “I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse. “Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?” Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she? Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack. “Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.” “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags. “I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently. She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Wanna bet?” “Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.” “I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw. “Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.” “Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind. “She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.

Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding? “We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother. “Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.” “She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up. “So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders. “It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes. “Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time. “Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.

Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?” “Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy. Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge. Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks. “There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable. “True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares. “We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says. “No, I mean after that.” Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?” “I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests. “No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders. Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.

“Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue. “I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before. “It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.” “Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right. “Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.

“One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up. “How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him. “You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly.

“We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests. “We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.

She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up. “I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs. “There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”

“I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides. Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.” “Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench. “You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff. “You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.

As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b-- Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.

“Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated. “Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?” “Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it.

“And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out. “What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King. “You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.

His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more. “Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately. Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.” Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.” “You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns. “Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.

“I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun. “What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse. Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.

He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question. “Why?” Dean asks sternly. “Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.” “I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions. “Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims. “How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts. “Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.” “No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues. “You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.” “He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up. “You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.” “Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed. “Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.” “He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds. “He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?” “I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.

Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him. “Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”

His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad.

He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica.

Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter nine here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural OFC series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dark!Supernatural #supernatur #spn #stss #1x02 in bad waters #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

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A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 33

Notes: I have some good news and some good news! I am sorry that this chapter is up late, and looks smaller than I claimed it would be. But that's because it's half of the original chapter! This chapter ended up being over 12k words long, and very heavy (emotionally) in some parts. Also, it went through an extensive re-write because some parts bothered me. But I feel that it is completely fixed and 1000 percent better. And the best part is, there will be a second chapter up today in a few hours! And after that, only one chapter left. So, as always, thank you all so much for following me on this crazy race to the finish. I hope you enjoy what I've written. Please be aware that in this chapter, Kurt and Sebastian talk a little more about his sexual assault so be warned. There's nothing graphic, but it still could be triggering.

Read on AO3.

It takes forty-seven minutes for the tow truck to arrive, and it’s by no means a run-of-the-mill flatbed tow truck like the one Kurt’s father owns.

No, the tow truck that pulls up to chauffeur Julian’s precious Jag home is a fully-equipped repair shop on wheels - a temperature controlled box truck with the name of the company (aptly called Luxury Tow) stenciled along the gleaming white outside in elaborate calligraphy, the script such a pale shade of silver, you wouldn’t see it at all if you weren’t looking for it. Kurt knows about these trucks. They’ve become something of a novelty among luxury car dealers and owners, the thought process being that no one should ever see a luxury car on the bed of a tow truck, and never, ever dragged on the asphalt.

Not for the preservation of the brand. His father has towed luxury cars on his flatbed just fine.

It’s for the preservation of the owners’ ego.

Emotional exhaustion is making Kurt catty on that point because the reality is it protects the overall investment that is an eighty-thousand plus dollar car. There’s less of a chance of getting your vehicle dinged up or expensive paint jobs scratched if they’re safe inside another larger vehicle.

The chandelier hanging from the top inside of the truck, however, Kurt can safely say might be a tad much.

Sebastian refuses to let go of Kurt while the drivers load up Julian’s car, but he is kind enough to re-position so that Kurt can get a better view of the inside. The tow truck is ridiculous, to be honest, and Sebastian acknowledges that with a sheepish grin, but their family has a membership, he explains, so it’s the only tow company they use.

Besides, it’s the height of excess, therefore it suits Julian and his car.

Kurt forgets how over-the-top rich people can be, seeing as, outside of Dalton, the only truly wealthy people he knows exist inside the spreads of magazines.

Sometimes he forgets just how frickin’ rich the Smythe family is, too, considering Sebastian didn’t even bat an eye when this truck appeared.

As to why the name of the company sans contact information is printed along the side in paint so light no one in the universe would ever be able to see it?

“They don’t need to advertise,” Sebastian says. “If someone can afford to hire them, then they’ll have their number already.”

Ouch.

Kurt doesn’t know why, but when Sebastian explains that to him, he feels like he’s been insulted.

After they see the drivers off, Kurt and Sebastian collect Julian from his booth by the window and lay him out on the backseat of Sebastian’s Mustang. Julian mumbles sleepily about the leather reeking of sex before he collapses on his face and starts snoring.

The drive from The Draft Room to the Smythe estate is another quiet one, with Kurt and Sebastian’s fingers laced together over the gear shift and Paganini’s Caprice No. 24 playing over the car’s speakers. To Kurt, even as a low hum, it’s an anxiety inducing piece, but the fast runs and rapid tempo help keep his mind from wandering. He wants to be available for Sebastian should Sebastian need to talk. Though what Sebastian feels comfortable revealing with his brother in the back seat, even asleep, Kurt isn’t certain.

As it turns out - he reveals nothing.

The tow truck is waiting at the gates of the estate when they arrive. Sebastian lets them in and leads them to the family garage. What follows is a blur of shuffling cars and signing paperwork. Sebastian sees the tow truck drivers off, then he and Kurt gather Julian up once again, help him to his room, and put him to bed, similar to the way Sebastian did for Kurt after the gala.

This must be why Sebastian was so good at it.

He’s had practice.

Sebastian’s phone buzzes, vibrating his pocket. He pulls it out, looks at the screen, and frowns.

“Who is it?” Kurt asks in the middle of removing Julian’s shoes.

“It’s Olivia.” Sebastian stares long at his boyfriend undressing his brother, in his bed of all places. Kurt reads the discomfort on Sebastian’s face. He stops at Julian’s shoes, pulling a blanket over the rest of his clothed body, and Sebastian seems to relax. “I should really …”

“Go on and take it,” Kurt says. “Give her my love. I’ve got this. I’ll be with you in a second.”

Sebastian doesn’t seem too ecstatic about leaving his boyfriend in a bedroom alone with his brother, but he steps out into the hallway anyway, shutting the door till only a sliver remains.

Kurt pulls the blanket up to Julian’s neck and smooths it over his shoulders. He fetches a waste basket from the bathroom and sets it next to the bed just in case. Kurt isn’t sure how much Julian actually drank before they got there, doesn’t know how well the man handles his alcohol.

Or if there was only alcohol involved in his pity party.

Kurt stops a second before turning out the light to steal a glance at Julian’s room. He’s been in here a few times, done an investigative sweep. As with Sebastian’s room, when he first came in here, he didn’t know what to expect. Probably the same thing he’d expected of Sebastian’s room. But the reality is more startling than what it could have been because Julian’s room is so similar to Sebastian’s room, they could have belonged to the same person at different points in their life. They have different furniture - Julian’s is a golden, honey wood as opposed to Sebastian’s dark. But they both have walls covered in photographs and art, shelves filled with CDs and books galore.

The thing that strikes Kurt as most interesting is that Julian has posters of obscure French bands framed on his walls that Kurt would think he’d see in Sebastian’s room, too, since Sebastian has t-shirts for one or two of them. Which makes their absence significant in Kurt’s mind.

Just another mystery for Kurt to puzzle through when he gets the time.

Kurt’s eyes pave a path across the walls, then back to Julian passed out on the bed. He sighs. Things could have been different, he thinks. He doesn’t know how different. He doesn’t know how much of Julian’s actions had an effect on which part of Sebastian’s decision making, but it still stands.

Things could have been different. They should have been different.

Kurt switches off the lamp, intent on leaving, but Julian’s hand locked lightly around his wrist stops him. Julian looks a mess - creases from his jacket imprinted on ruddy cheeks where he laid against his sleeves; eyes shimmering from a steady leak of tears; his lips swollen from biting.

A certifiable mess, but a breathtaking one.

“I know what you probably think of me,” Julian starts in a calloused voice. “Knowing what you know now.”

“I don’t think you do,” Kurt says soothingly, carefully removing his wrist from Julian’s grasp and tucking his arm back beneath the blanket.

“I just want you to know … I had no intention of taking you away from him. I know how I come across but that’s … that’s not what I was ever trying to do. I wasn’t going to let history repeat itself …” Julian’s disarming smile returns for the fleetest of seconds “… no matter how pretty you are.”

“Thank you. That’s good to know.”

“The two of you belong together.” Julian rolls to his side, gathering the edge of the blanket and holding it tight under his chin. “I knew it from the first time (*yawn*) I heard Sebby mention you.”

“And when was that?” Kurt asks, not sure what he expects to hear. Sebastian told his brother about their ruse, so Julian should know that any tale Sebastian told him is a work of fiction, not fact.

“Don’t remember,” Julian mumbles. “Dad asked Sebby what you did that won him over, and he said …” He stops, literally can’t continue past a sudden bout of snickering.

“What?” Kurt asks, burning with curiosity.

“... that you said …”

“What!?” Kurt groans, eager to get this over with so he can get back to Sebastian.

“... he smelled like Craigslist.” Julian snorts. It’s such an obscene sound, Kurt laughs out loud, and not politely. It’s not until Julian’s breathing begins to even out that Kurt realizes what he said.

Smells like Craigsllist? But that was …? Could he really …? No, that can’t …

When Kurt first met Sebastian’s father, he’d said they’d heard so much about him. He’d never ventured to ask how much. Maybe he should get around to that one of these days.

Now seems a good time.

“Wait … what? Julian? What did you just say? Julian?”

Kurt comes close to shaking him to get him to answer, but he doesn’t. Before Kurt can press him for more, he’s fast asleep.

***

Sebastian isn’t waiting in the hallway when Kurt finishes in Julian’s room. He’d taken Olivia’s phone call into his room and started getting ready for bed. Shoes had been kicked off and socks flung aside. He was in the middle of slipping on a pair of sweatpants when Kurt heard him say goodbye with the added, “Kurt sends his love,” followed by a, “yes, I’ll tell him. I already said I would. Geez.”

“Tell me what?” Kurt asks, letting himself in the open door.

“Just that she misses you,” Sebastian relays, turning off his phone.

“That’s nice,” Kurt says, honestly beaming. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Sebastian walks over to his desk and deposits his phone on the blotter. “They wanted to make sure we’re all good, that we have everything we need, that sort of thing. Like I’ve never spent the night alone in my own house before. How about Julian?”

“Sleeping it off.”

“Good. He could use it.” Sebastian meanders around his room, mindlessly relocating books and papers from one place to another with seemingly no purpose. “I laid out some clothes for you to sleep in.” He walks over to his bed and sits down beside a pile of carefully folded pants-shirt-underwear.

“Thanks.” Kurt removes his shirt, then his pants. No longer does he scurry to the bathroom to change. He has nothing to hide from Sebastian now.

He hopes Sebastian feels the same.

“Are you tired?” Sebastian asks like he’s feeling Kurt out. “Do you want to go to sleep?”

“I’m kind of wired, to tell you the truth.”

The look on Sebastian’s face becomes tentatively brighter, like that was what he was hoping Kurt would say. “Do you mind … can we talk?”

Dressed in Sebastian’s clothes, Kurt drops down on the mattress across from him. “Sure. What did you feel like talking about?”

“Can I talk to you about … that night?” Sebastian asks, that smallness from outside the bar returning, mostly to his eyes that aren’t begging Kurt to say yes. They’re begging Kurt not to reject him, which is a wholly different thing, but one Kurt understands.

He did the same himself, every time he was on the cusp of telling his father he was gay, praying that his father wouldn’t stop loving him.

“Not all of it. I’m not … I’m not ready for that yet. And tonight’s been kind of …”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees without Sebastian needing to finish.

“No one outside my family knows about it,” Sebastian says. “I mean, aside from my therapist. And I love my parents and Olivia to death, but when it comes to this, they’re difficult to talk to. They offer, say they’re open to listening, but when I do open up to them, I get the feeling that they don’t so much want to discuss what I went through and how I feel about it, how it affects me to this day, as they hope if I get it out of my system, I’ll forget it. And I understand that. It has to be torture knowing that something like …” Sebastian’s teeth grind to a halt around the words. In the end, he simply omits them “… that happened to one of your children and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Especially considering the circumstances. I mean, when you think about it, I should have been in the best possible hands.” Sebastian shrugs to himself. “To be … to be honest … the assault wasn’t the worst part of the experience. It was terrifying. It gives me nightmares. But … but it’s been the easiest part of that night to work through.”

Kurt tilts his head. “How?”

“It’s the uncomplicated part. The guy who …” Another grinding halt “… he was an asshole. A sick, disgusting, drunk asshole. It helps that he was a stranger, if that makes sense. There was no personal motive behind what he did. It was more a matter of I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. An easy target.”

“Whatever happened to him?” Kurt asks, careful not to make it sound like a demand. He doesn’t want Sebastian thinking he has to answer his questions simply because he asks them.

“Julian wouldn’t let him leave the bathroom. He got a few punches in. Good ones,” Sebastian recalls with a vindictive chuckle that almost sounds proud. “Knocked him out cold. He called the cops and the guy was arrested. But things didn’t go back to normal after that. Nowhere near it. I was afraid of running into him for a while even though I knew I wouldn’t. It became so unbearable, I wouldn’t go out, couldn’t sleep nights. But then I left the country, and for the first time, I wasn’t looking for him in crowds or around corners, anything like that. Because I knew he wouldn’t be there.” Sebastian pauses, looks down at his hands, running the pads of his fingers over his nails, pushing at his cuticles while he gets his thoughts together. “I wasn’t planning on coming back.”

“So … what was the worst part about that night? If you don’t mind …”

“I don’t mind,” Sebastian says softly. Another long pause, but Kurt is willing to wait as long as it takes. When Sebastian finds the strength to look up again, he’s shaking his head, his cheeks wet with tears. “H-how could he do that to me, Kurt?”

“Who?” Kurt more than assumes Sebastian is talking about the man who assaulted him, but it’s never a good practice to assume.

And this time, he’s right not to.

“Julian,” Sebastian says, his voice cracking. “I look back at that night now through jaded eyes and I see it for what it was, what I felt. I had a crush. Just a crush. Not having that guy obviously didn’t destroy me, right? But at the time, it felt like it would. It felt like my entire life was …”

“Over?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian sniffles. “I wasn’t a bad brother, Kurt. Maybe I was a little annoying but I looked up to him. I idolized him. I wanted to be like him.” Sebastian reaches blindly for a tissue from the box by the head of his bed. Kurt gets up and gets it for him. Sebastian takes it with an unspoken thank you. “I guess … in the end … that’s what I did, huh? I became my brother. None of the interesting parts, though,” he adds with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Just the asshole parts.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say. He could prepare for weeks and still not know what to say. Part of him wants to storm down to Julian’s room and slug him in the face. But Sebastian forgave him. Julian said that when he found Sebastian, Sebastian got in a few punches and then said he wanted his big brother back. There are times when this rift between them seems as far from water under the bridge as they can get. But this all happened long before Kurt even knew the Smythes existed so he should forgive Julian, too. And Kurt can.

But how does Sebastian do it? How do you forget about something like that? All of it? The violation of your body coupled by the betrayal of someone you love? Someone you trust? Kurt knows a little of what that’s like, but he’s not going to pretend that it even compares to what Sebastian went through.

Sebastian sniffles again, blows his nose. He reaches for another tissue but somewhere in between he falters. The tension that’s been hanging around them, binding them together with brittle arms, collapses. Sebastian is the first through the breach. He falls into Kurt’s lap, arms winding around his waist, sobbing into his borrowed white shirt. And since Kurt can’t think of the right thing to say to comfort him, he says what’s in his heart, and hopes that it’s enough.

“I love you, Sebastian,” Kurt whispers, wrapping his arms around Sebastian’s head and leaning over to press kisses into his hair. “I love you. I love you so damn much, and I’m so lucky to have you. I’m yours, and you’re mine. And please …” Kurt chokes on words and tears and a thicket of emotions, but he refuses to let that stop him from saying what he needs to say “… I’m here … and don’t ever forget that.”

***

“So, where do you want to go for lunch after we visit my dad?” Kurt asks, scrolling though dining options on his phone. Kurt doesn’t usually do much in the way of eating out in Lima. With the exception of The Lima Bean and Breadstix, he pretty much avoids Lima, Ohio cuisine like the plague. His father, however, is a huge fan of Lock Sixteen Steakhouse, and Finn and Puck swear by Sir La Charreada. Of course, the top three items on any of their menus are meat, cheese, and some kind of meat bathed in cheese.

The fact that Kurt knows this comes as a side-effect from spending too much time around junk food addicts.

“I don’t know. What is there around here?”

Kurt rolls his head to the left and shoots Sebastian an incredulous look. “Sebastian, this is Lima. It’s a town named after a bean. And not even one of the good ones.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s named after Lima, Peru.”

Kurt side-eyes him, wondering how in the hell he would know that!? He doesn’t even live here! What? While he was collecting blackmail material on him and all his friends, was he digging up dirt on the city Kurt lived in, too?

“Shares a name with, then.”

Sebastian nods. “I see your point.”

“We can swing by Columbus and pick up some sushi. It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten any ice water poured in my crotch.”

“Ha-ha,” Sebastian deadpans, though he smiles when Kurt starts laughing and can’t stop. “Just for that, I’m gonna …” Sebastian’s sentence dies on his lips, his expression freezing solid on his face.

“What … what’s wrong?” Kurt follows Sebastian’s eye line out the window towards his house, expecting to see yellow caution tape and an ambulance parked outside since that’s exactly the look Sebastian is wearing. Constantly on edge about his father’s health, it’s the first thing that comes to Kurt’s mind that could put that look on Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian heads for the curb, and immediately Kurt’s own expression goes from afraid to angry.

“What in gay hell …?”

Sitting on Kurt’s front porch is, of all people, Cooper Anderson. And beside him, curled into a ball, hugging his knees …

… Blaine.

Sebastian parks his Mustang in front of Kurt’s house and kills the engine.

Kurt thinks he should feel an overwhelming tide of emotion seeing him. That it should knock him back about twenty feet, transport him through time to a place where he swore he would always love Blaine, where nothing would change that. But what he feels when he lays eyes on him for the first time since the beginning of summer is barely a swell. The boy who used to be perfection by Kurt’s standards is riddled with flaws. Kurt finds himself comparing Blaine to Sebastian the way he used to compare Sebastian to Blaine, but this time Blaine is the one who doesn’t measure up.

“Hey guys!” Cooper greets them as they climb out of the car. “Nice to see you both again.”

“Why are you two here?” Sebastian asks, barreling towards them, taking the lead. And Kurt lets him have it. He has every right to read Cooper for filth and besides, Kurt has forgotten how to make his voice work.

“I got a hold of Olivia. She said you guys were heading to Ohio so we took a chance and came here.”

“So you … just … showed up at my boyfriend’s house and took a chance that we’d stop by?”

Cooper winces at that, as if he was hoping that the subject of Kurt being Sebastian’s boyfriend might conveniently not come up. “Yes? Your dad’s not home, Kurt, but I was going to call if we waited longer than an hour.”

“And you don’t think that plan is a little insane?” Sebastian asks.

Cooper sighs. It almost competes with the sound Sebastian made when he realized Julian was driving back to Westerville and they’d have to follow. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Really?” Sebastian says sarcastically. “Why don’t you tell it to someone who cares?”

“I’m sensing a little animosity here. “

“No, you’re sensing a lot of animosity!”

“Look, kid, we’re just here to talk.”

“What happened to you, man? Why would you ghost my brother like that?”

“I wasn’t ghosting him!” Cooper suddenly sounds desperate, like he needs to convince Sebastian he’s telling the truth. Like he needs him on his side, which makes Kurt wonder what, if anything, Olivia said to him. If she read him the riot act, Kurt is going to buy her roses. “I was getting ready to go out there but Blaine called me, said he …” Cooper glances down at his brother, still motionless on the porch “… said he wanted to come home, that he couldn’t get a flight out and was hitchhiking. He’s my brother! What was I supposed to do?”

“Why couldn’t you give him a head’s up? Give anyone a head’s up?” Sebastian’s voice gets louder as he talks till Kurt begins to fear a neighbor might peek a head out, call the police. “He was waiting for you! You just disappeared! You didn’t even send him a text! Why couldn’t you send him a fucking text!?”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Save it!”

“I panicked, alright!? I thought that if I told Julian the truth, he would think I was making excuses, that I was going back on my word. And if I told Emily, my dad would find out. I didn’t know what to do!”

“So you did nothing.” Sebastian shakes his head. “What a supreme fucking disappointment you turned out to be. Well, I know what you should do.” He steps up to Cooper, gets in his personal space, and all Kurt can think is he’s about to show him what he can do, and with what part of his body. And though Kurt is confident Cooper can defend himself against a teenager, if he wants to stay out of prison, he won’t.

“Bas …” Kurt puts a hand on the crook of Sebastian’s arm. The sound of his voice, speaking for this first time during this confrontation, has a compounded effect. On Sebastian, it makes him soften, makes him back down. It also draws Blaine’s eyes up from the ground. But when he sees Kurt touching Sebastian, his eyes return to his shoes again.

Sebastian’s jaw works around a dozen swears and just as many threats. But his cooler head prevails. “You should go check on Julian,” he says evenly.

“I’ll … I’ll call him. Right now.”

“You’re past that. He’s at the house. You should go up and see him.”

“What about Blaine?”

“What about Blaine?” Sebastian sneers, glaring at Cooper, utterly refusing to even acknowledge Blaine. “He’s your brother. You figure it out.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, sitting at his brother’s feet. He’s staring down at his hands wrapped around his shins, looking very much like an abandoned puppy waiting to be taken to the pound.

And Kurt hates that.

A few months ago, he’d have hated it because he hated Blaine looking lost and hurt and lonely.

But right now he wishes Blaine would stand the fuck up and act like an adult. Look him in the eyes like an adult.

Own up to his actions like an adult.

Kurt has asked himself a dozen times since he found out Blaine cheated what does he want from Blaine?

That’s what he wants. He wants Blaine to step up.

It doesn’t mean Kurt will take him back, but it might give Kurt a better opinion of him.

“I’ll take him home,” Kurt decides.

“What?” Cooper says, looking more confounded than Kurt has ever seen him. And Kurt has to believe him because he’s not that good an actor.

“What?” Sebastian says. “No!”

“Someone has to take him home. I really think Cooper should go see Julian. Immediately, if not sooner.”

“Well I … I’m coming with you then!”

The twinge of absolute panic hiding beneath the anger in Sebastian’s voice skewers Kurt, but Sebastian’s coming with them isn’t a good idea. He’s more than likely going to take the opportunity to lay into Blaine, and Kurt needs some time alone with him.

He has some questions that deserve answers.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you should go to Westerville with Cooper. Mediate between him and Julian. At least be there if things go south. I’ll deal with Blaine.”

“Why? Why do you need to deal with Blaine? Alone?”

Kurt takes Sebastian by the arm and leads him off the porch to talk in semi-private. “I want an explanation,” Kurt says, lowering his voice, hoping Sebastian will follow suit before a sheriff shows up. “He may not give me one if you come with me. And besides, I really think Julian needs you right now.”

“So, what? You owe it to him to hear his side?” Sebastian practically yells in Kurt’s face, apparently unable - or unwilling - to follow social cues. Kurt wagers on the latter. But instead of rising with Sebastian’s anger, Kurt puts his arms around him and holds him, rocks him gently from side to side. That’s all it takes to get Sebastian to fall in line, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and calming down.

“No. He owes it to me to tell me why he took everything I thought was sacred and threw it away. That’s all I want from him. As soon as I can, I’ll drive up and meet you. We’ll have that big house all to ourselves.” Kurt bites his lower lip. “Who knows what kind of mischief we can get ourselves into …”

“Well, relatively to ourselves. Julian will be there.”

“Your door has a lock on it. I think we’ll be fine.” Kurt presses his forehead against Sebastian’s and rubs their noses together. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, Sebastian. And nothing Blaine can say is going to change that. But until then, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says sardonically, most likely realizing by now that nothing he can say is going to change his boyfriend’s mind. “And what’s that?”

