#they tried to cut off wilson the second they realized they had begun to care abt him to avoid the pain that came from the last time they

[arolesbianism]

I wanna make art for my dst roleswap au sooo bad but at the same time I think if I had to deal with even a single person deadnaming Wx on my posts I would snap

[nikki-writes-stuff]

At the Edge of the Woods - Part Two

Summary: When you move into a cottage on the edge of the forest, you’re ready to start a new life in a new, quiet town. But when you attract the attention of Steve Rogers, a man who everyone in town seems to dislike and fear, your world is turned upside down after he decides that you belong to him.

Pairing: Werewolf/Alpha!Steve x Omega!Reader

Read part one here! 

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE! Thank you guys for being patient with me - this thing took FOREVER to write! But I hope you like how it turned out. Feedback is always appreciated! As a side note, I wrote this for one of my amazing Ko-Fi donors! So, if you would like to request a continuation of any of my current stories or a new story idea all together, please click here to donate! :) 

Warning: This fic contains kidnapping, non-con, dub-con, and A/B/O dynamics. Read at your own risk, and, as always, enjoy!

You woke up with the strange feeling that comes from knowing you slept in a strange place. The bed beneath you was softer and larger than your own, and the scent that had been plaguing you for days was thick on the sheets. You were laying with your head propped up against a firm pillow, and even though you didn’t know where you were, you couldn’t deny that you were comfortable and warm.

A yawn parted your lips, and you snuggled further against your pillow. However, your eyes shot open when it moved, and that’s when you realized that your pillow was, in fact, a person. With a gasp, you pulled away, ignoring the aches and pains littered throughout your body as you looked up to see who they were.

Steve Rogers was laying there beside you, naked beneath the sheets, and the events of the night before flooded through your mind. You’d slept while Steve carried you through the woods, only waking up hours later as he slid his cock inside of you once again. You’d been groggy, delirious, and the room you’d been in had been dark. But you’d still managed to cum twice as he took you, passing out afterwards into a dreamless, restful sleep for god-knows how long.

“Good morning,” Steve smiled now, having the audacity to look happy after everything he’d done to you. “I forgot how nice it is to sleep next to someone.”

A small noise of surprised escaped you as you hurried to stand up, feeling your cheeks grow hot when you realized just how incredibly naked you were.

“Where are we?” you demanded, and your captor arched an eyebrow.

“My cabin,” he replied. “I thought we were past this…” He trailed off, gesturing up and down towards you. “This hostility.”

“We,” you growled, “are not past anything. You raped me last night. Again, and again, and a-“

“Hey, now,” he interrupted, sitting up. “I did not rape you. In fact, I seem to recall you begging me not to stop at several points. All I did was happily acquiesce.”

You blinked away tears as you looked away, taking in the room around you instead. Rich, red-tinged wood made up the floors and walls, and the cabin was made up of hints of both modern and traditional influences. The floor plan was open, keeping everything in one large room except for the bathroom, which you suspected was behind the door tucked away in the corner between the living space and the bedroom.

“Please, if you’re thinking of running,” Steve continued, “don’t. We’re alone out here, with nobody for miles. And I hid the keys to my car, so don’t even think about trying to leave that way.”

Feeling your throat start to close up around unshed tears, you squeezed your legs together, wrinkling your nose up with disgust when you felt the stickiness of dried cum between your thighs. Without a word or a glance in his direction, you trudged into the bathroom, biting your lip to ignore the soreness radiating from between your legs.

“C’mon, baby, don’t-“

Steve’s voice was cut off when you closed the door behind you, and you felt a sob escape as you slid the lock into place before sitting down on the closed toilet lid. You leaned your elbows on your knees and covered your face, letting the tears wash over you as your mind spun with images from the night before.

Steve, shifting from a man to a wolf and then back to a man. His voice, calling you his ‘omega’, insisting that you were meant to be with him. His teeth, sinking into your-

You stood up once again with a gasp and leaned over the sink, pushing your hair out of the way so you could clearly see where he’d bitten you. Your eyes widened when you saw the bitemark resting proudly against the side of your neck; it wasn’t red or bloody, as you’d suspected it would be. No, instead, it had already healed into a silvery, shiny new scar, the perfect imprint of Steve’s teeth. Your stomach rolled at the sight, and you ran a curious finger over it. Something in your gut twitched at the sensation, and you dropped your hand as if it had been burned.

With a sigh, you squeezed your eyes shut and wiped away the tears still trickling down your cheeks; you could feel the rising tide of an anxiety attack coming on, and you did your best to push it away with deep breaths. One moment at a time, you told yourself. One moment at a time.

As soon as your eyes fell onto the large shower tucked into the corner, right across from a jacuzzi-style bathtub, you knew that the first thing you needed to do was take a bath. Mechanically, you figured out the settings of the modern shower and went searching for a towel and washcloth. You found a small stack of them under the sink and set them on the counter before testing the water.