Kurt smiles, brushes their lips together in the most chaste of caresses. “Have a little faith in me.”

Sebastian glances down at his shoes, at his feet that refuse to move from this spot as long as Kurt is in his arms, refuse to leave Kurt alone with the boy he’d planned on spending the rest of his life with.

But there is no moving forward if no one takes a step.

“Always,” he says resignedly.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, mouthing over Sebastian’s mouth, teasing him with the promise of a kiss to be continued.

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #spread the love!

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s-trawberryv-eins · 5 years ago

Text

Survivors Guilt

NOT MY GIF

Survivors Guilt

Summary: Caroline has helped the Avengers from the comfort of her lab for years; Captain America thinks it’s time she added to her resume.

Warnings: Minor violence, mentions of guilt and anxiety, Soft!Sam.

Please read here before reading!

Stark!OC x Avengers

Word count: 1780

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

“I know you’ve been working on prototypes for a nanotech stealth suit. I also know Tony trained you in hand to hand. It’s a S.H.I.E.L.D requirement that you can use a gun. And don’t even get me started on that brain of yours."

Everybody knew that Captain America had a way with words. From his speech at the Triskelion to his pre time heist monologue, Rogers knew how to address and audience. This was, however, the first time that Caroline had been on the receiving end of one of his lectures.

“You’re invaluable in the lab, in your workshop, I know. But why sit there, when you could be doing so much more out on the field with us?" Stark clenched her jaw, inwardly grimacing as her teeth ground together.

“Aren’t there enough of you already? Plus, I’m really not my dad, you know?” A nervous laugh died in her throat as Sam joined the duo in the kitchen.

“You might as well give in, Care! This man won’t stop til you've signed your name in blood. Or you know, not signed. Big ol’ bully.” Cap merely rolled his eyes at his friend and continued pressing the Stark girl for the answer he wanted.

“Caroline, listen. This team needs you out there. You could only make us better. If you want to continue your work hiding behind your desk, fine. I’ll leave you be. But I don’t believe that that’s true. You’re more like Tony than you think.” Without waiting for a response, Steve grabbed his coffee and headed out of the room.

“Dramatic ass idiot.” Mumbling under her breath, the twenty something year old mocked him immaturely. “Ooh, I’m Captain America! I'm good at punching stuff and talking and making dramatic ass exits!” The sour look on the woman’s face disappeared entirely when Sam broke out into a booming laughter.

“FRIDAY, we need to speed it up. What did Dad use in his last mark?" As the AI produced a breakdown of the final Iron Man suit Tony ever made, Caroline suddenly became overrun with guilt. Doubting herself and her right to be intruding on her late fathers things. She was his daughter, es, but did that really give her the right to take from his legacy?

The doctor decided not, closing the blue holographic screen and instead asking FRIDAY to run a complete scan of the suit she was currently wearing.

“FRI, please can you ask Sam to come find me?"

“Of course, Miss.”

The Captain had gotten under her skin and she hated it. Caroline loved her job; she was proud of her creations, and of her contribution to the Avengers Initiative. Never feeling anything close to boredom when tinkering away as Tony did. But she couldn't help but wonder about the alternative she’d been offered.

“Hey Princess. You called?” Wilson strolled into the room, a curious look on his face. He’d never spent a great deal of time in the workshop before; only ever collecting Morgan or bringing Caroline a warm drink per her request.

“I need help, Sam! I can’t think!” Falcon chuckled at the frazzled doctor and closed up the screens in front of her. Clearing the mountains of paperwork from the couch, the soldier ushered his friend and sat her down.

“Princess, c’mon. Calm down. Gimme a list of reasons why you might want to start field work.” It took Caroline less than a second to answer.

“I could be out there, helping in the thick of it! Doing what you do! Plus, and absolutely no offence, Sammy, but sometimes teaching you guys how to use my tech is painful. If I was there with you it wouldn't matter!” As she paused to think on it, Sam sat patiently, waiting for his friend. “My dad did all these amazing things. I know my work is useful to you guys, but I could do more! I know I could, Sammy.”

A smile broke out across his face, but he made no comment on her answer.

“And why do you think it’s a bad idea? What’re the cons?” Greeted only with silence, he nudged the girl softly. A worrying lip between her teeth and a hidden truth in her eyes, Sam read her all too easily.

“Nobody thinks you’re him. Nobody thinks it, wants it, or expects it. I promise you, princess.” Wet brown eyes flicked up to meet his own.

“But what if I fail?”

“Then we’ll help dust you off, and you’ll try again. We all fail sometimes, Stark. Except me, of course.” Giggling at the avengers faux arrogance, Caroline let her head rest against his shoulder softly.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

Despite her screaming lungs, laboured breaths, and sweat covered body, Caroline didn’t hold back in her training once. Sam had sworn to push her past her limits; he wasn’t lying. The man had even set up training sessions with Bucky to ensure she was really being challenged.

“Let’s take 5. I’m impressed. You’re a fast learner.” Barnes’ words allowed an audible sigh of relief to fall from Caroline’s lips. Plonking herself down on the mat gracelessly, she stretched out and smiled as her hot skin made contact with the cold surface of the material. Bucky watched her with a smile on his face. Truthfully, he'd been expecting it to have been more of a challenge. But the Stark girl picked most things up with ease; and what she didn't she’d practice over and over until she did. Sweat ran down her neck, clinging to her collarbones. Chest heaving silently as she caught her breath, the Sergeant found himself staring. Clad only in a sports bra and leggings, he struggled to tear his eyes away from the girl.

“Quit staring, Barnes. I’m all sweaty and gross.” Smirking despite being called out, Bucky’s eyes instead found Caroline’s. Forcing herself to hold back her smile, the girl bit at her lip gently and focused her eyes on the ceiling rather than the intense blue-eyed gazed she'd been locked in.

“Excuse me, agents, but Mrs Potts-Stark has requested that Caroline meet her in her office." Bucky extended his arm, offering a hand to pull Stark to her feet.

“That concludes training for today then. Good work, doll.”

“Momma, please? It’ll be okay. You know they’d never let anything happen to me."

“I swear to all that’s holy, Caroline, if you come home with anything more than a scratch I will bring this world to its knees." Tone slightly hysterical, Caroline couldn't confidently say that her adoptive mother was joking.

“I know you would, Momma. I know." Pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, Caroline tried to keep in control of her emotions. But how could she when the woman in front of her had given her so much? Abandoned by her biological mother, initially rejected by her father. It’s always been Pepper. The thought that Caroline could never truly repay her for all she’s done gripped her from time to time; but that’s a story for another day.

Two days into a mission to retrieve stolen alien tech from a US based terrorist organisation, Caroline was incredibly grateful for the brutal training she'd done with Sam. Aching muscles, a bloodied face, and a cut up leg and she’d decided her time in the training hall would have to increase.

“Caroline, what’s your location?” Steve's voice rang out just as her fist collided with an enemy’s face.

“For god's sake Steve-” a grunt sounded as she landed a kick in his ribs “-use the bracelet! That’s what I made them for!” One final hit and the guard was unconscious at Starks feet.

“Keep up, old man!” Clint’s voice broke through, the bright smile evident in his tone. Caroline’s vast range of new technology had inadvertently placed the Captain at a disadvantage. He tried, he did, but he often struggled to grasp the concept or the need for such complicated gadgets; his complaints were unfortunately outweighed by the sheer usefulness of the tech.

The bracelet the girl had used was similar to the Kimoyo beads used in Wakanda in that it acted as a multitool. The specific feature that Caroline spoke of was a tracking device used to keep the team informed of ones location. It’d been a particularly hard piece of software to get the hang of due to the security risk they posed. Banner and herself had spent a while trying to decide how best to have the bracelets disable themselves in the event that they end up in the wrong hands.

Once the pair were confident in their creation, they had the team come in to set theirs up; the super soldiers found it particularly difficult, which resulted in a fresh round of jokes at their expense.

“The South gate is clear.” Having confidently cleared the area alone, she headed to the rendezvous point. Barton was waiting for her arrival, and from there they’d stand guard as Natasha disabled the magnetic door locks, allowing the team to gather the stolen tech and get home.

“Barton, Stark, I got two headed your way.” The heads up from the Captain gave the archer time to dawdle in his choice of arrowhead, even asking the doctor her opinion before hitting his targets perfectly.

“The doors are down. We’ve got 5 minutes before the backup generator kicks in.”

“Thanks Nat. We’re on our way.”

Caroline had spent a while with Sam after her first mission. She’d quickly learnt that Sam was more than what he seemed. A prankster, yes. Goofy and full of attitude and the ability to wind everyone up at the same time. But he’d also spend hours listening to their troubles, he could sift through a thousand emotions and pinpoint the root cause of a problem, and he never judged; not really anyway. Not when it mattered.

It’d taken her a while to see it. Survivors guilt, he called it. Sam had figured it out when after her seventh mission she’d confided in him, explaining how she still felt like an impostor when out on the field with her father's team.

“It’ll ease with time. But I’ll keep reminding you, we’ll all keep reminding you that you have earned your place here. We don’t keep you around because of him. We need you here because of who you are.”

His words played in her mind every time she boarded a Quinjet, like a mantra. And eventually, it did ease. Caroline stopped feeling as though she was trying to fit into her fathers metaphorical too-big boots. Because she wore her own. And they fit just right.

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honestgrins · 5 years ago

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Plus One || Gendrya

It became something of a tradition for them, attending weddings as each other's plus-one. They were certain to have more fun hanging out than getting caught in round after round of awkward small talk. That was what Arya told Sansa, anyway, when her sister noted Gendry's place at their table on the seating arrangement.

“They’re keeping it small, trying to limit the snide comments from Mom and Dad about the baby.” Arya leaned over her controller to get a closer look at the TV, artfully dodging Gendry’s elbow for blocking his view. “If anyone says ‘shotgun wedding,’ I’m pretty sure Theon will start throwing punches so Robb doesn’t have to.”

Gendry shrugged, swerving a bit to match his car on the screen. “Sounds like a normal best man duty to me.”

Snorting, she kicked his leg away from her side of the couch. “I’m just glad they’re not making us all stand in the wedding party,” she said. “Sansa is still a bit miffed to be denied bridesmaid status, but it feels dumb to wear some formal gown here at home.”

“I can’t even picture you in a dress,” Gendry admitted, only to grunt when her fist landed in his stomach. Keeping a tight clench on the controller, he nudged her back. “It’s true!”

“I literally wear a skirt to school every day.”

Rolling his eyes, he kept his focus on the game. “You know what I mean. We’ve been friends for years, and I’ve never seen you dress up.”

With a triumphant grin, Arya cheered when her racer crossed the finish line. Dropping her controller to the coffee table, she stretched out her hands. “Because we play football and video games. I’d look pretty silly in a dress for that. But I wear them!”

“Whatever you say, Arry,” he said, his voice wry.

She harrumphed back into the couch, picking at the holes in her jeans. “Well, you’ll see at the wedding now, won’t you?”

His eyebrows rose. “I’m coming? I thought you said they were keeping it small.”

“Uncle Robert will be invited,” Arya shrugged. “I assume you would be, too. If not, be my guest. I'm allowed to bring a friend. The food will be good, enough booze will be flowing to rival my eighteenth birthday, and I’ll die of boredom since Jon can’t make it.”

Gendry nodded. “You had me at good food, but that’s too bad about Jon. He can’t get leave?”

“Dad had to really press Uncle Benjen for details, but he’s apparently on some Ranger mission. He’ll be out of contact for months, and Robb and Talisa don’t exactly have time to wait.” She refused to call it a pout, but Arya still frowned down at her lap. “It’s his own stupid fault for signing up to serve at the Wall right after graduation. If he’d just taken a gap year, then-”

“Then,” Gendry interrupted with a friendly hand on her knee, “he would just be missing something else important. Our job is to get as many embarrassing photos as possible for him to feel like he was there.”

And suddenly, she was smiling down at her lap instead.

The old lady had a sneer to match Cersei's, which only made Gendry more uncomfortable when he realized Arya had all but disappeared. Leaving him alone in the middle of Renly's reception was a sure-fire way to get stuck explaining his bastard status. "You do have his looks, like something out of a photo album," she decided matronly. "But the whole business is...unseemly."

"Yeah, well, sins of the father and all that," he said as politely as he could. But with his fists clenched tightly to rein in his temper, he didn't bother to hide the way he looked around the ballroom for any sort of distraction. Of course, he found Arya next to the cake, impatiently waiting for the grooms to cut it. Making his way toward her, Gendry barely muttered a quick excuse to the woman still sneering at him. "Hey," he called. "What happened to protecting me from nosy lords and ladies?"

Arya's smile upon seeing him turned apologetic. "I'm tipsy, I have a sweet tooth, and there's cake. You're good at math, I'm sure you know how that adds up."

"Just tipsy?" Loras and Renly sauntered over to them, the former shaking his head. "Our wedding's a smash darling, you should be nothing less than sloshed."

"Cake first, please," Arya grinned up at them. She leaned into Gendry's side, her head lolling back on his shoulder. Sighing, he let his arm slip around her back to hold her steady.

Narrowing his eyes, Renly couldn't help a grin of his own. "Don't you look-"

"Ah, there we go," Loras interrupted, having found the cake knife. "Let's get the imp fed and back to dancing."

Gendry blushed as Arya focused only on the cake, though she didn't move away from him. Their friendship had survived the long distance while she attended university in Braavos, and he was glad to have her back in time for his uncle's wedding. But it was both a relief and a torture to have her back like she'd never left, especially when she so easily tucked her hand into his as they watched Renly smush frosting across his husband's face.

Jamie and Brienne's wedding was a fun one, especially considering the museum they used as the venue hosted a weapons exhibit at the time. They'd both drooled over the swords, and Arya taught him a water dance move or two during the Electric Slide. If only Gendry had known it'd be their last wedding non-date for a while.

Arya breathed out a sigh of relief once she found him at the bar. "There you are!" She snatched the glass from his hand and set it down, only to grab his hand instead. "Sansa and Margaery want the bridal party to join in at the end of the first dance, and I need a partner."

Thoroughly confused, it was all Gendry could do to keep up. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Shaking her head, she walked them over to the edge of the dance floor where the brides were swaying to the music. "Bran convinced him to take a little smoke break, so they're giggling over by the kitchen doors to pounce on unsuspecting appetizers." She glanced over to Ned, waving when he smiled. "You don't mind helping me out, do you?"

"No," Gendry said, his voice a bit hoarse. "Not at all."

Arya gripped his hand when the melody changed. "That's our cue. I'm barefoot under this dress, Waters, so don't go stepping on my toes."

He smirked down at her as they fell into the rhythm, his hand spread wide at her back. "What happened to the girl who hated the idea of a big dress? I didn't think Braavos would change you so much, Stark."

Her eyebrows fell despite the amused smile she gave. "Aww, did you miss me?"

"More like I don't recognize you," he admitted. "Fancy dress, pink hair, new boyfriend."

"Ned's a good guy. Probably too friendly for your surly brooding," she teased, "but we have fun. It's college, right? I'm supposed to be having fun."

Gendry tugged at the ends of her hair, hovering just at the nape of her neck. She had to fight back a sigh, not quite prepared for how good it felt. "Hence the pink. It suits you, even if I'm surprised Sansa let you get away with it for the pictures."

"Had it clashed with their colors, I'm sure she would have asked me to change it. Let's call it personal growth that she didn't even bring it up. Mom did, though. She only calmed down when I told her I'd be bringing Ned with me."

He scoffed lightly. "Lady Catelyn must be thrilled, you practically engaged to a Dayne."

Glaring, she moved the hand on his shoulder to flick his ear. "Now I'm about to step on your toes. Again, we're just having fun. I don't need the 'you're next' brow waggling from you, of all people."

His posture sagged a bit, though he finally mustered up a smile. "Alright, have your fun." And he twirled her out, a bit clumsy, but they both laughed when she crashed back into his chest.

Ned Dayne also made it to Jon Snow's wedding north of the Wall, one Gendry hated to miss for work, even though a part of him was glad not to pretend he wasn't half in love with Arya Stark while she danced with someone else.

She had graduated university and moved back home, free and single, just in time for Bran to marry Jojen Reed. Once more, Gendry was roped in as her plus-one, despite several attempts on his part to make it a real date. With her hanging around his flat like the old days, he had ample opportunity to make a move, and he hated himself a little more each time he failed to ask her out. The afternoon before, he felt the deadline looming.

"Ugh," Arya groaned as she flopped onto his couch. She snuggled deep into his side while he read his magazine, carefully tugging his arm to rest over her shoulders. "Mom is still insisting on a full slate of wedding activities, even though Bran and Jojen are technically eloping. Why do they need a rehearsal dinner if they've already signed the paperwork? It makes no sense."

"Only Sansa gave her the big society wedding she wanted," Gendry pointed out. "Maybe let her keep a few traditions intact, especially if this is the last wedding she'll get to host." But Arya tensed next to him, and he frowned. "What? You know Rickon will never settle down, at least not traditionally."

She didn't meet his eyes; instead, she toyed with the lace hem of her dress. "I guess I don't count. No one wants to marry Arya Horseface."

His heart might have stopped in his chest. "What?!"

"Well, you clearly don't think I can get someone to a wedding, so-"

"No! Arry, I just meant-" Gendry swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, his hand having tangled unconsciously into her braid. "You've never mentioned marriage before. The closest you got to seriously dating was Dayne, and you all but laughed in my face when I mentioned engagement and all that. I-"

Eyes narrowed, she blinked slowly. "You've thought about this."

He ran a tired hand through his hair. "It's crossed my mind, is all," he answered, defensive. "Besides, you've gotten me to several weddings, I don't know what you're on about ha-"

Whatever rambling compliment he'd been about to give was swiftly cut off by Arya's lips, her hands cupping his face to hold him close as she kissed him. Gendry hesitated only a second before falling into the kiss, gathering her in his arms and hoping she wouldn't mind being late to Bran's rehearsal dinner after all.

Apparently, Rickon Stark was willing to settle down, though Gendry was right the youngest wolf wouldn't give into all the traditions his parents wanted. That was how the whole family ended up in some tacky, Lysene chapel. Arya cheered the loudest when her baby brother dipped little Lyanna Mormont into their first kiss as man and wife, more than aware of her own boyfriend's arms around her waist. She didn't find out about the ring in his pocket until two weeks later.

"Are you sure your parents won't hate me for this?"

Arya rolled her eyes, pinning him with a loving glare as she signed her name with a flourish. "A little late to be worrying about that, Mr. Stark."

What she hadn't expected was the sudden, wet sheen in his eyes, but she loved the broad smile looking at their marriage certificate put on his face. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Waters. Or we could both take Baratheon, really throw the hell out of everyone."

"Renly would love it," she grinned. Lacing their fingers together, she squeezed his hand. "We really did it. We're married. You married me."

Gendry affectionately tapped her nose. "On purpose and everything. No regrets?"

With a deep breath, she couldn't help but smile. "None. You?"

Brushing his hair back, he scratched at his head. "Should have called Ned Dayne to be a witness, but-"

"Here we go."

"I'm just saying, it would have been good to dot the I's and cross the T's that you're mine."

She poked his chest with her free hand, heart catching at the glint of gold on that finger. "And you're mine, caveman, so get over it already."

"Yours," he vowed, pressing his forehead to hers. "Always."

#gendrya #axgweek #arya x gendry #arya x gendry fic #gendrya fic #posting late; sorry!#day two #marry me now #dashing and deadly

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sandersstudies · 5 years ago

Text

Quirky - Chapter 7

A High School Superhero AU - Sanders Sides

(Will add tag list in a reblog! If I miss you, please let me know ASAP - As always, asks, comments, messages, reblogs, and keysmashes are more than welcome.)

Attention: This chapter has some mild sensitive content. Warnings in tags!

Chapter Six

Chapter Five

Chapter Four

Chapter Three

Chapter Two

Chapter One

You can now also find the fic with the same username and title on AO3 :) Feel free to stop by and leave kudos!

***

Roman wasn’t used to shrinking down into his shoulders, but found himself doing it as he walked from the school to the street. He took quick glances toward the road, watching for the car his mother had promised to send. Rafaela, Kenny, and Kai passed, with Rafaela swinging into her mom’s car and the boys climbing onto the school bus. If there was anyone Roman didn’t want to see him, it was those three. Oh, and maybe Patton and his mind-hearing quirk.

The white Subaru he’d been waiting for pulled up, and Roman exchanged the family code phrase with the driver before he slid inside and the car pulled away. Private drivers were just one advantage of having ex-hero parents. Roman leaned against the window and caught a glimpse of Virgil and Logan walking in the same direction. Those two had certainly become real buddies, now. He supposed it came with being weak-quirked.

But then again, Roman remembered, maybe Virgil wasn’t weak-quirked. Roman still wasn’t sure what had happened to that beam in the Ruins Zone, but it didn’t seem like the work of somebody like Virgil. What was next, Logan blowing up a building? Roman was tempted to force a laugh when one didn’t rise naturally. He hadn’t been laughing much lately. Virgil’s weird little stunt today hadn’t helped. Roman’s mind had raced through the scene a dozen times unbidden. The feeling of his knuckles slamming against the wall (two of his fingers had scraped and bled). The harsh light overhead, blocked by the heavy shadows of the ruins. The groaning that had become a roar over his head, and the dark shadow over him vanishing as the beam flew away. Turning to see Virgil. “Shut up, lightbulb.” It was interesting. Roman hadn’t seen Virgil bristle quite so much before. For a second, he could actually imagine the pipsqueak passing the entrance exam with that kind of annoying spunk.

Roman felt warm with anger, and squashed the feeling down his throat. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He began counting street lights, and got to twenty-four before the car pulled into the parking lot of West Izuku Hospital.

“Thanks,” he said as he got out.

“Would you like me to wait for you, Mr. Lightflight?” the driver asked.

“No, that’s okay, thanks. I’ll call in a bit.”

Roman felt himself shrinking again as he walked through the revolving door of the hospital and up to the receptionist’s desk. The secretary was the same woman who’d greeted him yesterday, and she double-checked the room number for him before he thanked her and walked toward the elevators.

When the doors opened, a doctor and nurse got off before Roman got on. As he did so, someone shouted, “hold the elevator!” from somewhere behind him, and he turned to press his hand against the sliding door. A middle-aged woman with a load of balloons skittered inside, the bumbling balloons making dull bonking noises as their bloated bodies bent against the door and one another. Once the woman was inside, the balloons took up most of the elevator, and Roman was struck by the sudden image of the elevator ascending through the hospital ceiling and floating away with the power of helium.

“Thank you, young man,” the woman said. “Could you press floor three, please?”

Roman obliged, also pressing the button for the fifth floor.

“Sorry about the balloons,” the woman said. “My sister just had twins, a boy and a girl, so I just had to pick up balloons for both of them.” The mass of pink and blue seemed self-explanatory to Roman, but he hummed in understanding, and the woman took it as a cue to go on. “My sister just loves balloons. Usually I bring flowers when there’s a new baby, but I thought she’d like this better. Who are you visiting today?” Before Roman could answer, the elevator chimed and the woman clucked. “Oh, this is my stop. Have a nice day!” The balloons squeezed and complained squeakily again as she got off, but finally gave in and popped out of the door to follow her down the hallway of the maternity ward. No one else got on, and Roman rode alone to floor five.

“It’s Roman, isn’t it?” one of the nurses at yet another desk said as he got off the elevator. Roman didn’t like the dripping sympathy in her voice, but he nodded.

“Your dad’s awake now, I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you.” She smiled with only her lips. “Would you like me to show you the way again?”

“I can find it myself,” Roman said. “Thanks, though.”

“Just let us know if you need anything.”

Roman hummed another response and hurried down the hallway. He counted floor tiles for an excuse to look at his feet, only glancing up to keep track of room numbers. He reached thirty-two tiles, because 519 was at the end of the hall. He knocked on the doorframe before entering.

The Flying Falcon peered up from behind a newspaper. He’d been reduced to his civilian state, wearing a pair of reading glasses and a hospital gown. All his hospital paperwork, of course, had listed him as Joseph Martin.

“Hey, son,” he said, extending one splinted hand toward a seat near his bed. “The nurses told me you came by before school this morning, sorry for sleeping in.”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Roman said, standing just inside the door. His eyes were drawn to his fathers’ chest, now covered by a hospital gown.

“Come on and sit,” Roman’s father insisted.

Roman sunk into the seat. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, don’t worry about it.” He waved his un-splinted hand dismissively. “Did Mamá tell you what the doctors said? A sprained wrist, and two fractured ribs that-”

“Punctured the lung,” Roman finished. “I heard.”

“That was some car accident,” he went on, shuffling the pages of his newspaper. “I think I’m very lucky.”

“Right,” Roman said.

***

Rafaela, Kenny, and Kai had completely vanished by the time Roman raced down the alley after them, police sirens still ringing in his ears. He didn’t remember much of his sprint home, only arriving at the front door and fumbling for his key to let himself in. He opened the door and drew it closed silently behind him. His chest was heaving, and he felt like someone had wrapped their first around his esophagus. He started for the stairs when he realized there was a light shining from under his parents’ bedroom door. There was a hushed voice speaking upstairs.

Roman swallowed. Maybe if he was quiet, he could sneak up the stairs and into his room before his mother even realized he’d been gone. He took two steps upward in silence, and took the third with more confidence, only to have it squeal under his weight. He froze.

“One minute, please,” he heard. There was a shuffle before the door of his parents’ room swung open and his mother’s face peered out.

“Eres tu, mi principito?” she asked. She rubbed one eye. Both were red, but there were no tears on her cheeks. “What are you doing up so late, sweetheart?”

“Sorry for waking you up, Mamá,” he muttered. His mouth was dry. “I was just getting some water.”

“You’re sweating,” his mother said, setting down her phone and walking down the stairs. “Do you feel sick?” She pressed her palm against his forehead.

“I feel fine.”

She gently cupped his face. “Hey, honey, I have something to tell you, okay?”

Roman couldn’t make eye contact, so he stared past her ear. “What?”

“Your father was in an accident on his drive back from the university,” she said. “He’s gonna be okay, but I’m going to go to the emergency room to see him.”

“I’m coming too.”

“Oh, honey, you know I want you to, but if you’re not feeling well-” She touched his forehead again.

“I’m okay.”

She paused for a moment and blinked softly at him. “Okay. Take my keys and start the car. I’m going to wrap up this phone call and be right out.”

“Is Dad on the phone?”

“It’s our old agent from hero work,” she said, starting up the stairs. “Lola, you remember her?”

“Calling about a car accident?” Roman said, sudden anger rising in him.Was this agent lying to his mother, or was his mother lying to him?

“They...monitor these things, honey,” the one-time Lady Lightbringer said without turning around. “It’ll be okay, I’ll be right out.”

***

“Mamá told me that Lola Brown called,” Roman said.

“That’s right,” his father said, staring down at the newspaper. “Very nice of her. You see this here?” He held up the paper. There was a photo of Multi-Man, an old one from the height of his hero career, and a headline about his arrest.

“Yeah, everybody at school is talking about it,” Roman said.

Joseph nodded and sucked his lip. “He was a really good man,” he said. “Interned at my agency when he wasn’t much older than you. Very bright kid, really dedicated to hero work. Can’t imagine what happened.”

“What did happen?” Roman asked, feeling anger in his stomach again. “What did he do?”

His father chuckled. “It’s all hearsay, of course,” he said. “Some kind of attack outside city hall. If I hadn’t been in that car accident maybe I’d have trotted up there myself!” He laughed, and his hand flew to his side. “Ah, this is just another sign it’s time for me to leave hero work in the past. I’m getting to be too old.”

“You’re not old, Dad,” Roman said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Not too old yet,” Joseph admitted. “Still too young to like being cooped up in here. They say it’ll be another couple days before this thing can come out.” He prodded the tube that was snaking out of the sleeve of his hospital gown.

“I’m sorry,” Roman said. “Did Mamá visit today?”

“She dropped by and brought lunch,” he responded. “I’m not much of a fan of hospital food.”

“She didn’t really tell me much about the accident,” Roman said cautiously. “What happened?”

Joseph paused and rustled the pages of his newspaper. “Gee, I...well you know what, I barely remember it. One of those funny things that happens, I suppose.” He tapped his forehead. “Doctors say I was lucky to have no concussion. But tell me about school, Ro,” he said, swerving from the topic. “I missed your first week, how’s it been?”

“Well, you heard about Mr. Sanders,” Roman said. Joseph smiled sympathetically. Roman went on. “A bunch of the students were really upset, and all.”

“Does ‘a bunch of students’ include one named Roman Lightflight?”

Roman shrugged. “Trying to focus on studying, I guess.”

Joseph grinned. “Just like your mom,” he said. “My very first semester at UA, I remember she was top of the class. Everybody, even the teachers, started saying, ‘that Ximena Alcérreca, she’s the one to beat!’ I miss the old place, every once in a while.”

Roman faked a smile of pride at the comparison to his mother, but wilted internally, knowing that the praise was given unfairly. He couldn’t remember a single thing Mr. Picani had said in literature all week. Had he even had a pencil out for biology?

“Do they still set you right to work with training?” his father asked.

“We did a bomb exercise,” Roman said. “Heroes against villains. I was a hero.”

“Well, that wasn’t just for the exercise,” Joseph said. “Did you win?”

“...Yeah.”

“That’s good! That’s great! I’m sure your classmates were blown away!” His eyes had lit up (less literally than Roman’s often did), and Roman wondered if his father was remembering his own time at UA. “Mamá said your class had a field trip to USJ today, how was that?”

Roman saw Virgil, cheeks flushed with anger and purple hair bristling and hazel eyes flashing, illuminated a moment in his head. He shifted to hide his scratched hand behind him. “It was okay.”

“Your class had fun?”

Roman swallowed. “Yeah, well, it’s nice having some kids from middle school there.”

“I’d hope so,” Joseph said. “It’s the best prep school in the area. Rafaela and Kai and….Kenny, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Going to ditch your old man today to hang out with your pals, then?”

“No,” Roman said, a little too sharply. Joseph paused.

“Been a falling out?” he asked.

Roman shrugged.

“It happens,” Joseph insisted, shifting his weight in the hospital bed so he could reach Roman’s shoulder. “When a group of people move to a new stage in life, like high school, sometimes they start to go their separate ways,” he said. “It’s not a bad thing. Sometimes it makes you realize who your real friends are.”

Roman stifled the pain in the center of his chest. “It’s just tough,” he said. He straightened his shoulders. “But I’m gonna do it, Dad. I’m going to graduate and be a hero and everything.”

“Well, don’t underestimate the power of having friends by your side,” his father responded. “Being a hero doesn’t always mean going it alone.” One of his hands wandered vaguely to his chest and rested over where his broken ribs were. He seemed to suddenly come to himself and spoke again. “Any new friends, then?”

“Not really,” Roman admitted. “Well, there’s this one kid…”

His father didn’t fill the gap.

“There’s this other kid who got in on recommendation,” Roman said. “Patton something.”

“Nice kid?”

“I guess so.”

“Powerful quirk, I’ll bet.”

There was a pause. “I think I’m gonna get going, Dad,” Roman said, standing up and shouldering his backpack. “I want to get home and...study.”

Joseph looked taken aback only a moment, and then nodded vigorously. “Exactly what I like to hear,” he said. “Well, give your old man a hug and I’ll let you head out. Probably gets pretty stuffy sitting too long in a hospital, huh?”

Roman reached in for a hug, awkward from his father’s angle. “I’m really glad you’re doing okay.”

“Well, no car accident is going to knock down the Flying Falcon, is it?” Joseph Martin asked triumphantly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Roman made a point not to make eye contact with the nurses as he shuffled into the elevator. As he descended, he made a brief call to his driver. The elevator picked up two men from the fourth floor and then sunk to the first. Roman’s phone buzzed cheerily with a text message as he stepped off.

Rafaela. Hey dude I know stuff is weird but whatevers going on w your dad i hope everythings ok

He swiped to dismiss the text and started to put his phone in his pocket. It buzzed again and Roman felt a crinkle of anger in his cheeks before he saw the word “Mamá” on the screen.

Know you’re probably still at the hospital, have to head out for a little while and might be hard to get a hold of. Contact Lola if there’s an emergency. Pizza in the freezer for you. <3

<3 U, Roman replied. His ride arrived quickly, and Roman drummed his fingers against the side of the car as he climbed in.

“Back home, Mr. Lightflight?” the driver said, already turning in that direction.

“Take me to city hall, first.”

***

Roman had watched his mother’s face from the first moment they entered the emergency room (which was calmer than he’d expected). The one-time top hero was not one to show her vulnerability. But Roman had felt her grip a little too light on his arm, had heard her voice a little too high, had seen her leg bounce with anxious waiting. They had entered the place where the Flying Falcon was flightless on the gurney, chest half-exposed to reveal bruises and a small tube protruding from his chest. It was only for a moment when, as she held her husband’s hand, Roman had seen the fire of Lady Lightbringer in the tears suspended in her amber eyes but not falling. When she had stood to touch Roman’s shoulder, she was strengthened instead of wavering, and for a moment Roman had been afraid of his own mother.

#tw hospital #tw surgery mention #tw blood mention #tw violence mention #Let me know if other tags or warnings are needed

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basketofverbiage · 5 years ago

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Angels Calling

Hi everyone! I just wanted to give a bit of a preface to this story. I know I was supposed to post a much happier story but I just couldn’t. A little bit about me that you may not know is that I worked for a local Hospice for 6 years. I helped people shower, maintain their homes, and just be there for them as they died and provided love and care to their loved ones as they were passing. My dad’s parents have been my next door neighbors since I was 4 years old, and I started noticing my sweet Gram declining a lot last year. When it got to the point that she needed help with showering, she wouldn’t let anyone else but me help her. So, when she was actively dying and in Hospice at the hospital, I stayed with her a lot and when she was still aware, she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She lingered for 9 days. The night she died, I did her final post-mortum (after death) bath and got her ready for the funeral home to come myself. Because of my time with Hospice, I have a very unnatural way to deal with grief and everything is a little more complicated. When I started having nightmares about being at the hospital just waiting for her to pass, I knew I needed to do something to get it out of my system, and this story was born out of my need to deal with both my time working for hospice and the hundreds of patients I cared for and losing my Gram over the summer. So, with that, I’m sorry, but this story is really sad, but lightens up a bit at the end. But also know that I wrote this more for myself than for anything else.

Warnings: character death, grief, Hospice, terminal illness

Words: 18301

“Appa, I don’t feel so good.”

Hoseok never dreamed that those simple words spoken to him at 2:30 am would be the start of his worst nightmare come to life, but it was. Hoseok was a single dad, and as difficult as it could be, he wouldn’t trade his precocious 3-year-old daughter for anything in the world. Almost every father would say that if asked, but for Hoseok it was the truth. As far as he was concerned, the sun, moon, and all the stars rose and set in Dasom. Dasom’s mother had been young and a bit flighty, so when she found out she was pregnant she begged Hoseok to let her have an abortion, but he refused. He finally begged enough and promised that if she carried the baby to term, she’d never have to see either of them again, and she’d agreed. After 15 hours of labor, Dasom was born and her mother signed documentation resigning all parental rights to the child leaving her solely with Hoseok. As much as it broke his heart that she wanted nothing to do with this vibrant child, he was just selfish enough to be relieved that she couldn’t stroll in whenever it benefited her and shatter pieces of Dasom’s heart.

Hoseok could only think of a handful of times in her short life that Dasom had been ill, but she had recently begun attending pre-school and came into contact with more children her own age. He figured that it was only a matter of time before she would catch a cold, so when she came into his room and shook him awake and said she didn’t feel good, Hoseok figured she might have the cold that was going around.

“What doesn’t feel good, my Love?” he asked gently as he turned on the lamp on his bedside table.

“Appa, everything hurts. My skin even feels sore.”

Hoseok reached his hand out and felt her forehead and she was burning up. He picked her up and she immediately snuggled her face into the crook of his neck. He carried her into the bathroom and sat her gently on the countertop to take her temperature. She was old enough to take her temperature orally now and tolerated him holding the digital thermometer under her tongue until it beeped. When he glanced at the number on the screen, he did a double take. How was it possible that his baby had a temperature of 106 degrees? He was no doctor but he knew enough to know that her fever was dangerously high and probably the reason her little body was aching.

“Dasom, darling, we have to go to the doctor, but first I want you to take some medicine, okay?”

“Okay, Appa. As long as it helps. It hurts so much,” she whimpered as tears started streaking down her cheeks.

Hoseok hated seeing her in pain, so he gave her a dose of children’s fever reducer then got dressed to take her to the emergency room. After dressing himself quickly, he helped Dasom slip out of her pajamas to put on something that would be comfortable but warmer to go out into the chilly late-autumn night. When he took off her pajama pants, he gasped. There were big dark bruises down her legs that had not been there several hours ago when he’d helped her bathe before bed. As much as he was panicking on the inside, he was trying to stay calm for Dasom.

“Darling, did you fall out of bed or bump your legs coming to wake me up?” he asked, quietly.

“No, Appa, but it hurts.”

She was beginning to cry in earnest as he helped her into her booster seat in the back seat of his car and helped her buckle her seatbelt. The drive to the hospital went quickly, but Hoseok was so worried that it felt like it took hours to get there. Luckily, when they arrived there were no other people in the waiting room.

“Hi, Sir. How can we help you?” the receptionist asked.

“It’s my daughter. She woke me up saying she felt really bad, her fever was 106 degrees when I took it under her tongue, and she has bruises on her legs now that weren’t there when I helped her with her bath at 8:00.”

After entering the information into the computer system in front of her, the receptionist stepped from behind the desk with a clipboard.

“I’m going to go ahead and take you back to have her checked out by a doctor, but in the meantime, I do need for you to complete some additional information please.”

She led them back into a small room that was sectioned off with a curtain but had a bed in the middle. Hoseok laid Dasom gently on the bed and pulled a chair over beside her. She had brought a small yellow stuffed dog with her, and while she still cried a bit, she was toying with its ears while Hoseok completed the paperwork. He wrote down their insurance information and paused slightly when he got to the section about emergency contacts. His parents and sister lived several provinces over, and while he had some friends in the city, he and Dasom were pretty much solitary. After pondering for a moment, Hoseok wrote in the name of his best friend and business partner, Kim Namjoon. As far as Dasom was concerned, Unca Joonie and his partner, Unca Tookie, were her best friends. Namjoon and Hoseok ran a small bookstore/coffee shop combination in Seoul, while Namjoon’s partner Jungkook ran a game and comic book shop down the street. Namjoon and Jungkook had met a couple of years ago when Jungkook started coming into the café every morning for an Americano with double espresso shots every morning before opening his shop. Hoseok had just finished completing the requested documents when a doctor in a long white coat slipped into the room.

“Hi! My name is Dr. Kim Seokjin, but you can just call me Dr. Jin. What’s causing you so much trouble in the middle of the night, Princess Dasom?”

The dark-haired doctor was gentle and playful enough with her that he eased Dasom’s worries about being in the hospital, while still performing a thorough examination. After looking her over and taking her vitals, he turned to Hoseok.

“Mr. Jung, how long ago would you say Dasom had the fever reducer?” he asked.

“It was around 2:45 am,” he said, looking at his watch. “So maybe an hour and 15 minutes ago?”

“Hmm…” Dr. Kim thoughtfully jotted a few notes down. “It should definitely be taking effect by now, but her fever is now 106.3. I am going to have my lovely assistant come in and draw some of Dasom’s blood to do some tests. I’m also going to have him start an IV so we can give her a different medication to try to bring that fever down.” He turned to Dasom then and gave her a blinding smile, “I’ll be right back, Princess Dasom. I just want to step down the hall and get you some juice. Don’t give my lovely assistant too hard of a time, okay?”

Once she had giggled a bit and agreed, he exited the make-shift room. Since the room was essentially a big curtain in a circle around the bed, Hoseok could hear Dr. Kim speaking softly to someone outside the room but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He was watching Dasom snuggle under the light blanket with her puppy when someone new popped into the room.

“Oh my goodness! You must be the beautiful princess Dr. Jin was telling me about! My name is Taehyung,” the tall man said cheerfully before bowing to Dasom.

Dasom started giggling as soon as he called her a beautiful princess, and Taehyung shot her a big boxy smile before he came and sat down on the side of the bed.

“Princess, Dr. Jin said you are feeling pretty bad, and he wants us to do some tests to find out why. In order to do that, I need to take some samples of your blood which might not be fun for you, but I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?”

Hoseok was still on edge, but the kindness of the nurse to even make his baby girl smile in this scenario was so appreciated. Dasom reached over and squeezed Hoseok’s hand while Taehyung drew three different tubes of blood and inserted an IV. Once the IV was in, he hung a bag of clear liquid and connected it.

“Alright, Princess Dasom! We are all done with the worst part now. I’m going to take your blood off to my friend to run some tests. In the meantime, why don’t you try to take a nap?”

After Taehyung left, Dasom lifted her little arms up to Hoseok and asked, “Appa, can I sleep in your lap?”

“Of course you can, my darling,” he smiled to her. He picked up her small body being careful not to tug the IV lines and climbed into her bed. She snuggled into his arms and within a few minutes she had fallen asleep.

After she had fallen asleep, Hoseok checked the time. It was nearing 5:30 am, and they still had no idea what was wrong. Hoseok was exhausted with worry, so he tilted his head back on the pillow in Dasom’s hospital bed and drifted off to the rhythm of her sleepy breaths on his neck.

The phone at the nurse’s station rang and Taehyung picked it up, chatting with the person on the other end for a moment before covering the mouthpiece with his hand and flagging Jin down.

“Dr. Kim, this is Dr. Min in the lab about our pediatric patient in Bay 1.”

Jin looked up from his charting and walked over to take the call.

“Hi Yoongi-chi. Have some good news for me?” he said cheerfully into the receiver.

Taehyung knew that Dr. Kim and Dr. Min had gone to medical school together and were close friends. They usually bantered back and forth for a bit, but from the look on Jin’s face, something wasn’t right.

“You’re sure, Yoongi-chi? Damn. Okay, send me up the report.”

After hanging up the phone, Jin pulled up the digital report before swearing softly under his breath.

“Tae, I hate cases like this. She’s really sick,” he said. “Do me a favor and go make Mr. Jung a strong cup of coffee and get some chocolate milk for our princess.”

“Mr. Jung?”

Hoseok startled awake at the deep voice calling his name. He still held Dasom to his chest, and he could feel where she had drooled some in her sleep onto his shoulder. Taehyung smiled softly at him then helped him sit the head of the bed up a bit. He sat a sippy cup full of chocolate milk on the over bed table, before holding out a cup of coffee.

“Here, you are going to need this. Dr. Kim is going to come in after you’ve had a few minutes to wake up to talk with you about Dasom. It’s not the best coffee you’ve ever had, but it’s not jet fuel either.”

Hoseok thanked him and sipped on the hot coffee while waiting for the doctor. Something about how Taehyung had given it to him made his stomach twist with nervousness. After a few sips, the coffee and the churning of his nerves made Hoseok a bit queasy, so he abandoned the cup onto the over bed table beside the cup with Dasom’s chocolate milk. Before he had the time to overthink, Dr. Kim came in and sat in the chair beside the bed.

“I see our princess is still sleeping. I’m a little glad that she’s going to sleep through this conversation,” Dr. Kim sighed then and ran his hands through his hair. “We got the blood tests back that I ordered on Dasom. Her white blood cell count is literally off the charts. It’s so high that our machine that reads the count gave an error. Our lab director is a friend of mine and he personally ran the test for me. I really suspect that Dasom has a form of leukemia, but I can’t treat her here in the emergency room. I’m going to have her admitted to our children’s ward upstairs and personally refer her to a colleague who specializes in things like this. Dr. Park is a couple years younger than me, but he’s brilliant and knows all the latest treatments. He should be able to pick up where I leave off. Is there anyone you can call to be with you? I didn’t see mentions of Dasom’s mother on the paperwork…”

“She signed away parental rights the same hour Dasom was born. I haven’t seen her in literal years. My best friend lives in the city, so I’ll call him,” Hoseok murmured.

He was in shock. His baby was so sick. He could feel the panic bubbling up a bit, but he swallowed it harshly down.

“Taehyung is going to come in a few minutes and take you upstairs. Dasom will have to go up a separate elevator due to hospital rules, but we will make sure you have her room number before you go. That will also give you a chance to call your friend.”

Dasom was still asleep when Taehyung came to push bed and all up to the 7th floor of the hospital. He gave Hoseok the cup of chocolate milk and a slip of paper with her room number written on it. Hoseok stepped out of the emergency room bay and walked out into the lobby inside the main portion of the hospital to make a phone call.

It was still dark outside when Namjoon’s phone rang. He knocked a closed bottle of water off his bedside table trying to get to it and then croaked out a greeting. He was trying to stay quiet enough not to wake Jungkook sleeping with his head on Namjoon’s bare chest, but when he heard Hoseok sobbing on the other end about Dasom and the hospital and something about leukemia, he sat up fast enough to dump the younger man off his chest harshly.

“Hobi, we will be right over. We will stop by and put a note on the door of the shop that it will be closed for the day.”

Jungkook had pouted at first at his rough awakening until he heard how upset Namjoon was. Namjoon was rushing around getting dressed faster than Jungkook had ever seen, and it made Jungkook respond with his own shaken brand of frantic dressing.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Who was on the phone?” Jungkook asked as he pulled a black shirt over his head.

“Hoseok. He’s at the hospital with Dasom. They’ve been there all night and the doctors think she has leukemia.”

That was the beginning of the flaming hellscape that Hoseok’s life became. After four months of intermittent hospitalizations for weeks at a time, chemotherapy treatments that made Dasom vomit everything out for days afterwards and made her beautiful hair fall out, other treatments in the form of shots, IVs, and elixirs, and a bone marrow transplant, Hoseok wasn’t sure how much more either of them could take. It seemed like their options were slowly running out, and that was terrifying to him. It was still amazing to him how Dasom was still as bright and playful as she had ever been despite how sick she truly was. Namjoon and Jungkook had been by their sides the entire time, and Jungkook had spent a small fortune in cute hats and headbands for her when all of her hair had come out.

“I can’t help it, Hobi. I just want her to still feel as beautiful as she is, with or without hair,” he’d said when Hoseok had commented on it.

The three of them took turns staying with her during the day. Luckily, Jungkook’s friend Yugyeom was able to help out at the game shop on the days when Jungkook was babysitting, much like today. Hoseok and Namjoon were both in the shop that day preparing for a book signing coming later in the week, and Jungkook was sending them both photos of their adventures as the day went on. Hoseok was re-arranging the window display for the upcoming Valentine’s Day holiday when his phone rang. He hadn’t been expecting a call, so it startled him a bit when he saw the phone number for Dr. Park’s office on his caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Jung? This is Eunwoo at Dr. Park’s office. He’d like to schedule a time for you to bring in Dasom to go over her recent labs. Is there any way you can come this afternoon?”

Something in Hoseok was shattered by the urgency of the request, but he set the appointment for 3 pm. That gave him a little more than 2 hours to pick up Dasom from Jungkook and arrive at the office. He placed the red tinted fairy lights he’d been attempting to detangle back in the box and headed to the back of the shop to find Namjoon. He found him in their office on the phone confirming the time with the local author for the book signing that Friday. Hoseok sat on the edge of the chair in front of the desk and waited for the call to end.