As you stood under the spray, scrubbing every inch of skin that Steve had touched last night, you thought about your circumstances, pondering how you would fix all of this. The first thing you needed to do was escape the cabin and find your way into town; Sherriff Wilson would be able to help you. From there, you would figure it out as you went along.

For now, you knew that you didn’t have many options. You could try to make it on foot, but you were no match for Steve’s strength nor his speed, and in his wolf form, you were sure that he’d be able to quite literally sniff you out if you tried to get away. You could also try to find his keys, but it was a decent-sized cabin, and it would most likely set off your captor if you just started randomly searching for them.

You tucked that option into the back of your mind, though, because as you washed away the dirt and grime from yesterday, you knew what your best option was, and it turned your stomach to even think about it – play along. Gain his trust; convince him to take you into town; pull the aces out on him once you were out in public.

You spent a good hour in the shower, washing and scrubbing until your skin was tingly and raw. You didn’t even care that you now smelled like him; you didn’t stop until your fingers were wrinkled and the water had started to run cold. After stepping out, you dried off with the towel before realizing that you had no clothes to change into. With a sigh, you grabbed a fresh towel from under the sink and wrapped it around your body, feeling the cool air nip at your exposed legs.

Even after you’d finished, you stood in front of the door for several minutes, dreading what lay on its other side. By the time you’d gathered enough courage to walk out of the bathroom, the tips of your hair had already begun to dry, and your knees had started to tremor ever-so-slightly from standing there for so long.

With a deep breath, you finally unlocked the door and opened it, taking a moment to survey the space around you. Steve was nowhere to be seen, but a plate containing a sandwich and a few pickles was resting on the dining room table. A glass of ice water was sitting beside it, and your stomach gurgled in hunger.

You forced yourself to walk past the table, though, ignoring the food as you searched for any signs of your captor. Once you established that he wasn’t anywhere inside of the cabin, you walked up to one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows that were dotted around the building. You scanned the forest beyond the glass until you saw a familiar flash of blonde.

Straining your eyes, you pressed your hands to the glass and squinted until you finally saw Steve. Or, rather, the wolf that he sometimes turned into. He was sitting behind a cluster of bushes, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

You were surprised, however, when you saw movement directly beside him, and you gasped when you spotted a second wolf, this one with dark brown fur with splotches of black. It looked as if it were pacing in front of Steve, and every now and then you could see a bit of teeth as its lip curled up in a growl. Steve, though, remained sitting still in the same spot, not moving a muscle as he stood off against the other creature.

Suddenly, though, the other wolf froze in place, and your eyes widened when it turned towards you. Steve’s head turned, as well, and you stumbled backwards from the window, clutching your towel closer around your body. You felt as if you’d been caught doing something wrong as you walked back to the table, but you forced yourself to sit down and pick up the sandwich Steve had made for you.

After you were two bites in, you jumped when you heard the front door opening, and you looked up to see Steve sauntering in, completely naked, as you’d suspected he would be.

“Sorry about that,” he sighed, shaking his head and scratching at his beard. “I, uh… had to talk to an old friend.”

“Are they a, uh..” you gulped, clearing your throat. “A werewolf, too? Or just a regular wolf?”

He arched an eyebrow at you and scoffed.

“Why would I be talking with a regular wolf?” he deadpanned. “They’re animals, (Y/N).”

You rolled your eyes and threw up your hands before picking up your sandwich once again.

“Well, I don’t know how this works!” you huffed. “Forgive me if I don’t know everything about your kind right off the bat.”

Steve chuckled and shrugged, walking into the kitchen and starting to search through the cabinets.

“I know,” he conceded. “I know this is…strange for you. But don’t worry; I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

He pulled out a bag of potato chips and shut the cabinets behind him before taking a seat beside you, and you had to force your body not to instinctively lean away from him. You fought not to let your eyes wander, either, focusing straight ahead for fear of catching any glances of his naked form.

“Do you just…walk around naked like that all the time,” you grumbled. You caught him smirking out of the corner of your eye.

“Usually, yeah. Why? Does it bother you?”

“No,” you insisted, although your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire. “Just… Could you put on some clothes? Some sweatpants, some boxers – something?”

Steve laughed, and you jolted at the screech of his chair behind pushed back.

“If it’ll make you more comfortable, omega,” he laughed, and your eyes skimmed over his ass of their own accord as he walked away before focusing once more on the pickles you had yet to eat.

You pushed your plate away, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

When Steve finally did return, he was wearing a pair of red and black flannel pajama pants, and he was holding a white t-shirt in his hand.

“By the way,” he commented, “I thought you might like to wear something other than a towel, though I’m certainly not complaining about the view.”