“Alright, Hobi. That was just confirming the details for our signing Friday afternoon. He will be here at 4 and we can get him settled at his table with some tea before we let in the masses.”

“Joon, Dr. Park’s office called and scheduled an appointment for Dasom in 2 hours. I’m going to have to go pick her up and go,” Hoseok told him anxiously.

“That doesn’t sound good. Why don’t I ride with you and we have Kookie meet us at the office with Dasom? If it’s not good news, I don’t want you to be alone,” Namjoon asked. Hoseok knew that he was worried by the way his forehead was crinkled just between his eyebrows, but he was trying to hide it.

“Okay. If it’s not too much trouble for you and Kookie.”

Hoseok was so nervous about the appointment that they ended up leaving nearly an hour before they had to be there. Hoseok felt the anxiety buzzing around his abdomen like he’d drunk live bees instead of tea with breakfast that morning. Namjoon’s presence at his side was soothing and familiar as they sat on a park bench in front of the office waiting on Jungkook to get there.

“Hey, Seok? No matter what happens when we walk out of this appointment, we will handle it together. We are brothers. Jungkook and I love Dasom just like she is our own child. We will help you with whatever comes next,” Namjoon said softly, squeezing Hoseok’s hand gently as they watched Jungkook park his car and help Dasom out of the backseat.

Hoseok felt his throat close up with nerves, so he just nodded and plastered on a bright smile for his daughter. While the smile was initially fake, it slowly became a true grin as he heard Dasom and Jungkook singing “Baby Shark” as loudly as they could while crossing the parking lot. Jungkook was holding her against his chest and she was wearing a sparkly lavender princess dress and was clipping her matching tiara into Jungkook’s curly locks as they walked.

“Wow, Kookie! Who knew you made such a beautiful princess!” Hoseok teased.

“I’d be offended, but Dasom already told me that I’m the prettiest princess, and her word is law since she’s the queen,” he sassed back, making Dasom giggle.

“Hi Appa!” she squealed when Hoseok reached out for her.

“Hi my Love! Have you had a fun day with Princess Kookie?”

“Yes! We read more of The Princess Bride after lunch, then Unca Tookie let me play dress up for a bit.”

Hoseok listened to his daughter chatter about her day with Jungkook as they checked in with the receptionist. The group had only just sat down when a familiar face popped out and called them back.

“TaeTae! I didn’t know you worked here!” Dasom squealed out while she hugged his legs.

“Hi Princess! I just couldn’t wait another day to see you! And Dr. Park’s assistant had a baby last week, so Dr. Jin let me come over to help out. Plus, you know how much trouble Dr. Park gets into. Someone had to come keep him straight,” Taehyung explained as he hugged her.

They had gotten to know Taehyung pretty well as he had transferred up to the children’s unit shortly after their night in the emergency room. He still worked in the ER when they were short staffed, but he mostly worked in the inpatient unit for sick children. Since Dr. Park Jimin was the head of the children’s ward, Taehyung also floated over to the doctor’s office when needed. Somehow, just seeing his boxy grin and easy demeanor always put Hoseok and Dasom at ease; Dasom loved Taehyung and said he was her favorite nurse because he gives the best hugs. Taehyung took them back towards a room but stopped to weigh Dasom and measure her height.

“Princess, you have grown another inch since I saw you last! I’m going to give you a rock for a hat so you don’t get any bigger!” he teased before taking the rest of her vital signs.

Hoseok was a little surprised that Taehyung picked up Dasom and carried her while leading them to Dr. Park’s actual office instead of an exam room.

“Dr. Park wanted me to bring you in here instead of an exam room. He said he’d be in to speak with you in a few minutes. Make yourselves comfy. Do any of you want coffee or tea?” Taehyung asked. When they all refused, he patted Hoseok on the back and left the room, leaving the door slightly open.

They had only been sitting for a few minutes when Dr. Park came in. Hoseok always thought that if he’d met the man in a different setting, he’d have never known he was a doctor. Park Jimin was a bit shorter than Hoseok and had this habit of pushing his blonde hair back out of his eyes. He never wore a lab coat like most doctors Hoseok had ever met unless he was at the hospital, and then he just wore the lab coat over jeans and simple shirts. He had no qualms about kneeling in the floor to speak eye-to-eye with his young patients and his entire manner was soft and friendly. Children liked him and he was great with them. Not only was he great with his patients, but the man was truly brilliant. He had presented treatment options that Hoseok had never even heard of and had been willing to try anything. When Dr. Park came into the room, Dasom climbed out of Namjoon’s lap where she’d been doodling on the notepad that he always kept in his pocket to hug her doctor.

“Hello, Princess! I see that you brought in your royal guard and a new princess I don’t think I’ve met yet with you!”

“Oh Dr. Chim, that’s not a princess! That’s Unca Tookie, and you’ve met him before,” Dasom giggled.

“Well, don’t tell him I said so,” Dr. Park whispered conspiratorially to her, “but he makes a very pretty princess.”

Hoseok glanced over at Jungkook, who was blushing a bit and sneakily trying to remove the tiara from his hair and chuckled to himself.

“Princess, why don’t I take you to play with TaeTae for a little while? I need to talk to your Appa,” Dr. Park said before taking her hand and leading her out the door.

He was only gone for a few minutes, then came back and closed his office door. He shook each of their hands in greeting before sitting down behind his desk and opening up a folder that Hoseok hadn’t noticed before.

“Thank you for coming in at such short notice, Hoseok. I just didn’t want to dally in discussing this with you. As you know, we were hoping that the bone marrow transplant would help Dasom. I got her labs back this morning, and they were discouraging. While her white blood cell count is a little bit lower that it was before the transplant, it’s higher than it was during her last bloodwork. This tells me that it isn’t working,” Dr. Park paused at this point to look Hoseok in the eye. “You know that the transplant was the last-ditch effort we had to get ahead of this. I don’t have anymore tools on my belt that I can use to magically heal Dasom, and God knows I wish I did.”

Hoseok struggled to speak for a few minutes before finally choking out, “So what does this mean?”

Dr. Park ran his fingers through his hair, then stood and walked around his desk to take Hoseok’s hand before speaking again. “Hoseok-ssi, it means that with all of the efforts we’ve made to heal Dasom, none of it has worked. She is still very, very sick and there are no more options for treatment. We’ve tried them all.”

“Is she…please…is she dying? Is my baby going to die?” Hoseok stumbled over the words in his horror.

“I’m so sorry, but yes. I think she’s dying, Hoseok. I wanted to bring you in and talk to you about requesting some help for you. What do you think of Hospice?” Dr. Park said gently.

Hoseok couldn’t speak. His mouth fell open, but Jungkook spoke for him. “Isn’t Hospice for people who are going to die right away?”

“That is a misconception that a lot of people have. Hospice is designed for patients who are terminally ill and have a prognosis of living 6 months or less. While they won’t get better or heal really, the entire goal is for the patients to have the best possible quality of life and be comfortable in the end. Not only that, but you’d be able to keep Dasom at home throughout the process. She won’t have to be hospitalized again. I would still be her doctor and manage her care, but there would be other people involved. A nurse would come at least once a week and would be on-call 24 hours a day, a social worker would be available to you, and you would have access to 13 months of completely free bereavement care after Dasom dies. And that offer is for more than just you, Hoseok. It would be available to both Namjoon and Jungkook. They can also help arrange bereavement with your parents and sister through a Hospice nearby their homes.”

Hoseok crumpled under the weight of the shock. He couldn’t help but to fold in on himself. Dr. Park was still knelt down in front of him and holding both of his hands, but Hoseok’s head was nearly resting on his knees. He started to sob unintentionally; he had wanted so much to be strong for his baby girl, but he was so scared and devastated at this news. Before he realized what had happened, Dr. Park had released his hands and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Hoseok. I wish I could do more to help her,” he whispered into Hoseok’s ear.

When he finally calmed down enough to pull back from the doctor, he could see the tears streaking down Dr. Park’s own face. He was an amazing doctor, so compassionate and brilliant, but there were still limits to what he could do. He couldn’t work a miracle. And while Hoseok understood that in his mind, his heart was shattered.

“I’m sorry for breaking down. But she’s my whole world. I literally exist to be her father, so the thought that she’s going to die before me is incomprehensible to me,” Hoseok said while trying to wipe his tears away. “Since we can’t do anything else, I guess Hospice is the next best thing. I don’t want her to be in pain, and if she can be at home to pass, I think she’d be more comfortable.”

Dr. Park sucked in a stuttered breath then said, “Okay. I will make the referral today, so please expect a call in the next couple of days. A nurse and a social worker will come out to your home for that and begin to get to know you. And I will of course make visits occasionally to check in on Dasom.”

Hoseok listened to the rest of the things that Dr. Park said about Hospice services as if he were standing in a tunnel. The sound echoed around his head, but most of the words were lost. After a few minutes, Namjoon and Jungkook helped him to stand and walk out of the room. They found Dasom sitting in Taehyung’s lap reading a storybook just down the hall. A toy stethoscope was clipped around her neck over the top of her princess dress and she had a disposable cap on her head like the ones used for surgery. Taehyung was doing silly voices for all of the characters in the story and Dasom was laughing along with him. Hoseok just stopped to stare at her, gripping onto Namjoon’s arm while he saw how lively she seemed in this moment. It took everything within him not to hit his knees right then.

“Hey, Seok? Why don’t Jungkook and I come over and help you make dinner for Dasom? I just want to help support you both,” Namjoon asked softly. Hoseok just nodded before approaching Taehyung and Dasom. As he got closer to her, she looked up at him with a huge smile on her face.

“Appa, are you all done with Dr. Chim?” she asked.

“Yeah, Darling. Let’s go home now. Uncle Joonie and Uncle Kookie are going to come over for dinner. Should we order something?” he replied as he picked her up.

He couldn’t resist hugging her to his chest, and when she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, more tears slipped out of his eyes. Would this be one of the last times he was able to hold her? To see her smile? Hear her precious giggles?

After Dasom and her family had left, Taehyung stepped in to check on Dr. Park. They were good friends outside of work, and Taehyung had suspected that whatever news had been delivered to Mr. Jung was not good; Taehyung knew that Jimin would not be handling it well. In fact, he had rescheduled all of his appointments for the rest of the day when the reports had come in.

When Taehyung got to the office door, he could hear the sobs. Jimin was such a tender-hearted soul that his patients affected him deeply. He slipped in the door to find Jimin with his head down on the desk, crying into his folded arms. Taehyung closed the door behind him, then went to kneel beside Jimin.

“What happened, Chim?” he asked gently.

“She’s dying, Tae. The bone marrow transplant didn’t work. Her labs are still terrible and there’s nothing else I can do. I had to bring her father in and suggest Hospice to him for his 3-year-old daughter. I’m a horrible doctor. I can’t help her!”

Taehyung pulled Jimin into a hug and squeezed him tightly. “You are the best doctor at this hospital, Chim. Seriously. You have helped so many sick children recover. And I know, Dasom is a special little girl and it sucks so much that she’s so sick, but you can only do so much. You have tried every single treatment available for her, including some non-conventional methods and nothing has worked. Maybe her candle was only meant to be lit for a short while. All we can do now is make sure she’s comfortable and as happy as she can be through the end. Are you going to do home visits for her?”

Jimin nodded against Taehyung’s shoulder. “Want me to go with you those days?” Taehyung asked. Jimin nodded again. “Okay. We will go together. And we will make sure that she is the happiest that she can be.”

Y/n hated pediatric cases. They were always the worst. She had begun working as a Hospice nurse to help dying people pass in comfort and peace and to make them smile as often as possible, but most of her patients were elderly. They had all lived long, mostly joyful, lives and were tired of being sick. As she stared at the admission information for her new patient, her heart sank.

Jung Dasom, born 26 May 2015, is a 3-year-old female patient with Juvenile Myelomoncytic Leukemia. The patient has endured a variety of treatments, including various chemotherapies and a bone marrow transplant. The transplant slowed down the growth of the leukemia for a short time. The patient’s mother has revoked claim to all parental rights and should not be given any information whatsoever regarding the patient’s condition should she reach out or inquire. The primary caregiver for the patient is her father, Jung Hoseok, who runs a bookstore/coffee shop. Additional caregivers are the father’s business partner, Kim Namjoon, and his boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook; information regarding the patient’s condition can be shared freely with both. The patient’s grandparents and aunt live out of town but do visit regularly. Mr. Jung has given permission to also speak with both regarding the patient’s condition. Mr. Jung has expressed interest that the patient remain at home for the duration of her illness and not be hospitalized again. Primary physician is Dr. Park Jimin, who will continue to manage the patient’s care and should be contacted for any and all changes in the patient’s condition. Dr. Park plans to make regular home visits to the patient to monitor the progression of the disease.

Y/n had not been the nurse to admit the patient as she had been attending a visit for another patient’s death, so her colleague, Sara had gone.

“Hey Sara, I see you did the admission yesterday for my pediatric patient. How are things there?” Y/n asked.

“She’s an absolute doll. You will fall in love with her. She is still very happy and playful and doesn’t report pain often. She lost all of her hair from the chemo, and complains of nausea when she eats, so Dr. Park has her on some meds that she takes before meals. Her dad is a total sweetheart and is super hands on with her care. He’s absolutely devastated at the news but is trying to hold it together for Dasom. The entire scenario is horrific, and I’m so glad she’s your patient and not mine.”

The night that they’d gone home from Dr. Park’s office, Namjoon had driven Hoseok’s car back to their apartment and Jungkook had followed behind with Dasom so that Namjoon and Hoseok could talk.

“I swear I never dreamed that she would die before me, Joon. The thought rips the breath out of my lungs. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her, but I think I have to,” Hoseok cried to his friend.

Namjoon had tears rolling down his cheeks by the time that he parked the car, but they had developed a bit of a plan. Namjoon and Jungkook would order in dinner and set the dining room table while Hoseok tried to explain things to Dasom. Before stepping out of the car, Namjoon reached over and squeezed Hoseok’s hand a couple of times to give him strength then wiped the tears from his face. They looked at each other and both took some deep breaths before stepping out of the car.

Jungkook and Dasom were singing “Baby Shark” again. Jungkook was doing a great job of keeping his energy up for Dasom for the moment, but Namjoon could see the sadness in his eyes.

“What sounds good for dinner, Somie?” Namjoon asked as they took the elevator up to their floor. “Jungkookie and I are going to order something yummy for us.”

She tapped her little index finger against her chin for a moment while she thought about it. “Can we have noodles?”

“Of course! We will order loads of noodles,” Jungkook replied with a soft smile.

“Can we have chicken too?” she asked.

“Yeah, we can order chicken too,” Namjoon said, also with a smile.

“When we get home, can you meet me in my bedroom with your puppy, Love? I want to talk to you for a few minutes before we have fun with Joonie and Kookie,” Hoseok asked her as he knelt before her as the elevator was nearing the 8th floor where their apartment was.

Dasom nodded then put her little hands on each of Hoseok’s cheeks and blew a raspberry on the tip of his nose. “Yes, Appa. We can talk,” she said as she giggled at the silly look on Hoseok’s face.

Hoseok stood then and held her hand as they exited the elevator. When they got to their apartment, Dasom kicked her shoes off beside the door and put them in their designated spot on the shoe rack before running down the hall to her room. Namjoon, Jungkook, and Hoseok all stepped into the kitchen after removing their own shoes. Namjoon and Jungkook stepped forward to hug Hoseok, but he held his hands up to stop them.

“If you hug me right now, I’ll lose it. And I have to keep it together to talk to her,” he explained before grabbing Dasom a juice box out of the refrigerator then heading towards his room.

When Hoseok opened his bedroom door, Dasom was already there. She was sitting in the middle of his bed with her puppy plushie in her lap, fidgeting about with his ears. When he heard the door open, she smiled at him. He put the straw in the juice box and handed it to her before sitting down in front of her.

“Dasom, I wanted to talk to you a little bit about our visit with Dr. Chim today. You know that you’ve been sick for a while and had surgery, right?” Hoseok paused for her to respond, and she simply nodded as she took a sip of juice. “Well, Dr. Chim talked to me today because the surgery didn’t do what it was supposed to, and you are still sick. Dr. Chim told me today that there is nothing else he can do to help you get better.”

“Appa, am I going to go to heaven?” Dasom asked softly.

“Yes, Baby. At some point soon, you will go to heaven. Dr. Chim is going to help us make sure that even though you are still sick, it won’t hurt, and it won’t be scary. I’ll be with you the whole time. So will Uncle Joonie and Uncle Kookie. Dr. Chim is also going to send us some new friends that will help us take care of you at home, so you won’t have to go to the hospital anymore.”

“Okay, Appa. Will I get to see TaeTae again?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll call Dr. Chim’s office tomorrow and see if TaeTae can come visit you sometimes.”

Hoseok had to stop talking because his voice got caught in his throat. He reached out and picked Dasom up and pulled her into his lap. She instantly snuggled into him and wrapped her little arms around him to hug him.

After a minute, she looked up at him and said, “Appa, I’m not scared to go to heaven. I just will miss you so much when I’m there. You are the best Appa in the world. I love you so, so much.”

Her words broke him more than he already was. Hoseok cried as he whispered back that he loved her several times.

“Appa, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “Unca Joonie and Unca Tookie will take care of you when I get to heaven.”

The minute Hoseok had walked out of the kitchen to speak with Dasom, Jungkook had lost it. He had been strong the whole time he drove so that Dasom wouldn’t realize how upset he was, but when Hoseok left the kitchen, Jungkook wrapped himself up in Namjoon’s arms and let his own tears fall. Namjoon held him as he shook in his arms until they heard the click of Hoseok’s bedroom door open. Jungkook pulled back from the hug and walked to the kitchen sink to splash some water on his face to clear out all of the tears from his cheeks.

Jungkook had just dried his face on Hoseok’s hand towel when Hoseok himself came around the corner. He took a deep breath before turning around and seeing Hoseok taking slow deep breaths.

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asked gently.

“Better than I thought. She said that she loved me and that she’s not scared to go to heaven and that you and Joonie would take care of me when she’s gone.” Hoseok whimpered, fighting hard against the pain in his chest. “I don’t want my baby to die.”

Jungkook started crying again with him as he pulled him into a hug. Namjoon draped his arms around both men, and they all stood there and cried together for a few minutes, before a small voice spoke up.

“Don’t be sad please. I don’t want you to be sad,” Dasom cried as she wiggled into the middle of the three men. “I don’t want you to cry because I’m sick.”

Their tears had made their favorite princess cry because she didn’t want them to be sad because of her. Jungkook picked her up and snuggled her into all three of them.

“I’m sorry, Princess. I’m just sad that I won’t get to see you anymore when you leave us. But I promise I won’t cry anymore.”

Y/n called and scheduled an appointment to meet her new patient 2 days after she had been admitted to Hospice. She was a little nervous about meeting Dasom and her father, but her nerves were immediately put at ease by the man with the 1000-watt smile who greeted her at the door.

“Hi, my name is Y/n. Mr. Jung, I presume?”

“Oh please. Mr. Jung is my dad. Please call me Hoseok,” he said warmly as he shook her hand. “Dasom is playing in her room. Should I go get her?”

“There’s no need. We can chat with her in her room if that’s better,” Y/n said. She couldn’t help but smile back at Hoseok as he led her into the apartment and down the hallway on the right side of the living room.

“Can I carry something for you? You look like you have your hands full,” he asked.

“I’m okay. Thank you though. I lug my bag and computer around from place to place all day long, so I barely even notice it these days.”

Hoseok nodded, then led her into the little girl’s room at the end of the hall. Dasom was sitting in the floor in front of a dollhouse at the end of her bed playing with some tiny dolls, one of which she was currently putting into the tiny bathtub in the upstairs of the dollhouse. She was wearing a light blue cotton dress with a picture of a unicorn on the front and some pink house slippers. She had very little hair, just a bit of peach fuzz that had begun to grow in after her chemotherapy treatments had ended, but she had on a blue headband with a bright yellow flower attached to it. She looked up at them when they entered the room and her dark brown eyes twinkled brightly when she saw her father.

“Somie, this is Y/n. She is one of the new friends Dr. Chim sent to help us out here at home. She needs to check you over so she can report back to Dr. Chim,” he explained as he introduced Y/n to the little girl.

“Hi Y/n! I’m Dasom. Are you friends with TaeTae?” she asked.

“TaeTae is Dr. Park’s assistant. His name is actually Taehyung, but Dasom gave him his own nickname because she loves him so much. He’s her favorite nurse,” Hoseok explained with a smile at the confused expression on Y/n’s face.

“Oh okay. No, I don’t know TaeTae yet, but I’m sure I will meet him soon since I’ll be calling Dr. Chim on a regular basis. Can you sit on your bed for me? I just need to take your temperature and your blood pressure.”

Dasom was completely unbothered by the discomfort of the blood pressure cuff as Y/n took her blood pressure. She was quiet until Y/n finished taking her blood pressure then she chattered about random things as Y/n continued her assessment.

“Dasom, do you hurt anywhere? Do you feel okay today?”

“No, nothing hurts today. I had a headache yesterday, but Appa gave me medicine and it helped. I haven’t thrown up in 3 whole days!” she replied excitedly.

After doing a physical examination, Y/n and Hoseok left Dasom to play with her dollhouse as they chatted a bit more in the living room. Y/n sat down on the sofa in front of a coffee table to chart on the visit on her computer and speak a bit more with Hoseok. Hoseok brought her over a cup of hot tea to sip as they talked more.

“Thank you so much for this,” Y/n said as she took a sip. “I just wanted to sit down with you and answer any questions you might have about Hospice, Dasom’s illness, or any concerns you have. I’m planning on visiting twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays. Since Dasom is so young, I just want to be present a bit more to get ahead of any symptoms that come up. I also want to be here to support you as much as I can.”

“I appreciate that very much. My best friends, Namjoon and Jungkook, will probably be here at times when you come so that I can work. My priority is Dasom, but on the days that she feels okay, I try to go to the bookshop to help Namjoon. I can do quite a bit of work from home since I do most of the bookkeeping and ordering of supplies, but it helps to get out some.”

“That’s understandable. I can call you and give you an update or leave you a note if you prefer on days you can’t be here. I have some families that keep a journal of sorts to write down their questions for me and for me to leave notes for them. We also have a nurse on call every night. If you have any issues, please call and someone can either give you instructions by phone or will come out as needed. I’m regularly on call as well, so sometimes if you call, you might speak with me.”

They chatted a bit more and Y/n could tell that Hoseok was a bit nervous, but she tried her best to assuage his fears. “I know this seems super overwhelming at the moment, but I will be by your side throughout this process. Death and dying seems like such a foreign process to most people, but I will be here every step of the way to help manage her symptoms and help you know what to expect as we go along. Don’t worry about that part though. For now, I just want you to take things day by day and enjoy spending time with your daughter.”

Months passed before anything really changed. Dasom had good days when Hoseok could barely tell she was sick, and she played and laughed and grew. Other days were worse. She complained of headaches more often, and her nausea was harder to control. There were days she couldn’t even keep water down she was so nauseated, and she would cry and beg him to make it better. Those days were hell for Hoseok because he couldn’t make it better for his baby as much as he wished he could. Y/n was an angel throughout everything, and Dasom had taken to her as quickly as she had taken to Taehyung. It was so reassuring to Hoseok that she came on a regular schedule, every Tuesday and Friday. It was also so good to know that if something went badly during the middle of the night, he had someone he could call right away for help.

When they had first been admitted to Hospice, they had been given a special packet of medications that were tailored to Dasom that Y/n called an emergency kit. It was a set of medications that were often needed during end of life care for patients and kept in the home so that they were on hand if needed. The dosages and medications had been modified from what was typically given in a standard emergency kit because Dasom was too young to be given doses of that size of some medications or needed alternate medications altogether. This kit was kept in a high cabinet in the kitchen where Dasom couldn’t access it but was handy if something was needed. While Hoseok hoped they’d never have to use it, there was something so comforting about knowing it was there.

Hoseok never anticipated that things were going downhill until the floor collapsed from beneath him. He was out at the shop doing some work there since Dasom had been doing wonderfully for 2 weeks. She’d felt good and had been able to eat normally and play. Her hair had finally begun to grow back in earnest and she currently had the equivalent of a cute pixie cut. She still wore her hats and headbands that Jungkook had gotten her, and he’d bought several more since then. Since she had been so well, Hoseok felt safe with leaving her with Jungkook for a few hours while he worked in the shop knowing that Jungkook would call the second anything happened. It was nearly 4 in the afternoon on a Thursday, and Hoseok was shelving the newest batch of best-sellers he had ordered when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey Seok, its Jungkook. I think you need to come home and have Namjoon follow you. Dasom was fine up until after lunch. She said she was tired and fell asleep on my chest watching Frozen. That was at 12, and I’m having trouble waking her up. When I try, she opens her eyes a little, says, ‘So tired, Unca Took,’ then conks back out. I’m worried.”

That was all it took to bring the walls of a normal day shattering around Hoseok. Namjoon immediately closed the shop and they left to head home. While he was driving, Hoseok called Y/n to update her on Dasom.

Y/n was leaving another patient’s home when she got the call from Hoseok, and she could tell he was panicking. She promised him that she’d meet him at their apartment. She got there just before he did since she had only been a few blocks away. Jungkook answered the door holding Dasom to his chest, and Y/n could see the fear in his large, bright eyes.

“Y/n! I’m so glad you’re here. Dasom isn’t really waking up and she’s breathing kind of funny,” he said. “She fell asleep on my chest and I’ve just been holding her so she wouldn’t be scared.”

Y/n instantly noticed that Dasom was a bit paler than usual. She naturally had her father’s golden skin, and it was a bit disquieting to see her so pale. Y/n convinced Jungkook to carry her down the hall to her bedroom and lay her on her bed. Several weeks ago, they had switched Dasom’s toddler bed out for a hospital bed so that they would be able to elevate the head of the bed as needed. Jungkook and Y/n got her settled in the bed and laid her favorite blanket over her lap. The whole time, Y/n noticed that her breathing was starting to be a bit more rapid than was normal but had begun to have periods where she stopped breathing altogether for a few seconds. Y/n was able to rouse her a tiny bit, but she instantly went back to sleep after finishing her sentence. Y/n was taking her temperature when Hoseok ran down the hall with Namjoon hot on his heels.

“What’s happening?” Hoseok asked, panicking a bit at the way his daughter looked. In his eyes, she already looked dead because of the pallor of her skin, but he could see her staggered breathing.

“Please, sit down, all of you. This might be a lengthy conversation,” Y/n said as soothingly as she could. Jungkook stepped and grabbed two chairs from the dining room table for himself and for Namjoon to sit in, while Hoseok opted to sit on the edge of Dasom’s bed.

“Thank you. I don’t want you to think I’m being unsympathetic of the situation or being harsh. I just need to speak honestly with you, so you all understand what’s happening. Dasom has been such a strong girl, but her body may be starting to give out. She may start to sleep a lot more than is usual for her and she may not breathe normally. Her heart rate might speed up and she could have periods where she doesn’t breathe at all; you may hear me call that periods of apnea. She may also start to have constant fevers. This will just get worse and worse until eventually she stops breathing altogether. Now, I would love to be able to tell you how long something like this will take, but I simply don’t know. She could also have several days in between where she will have more energy and be more awake; these periods are called rallies. She is rallying her energy up to take care of any business she may have and to say anything she needs to say to you. I will start to come more often for a while because I want to be here for you. I’ll also call Dr. Park to update him. He will probably call you to make a visit.”

Y/n’s heart was breaking with these three men. While Namjoon and Jungkook were not related to Dasom at all, this child might as well have had 3 fathers with as much time as they spent with her. Over the nearly 5 months she had been taking care of Dasom, she had rarely had a visit where only Hoseok was present. She had even come when Taehyung and Dr. Park had been there a few times. Everyone that she came into contact fell in love with this little girl, Y/n included. If her father’s smile was bright as the sun and his heart just as warm, his daughter’s smile was brighter and her heart warmer. As sick as she was, she always wanted to know that the people around her were happy, and she spoke wise words for such a small child.

While Y/n would never breathe a word of this to anyone, she had suspected that this was coming soon. Dasom’s birthday had been a week ago, and Y/n had visited the day before her birthday party. Her birthday had fallen on a Thursday, but she had wanted everyone she loved to visit for her birthday on Saturday, Y/n included. Hoseok stepped away to take a call as Y/n was finishing up listening to Dasom’s lungs.

“Y/n-ie, will you promise me something?” Dasom asked solemnly while her father was distracted.

“Of course, Love. What can I promise you?”

“Promise me to take care of my Appa. I love him very much, but I’m scared for him when I go to heaven. I’ve been hearing angels say my name when I’m sleeping, and I know I’m going to heaven soon. You’ve taken such good care of me. Will you take care of him too?” she asked.

Y/n blinked away tears before speaking again. “Yes, Somie, I promise. I will help take care of your Appa. I will help Namjoonie and Jungkookie. We will make sure he is okay when it’s time for you to go.” After securing that promise, she returned to her usual happy, giggling self as Hoseok came back into the room apologizing for his rudeness at having to take the call.

All 3 men in her presence were crying after Y/n explained what was happening in Dasom’s body. Namjoon was crying hard into Jungkook’s shoulder. Hoseok had climbed into the bed with his baby and wrapped his body around hers protectively. He had pulled her into his arms and was crying into the top of her head as quietly as he could. Y/n herself was struggling not to sob with these men who were watching this whole thing.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to step into the living room and call Dr. Park,” Y/n said before walking quickly from the room.

Y/n took her phone into the kitchen and dialed the number to the doctor’s office.

“Thank you so much for calling Seoul Pediatrics and Youth Care. My name is Taehyung. How can I help?”

“Hey Tae. It’s Y/n. I’m here with Dasom. Is Dr. Park around?”

“Hey Y/n! He just stepped out of an exam room. I’ll call him over,” Taehyung said happily.

“You might want to send him to his office, Tae. I don’t have good news.” Y/n’s voice broke at the end of the sentence and tears started flowing in earnest.

“Oh no! Let me put you on hold a minute, and we’ll both pick up in there,” Taehyung said before the overly cheery hold music started.

Taehyung and Jimin had closed the door to Jimin’s office and picked up the call on speakerphone. Taehyung had warned him as well as he could that the news was grim, so Jimin had tried to steel himself for the call.

“Y/n, this is Dr. Park. What’s happening with Dasom?”

Jimin’s hands were shaking as Y/n relayed that Dasom was experiencing states of heavy sleep and semi-consciousness, periods of apnea, and she already had a fever.

“I think you’re right, Y/n. It does sound like she’s approaching end of life. I have 2 more appointments, but could you please let Hoseok know that Tae and I would like to stop by?”

At the end of the call, Jimin looked up at Taehyung’s glassy eyes and swallowed hard. He couldn’t even speak for a few minutes, so he squeezed Taehyung’s hand and they just sat there in silence composing themselves to endure the rest of the afternoon.

Before she left that afternoon, Y/n kissed Dasom on the forehead softly and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sweet Girl.”

Hoseok, Jungkook, and Namjoon all walked with her to the door. They were all still crying a little bit, but she hugged them all tightly before picking up her laptop case and bag.

“Dr. Park and Taehyung will be here in a bit, and I’m on call tonight. If anything happens, please call me, okay? I don’t care if it’s 3 am.”

As much as he wanted to hurry to see Dasom, Jimin knew that he had to keep his head in the right place. Lucky for him, his final patients of the day were just general check-ups on a pair of siblings who were getting over the flu. He put on a smile and made sure that the pair were recovering appropriately. Their lungs were clear, so it had not turned into pneumonia. He sent them on their way with instructions to rest and keep up the increased liquids for a few days before going back to school.

Once his final patients left, Jimin charted the visits using his laptop then nearly bowled his receptionist over as she came around the corner. “Eunwoo, Taehyung and I are going to see Dasom. Her Hospice nurse called earlier, and it sounds like she’s dying. I may need you to reschedule some appointments for the day of the funeral.”

Taehyung insisted on driving to the Jungs’ apartment. He and Jimin had been taking turns, but he knew that Jimin would be upset when they left this visit, and he didn’t want him taking a chance. They put on some soft classical music for the drive just for background noise.

“You ready for this, Chim?” Taehyung asked gently as he backed his car into a parking place at Hoseok’s apartment building.

“No. Not at all, but it’s part of my job, Tae.”

Neither of them spoke again until they were standing outside the door of the apartment. Taehyung squeezed Jimin’s hand and whispered, “Let’s go say goodbye to the Princess.”

After Y/n had left, they all just stared at each other for a second. Hoseok was completely in shock. His baby had been fine yesterday, and today she was dying. He lifted his left hand and pinched himself hard to see if he was dreaming, but he didn’t wake up; this nightmare was very real.

“Can I have just a few minutes alone with her?” Jungkook asked softly through his tears.

“Of course, Kook,” Hoseok replied, waving him towards her room.

Jungkook sat down on the side of the bed as close as he could get to her, and just looked at her. The first time he had met this beautiful girl, she’d been barely 10 months old toddling about the café at the bookshop on wobbly legs while holding onto Namjoon’s fingers. It was the first time he’d been in the shop, and she had taken one look at him and abandoned Namjoon. She’d reached up to him with a sweet smile and upheld hands, saying, “Up peez.” He hadn’t been able to resist her then and he couldn’t now. He loved her so much and she lit his life up so much. Dasom had lived the meaning of her name in every sense of the word. Hoseok had named her well: Love is what she truly was.

“Somie, its Uncle Kookie. I just want you to know how much I love you. I know you don’t remember the first time I saw you, and how you wanted me to pick you up even then, but you won me over that day,” Jungkook spoke softly to her through his sobs. “I love you very, very much, Princess. I want you to know that I will watch out for Joonie and your Appa, so please don’t worry about leaving him behind. We will make sure he will be okay. When it’s time for you to be our guardian angel, let go and fly.”

Jungkook kissed her gently on the cheek and stumbled out of the room. He couldn’t see through his tears, but he didn’t have far to go before Hoseok was hugging him tight. They were still standing at the head of the hallway sobbing into each other’s arms when Namjoon answered the door to let Dr. Park and Taehyung in.

Jimin and Taehyung went together back to Dasom’s room. She was peacefully lying in the bed, but her breathing was very shallow when they entered the room. Jimin could feel his heart break and the pieces leapt up into his throat as he sat down on her bed beside her. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to her heartbeat. It was definitely beating at a higher rate than normal as her little body desperately struggled to ward off the leukemia in her veins.

Hoseok had excused himself to the bathroom for a few minutes to try to calm down before coming into the room, so they were alone with her.

“Hi Princess! It’s TaeTae. I needed to come see your beautiful face one more time. I know that you are about to become a star in the sky, so I wanted to ask you a favor. When you get there, please go find my grandma and give her a hug for me. Then, both of my favorite ladies will be together. I know you’ll be looking down on us. Your family is going to be fine; I promise. Your Appa is a good, strong man, and he will be okay. I’ll miss seeing your smiling face,” Taehyung murmured to her softly before kissing her forehead gently. After speaking his gentle goodbye to her, he squeezed Jimin’s shoulder as he left the room to check on Hoseok.

Jimin had a much more difficult time finding words to say, so for a moment he just sat quietly and held her small hand in his own and thought back over the time since Jin had referred her to him as a patient.

“Dasom, it’s Dr. Chim. I just came by to check on you. Y/n called me and told me that you weren’t doing so well. You don’t seem to be in any pain, which is good,” he paused a moment when the tears started streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Dasom. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t able to help you get better,” he whispered to her before rushing out of the room.

Hoseok felt like he had no more tears left to cry. He had wept out every molecule of fluid in his body in the hours since Jungkook had called him. Namjoon and Jungkook had opted to spend the night, and Hoseok had told them to sleep in his room and he’d wake them if anything happened. He had planned to curl up in bed around Dasom so if she needed him, he’d be right there. He laid down beside her in her hospital bed and brushed his fingertips gently over her forehead. It was almost as if she sensed him since she curled up to him at that gentle touch and snuggled closer to his chest. He drifted off to a fitful sleep as soon as she settled down into his arms.

Sometime later, he woke up to her tiny hands touching his face. He opened his eyes to see her looking up at him and stroking his cheeks and the shape of his nose.

“Hi Appa,” she said softly.

“Hi, Baby.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up but I needed to see you one more time. I love you, Appa. Please don’t be sad, but it’s almost time for me to go,” she said with a soft smile.

“I’m so glad you woke me up, Somie,” he cried, trying to smile at her through the tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Can you see them, Appa? Can you see the angels? They’re so pretty.”

“I can’t see them, Darling. But they aren’t here for me,” he whispered to her. “You can go with them if they ask you to, okay? Please don’t stay for me. I’ll be alright.”

She just nodded and wiped his tears away with her little hands. After a few more minutes, she laid her head on his chest and put her arm around his waist. She drifted off to a deep sleep soon after, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to sleep anymore. He watched and counted every breath she took that night, and just held her small body to his chest for the last time. Just as the dawn was breaking and light was peeking through her window across their faces, Dasom took her last breath.

Namjoon woke up to Hoseok’s nearly screaming sobs confused as to where he was, but when he opened his eyes, everything came smashing back in on him.

“Jungkook, get up! Something’s wrong,” he said as he flung the blankets back and grabbed his cell phone from the bedside table.

Namjoon practically ran down the hall to find Hoseok holding Dasom to his chest, sobbing and begging her to wake up. She looked like the fairest china doll he’d ever seen and she wasn’t moving, even with her father being as loud as he was.

“Oh my god. Seok, please, you have to calm down. We have to call Y/n,” Namjoon said soothingly as he reached out for his friend.

At that moment, Jungkook slipped past him into the room and wrapped his arms around Hoseok. “I got this, Joon. Go call her.”

Namjoon stepped into the living room and dialed Y/n’s familiar number. She answered on the second ring even though it was still super early.

“Hey, Y/n. It’s Namjoon. We need you to come. Please…I think…” he stopped to breathe in for a moment before he could continue. “I think Dasom is gone. Hobi is holding her and is nearly hysterical begging her to wake up.”

“Oh no. I’ll be right over, Namjoon. Just give me 20 minutes to drive there.”

After disconnecting the call, Namjoon stood in the living room trying to steel himself a bit. Hoseok wasn’t screaming anymore, but Namjoon could still hear his sobs echoing down the hallway. He was afraid they were going to have to sedate Hoseok to get him to let go of Dasom’s body at this point. Luckily, they’d already planned a basic service back when Hospice was called so that Hoseok could just mourn when Dasom passed instead of having to make major decisions. Namjoon took a few more deep breaths then walked back down the hall.

Jungkook had managed to get Hoseok to lay Dasom back down on her bed. After he put her down, it was almost as if all the bones in his body disintegrated and left the man in a crumple on the floor. Jungkook was wrapped around him trying to offer some measure of comfort while he was crying himself. Namjoon knelt down beside both of them and whispered that Y/n was on her way and she’d be here soon. When he heard Namjoon’s voice, Hoseok unfurled from Jungkook’s embrace and moved to Namjoon’s instead.

“Joonie, I thought we had more time. Can I go with her? Please? Please let me be with my baby,” Hoseok begged as he buried his face in Namjoon’s chest and fisted the sides of his shirt.

“Seok, I’m so sorry. It’s not the same, but we loved her too, and we will be with you every step of the way. I promise you that Kook and I will take care of you until you can stand again, okay?”

Before they could talk anymore, the doorbell rang. Jungkook got up and went to let Y/n in. Hoseok took a few deep breaths as he listed to Namjoon’s deep voice assuring that he wasn’t alone in the hellscape that his life had become and was no longer sobbing. Tears were still raining out of his eyes, but his chest had apparently finished caving in because there were no wracking screams or sobs leaving his mouth.

Y/n had expected this to be a horrible death visit. She had known that when she had to officially pronounce Dasom, Hoseok was not going to do well. And what father out there would do well with having to bury their 4-year-old?

The scene she walked into was worse than she’d dreamed. Hoseok was curled in a ball on the floor, shirtless and bare feet, but flannel clad knees pulled to his chest and his bare back pressed against the rails of Dasom’s hospital bed. He was crying into his best friend’s chest and Namjoon was crying too. Jungkook’s face had been red from crying too when he answered the door for her, and she had been able to hear Hoseok’s screams during Namjoon’s phone call. She dropped her bag inside the door and knelt in front of the two men in her black scrubs, gently rubbing Namjoon’s back.

“Hoseok? Can you look at me?” she asked softly.

He leaned back from Namjoon and launched himself into her arms when she offered a hug. “I’m so sorry, Hoseok. Was she comfortable?”

He nodded for a second before speaking. “She woke me up a few hours ago rubbing my face. She told me she loved me then asked if I could see the angels. After we talked, she fell back asleep and I just held her over my heart and watched her leave me. Oh my god, Y/n, bring my baby back. Please! I need you to bring her back!”

Y/n just sat down in the floor then, scooting the fully broken father in between her legs and brought his head to her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and held him and let him cry for a bit, knowing that he just needed to get a bit of the grief out of his system. After a bit, she could feel his hysteria starting to slow down a bit, and she moved her hands to his shoulders to pull him back to look at him. He had stopped crying, but big tears where still standing on the apples of his cheeks and his eyes looked so incredibly lost.

“Hoseok, I’m going to stand up now and do the part I have to do for Hospice, okay? I have to officially pronounce that she’s gone. Do you want to stay while I do?” she murmured to him.

When he shook his head slightly, Y/n stood then let Namjoon lead Hoseok into the living room to sit him down. Jungkook remained behind, still crying, but softly mentioning that he knew which outfit that she should be buried in. He had gone to the closet and chosen Dasom’s favorite glittery purple princess dress and matching tiara. He laid it beside her on the bed and held her tiny, now cold hand as Y/n listened with her stethoscope for just a few minutes. Dasom was definitely gone, and Y/n officially pronounced her at 6:47 am. Y/n hugged Jungkook and left the room to give him a moment alone with Dasom before going into the living room and checking on the others.

Hoseok was beginning to succumb to the emotional exhaustion already, but his breathing had begun to return to a stuttered normal where he had wept so hard. Y/n hugged Namjoon and whispered that Jungkook wanted a moment to say goodbye alone, before turning to Hoseok. She crouched down before him where he was crumpled onto the sofa and took his hands before speaking.

“I’m all finished with her. Jungkook picked out her final outfit. I just wanted to see if you are ready for me to call the funeral director. It’s okay if you aren’t,” she said in a soothingly gentle voice.

Hoseok took a deep breath and nodded. “I think so. I can’t bear the thought of her getting cold though. Can we wrap her in a blanket?”

“Is there a certain one you want to wrap her in?”

“There is a purple one at the end of her bed. Its super soft. That’s the one she always wanted when she felt bad,” he whispered.

“Do you want me to do it? Or do you want to help?”

“I can’t. I don’t want to remember the way she looks cold and lifeless. I want to remember my happy, giggly baby.” Hoseok whimpered.

Jungkook had come back into the room when Y/n stood to go back and wrap a blanket around Dasom. Namjoon’s face was pressed into his chest and they were softly crying together. Y/n smiled sadly at them before heading down the hallway. She found the blanket easily enough that Hoseok had wanted her wrapped in. Y/n gently picked the tiny body up and held her to her chest as she spread the blanket out with one hand. She swaddled Dasom’s lifeless body in the blanket as if she were a large infant, then kissed her on the forehead.

“Bye, Baby Girl. I’ll keep my promise to you. I’ll take good care of your Appa,” she whispered before calling the funeral director.

For Hoseok, time seemed to stop. He had no idea what day it was or how long it had been since Dasom had died. He knew that it couldn’t have been any more than a week, but he felt like his life had stopped the same moment hers had. Namjoon and Jungkook refused to leave him alone for any length of time and they’d practically moved in at this point. Hoseok only slept when the crippling sadness and exhaustion made him stagger down the hallway to Dasom’s room where he’d collapse into the “big girl bed” that she’d used for maybe two weeks before it had been replaced by a hospital bed. The only time he could sleep was when he was wrapped up in the sheets that still vaguely smelled of her baby powder scent with her stuffed puppy squeezed to his chest. In those moments, he could pretend that she was just across town with her Unca Joon and Unca Tookie and he could pick her up.

Hoseok is unsure how he survived the funeral. He remembers standing by the too small casket in a borrowed suit, locking his knees to remain on his feet, and shaking the hands of everyone he knew. He remembers his mother and sister crying softly beside him in the visitation line, and his father struggling to not let the tears fall. He remembers the pastor saying a few words and the prayers before they closed the casket. He remembers Namjoon holding him back from tackling the funeral director who closed the lid and to keep him from collapsing as he begged them not close his baby in a box. He remembers Y/n being there too and standing beside him at his insistence at the graveside service, the death grip he had on her hand, and he remembers the sweet amber scent of her perfume keeping him from going insane when they lowered the tiny casket into the hole in the ground. And he remembers Jungkook wrapping his arms around him and hiding his face in Jungkook’s chest when they started shoveling the dirt back over his daughter’s grave.

After the funeral, Namjoon and Jungkook drove him back home while his parents followed behind. His mother and sister came in and began trying to cook away the pain in their chests. They cooked enough food to feed nearly the entire Korean army it seemed. They made Hoseok sit down at the table in front of all the food, but he just stared at the chopsticks and the dishes like he’d never seen them before. After a few minutes, Namjoon helped him walk into his bedroom, and for the first time since they’d graduated college, Namjoon helped Hoseok change clothes and helped him into his bed. Hoseok just stared at him with empty eyes for a few minutes.

“Hey, Seok, I’m going to step into the kitchen and grab you a bottle of water. Then I’ll come lay down with you for a while, okay?” Namjoon told him.

When Namjoon came back, Jungkook came with him and they each curled their bodies around Hoseok’s and wrapped their arms around him. They both knew that he wasn’t doing well and wanted to provide as much support as possible. When they enveloped him in their arms, Hoseok shattered again. He cried these terrible sobs that sounded like they were scraping the inside of his chest out and left his voice raspy and broken. Namjoon and Jungkook looked into each other’s tear-filled eyes and knew that they were in for a long road.

Over the next several weeks, Hoseok walked around an empty shell of the father he had been. He found himself searching the apartment for Dasom sometimes, then breaking down when he remembered he’d never find her again. After a while, he threw himself into work so that he wouldn’t have to come home until late. Namjoon and Jungkook practically moved in with him for the first 3 weeks after the funeral until Hoseok had insisted that he was okay and that he needed to bite the bullet and get used to his childless house alone. The first night they had relented and gone home, Namjoon called him every hour to make sure he was still okay. At midnight, Jungkook had turned Namjoon’s ph0ne completely off so he’d give Hoseok some space.

Hoseok needed time alone to remember his daughter and try to come to terms with her death. While he did take advantage of some of the bereavement services that were offered, he never felt totally comfortable speaking with a gentleman who had never even met Dasom about her life and the giant black hole her death had created in his chest. So, he worked. He worked nearly 90 hours a week for practically a month after Namjoon and Jungkook had returned home. He needed something to fill all the time he had designated for caring for Dasom. It helped him to be so exhausted at the end of the day that he could fall into bed and sleep immediately without feeling any of the sorrow that had consumed him.