He dropped the shirt into your lap before leaning over you to pick up your plate.

“Do you not like pickles?” he asked, and you grabbed onto the t-shirt, flinching at how close he was.

“I-I’m just not hungry,” you supplied, and with a shrug, he brough your plate into the kitchen, popping what was left on your plate into his mouth and crunching on them along the way.

“Well, help yourself to whatever you’d like, if you change your mind.”

You were taken aback by how normal he was acting, as if he kidnapped girls and brought them to his cabin all the time. The thought made your stomach sour, and you swallowed thickly.

“So… What happens now?” you asked warily, not even trying to hide your suspicion as you eyed him down. “What are you going to do with me?”

Steve turned from where he’d been washing your plate and raised an eyebrow at you.

“Do with you? What do you mean?”

“I mean… What’s your goal here?” you clarified. “You can’t keep me here forever; people will start to notice.”

“Well, I don’t plan to keep you here forever,” he countered. Once the plate was cleaned, he set it down on a drying rack and sat beside you once more.

“I just want you to stay here,” he continued, “until we get past this awkward phase. Once I know I can trust you, and once you know you can trust me, then you’re free to go. Not that I think you’ll want to leave at that point, but-“

“Wait, so… You really want to have a…a relationship with me?”

Steve smiled patiently and looked up at you through his lashes.

“Yes, baby,” he assured you. “That’s all I want. I’ve been wanting to settle down with a nice girl for a while, now. And the fact that you’re an omega…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, and you winced when you noticed the tiny, wistful smile on his face.

“…You really are crazy,” you murmured under your breath, but you squeezed your lips shut as you felt the temptation to scream at him rise up within you. You wanted to punch his stupid, smug face; you wanted to smash every window in his goddamn cabin and start running, not caring where you ended up just as long as it was far away from him.

Steve, though, didn’t look perturbed by your words nor the disgust clearly written across your face. He was still watching you with that soft affection glistening in his eyes.

“I know it’ll take some time,” he murmured. “I do. And I’m willing to wait.”

He stood up, then, and the movement startled you so much that you jumped. Suddenly, his smile fell, and you pressed your back against the chair as he leaned over you, so close you could smell the peppermint on his breath.

“But if you call me crazy again,” he whispered, “I’ll bend you over this table and teach you some fucking manners.”

You bit your lip as it threatened to start trembling, and your eyes filled with tears at the dark, dangerous tone his voice had suddenly taken on. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly, you hurriedly nodded, and only then did his lips turn upwards once more. You made no move as he leaned in to press a quick peck to your lips, nor did you so much as twitch a muscle when he straightened up and started to walk towards the living room.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now c’mon; I think we should watch a movie or something.”

With that, Steve turned around and sauntered away, and even as your body shivered and shook from your fear, you knew better than to do anything but follow him.

_______

The majority of the day was spent on Steve’s couch, watching movies as he tried to make small talk with you. He’d tugged you down into the seat next to him after you’d slipped his t-shirt on,  and you noted how it fell down to about mid-thigh, just like a sundress would. Once you were seated, he kept an arm wrapped around you at all times, and you focused on the tv as he started a movie. As it turned out, he was a fan of older, classic films, and so you’d ended up watching Gone With the Wind.

“My mom always loved this one,” he’d confessed to you as the opening score played in the background. “We used to watch it together the day after Thanksgiving; the classic movie channel always played it that day for some reason.”

You’d made a non-comital, neutral noise to let him know you were listening, but you kept your eyes glued to the screen. It was bad enough that his scent was fogging your senses, what with him sitting so close to you; you didn’t want to have to look at him as well.

After a beat of silence, he shifted, somehow managing to pull you closer against him.

“So, uh… Are you and your folks close?” he suddenly asked. One of your eyebrows twitched up at the random question, but you otherwise kept your face and voice even and calm, despite what you were feeling under the surface.

“Not really.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged, falling into silence once again until, just a few minutes later, Steve asked you another random question about yourself. After the third one, you realized that he was trying to get to know you, that he was treating this like some sort of first date. You swallowed and clenched your fists at the realization, but you were too afraid from his earlier threat to snap at him to shut up.

Instead, you contented yourself with giving him the vaguest possible answers to his questions, trying to keep your responses to one word if possible, no matter what he asked.

“Are you into any sports?”

“No.”

“That’s a shame; I was hoping to take you to a Mets game sometime. I grew up a huge baseball fan.”

After a few minutes, he would try again.

“So, I’m guessing you like to read? You had a lot of books back at your cottage.”

“Yes.”

“Nice. You got any favorites?”

“Yeah.”

“…Care to tell me about them?”

You’d shrugged at that, ignoring his follow up question as you watched Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler argue on screen.