Just 2 short months after Dasom’s funeral, Jungkook had needed to attend an out of town conference primarily for gamers. He had reserved a booth there nearly a year in advance, before Dasom had ever gotten sick. Hoseok insisted that he’d be fine and that Namjoon should go with Jungkook, so they’d reluctantly agreed. They left on a Friday morning and were slated to return on the following Tuesday. Hoseok worked in the shop diligently, but the problem came on Sunday. The shop was always closed on Sundays, and he was so far ahead on work that he had nothing he could do on that day, so he was stuck at home. He did well until dinnertime that night. He had thrown himself into doing some research into some less well-known authors in the area that he wanted to feature in the shop and planning a display.

When he realized that he should eat dinner, he warmed up leftovers from the night before and decided to have a glass of wine. A single glass of wine with dinner became a bottle and a half as he tried to drown the ache in his chest. Before he knew it, he was completely inebriated after having finished the second bottle. In his drunken grief-stricken hysteria, Hoseok lost it completely.

It was 2 am on Monday morning when Y/n’s phone rang. She had kept her promise to Dasom and kept in regular contact with Hoseok. He had been doing okay, or so he portrayed to everyone else, but Y/n had a little more experience with the cycles of grief. She knew that he was putting on a good mask, but it would crumble sooner or later.

“Hello?”

“Hi Y/n, is ‘oseok. Can you come over? I can’t find Dasom.”

“Hobi, honey, how much have you had to drink?” she asked softly. He was mumbling a lot and slurring his words.

“Um…I don’t know? A bottle or two of that red wine Joon likes?”

“Oh wow. Um…yeah. I’ll be over in a little bit, okay? Can you make sure the door is unlocked?”

Hoseok hung up after promising he’d unlock the door. While she was not sure what had led up to this, she got up and dressed in leggings and a comfortable sweater to head over. She didn’t know what she’d find, but she knew she had a long night ahead of her. Luckily, she had the next 3 days off from work after her weekend on call.

When Y/n got to the apartment, she knocked lightly at the door before entering. Luckily, Hoseok had kept his word and the door was unlocked. She paused at the door to remove her shoes and smiled softly when she saw Dasom’s tiny pink house slippers still sitting on the mat beside the door.

“Hoseok?” she called as she walked through the living room. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room.

“In here,” he replied, followed by the distinctive sound of vomiting.

She found him, in nothing but his boxer briefs, knelt in front of the toilet in his master bathroom. The skin of his shoulders and up his neck was flushed from the alcohol and from getting sick from drinking too much. Y/n knelt down beside him and rubbed his back softly for a moment before speaking.

“Oh Hobi,” she murmured. She stood and wet a washcloth in cool water and placed it over the back of his neck, before heading toward the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and some painkillers.

“Please, don’t go. Don’t leave me,” he begged when he had a moment of a break between heaving.

“I’m just going to the kitchen, Hobi. I’ll be right back, okay?”

When he nodded, she quickly gathered the water and medication and placed them on his bedside table. Then, she turned back his bedsheets and fluffed the pillow on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom door before joining him in the bathroom. She found him sitting with his back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. She wet another washcloth and gently used it to wash some of the sweat off of his face. He tilted his face into her touch, and tears slipped out of his closed eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I just wanted to not feel so much hurt.”

“Hoseok, I wish I could help more with that. I hate seeing you hurt so much, but the only thing that will help is time. In time, you will be able to look back on the memories of your baby girl and smile at the light she was instead of sobbing. But for now, sob when you need to.” When she spoke, he opened his eyes and looked at her for a moment. His eyes were glossy with tears and the alcohol coursing through his system. “You feel okay to walk to bed?”

He nodded, so Y/n helped him stand and stood with him while he brushed his teeth. She took the washcloth from the back of his neck and hung it over the side of the tub. When he was ready, she wrapped her arm around his waist to make sure he’d stay steady until he got to the bed. He seemed to have begun to sober up a bit after being sick, so she helped him lay down and tucked him under the blankets. She turned to walk out of the bedroom, but he grabbed her arm.

“Please…don’t leave me. Stay?”

She just nodded, and he shuffled over in the bed to make room for her. She laid down beside him and turned off the lamp.

“Y/n? Could you hold me?” he asked softly.

“Of course, Hobi. Come here,” she whispered back. When she opened her arms to him, he curled into her and put his head on her chest. She could feel him crying and shaking a bit, so she hummed a song and rubbed his back soothingly until he fell asleep.

It was several hours later when Hoseok woke up. The first thing he noticed was that his head was throbbing. After a few moments, the memories of the wine, vomiting, and Y/n came back to him. His eyes flew open, and he was a little surprised to find himself alone in his bed. He remembered her holding him until he fell asleep and the little song she was humming to him. Hoseok gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and saw the water and medication on the bedside table. He took it and walked into his bathroom to brush his teeth again. He pulled on some lounge pants and a white tee shirt before walking into the living room.

“Y/n?” he called.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

He walked toward his kitchen and saw her propped against the sink with her phone pressed to her ear, and ingredients for a possible breakfast spread across the counter.

“He’s okay, I promise, Joon. You had to know that this was bound to happen eventually, right?” she said with a smile into the phone. Hoseok could hear Namjoon’s voice murmuring on the line, probably fretting over him. “Namjoonie, I’m a nurse. He called the best possible person. Besides, he was puking his guts out when I got here, so I’m pretty sure he learned his lesson. And with the way he’s squinting at me right now, I’d say he has a hangover from hell…Yeah, you do that. See you soon.”

She hung up the phone before turning to Hoseok. “Think you can handle some breakfast?” she asked.

“Nothing much. I don’t think I could handle the smell of eggs or anything like that cooking.”

Y/n just nodded and popped some bread in the toaster before turning to pour him a cup of coffee. He handed him the coffee mug before pouring her own. When he added milk to his, she giggled, sipping her own coffee black.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asked when the toast popped up. She spread just a bit of peanut butter on the slice before cutting it in half and handing it to him before treating the second slice the same way for herself. “The peanut butter is high in protein and will help take the edge off the hangover.”

He thanked her before sitting down on the stool behind the kitchen counter. He took a small bite of the toast and chewed thoughtfully before speaking. “Thank you for coming last night. I know you didn’t have to, so it means a lot that you cared enough to come check up on me then stay over.”

“Hobi, I care about you. Of course I would have come when you called.”

That night was the only night he tried to drink his pain away. He had learned that it just made him feel worse in the long run. He began to simply take it a day at a time and tried not to work so much. Around nine months after Dasom’s death, Hoseok finally decided that he needed to clean out her room. Leaving everything like she was just going to come back was making it so much harder to heal. Plus he wanted to donate some of her things to the children’s ward. He had called and spoken with Taehyung to see what they needed, and he had a list of the things he could take them. Once he had decided, he called Y/n to see if she could help. They had begun talking more often since the night that he’d called her in a drunken stupor, and he considered her a good friend. He knew that Namjoon and Jungkook wouldn’t be able to hold it together in cleaning out her things, but Y/n would be. Something about her was soothing to Hoseok, and he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Y/n came over early on a Saturday morning to help Hoseok empty out Dasom’s room. They had several boxes to fill. Hoseok had already removed the bed and had labeled each of the boxes. One box was to be taken to a local shelter that helped women and children who were escaping domestic violence situations, one box was to be taken to Dr. Park’s office for the children’s ward, a small box for things that Hoseok wanted to keep, and another small box of things to give to Namjoon and Jungkook. Hoseok had already taken all of the tiny hats and headbands that Dasom had collected to Dr. Park’s office except for one. The tiara she had worn the day that they had gotten the news that she was dying was in the box for Jungkook. He had asked for that one, since he knew it was her favorite and it was the one Dasom would always clip in his hair. Hoseok had moved her yellow puppy plushie into his room. It sat on his bed all day amongst his blankets and pillows so he could squeeze it tightly the days he missed her so much he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Hoseok and Y/n worked diligently that day. Neither said much, but together they were able to clear out the room. Dasom hadn’t accumulated that many possessions in her short life, and they were able to empty out the room in a little over 6 hours. She helped him load the boxes into his car. He wanted to deliver them himself to the different places. He knew that Dasom would have been so happy to know that other little girls were going to have her princess dresses and dollhouse; she had always been so giving.

“Y/n, could I ask you something before you go?”

“Sure, Hobi. What’s up?”

“After I drop off all of these things, would you go to dinner with me? I don’t think I should be alone tonight,” he replied.

“That sounds good. I’ll go home to shower and grab some pajamas and my toothbrush. How about I meet you back here at 6 oclock?”

Hoseok delivered everything to their respective donation points except for the box for Namjoon and Jungkook. He’d take theirs with him to the shop on Monday. After dropping everything off, he returned to his emptier apartment. Even though he knew that he had needed to do this, it still was difficult. The familiar ache in his chest had lessened some and he was able to remember happy times with his baby as he sorted through her things. He showered and thought about the day and how much help Y/n had been, and not just physically. Her presence was soft and soothing, and it was no wonder that she made a fantastic Hospice nurse. If the way she had handled Dasom’s Hospice period was any indication of the way she did her day to day work, she helped a lot of families. In the past year or so since meeting her, Y/n had become a welcome addition to his life and the lives of Namjoon and Jungkook. They often all spent time together playing games or watching movies. She’d even tried her best to teach Namjoon to cook Jungkook’s favorite meal at one point.

In thinking it over, Hoseok realized that he hadn’t actually been on a real date since he was with Dasom’s mother. While dinner with Y/n wasn’t an official date, he found himself wondering if she would be willing to go on an actual date with him. Even the thought of asking her made him a little nervous, so he decided that he’d ponder that a bit more when he wasn’t about to spend extended amounts of time with her.

Y/n rushed through her shower to spend a little extra time getting ready. In the amount of time she had spent with Hoseok since caring for Dasom, they had gotten very close. Lately, she had realized that she’s developed a huge crush on the man with the heart shaped smile. While having dinner together as friends wasn’t a huge deal, and she knew that the invitation to stay overnight with him was just as a comfort measure to him, she couldn’t help but be a little nervous because of her stupid crush. Besides, she told herself, he was still in mourning for his child; he didn’t want a relationship with her.

They hadn’t discussed where they were going to have dinner, so she opted to dress in an outfit that would be appropriate for a variety of places. She opted for a light-yellow sundress with a jean jacket over it and ballet flats. She packed shorts and an oversized sweater for sleeping in and an outfit to wear home the following afternoon. After packing her things for the overnight stay, Y/n finished curling her hair in loose soft curls and pinned it out of her eyes, then did just a touch of natural makeup.

She pulled into the parking lot of Hoseok’s apartment complex at 5:56 pm, and decided she’d just take her overnight bag up to his apartment and they could leave from there together. She glanced down at her phone after ringing the doorbell, and when Hoseok opened the door, she looked up to find him in just a pair of jeans and still towel drying his hair.

“Hi,” she said softly, “I’m a few minutes early, but I thought I’d bring everything up.”

Hoseok smiled and apologized for not being ready yet. “I just lost track of time in the shower. Go ahead and take your bag into my bedroom. I’ll just finish drying my hair and grab a shirt then I’ll be ready to go.”

Hoseok walked back into his bathroom as Y/n placed her overnight bag just outside his closet door. When he’d opened the door to see her standing there in her cute dress and her hair curled that way, it had nearly taken his breath. She was gorgeous in such a soft, gentle way that he was a little bit addicted to. Something about her just felt like home.

They had opted to go have sushi at a place near Hoseok’s apartment, so they had just walked over. During dinner, they had laughed and joked as much as possible to lighten up the solemnity of the day. Hoseok had to admit that he felt better after laughing and just being around Y/n. As they were walking back to the apartment, the sun was just starting to set. Without thinking about it, Hoseok reached over and took her hand, linking their fingers together. He felt her stiffen up for just a second before relaxing and squeezing his hand. He looked down at their linked hands and smiled at her.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve wanted to hold your hand all evening. I hope you don’t mind,” he said to her shyly.

“I don’t mind at all, Hobi. I kinda like it.”

When they got back to the apartment, they decided to watch random reality tv shows and just lounge around. Y/n slipped into his master bathroom to change into the shorts and sweater she’d brought to sleep in. When she got the sweater on, she realized that it covered her shorts completely but there was nothing she could do about it. She stepped out into the living room to find that he’d changed into a tee and some lounge pants and was pouring them each a glass of wine.

He turned around with the glasses in his hand and found her standing in the living room in just a sweater that was so big that it kept slipping off of one of her shoulders.

“I swear I have shorts on. It just looks like I don’t because my sweater is so big. I just didn’t realize it when I packed it,” she said, nervously fiddling with the seams on her sleeves.

“Oh…okay,” he stammered. “You look so cute standing there. Seriously, my heart is pounding.” His face turned bright red as he realized that he’d actually said that out loud, but her giggle in response was enough to make him feel less embarrassed.

They curled up on the couch, sipping the wine and making fun of the rash decisions that the contestants on the reality show were making. To Hoseok, this felt like something they did every day, and he realized that he kind of wished it was something they did every day. After finishing the show they were watching, Hoseok glanced over to see Y/n dozing against the arm of the sofa. He smiled softly before deciding he’d just carry her to his bed. They hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements, but there was no way he was going to make her sleep on his couch after everything she’d done for him that day. He scooped her into his arms bridal style and started towards his room. She woke up just as he was laying her down on his bed. He’d laid her on his side of the bed without thinking about it and was tugging the blanket up over her when her eyes fluttered open.

“What’re you doing, Hobi? I can’t steal your bed.”

“I’m a gentleman, Y/n. I refuse to let you sleep on my couch. I’ll sleep on the couch; it’s no big deal,” he smiled at her.

“It is to me. Can’t you just sleep in here with me? I promise I’ll be good,” she pouted at him.

He chuckled softly at the way she’d phrased it, then finally agreed. “Okay, Darling. If you insist. I’m just going to go turn off the living room light and the tv. I’ll be right back.”

She was already back asleep when he returned to the bedroom with her back facing the door. Hoseok went to the other side of the bed and climbed under the blankets. The light from the full moon was streaming in between the sheer curtains hanging over the window, and it caressed her cheek softly, making her glow. Y/n looked beautiful in sleep, and something about the way that she was snuggled into his pillow like she belonged there made his heart ache in such a good way. He kissed her forehead gently before whispering, “Goodnight, Darling.”

Hoseok woke up the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and something savory that definitely had bacon in it, and his bed empty. He used the restroom and brushed his teeth before following his nose out to find Y/n singing softly in his kitchen as she pulled a beautiful quiche out of the oven. She had to have been awake for a while to have put this together.

“That smells amazing,” he murmured as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” she giggled. “I hope you don’t mind that I raided your fridge and made breakfast.”

“Not at all. I rarely make time to eat more than a slice of toast as I’m running out the door to the shop, so this is a serious treat for me.”

Y/n sliced up the pie and plated it before grabbing a fruit salad out of the fridge she’d also made. Hoseok moaned at the first bite he took of the quiche. It was so good. The crust was flaky, the eggs were cheesy and there were just enough chunks of vegetables and bacon to make every bite a little different. Paired with the tangy pineapple and sweet strawberries in the fruit salad made it twice as good. Y/n blushed a little bit at his visceral reaction to the food she’d made before they began chatting about the day. By the time that Namjoon had called to see if they wanted to catch a matinee of some horror movie that Jungkook wanted to see, Hoseok had eaten two big slices of the quiche.

“I need to shower, but I’m so full,” Hoseok whined.

“I didn’t tell you to try to eat half the quiche at once,” Y/n laughed. “Go shower. I’ll put everything away and clean up our breakfast dishes.”

Y/n had fallen asleep quickly after Hoseok had carried her to his bed. She’d woken up just after 7:30 with her head pressed to Hoseok’s bare chest, her ear pressed just above his heartbeat. He’d had both arms wrapped loosely around her. It felt so good that it scared her a bit; she’d wriggled her way out of his arms and tucked a pillow in her place. When she was stressed or needed to think, she cooked, so she made breakfast. She’d actually been on her second cup of coffee when Hoseok had stumbled into the kitchen in all of his golden glory, and when he’d moaned at the taste of the food she’d made, her heart stuttered in her chest. It had made her wondered how else she could make him make that sound, and that was something she was not prepared to deal with, so she decided to shove those thoughts deep down and not consider them again.

She covered the quiche with plastic wrap and slid it and the fruit salad into his refrigerator. There was enough left for him to have that for several more breakfasts. She began to sing softly to herself as she emptied the coffee pot and washed up the plates, mugs, and silverware from their breakfast. She was rinsing the last of them when Hoseok slid his arms around her waste and snuggled her into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered to her.

“You have nothing to thank me for.”

“Yes, I do. You took beautiful care of my daughter, and you are still taking care of me in subtle ways. So thank you. I wish she’d had someone like you to be her mom.”

Y/n sat the mug down, then turned around in Hoseok’s arms to face him. He had tears on his cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.

“I’m sorry for getting emotional. I was just thinking about Dasom in the shower. If she had never died, I’d never have met you. And while I wish sometimes she was still here, I would never want her to suffer the way she did for any longer,” he whispered through his tears. “If she’d never died, we’d have never met and you wouldn’t be making my heart skip beats by singing while you clean my kitchen. I don’t know how to feel about that thought, but I don’t want to lose this chance at happiness. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m still a lot broken and a bit damaged from losing my daughter, but I like you a lot.”

“Oh Hobi,” Y/n smiled. “I like you too. I never told you, but Dasom made me promise to take care of you after she was gone. Keeping my promise to her has been a joy in itself, and when I woke up with my head on your chest this morning, I kept thinking how much she’d have laughed and teased me for falling for her Appa.”

Hoseok pressed his forehead to Y/n’s and closed his eyes. “She so would have. And she’d have asked me why I hadn’t given you kisses yet.”

He opened his eyes and looked into hers for just a moment. When all he saw was a soft happiness in her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers. She sank into the kiss slowly, slipping her fingers into his shower dampened hair. When he pulled away, they just stood staring at each other. He knew that they needed to take it slow, but he could feel the gap that was still in his chest from Dasom’s death closing up just a little bit. Y/n herself had been so healing to him just being there for him. They stood there for a few minutes, just holding on to each other before Hoseok spoke again.

“Why don’t you ride with me to the movie later? We can tell Joonie and Kookie about us. But there is a stop I want to make first.”

Hoseok parked in the parking lot of the cemetery where Dasom was buried a couple of hours later. Y/n was sitting in the passenger seat holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers for him to leave on her grave.

“This is the first time I’ve been back here since the day we buried her, Y/n,” he sighed. “But I felt like I needed to do this. Just stay here. I won’t be long, I promise.”

She nodded before handing him the flowers. He got out and stood beside the car for just a moment before walking down the pathway that lead to the section designated for children. He knelt down in front of the tombstone and laid the flowers just at the base of the stone.

“Hi, my Love. I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit you here, but I’ve had a hard time adjusting to you being in heaven without me. Joonie and Kookie have taken good care of me. Y/n too,” he stopped speaking when the sobs collected in his throat before spilling out. “Speaking of Y/n, I kissed her in our kitchen this morning, Somie. I’m sure you’re looking down asking me what took so long, but your Appa can be so silly sometimes. Ah, Somie. I wish you were still here with us. I wish Y/n could have been your Eomma, but I wouldn’t have been able to meet her if you hadn’t gone to heaven.”

Hoseok stopped speaking for a moment to trace Dasom’s name on the tombstone. After he brought his hand back, a purple butterfly landed on his knee. It felt to him like that tiny butterfly was his baby girl acknowledging his words and telling him that she was okay. The butterfly fluttered it’s wings a few times before fluttering away, but it was enough to add a balm to his heart.

“Thank you for the butterfly, Baby Girl. I bet you are the most beautiful angel in heaven. Keep watching over me, yeah? I love you,” he whispered before wiping his tears and standing up.

As he walked slowly back to the car to rejoin Y/n, he knew that he still had a long way to go with healing, but he felt like he was finally making a solid step in the right direction. While he still missed his daughter, he knew that she’d want him to carry on without her, and for now, that was enough.

#bts #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts imagination #bts hoseok angst #bts hobi #bts jhope #bts jhope angst #hospice au #bts jung hoseok #bts hobi angst #angels calling

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queensdivas · 5 years ago

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A Damned Soul Chapter 2 (A Gwil Fan Fic)

It’s all coming together! WHOOP WHOOP! If you would like to be tagged please let me know! If you got requests on one of the Bohrap boys or the dads! Please feel free to request! I hope you all enjoy because holy shit this is getting fun to write!

@mexifangorl @leah-halliwell92 @bonafiderocketqueen @i-live-for-queen @its-funny-til-its-not @b-i-g-i-r-l-b-i @teathymewithben @mayofbrian @brianmydear @i-live-for-queen

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Masterlist

He viewed the world as the first cinematograph when he would be walking around this mortal world. The people in constant motion, the quality of viewing, and even trying to add the old piano music along for the ride. It was the only thing that was keeping him sane before walking into a church to drown himself in holy water.

Fixing his black gloves as the coat man took his cloak off the from the hanger. He placed his dark purple hat on top of his head then prepared himself for the walk out to start his day. Breakfast was on his mind Walking out to the cool evening as the world changed into the fast moving of what he saw.

Till his eyes drifted to her..is when the reality of how the world looks would come back to his sight. Hundreds of times he’s witnessed this moment...words still manage to fall short in this instance. It was how she carried herself around the world when he would see her. Always walking with a destination to go..strong footsteps..not light like some kind of fae.

To him..she was an absolute Goddess…

She walked down the street with a basket full of pastries to take home with her which I’m assuming was her little herb shop down the street from my home. Till a bum came running behind her, pushing her down and snatching her basket.

“Thank you for the free pastries! You bitch!” He screamed as I held my cane up to hit him on his leg, collapsing before me and basically rolling all over the sidewalk in pain. Grabbing the basket from the ground as she dusted off her dress then smiling as I handed her basket back to her.

“Ummm..thank you Sir Lee.” Her eyes always looked down when we would first come into contact. But never doing the lifting of the chin so we could meet. It was seeing her standing before me in embarrassment or even humility.

The sunset was causing a little sunburned was beginning form which was time for me to get into the next building. Tipping my hat to her as I moved swiftly past her but her eyes lingering as they always do after we first meet..

“Wait..Sir Lee..if it’s not too much of a burden..may I ask… Oh never mind you look like in a hurry.”

“No please..your want is my command.” She gulped as she hid her face again from me..I don’t mean to frighten her. Just these precious moments seem to fly by so damn quickly.

“I know it’s not far..but will you please walk me home..if it’s out of your way then never mind. Oh never mind you’re too busy!” She scurried off before I could even give her my answer..which will always be yes....

When it comes to the sunlight and vampires. It is your enemy yes..but you won’t burst into a pile ashes with being in it. Eventually they become a little resistant to it so going outside to the world with the sun won't kill them. It’ll hurt a little bit at first so basically it’s like they’re getting a very bad sunburn. Luckily for Gwil. He’d been alive since the 7th century so the sun hadn’t been a major issue to keep himself alive. Still hurts after a little bit.

In his bright red 63’ Corvette Stingray which stuck out like a sore thumb, traveling up along the coast in the strong winds of the night traveling along with him. He was determined that this would be the last time..or would just stay outside on the sunniest day of the year.

Parking at the cottage as the sun was already setting creating a gorgeous orange backdrop of what he would be viewing for when he wakes up from his slumber. The realtor came out of the cottage with her perky smile on her face and a large yellow folder for all the paperwork he has to sign.

“Mr. Lee! It’s truly a pleasure doing business with you!” She shook my hand with her eyes trailing up and down my body. I can’t tell you how many damn times these women just keep staring at me like I’m some sort of eye candy to them. Quite revolting.

“Now you’re more than welcome to walk around to see how the movers got everything put together and ready to go.” This isn’t the first home I’ve had to buy over the millennials. Usually my home has been a castle, some large mansion, and large flat on a square.

Sitting on top of the hill the cottage sat that was a pearl white color but was also a little into the hill so the top would be covered in grass. Keeps a nice natural temperature for the house. My new home was a little smaller than most of the grand places I’ve lived before. As in it’s not a castle, a mansion, or even large flat on the square. It had a living room, a bedroom that is pitch black..for obvious reasons. No kitchen which makes the living room much larger. Then of course a bathroom.

“Now regarding the whole no kitchen. I can always expand the cottage for some room for a tiny little kitc.

“No kitchen needed. I plan on doing most of my cooking outside so to enjoy the view.” Lying to her as she nodded then placed the paperwork I needed to finish signing on the living room table. Scribbling down my signature on the lines so I could get this woman out of my hair. I’ve got things to start working on before tomorrow evening when she should be shopping for the catch of the day.

“Please doing business with you mam and I hope we can do business again.” Practically shoving her out of the cottage then locking the door tightly. Might as well get some rest before I go grab some dinner.

The curtains were shut all over the living room of the cottage as I walked over to the record player. Usually some very light chants get me to fall asleep after a move such as this. Pressing the play button as the house was beginning to fill with beautiful music.

IF it’s one thing I miss about the 13th century was the vast amount of chants that were sung all Sundays. Thought entering a church would practically be a death sentence for myself..walking by them in the early mornings after a night of hunting was always pleasurable.

Entering into the bedroom to see a very large cat sitting in the middle of my bed. His tail softly moving on top of the covers, those very yellow green eyes were staring directly at me..as if he was planning on pouncing at any moment. Cats in this world are very interesting. The whole “cats have nine lives” is very real and to the point some cats have been with me for a very long time...all annoying with their meows and purs.

“Look. As much as I love cats and all the so called happiness you bring to this world. I would prefer not to have you in my home. So c’mon.” Standing at the edge of the bed but he wasn’t moving an inch..stubborn feline!

“Alright then you stubborn feline.” My hands reaching down to him as he began squinting at me.

“Call me a feline again..I dare you ya bloody blood sucker!” Did...did he just talk…? That’s so damn impossible! I must be tired and a little bit of a headache most likely because I’m hungry!

“Shocked to see a feline talking to you?”

“HOLY SHIT!” Falling to the floor as I backed myself to the dresser! Stopping so that he wouldn’t pounce at me to scratch my eyes out!

“How the!?! What the!?”

“Your really going to question why I’m talking? We live in a world with vampires, witches, and other mythical creatures. Is a talking cat really so bizarre that you threw yourself against the dresser?” He had a thick American accent which stung like a viper somehow! Still sitting on top of my bed but closer to the edge so we could have some sort of eye contact.

“If I say yes...I get the feeling you’ll scratch my eyes out.” He sat in the middle of my legs. His ears pointed straight up as I tried to get this entire situation in my head. Like I said..I’ve had cats follow me around..but none of them have ever had some sort of conversation!

“So you’re a talking cat...and you’re bothering me because…?”

“I’ve heard of you before. You’re very famous for your tragic story. To some fellow immortals your story makes even Elvis Presley sad.” Elvis is alive?

“Elvis is alive? I thought he died in 1970 or something…?” Rolling his eyes as he got down from the bed and even appeared bigger than what he was on the bed. His grey fur was very fluffy and his paws were massive for a cat.

“You’re missing the point you idiot! Those of us who have been wandering this world since the beginning have seen heart aches and the destruction. But you..oh boy have you inspired the masses.” For an American cat his vocabulary is better than what I thought it would be.

“So you’re bothering me because I inspired the masses?”

“Nope. I’m here to help your dumbass because after watching this fail countless times..it’s now just utterly depressing.” This cat is making me feel absolutely stupid! A stupid cat is making me feel so god damn stupid!

“You may call me Hyacinth! That’s what my last owner called me and I’ve liked the way it sounds. Now I’ve got to grab some dinner and your stomach growling is flooding my ears. So let’s go find some sort of grub!” Prancing off into the living room as I stayed there in shock. His head poking back into the room with annoyance written all over his face.

Opening the door as he walked out to the front porch, looking around the coast before us. I’m feeling elk. DO you think I go running around eating whatever virgin blood is available? I got tired of human blood around the 14th century...mostly because that nasty plague.

We started walking along the coast in silence..trying to read each other’s thoughts, emotions, and not wanting to attack each other. He doesn’t plan on staying around does he? I need to get on with my life and this cat will get in the way with it!

“So..Hyacinth. I know you said you’re here to help...but why and how do you plan on helping me?” We stopped walking as he entered the water a little then began searching for some sort of fish.

“Like I said. Some of us have had enough of what happens. You think you’re alone in this world..but you’re not the only ones who’ve been completely thrown under the bus. We figured if we start with you..eventually we can all finally have some sort of peace in our lives. A spark has to..” He stopped to dive his head down then pulled out a tiny fish in his mouth.

Their pools of blood crept into my nose with my eyes turning dark red. They’re so close..small animals have been doing the trick..but they’re so..juicy! A white cloudy trail appeared before me that would lead me to those Elk! I could distinctly hear their calm heart beats which was like hearing Beethovens symphony’s for the time! Loud! And so damn desirable!

Squatting on the rock from a short distance to see their blood vessels flowing through each of their bodies. Which one was diseased, weak, pregnant, and the healthiest. My tongue grazing against my lips, my fangs beginning to grow from hunger. It's been so long since I’ve been fully filled..

It’s come down to the point where drinking human blood is just gross. Most humans blood these days are filled with so much damn sugar, diseases, drugs, and even to much damn coffee. But animal blood..no..wild animal blood that live on the richness of nature it was fuels me now. Mostly small animals..since I’ve been living in areas where Elk just don’t come to live in your backyard.

Hyacinth wandered over to where I was drowning myself in my delectable meal. Once finished, he sat down next to me as I sat up. Licking the blood off my lips then beginning to clean myself up.

“As she ever seen your true form?” Catching my breath as he looked up at me.

“Yes..every time. She never cowards away..”

“I think I’m beginning to hatch a scheme for us. Oh yes..it’s all coming together.”

#gwilym lee #gwil #Gwil lee #gwilym x reader #gwilym x oc #vampire fic #vamp gwil #better than twilight #bohrap #it's a bohrap boy #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #gwil x reader #gwilym lee x reader

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usopp-writes · 6 years ago

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For my lovely @one-piece-25 , @ryathenaughtykitsune and those enjoying my writing and likes MaTch.

Marco leaned against Thatch, using the other male’s chest and shoulder as a pillow. Thatch held his lover in his arms, as the two of them watched Grimm together. It was just another evening for the couple, enjoying each other’s company and spending the evening with a series both enjoyed. Even after three years together, the two were close and not a day passed where they weren’t cuddling – much to the surprise of some people. In fact it was just their love language. Both were physical and they didn’t often voice their love towards each other.

“Marco.” Thatch looked at the blond hair, while said man hummed to tell Thatch he was listening. The series had just ended and so Thatch had decided now was the time to talk about something that had been on his mind lately, especially after both had moved in a house together. “I’ve been thinking and I would like to have a child with you. Through adoption.”

Thatch bit his lip nervously. He knew Marco loved children – it was no secret – as Marco was a child doctor. However, Thatch wasn’t sure if Marco ever had wanted children of his own. So he was nervous what Marco said to his proposal. The blond shifted and turned to sit so he could look at his lover. A soft smile grazed Marco’s lips and Thatch relaxed lightly.

“Only one, yoi?” Marco sounded teasing, but Thatch felt like there was more behind the words than just a tease. So he shook his head lightly. “Well, to begin with one will be enough and when we’ve found out how to be parents, I wouldn’t mind to have one or more.” Thatch smiled lightly. Marco leaned forward and kissed the lips gently. “I would like that. To be a father with you, yoi.” He spoke, looking into Thatch’s brown eyes.

With a pure and happy smile, Thatch pulled Marco onto his lap and kissed him sweetly.

It wasn’t as easy to adopt as Thatch first had thought. There was a lot of paperwork and the fact they were a gay couple didn’t make it easier. However, with the help of Marco’s father and Thatch’s mother, they had now been approved for adoptions. Now they just waited for the agency to contact them about possible children they could adopt.

“You’re really ready for this?” Izo raised his brow, sipping on his tea.

He’d been touring around the world with Ivankov – who was a stylist for a famous rock band – and so Izo hadn’t been around when the two went through all the trouble to get approved. He was worried that the stress to even get approved had influenced their decision, but both were stubborn and therefor had continued to push forward.

“Yes.” Came the prompt answer from Thatch, sounding more sure than Izo had thought he would.

“It is a dream we both have, Izo. To be a father and have a family. Even if the road have been hard and stressful, I haven’t been more determined, yoi.” Marco continued on, while intertwining his fingers with Thatch’s.

Izo nodded lightly. “I just wanted to make sure. It’s going to change your daily life, but you both would be great fathers. You have enough love and care to give. I know it’s not everything, but it’s a base that should always be there.”

Thatch smiled to Marco, love evident in his eyes. It was at this moment his phone rang. He looked at the number and his heart raced. He answered, before miming to Marco it was them. While talking, both Izo and Marco waited patiently, Marco nervous and holding Thatch’s hand tighter. Izo noticed and knew who was on the other end. The adoption agency.

“We’ll be there. Thank you so much. See you.” Thatch hung up and grinned brightly at his lover. “They have a young girl needing a new home and they think we can give her a safe and loving home. She’s 3 years old and her name is Stella.”

Marco smiled brightly and brought Thatch into a happy kiss. “I can’t believe it, yoi.” His heart felt like it was going to burst. Just like when the two of them first kissed and he realized that Thatch did indeed love him more than just friends and brothers. This was a feeling Marco loved and always could recall on days where they had fought or when he in general had a bad day and thatch wasn’t around.

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations. A girl, hmm?” Izo smiled, emptying his cup. A girl would be nice and balance everything out. She would get spoiled, but also raised to be responsible and independent. Of that Izo was sure.

“Welcome back, Marco, Thatch.”

“Thank you, Miss Makino.” Thatch smiled and took her hand.

Marco just nodded, trying to hide how nervous he was. His eyes went from Makino and around the room. Of course the girl wasn’t there, but he liked how cozy and relaxed the place was. The room almost looked like a living room in any home and Marco liked that. It invited people to ease up and be welcoming towards each other. Probably the purpose, seeing at in this room many met their possible child/parents or met the surrogate to their child/the possible future parents to your unborn child.

Both male sat down, as Makino gestured it. “She is adorable. I’m sure you will get along and you can give her the home she deserves.” The woman smiled, before leaving the two alone to get the child.

It didn’t take long, though both Marco and Thatch got more nervous and excited. Soon they would meet their daughter. They were sure Makino was right and they would match with the girl. It made both men have butterflies in their stomach. The girl had soft blond hair, brown eyes and she held onto Makino’s skirt, as they came into the room. Both Marco and Thatch smiled kindly and softly to her. Makino gently brought Stella with her to the couch and chairs.

“Stella, this is Marco and Thatch and they want to be your fathers.” Makino introduced them, pointing at the men, as she said their names.“Two fathers?” The girl looked puzzled, her eyes on the two males.

“Yes and a grandfather and a grandmother, yoi.” Marco smiled, showing her it might sound weird, but there wasn’t any need to feel odd about it.

She blinked. “No mother?”

“If you need a motherly figure too, I’m sure my mother, who’ll be your grandmother, will be there for you.” Thatch assured her.“Don’t need any. I want a home.” The girl started to tear up.

Marco rose from his seat and got onto his knee in front of Stella. “And we’ll give you one. With your own room, a small garden and a playground nearby. You’ll get all the love you need, so you can be as wonderful as you are now, when you grow up, yoi.”

Thatch stood too and placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe and loved with us.” He smiled to her and it seemed it was just what she wanted to hear, as she let go of Makino’s skirt and took Marco’s hand.

“Me call you dad.” She said to Marco, before looking at Thatch. “And you Daddy. Okay?”

Marco chuckled and ruffled her hair gently with his free hand. “More than okay, Stella. Are you ready to go home, yoi?”

She looked at Makino, who gave a soft nod. Then she looked back at Marco. “Yes, dad. I want to go home.” There were tears in her eyes, but he could see it was happy tears.

Marco rose, still holding her hand. She reached up to take the hand of Thatch, which he gladly gave her. Both men had a pure happy smile on their lips and Makino smile too. She rose from the chair and patted Stella’s head gently.“She has a few things, but she will need more.” The woman spoke.

Thatch chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll take her shopping tomorrow.”With that they went to get Stella’s things and sign the papers, so she was legally the adopted child of Marco and Thatch. After everything was done, the men thanked Makino and the three said their goodbyes. Marco helped Stella into the car and seated her in the car chair they had borrowed from a friend, while Thatch got her stuff in the back. It was Marco that drove back.

Stella looked curiously around, as she stepped into her new home. Marco and Thatch let her walk around, exploring every room. As she came to her room, she gave a squeak and jumped onto the bed. Neither men had done much to the room, they wanted Stella to have some saying in what stuff to be in her room, but they had bought the most necessary things, like drawers, closest and a bed.

“So soft.” She sighed and cuddled into the blanket and pillows.

Marco and Thatch smiled, as the latter placed her bag in the room. They let her soak in the bed for a little while, just watching her. She seemed to like it so far and it made them feel relieved. Both had been so nervous that she wouldn’t like them and/or their home, but Stella seemed to be an easy child.

“Daddy? Who cook? Can I have meatballs?” She looked up at Thatch.

“I’m the one cooking in this home and yes, I can make you some meatballs. You can help me if you want to. Or play with dad.” Thatch smiled, liking how the word dad sounded when coming from his lips. It was sweet and cute that she had decided what to call them and it had melted his heart even more. He knew Marco’s heart also was melted.

“Play with dad, please.” She said, looking at Marco.

Marco chuckled and ruffled her hair affectionately. “Of course we can play while daddy cooks, yoi.” It felt so normal to say daddy about Thatch and Marco knew that it was right. That this was how their family should be like, how it should start.

Cheering, Stella went to the shelf, where they had some games stored. She took out one and looked questioning at Marco. He just nodded and led her to the table in the kitchen, so they were all together. Thatch was cooking and the other two playing a game. This was how their first afternoon and evening as a family started.

#MaTch #marco #thatch #izo

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ladylynse · 6 years ago

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@queenofhearts7378 wanted to see another chapter of my Doctor Who/Psych crossover Glitches as part of her prize from my follower draw a while back.

Part IV of Glitches: Shawn Spencer isn’t really psychic. At least, he wasn’t last time he checked. But he doesn’t usually have a real vision, either. (set S5 for Psych, post S4 with Ten for the Doctor)

(Beginning | previous)

“Shawn, this is the fourth place we’ve tried,” Gus said, trying to be reasonable. “You’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gus,” Shawn said dismissively. “I’d never look for a needle in a haystack. People don’t lose needles in haystacks.”

“You know what I mean,” Gus said. “There’s no way we’re going to find this guy.” If he even existed. But Gus didn’t really want to say that, because he still hadn’t come up with a logical reason for Shawn seeing him in the first place. It wasn’t a dilemma for everyone else. Well, maybe for Shawn, which was why he was trying to find the guy, but since everyone else thought he was psychic, they didn’t know how freaky this really was.

He almost wished Shawn’s dad wasn’t out of town right now. Henry Spencer would probably come up with the logical explanation that they kept missing. Well, that he kept missing, at any rate. Shawn would probably accept any explanation, logical or not. It wouldn’t be the first time.

When Shawn’s phone started ringing, Gus rather hoped it was Juliet telling them to head back to the station. When Shawn looked at the caller ID and a grin spread across his face, Gus kept this assumption. Then, Shawn answered the phone, and Gus realized he was wrong. “Lassie!” Shawn crowed. “Long time, no see, buddy. What’s up? Gus and I were just admiring—”

“Cut the crap, Spencer.” If he leaned close enough to Shawn, Gus could hear Lassiter’s voice from here. “Get back to the station. You’ve got a visitor.”

“Really? Who’s that, then?”

“Just get back here.”

“Is it D—?” Shawn frowned and looked at his phone. “He hung up.”

“So back to the station?”

“To meet our mysterious visitor,” Shawn confirmed.

The trip didn’t take very long, all things considered. Gus trailed after Shawn as he waltzed into the station. Juliet and Lassiter were at their respective desks, both sifting through piles of paperwork. Shawn sat down on Juliet’s desk, grinning at her. “Didja miss me?” he asked.

Juliet looked up at him but didn’t smile back. “Tell me about your vision again, Shawn,” she said.

Gus decided this probably wasn’t a good thing. “Weren’t we supposed to meet someone?” he asked.

“You missed him,” Juliet said. “Shawn, please. Your vision?”

Shawn shrugged. “There’s not much to tell, unless you want a description of the guy again.”

“That’s not necessary, Spencer,” Lassiter said, coming over and dropping a file on Juliet’s desk. “We have a pretty clear idea of what he looked like.”

Shawn’s grin was turned on Lassiter. “So I have excellent abilities of description?”

“Um, Shawn?” Gus said, half under his breath, though he knew the others could probably hear him. “I think I know why we never found him.”

Shawn’s eyes widened slightly as he caught on. “He was here, wasn’t he?”

“He was here,” Juliet confirmed wearily. “He introduced himself as John Smith, but from what we can gather, everyone knows him as the Doctor.”

Gus knew the look on Shawn’s face quite well. When you’re friends with someone as long as he’d been friends with Shawn, you get quite good at reading their facial expressions. Right now, Shawn was thinking. Planning. Probably plotting. And, knowing Shawn, probably only planning one step ahead.

The fingers of Shawn’s right hand went to his forehead. “The Doctor,” he repeated, screwing his eyes shut. “That’s right. He doesn’t give anyone his real name.” Gus didn’t need to ask how Shawn had arrived at that conclusion; for one, John Smith just screamed alias. For another, according to Shawn, that was something the Doctor hadn’t answered when they’d talked.

However they’d managed to talk, that is.

“He came here because he’s researching the same case we are,” Shawn continued. “He—”

“Unless you’re going to tell us something we haven’t already found out,” Lassiter interrupted, “cut it out.” Shawn opened his eyes, looking a bit disgruntled as he dropped his hand. “O’Hara’s keeping tabs on him.”

“And he was looking for you,” Juliet added. “That might be why you saw him.”

“Wait, he was looking for Shawn?” Gus repeated. “How’d he know who he was?” Of course, according to Shawn, the guy did know who he was—he’d called him by name, after all—but still. Shawn seeing him in the first place was weird. The fact that the guy was real and not just the product of Shawn’s overactive imagination was creepy. And the fact that this Doctor was obviously looking for Shawn as earnestly as Shawn had been looking for him? Getting a bit closer to disturbing.

Shawn wasn’t psychic. So how the heck could he have seen this guy and had a conversation with him when he’d clearly never been there?

“He didn’t,” Lassiter said. “We showed him a picture. He didn’t have a clue who you were. McNabb said he’d heard of your reputation.” The scowl on Lassiter’s face made it clear what he thought of Shawn’s reputation, but after this last incident, Gus really felt it had to be misplaced.

What the hell was going on? Despite what Shawn said, Lassiter was good at what he did. Well, he could tell when people were lying, at any rate. Usually. He’d probably read this Doctor guy accurately, meaning he definitely hadn’t run into Shawn this morning and called him by name. Meaning that Gus still had no idea what had happened.

Of course, neither did Shawn, but that was beside the point. It was easy for everyone else to just believe that Shawn had had a psychic vision. But when that couldn’t be the explanation, what the heck was?

Shawn, who gave no sign of being plagued with similar thoughts, gave the two detectives an easy smile. “I suppose I should catch up with him, then.”

“Shawn,” Juliet began, looking hesitant, “we’re not exactly convinced he’s, well….”

“Sane,” Lassiter supplied, “so you two will probably get along just fine. He doesn’t seem to run around on much more than feelings, either.”

Shawn raised his eyebrows and looked at Juliet, who elaborated, saying, “He was convinced that something was wrong. He just said he wasn’t sure what. And I wasn’t questioning his sanity, Lassiter,” she added. “I was questioning his reliability.”

“Where did he say he was going?” Gus asked, knowing Shawn would want to follow. It was Shawn, after all. Besides, he was curious, too.

“He didn’t,” Juliet said. “But he does have my cell phone, so we can contact him if we need to.” She didn’t say it, but Gus knew it also meant they’d be able to track him if it came to that. “But while you’re here, Shawn, I want a written record of your vision. I want to look it over again. There has to be some significance to it beyond the Doctor simply turning up.”

Gus looked sideways at Shawn, who was looking thoughtful. Sort of. “Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

Shawn snorted. “Of course he didn’t have anything to do with it, Gus,” Shawn said. “Not in terms of killing Cunningham, anyway. Lassie here would’ve been able to spot that a mile off and wouldn’t have let him leave, right?”

Lassiter scowled. “We’re not ruling him out, Spencer. I don’t trust people who pretend to be someone they’re not.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Shawn muttered. But he picked up a pen and pad of paper from Juliet’s desk, saying, “Do you want it in point form or sentences?”

“I want all the details,” Juliet said. “If you don’t think you’ll forget something, just put it in point form.”

When Shawn had finished scribbling things down, he practically ushered Gus out of the police station. Gus, having received this treatment far too many times before, knew what was coming. “You saw something in there, didn’t you? Where are we going?”

“To Cunningham’s.”

“Cunningham’s?” Gus repeated. “You suddenly know where he lives, too?”

Shawn shot him a look. “Really, Gus? Really? Don’t you ever look at anything? It was in the file Lassie dropped onto Jules’s desk.”

Gus frowned. “That file was closed, Shawn.”

“But some of the papers slipped out the side; didn’t you see them? It was right in front of you.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “If you just saw an address, you don’t know if it’s Cunningham’s or not.”

“It’s not going to be anyone else’s,” Shawn pointed out. “They don’t have any witnesses to the actual crime, and if the guy was an inventor, he had to be holed up somewhere with his collection.”

“It might be the person who called it in,” Gus pointed out.

“For one, even if it was, they’d questioned him already. For another, I doubt people in that region of town call the cops very often. Keys?”

“You’re not driving, Shawn.”

Shawn huffed but mercifully didn’t argue—or try to grab the keys from him, which Gus knew he wasn’t above doing. Shawn settled into being the navigator, and Gus had to hope that they were actually going to the right address and not to, oh, the new smoothie shop that had just opened up. Not that he’d particularly mind a smoothie right now, but he was getting tired of being dragged everywhere by Shawn and having to pay for everything because someone had so conveniently ‘forgotten’ his wallet.

They’d been driving for maybe three minutes before Gus decided he should probably just ask Shawn what he thought about all the crazy things that had been happening, about seeing and conversing with someone who wasn’t there yet was real and had turned up, and about what the heck he thought might actually be going on.

Gus opened his mouth, and Shawn’s phone rang.

“Don’t tell me it’s Lassiter again,” Gus said instead, noting the surprise on Shawn’s face when he glanced over. Wouldn’t be Juliet, either, for that matter.

“It’s Dennis,” Shawn said before answering the call. “Hello?” A pause. “What? Seriously?” Another pause. “Really? You’re sure?”

Gus wasn’t sure about Dennis, but he was sure that he wouldn’t like what Shawn’s grin meant.

“Gus and I will be right over. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Miss what?” Gus asked suspiciously.

“Hang a right up here,” Shawn said instead of answering. “It’s the fastest way to get to Dennis’s.”

“Why…why do we need to go there, Shawn? I thought we were looking into this case.”

“We are. This case just might now involve aliens.”

Gus pressed his lips into a thin line. He wasn’t going to argue. Aliens might explain Shawn’s apparent psychic episode. They’d just need to be careful, make sure they didn’t accidentally get carried away like last time. “What did he find? Electric disruptions? Ground disturbance?”

“Massive energy spike.”

Massive enough that Dennis thought it significant or he wouldn’t have called them. Gus wondered what else he’d found, but if Shawn knew, he wasn’t going to say. Aliens. This time, it might really be aliens.

Aliens were a lot more sane than his non-psychic friend suddenly becoming psychic.

XXXXXX

The Psych office was closed when he arrived, and the Doctor didn’t feel like sticking around to wait again, so he turned his attention to more pressing concerns. Namely, finding the technology that was making this little pocket of time skip like a broken record every once in a while.

He still had his read on his sonic screwdriver from earlier, so the Doctor pulled it out and started off at a run. He really shouldn’t have wasted so much time earlier. True, he’d been waiting for a fourth glitch, but it hadn’t come yet. And, yes, he had extracted a promise from Juliet to help him, and now he knew he had to look into the legitimacy of this Shawn Spencer, so his time hadn’t been wasted, per se, but he’d rather get to the bottom of whatever was messing with time sooner rather than later.

He’d been lucky that everything had been stable so far in terms of after-effects, but his luck didn’t tend to hold.

He kept waiting for that fourth skip of time to correct his direction and give him a more precise reading of where he needed to go, but as it turned out, he didn’t need it. He knew he was getting close when he felt the pressure building up. Well, not pressure, exactly. More like the feeling of the charged air before a thunderstorm. It meant he was on the right track.

The house outside of which the Doctor finally found himself was in a poorer neighbourhood, he’d guess. Well, if he was to guess by the state of upkeep, or rather the lack thereof. The door wasn’t even locked, though he suspected there was another reason for that, given the quality of the lock on the door.

Skulking outside of homes always led to misunderstandings, so the Doctor lost no time in sneaking inside the house. The inside didn’t look much better than the outside, though he supposed he ought to be thankful he didn’t have a companion with him to point out comparisons between his housekeeping skills and this man’s. Still. He could hear something humming, taste the energy building in the air, feel it prickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

He found the source in the basement.

“Oh,” the Doctor said softly, “you’re causing this trouble, aren’t you?”

The machine continued to hum.

On the surface, it didn’t look like much.

Of course, neither did the TARDIS. That was the point. People underestimated things. They didn’t always take the time to look beneath the surface.

The Doctor, however, was used to looking beneath the surface and rather enjoyed doing so. Things usually turned out to be much more interesting than they appeared to be. Not that this didn’t appear to be interesting; it did, very much so. It was a beautiful piece of work, if a bit rough. He was surprised it worked.

Well, given the way it was causing time to skip, perhaps work wasn’t the best word.

But still. It had an effect. The skill to contrive any effect on the timestream alone was admirable for humans in this time period.

Near as the Doctor could tell, it was a rudimentary time machine. To the untrained eye, it might look a bit more like a pile of assorted scrap stuck together and somehow managing to generate a whining hum, meaning something was working somewhere beneath the surface, but he saw more than that. Temporal sensors. Dimensional stabilizers. Quantum resonators. Not perfect, no. Not nearly. But they were still recognizable as early attempts at key processing equipment, at things needed for time travel to occur.

Unfortunately, the imperfections added up.

It was an admirable effort, but it was also a dangerous one.

The feedback alone….

No matter. It wouldn’t take much to fix. Well, actually, it would take a lot to fix, but he didn’t intend to fix it. On the contrary, he needed to break it and ensure that no one else managed to fix it. It being as unstable as it was, keeping this machine functioning would not be in his best interests. The temporal pressure in this area had already given him a dull headache.

Admittedly, he rather wanted to know how the machine worked. He’d seen various attempts humans had made at time travel in the past, with varying degrees of success. They wouldn’t really be completely successful for a long while yet, hadn’t quite created a reliable machine that generated its own power and would ensure the traveller arrived completely intact, in their own body, but it never ceased to amaze him to see what the human race came up with. To be fair, though, that DeLorean had managed the ‘travel outside of one’s own lifetime’ bit, unlike the particle accelerator experiment he’d run into, and both were safer than this.

But because he didn’t immediately know how this worked, it was interesting.

Grinning a little, the Doctor set to work.

XXXXXXX

“Molly’s out with the girls,” Dennis said as he led them through the house and into what had once been the secret room in his office. “I haven’t told her yet. Didn’t want to get her hopes up until I’ve run it by you two.” He slid into his office chair and spun around to face the screen. “Look, I know it’s not much to go on, but this?” He pointed to a graph open on his computer. “Electrical discharges like that aren’t normal.”

Gus squinted. “When was that?”

“This morning,” Shawn answered.

Dennis nodded. “Early morning. I have a program running in the background. It usually just picks up on power surges ahead of blackouts, but this time—”

“What about those?” Shawn interrupted, pointing to smaller blips on the graph that seemed a mite too high to be considered usual. He was trying not to get too excited about the fact that they were looking at proof that aliens existed. Proof that they could rub in Lassie’s face. And his dad’s. And—

“Echoes, maybe. It’s not consistent with a ship I’m familiar with. We might be looking at a new alien race.”

Gus let out a low whistle.

“Can you pinpoint where that was?” Shawn pressed. They were close. He could feel it. “Check cameras or something?”

“Way ahead of you. I’ve narrowed it down to a few blocks between North Voluntario Street and Alameda Padre Serra, but—”

“By East Haley?” interrupted Shawn, remembering the address he’d read.

“Possibly. I’m checking there, but I haven’t found—”

“You will.” Shawn straightened up and looked at Gus. “Aliens got to Cunningham,” he announced.

Gus frowned. “He was stabbed, Shawn.”

“They didn’t get to him recently,” Shawn said. “They abducted him years ago. Gave him those paranoid tendencies and whatever else all the witnesses noted. Why do you think he didn’t trust anyone? Why do you think he was an inventor, cobbling together parts? Because he’d seen the future, Gus. He’d seen alien technology.”

Understanding dawned in Gus’s eyes. “And when he was getting close to it being a reality, some intergalactic hitman came and offed him. Made it look like an ordinary stabbing to cover his tracks.”

Dennis was looking between the two of them. “There’s been an alien murder?”

“There’s an alien murderer,” Shawn corrected. “You picked up on its arrival to Earth.”

Dennis swallowed. “So if there hasn’t been an equal power surge—”

“Then it’s still here.” Gus shuddered. “I do not want to meet a murderous alien.”

“I’ll cross-reference the time of the spike with my satellite data again,” Dennis said. “If there’s a chance of a split-second arrival, that could explain how I missed it earlier. I’ll keep you guys posted.”

“And we’ll let you know if we find any futuristic technology in our investigation,” Shawn promised, ignoring the glare Gus sent him. It was hardly sharing case details with an outsider when the SBPD wouldn’t even know what they were looking at. It would be more…consulting an expert. And if Shawn knew anyone who was an expert on aliens, it was Dennis Gogolack.

XXXXXX

The Doctor yelped and jerked his hand back. He sucked on his burnt fingers, eyeing the sparking machine with more wariness this time. He’d expected to get a few shocks, but he’d thought he might make it through without any sparks flying. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

It was a complicated bit of machinery, though. It had no apparent off switch that he could find, and it was, for some reason, immune to sonic blasts from his screwdriver. Actually, he figured he might know that reason. The machine was generating a fair bit of power, building up bursts of temporal energy, but it was also producing enough residual energy to act as a shield to deflect his sonic bursts.

On the upside, that meant that the machine shouldn’t overload anytime soon and go out with a bang.

On the downside, it would also probably run for a while yet if it wasn’t in danger of burning itself out.

The Doctor circled the machine again, trying to see if he could spot something he’d missed before. He’d realized early on that this machine had been started up before it was finished. That was part of the reason it wasn’t working properly, with the other part simply being that the chances of it working in the first place were exceedingly slim, given the time period. Chances were, he couldn’t find a kill switch because that particular feature hadn’t been added in yet. At least, that’s what he was guessing. The circuit looked to have been forcibly connected further along. It would keep going until it ran out of power.

Given that the machine was regenerating its power supply as it ran, similar to the way a car battery recharged itself, he wasn’t sure he could wait that long.

Well. He knew he shouldn’t wait that long.

The Doctor tried reaching for a different set of wires this time, an inconspicuous pair near the front of the machine that nevertheless appeared to be important. He hoped they were part of a secondary system that would override the main one with a bit of help.

He was wrong.

The shock sent him stumbling backwards, stealing his breath away. His entire body ached with sudden pain, his head pounding with the rhythm of his hearts. Oh, that one had been ten, no, a hundred times worse than the last one. Ooh, he hadn’t felt this bad since he’d had lightning race through him.

The machine was, at least, running more quietly than before.

The Doctor snorted. It should be; it had let off enough energy with that particular burst. He ought to get a few pieces of equipment from the TARDIS before he tried shutting it down again. It was proving to be a rather temperamental machine that wasn’t returning his gentle touches in kind.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though….

The Doctor stiffened, alarmed, and carefully sent out a searching thought.

He came back with nothing.

He couldn’t feel her.

She wasn’t there.

He knew his connection with her hadn’t been severed. He could feel, distantly, another trace of her, somewhere, but it was the wrong one; his TARDIS, yes, but not his present TARDIS. That TARDIS, past or future, had her own Doctor. But his? He didn’t know where she was.

Scrambling to his feet, the Doctor took the stairs two at a time and bolted outside.

The sun was in the wrong position. It wasn’t even in the same spot as it had been when he’d entered the house, let alone further along in the sky as it should be. It was lower, hiding behind the buildings in the east.

The air itself attested to the sun’s absence, still faintly clinging to the cool of night.

The Doctor’s mouth twisted. At least he knew why he hadn’t been able to sense his TARDIS; she wasn’t here yet.

A quick round of investigating inside told him that the house belonged to the man he’d run into earlier—though, linearly speaking, it would be later now. Perhaps this was why the man, Jack Cunningham, had been in too much of a rush to given him better directions when he’d asked; his machine was running, and not running properly.

Granted, the front door was unlocked, even now. Perhaps Jack wasn’t yet aware that his machine wasn’t functioning correctly. He might not even know that it was on; someone else could have turned it on. They might even have wrecked it, though the Doctor somehow doubted that. The machine had been put together with competence but without a distinct plan. It was conceived from guesswork, plain and simple, and had all the flaws and glitches that befitted its status as a very early prototype.

Still. Whoever had been here was gone now, as far as he could tell, and he didn’t know whether they’d be back. He’d been given extra time here—unwittingly and rather unwillingly—so he might as well make the best of it and find out what he could. Even when the TARDIS did turn up, he couldn’t go to her immediately, and anyway, he might as well use the time he had to find out what he could.

He was unprepared for the first glitch when it came; he’d forgotten precisely when it would be coming, to be perfectly honest. He’d made it to a busier part of the city and found himself caught out in the crowd. It didn’t take him long to realize, though, that this time, things were a bit different for him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was living them twice, or perhaps that he was just a different sort of entity altogether and couldn’t be lumped in with everyone else, but he found that he had a bit of…influence.

He’d bumped into someone—all right, so he hadn’t exactly been looking where he was going—and caused the lady to drop the armful of pamphlets she’d been carrying. He’d apologized, helped her gather a few of the loose papers up, and started to move on, but then things had jumped back. It was a bit funny to see, really. In the time it took to blink—well, less, really—the original crowd was back on the sidewalk. All those steps people had taken had been drawn back, reversed. Caught, suspended, rewound, and now replayed.

Except for him—and the lady he’d bumped into. Only, she didn’t seem to notice anything. She’d just finished straightening her papers before continuing on her way, looking completely unaware that she was now a few minutes ahead of herself. Well, ahead of everyone else, at least, since everyone else had backtracked.

Oh, this was just going to make his headache worse. There was too much pressure around here. To have time forcibly rewound, pulled back a few minutes like a yo-yo on a string, created friction in the multiverse. If he didn’t sort things out soon, there could be an echo effect.

Not much of one, admittedly. It might be felt in a parallel universe, two, maybe three, even five or six at a stretch, but only in the concentrated area—which, frankly, the Doctor doubted even extended to the boundaries of the city. But still. With things being sealed up as they were, he’d only have to hope that nothing went terribly wrong in another universe, particularly in one that he wasn’t part of. His hands were tied, after all. He couldn’t break through even if he wanted to.

They were all the more tightly sealed now that they’d been weakened once, even if that was a bit counter-intuitive.

No matter. He was catching up now, and if he was lucky, he wasn’t in loop, so he’d only have to live this through once. The smart thing, though, would be to track down this fellow who’d created the machine and, subsequently, all these problems. He ought to at least know how to turn that machine off, wouldn’t he?

Well, theoretically, but if he hadn’t turned it on, maybe he couldn’t turn it off, either.

The Doctor sighed. He could try tracing his steps back to the alley where he’d first run into Jack, he supposed. It was long past the time that he would’ve run into him, but he wasn’t having any luck finding clues elsewhere. Not that he expected his current method of searching would be particularly fruitful when he wasn’t actively searching for anything. Rather, he was just keeping his eyes peeled for anything suspect.

No matter. One more repeat, then the drawn out moment that would snap back. It’d be interesting to see how that one went. Might not be any different, of course, but he wasn’t about to make any assumptions. The technology behind this was faulty, after all, and he hadn’t ever seen anything exactly like it before, so surprises were to be expected.

He could only hope they’d be pleasant ones.

The Doctor started off in another direction and, not five minutes later, encountered his first—and hopefully not last—pleasant surprise: he found a fruit stand, and it sold bananas.

Well, all right, it wasn’t a fruit stand, exactly; more of a grocer. But it stocked bananas, among other fruits, so he could hardly ask for anything more.

Well. Yes, he could ask for something more: money. He was a bit short. A fifty pence piece, a stick of credits, two shillings, one euro, and a gold aureus of Claudius coin. The last might have come in useful if he’d been trying to sell it, but chances were the vendor here, who was hardly more than a boy, wouldn’t know the difference between the real thing and a replica from a museum and would assume the latter. Not that the Doctor could blame him for that. Wasn’t exactly everyday someone came along and tried to trade a real Roman coin for a bunch of bananas.

The Doctor looked at the handful of useless coins once more, wondered whether he’d have any better luck if he went through all the bother of looking through a different pocket, and asked, “How much for just one banana, exactly?”

“I’m not selling just one banana,” the vendor replied matter-of-factly.

“But could you make an exception? I only need the one.” He wanted at least two, one for now and one for later, but he’d settle for just one for later. They could be terribly useful.

“They’re in bunches,” the vendor said, “and that’s how I was told to sell ‘em, so that’s how I’m going to sell ‘em.”

The Doctor frowned, then said, “What if I trade you for it, then?”

The vendor shook his head. “Cough up cash or try somewhere else.”

“I haven’t found anywhere else,” the Doctor complained.

“That’s not my fault,” the vendor returned. “Look, I’m not supposed to barter, and this was the only job I could find close by, okay? I can’t afford to lose it. You’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Student, the Doctor realized. Or would-be student, if he could get enough money to go to school. He would’ve thought there would’ve been better jobs than this, though. “What do you want to study?”

The vendor blinked at him. “What?”

“What do you want to study?” the Doctor repeated.

The vendor stared at him for a moment, then swallowed and said, “Horticulture, or landscape design, or something. Maybe even trying to breed a black lily or pear-shaped tomatoes with stripes. I haven’t quite decided. This was as close as I could get.”

Which wasn’t, the Doctor figured, very close at all. He picked the Roman coin out of his hand and pocketed the rest. If his timing was right….

It was. The second glitch came right when he’d expected it to.

“This,” the Doctor said, “is a genuine Roman coin, circa 41 to 54 AD. If I remember correctly, this was about 45, 46 AD.”

“I can’t trade you the bananas for that,” the vendor said in a tone that told the Doctor he didn’t believe a word that the crazy stranger was telling him.

“I want you to have it,” the Doctor said, holding it out to him.

“I can’t trade you the bananas for that,” the vendor repeated.

“I didn’t ask you to,” the Doctor replied, “though I’ll admit that I would have liked it if you would have.” He put the coin down within easy reach of the vendor. “Get it appraised,” he said. “See what you’re told. And if anyone asks how you got it, tell them altruism can still be found in this day and age despite arguments to the contrary.”

Time reset itself, and the vendor stared at the coin, unaware that the crowd around him had changed. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asked, looking up at the Doctor.

The Doctor shrugged. “Why not find out for yourself?” And, rather than let the lad find something to say to him, the Doctor turned on his heel and continued on his way.

He still didn’t have a banana, and he was less a coin, but it was all for the best.

There was a longer stretch between the second and third glitch than between the first and second ones, and he spent the time retracing his steps. He passed the street where he’d left the TARDIS and continued on to where he’d met Jack Cunningham, but there was nothing down that particular side street, either. He hadn’t had much of a lead to begin with, but now it was as good as dead.

He had to have missed something somewhere, made an incorrect assumption or overlooked something or dismissed something as unimportant when it wasn’t. Or, more likely, he was missing a very important piece to this puzzle. He needed to work things out, but even he needed something to work with.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and fiddled with the settings for a moment, then took a few readings. Time, it seemed, was fairly stable between glitches, but there were still a few disturbances that he could pick up. Not much, but enough to register, and, if he was very lucky, enough to track. Not to its source, exactly; the source was probably the machine. Rather, he could find what didn’t quite fit, the reason the disturbance occurred in a particular place. The means instead of the cause.

The Doctor set off towards the nearest disturbance. The signal kept strengthening, which told him he was on the right track, and after a few more corners, he figured he was nearly there and pocketed his sonic screwdriver again. He rounded the last corner and came upon the scene that he was quite certain contained the cause of this particular disturbance. It was a crime scene, police tape and all. In all likelihood, the murder he’d heard about at the station.

Unfortunately, that crime scene included Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara and the nice Officer McNabb, none of whom were to meet him until later.

The Doctor stepped back, listening for a moment. He could hear their conversations clearly, and no one had remarked upon him. That meant he was safe. And to stay that way….

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and his TARDIS key. He’d have to make a perception filter; he couldn’t risk those three seeing him again. The psychic paper might do for the others, but—

The third glitch hit.

Time stalled, and the Doctor abandoned the idea of the perception filter. He didn’t need it now. In a few long strides, he was back around the corner and had ducked under the police tape. Unfortunately, it wasn’t terribly surprising to see Jack Cunningham lying dead on the ground. Getting the answers out of him would’ve been just too easy.

Still. From the sounds of it, the detectives weren’t having much luck finding anything out, either. Judging from the conversation he’d overheard between Juliet and two men with their backs to him, they hadn’t even discovered where Jack Cunningham lived.

“I can’t say I have that particular trouble,” the Doctor remarked, more to himself than anyone else. No one else would be able to properly hear him right now when he hadn’t been interacting with them before the glitch hit, after all. “Mind you, at this rate, I’d really like to know if anyone else has found what he left behind.” Or—if it hadn’t been Jack who had turned on the machine—if they were coming back.

Now, the Doctor was used to surprises. Well, as used to surprises as anyone could be, seeing as they were still surprises. But when one of the men spun around to face him, staring at him and asking who he was, the Doctor was well and truly surprised. He could recognize Shawn Spencer easily from the photograph Lassiter had shown him. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice this, this stretching of time, but perhaps the man truly was psychic. Mind you, this was a different sort of glitch, more a stretch and a stall than a repeat, so perhaps that explained it.

But still.

He hadn’t expected any human to notice something like this.

Neglecting to answer the Shawn’s question, the Doctor countered it, instead asking, “Who am I? That’s not the question you ought to be asking, Shawn Spencer.”

Shawn was holding a string, a very familiar sort of string. Well, as familiar as something could be when he’d never seen it before. Still. It was a piece of string, ordinary string, and it was knotted. Twice. And it was in an evidence bag, meaning they’d nicked it from Jack. “What you should be asking is, ‘what was he up to’?”

Shawn was too stunned to answer, so the Doctor took the evidence bag for a closer look, taking the string out. Yes, he’d been right. Two knots. One short. Well, that wouldn’t do, now would it, if its purpose was what he thought it was?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Shawn finally asked.

“We need a third knot in this string,” the Doctor explained as he tied it in, precisely half an inch from the last one. The first two were evenly spaced, after all. “Might as well be consistent,” he added, looking over the spacing one last time before shoving the string back into the bag. He tossed it back to Shawn, who was still doing a rather good fish impression. “You might want to hold onto this. It’ll help you keep track.” When this elicited no response, unless you counted more of the same blank look that he was already receiving, the Doctor pulled out the string he’d been tying knots into for himself and showed it to the man, trying to convey his point. “See? I’ve got one already.”

“What?”

That wasn’t what he sounded like, was it? He knew he asked ‘what?’ a lot himself, but surely not in such a flabbergasted tone. Did he? Hopefully not. The Doctor opened his mouth to explain himself properly, since clearly trying to be succinct was getting him nowhere, but before he could, time snapped back into place. And, this time, things were a bit different. He got moved, instead of everyone else. He got snapped back to where he’d been when the glitch hit, back around the corner and safely out of sight.

The Doctor turned heel immediately and started off before he was spotted. He’d go back, of course, but not yet. He needed to think a bit first, and he couldn’t afford to run into anyone from the police department until after they’d met him. He’d been through three glitches. Six, if you didn’t count the fact that the second set of three were the same ones as the first.

He also didn’t know when the fourth would hit, although it shouldn’t be until after he’d been sent back. Still. That meant he couldn’t find a pattern, not yet. Not with just three glitches. He couldn’t tell whether whoever had turned on the machine—likely wasn’t Jack, not if he was dead—had counted on the glitches or not.

It was annoyingly unclear. If the glitches were intentional, they might have been meant as a diversion. If they weren’t, then whoever had intended to use the machine now had to scramble to fix things up. Or perhaps the glitches weren’t an unpleasant surprise, even if they had been unexpected. For all he knew, this was working in favour of someone’s plan. He was quite sure whoever it was had a plan. They always had plans. If they didn’t, he would’ve had a much harder time foiling them.

Mind you, if he had to foil people, he did appreciate a bit of help, and who better than the one person who’d noticed that something wasn’t right and his two currently-favourite American detectives?

Donna had been right. He needed someone, especially at times like these when he got too caught up in the problems humans didn’t understand to appreciate they ones they could. Humans grounded him. Besides, he liked working with people. He always seemed to learn so much from them. And, well, if he was going to be honest, other people often caught what he didn’t. Someone else could very easily see what he’d missed. And he had a feeling that he might need that, now, because he had a terrible suspicion that he’d already missed something, and quite possibly missed it twice.

No matter. He could worry about that later. He’d head back to the TARDIS for now and find something that would counteract the temporal backlash the machine gave off so that this didn’t happen again. Being forced to cross his own timeline once in such a short period of time was quite enough, thank you.

He’d return to poor Cunningham’s place once his previous self had been shunted back into the past. And once he’d safely disabled the machine, he could dismantle it, and then he could find Shawn Spencer and the others and figure the rest of this out.

Not that things would be that easy.

They never were.

#psych #doctor who #psych fanfiction #dw fanfiction #crossover #my writing #ladylynse #lynse's random wips #snippets #dw wip #psych wip #crossover wip #dw snippet #psych snippet #crossover snippet #queenofhearts7378 #okay so some of this I wrote yesterday #and some of it I wrote eight years ago #but that's how it goes

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