The two of you carried on like that for a while; you managed to get to the intermission in the middle of the film before, with a sigh, Steve reached for the remote and paused the movie.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” he huffed.

“What?”

You blinked a few times, pretending for a moment to play dumb, but a sharp look from Steve made your face fall. Looking down at your lap, you tried to prepare yourself for whatever he was going to do next – maybe he was going to drag you back to the table and make good on his earlier warning.

Your body tensed up when you felt two impossibly strong hands grip your waist, but you didn’t fight him as he maneuvered you into his lap. Your eyes widened in surprise as he held you there, tracing circles against your hips with his thumbs as your legs straddled his.

“I’m gonna get to know you, hon,” he insisted. “You’re gonna be here for a long time; it’s got to happen eventually. Now, I’m trying to play nice; if I were you, I’d take advantage of that. Because eventually you’re going to piss me off if you keep this up, and you won’t like it when that happens.”

You gulped, looking into his eyes as he spoke, feeling trapped against him as he held you in place. He took a breath and stayed silent for a moment, your eyes locked as you considered one another. One of his hands left your waist, and you jumped when it pushed your hair back over your shoulder, exposing the scar he’d left on you last night. Your fingers twitched with the impulse to pull your hair back over it, but you didn’t dare move as his gaze fell upon it.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, and your eyes fluttered shut of their own accord when his fingertips traced the bitemark. His touch sent off a spark inside of you, sending shocks of pleasure through your core.

“Why…”

You paused, embarrassed by the question, and looked away, deciding it was best not to ask.

“No, go ahead,” the alpha insisted, pulling his hand away and letting it rest on your lower back. “Ask me anything.”

“…Why,” you finally spoke, “does it feel so…weird…when you touch my neck like that? I touched it earlier and it did the same thing; why?”

“’Cuz that’s your mating gland, ‘mega,” he explained. You were surprised that he wasn’t smug about it; if anything, he seemed genuinely pleased that you’d brought up the subject. “Every alpha and omega has one, and it’s naturally sensitive to the touch. Haven’t you noticed it before?”

You tried to think back on it, biting your lip as you concentrated. You hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary before. Sure, you’d always liked it when your past boyfriends kissed you on your neck, and you supposed it had always felt really good when they did, but it had never shown up on your radar the way Steve’s touch did.

“I… I don’t know,” you eventually said. “I guess it’s always been a little sensitive? But this is different.”

“Hm... Maybe it’s because I’m your alpha now,” he considered. “I’m new to all of this, too. Like I said last night, I’ve never met an omega before.”

“…My alpha?”

“Yeah.” Steve did look smug about that, and you all of a sudden wished you hadn’t said anything about it. “That mark shows every other alpha out there that you’re mine.”

Your stomach turned at that, and you tried to shove away your anxiety as it rose within you again.

“…When will it fade away?” you asked, but the alpha only laughed.

“Baby, it’s not going anywhere,” he chuckled. “A bond mark is permanent; you’ll be wearing that scar for the rest of your life.”

Fury rose up within you, so sudden and so vicious that, for a second, it made you feel light-headed. You blinked away tears as you considered his words. He had no reason to lie about it, and something in your gut told you it was the truth.

You would never be truly rid of him.

Steve immediately noticed the change in your mood, because his smile fell and, for a moment, guilt flashed over his features.

“Look, baby, I can tell you’re angry,” he tried to console you. “But please, just…don’t get too worked up over it. Here, you can bite my mating gland if it’ll make you feel better-“

“Get the fuck away from me,” you grit out from behind clenched teeth. “I want nothing to do with you-“

You tried to stand up, to push Steve away, but his arms were like iron chains. They tightened around you and pulled your body to his chest despite your best efforts. Within seconds, you found yourself turned around and forced against him, your back pressed against his front with your ass in his lap. You gasped when you felt his cock twitch against your back side, and you couldn’t stop a frustrated growl from escaping you as you found yourself trapped in that position.

“Calm. Down,” he grunted against your ear. “Remember what I said earlier? Just behave, or I’ll really give you something to be upset about.”

For a few more futile moments, you tried to push his arms away, but it was of no use. With a sob of defeat, you went limp, feeling a tear finally fall down your cheek for what felt like the hundredth time that day. And after that first tear, it was as if a flood broke loose. You couldn’t suppress the sobs anymore as they escaped your lips, and your shoulders shook as you wept.

Steve let out a sigh before his grip on you loosened – not enough for you to escape his grasp, but enough to make you feel slightly less like a caged animal.

“…I’m sorry, omega,” he whispered, and you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. “Just… Let’s watch the last half of the movie and calm down. Ok? We don’t need to talk anymore; it’s obvious that’ll just upset you.”

Over the next few hours, true to his word, Steve stayed quiet, holding you in his arms as you first finished Gone With the Wind and then started Road to Rio. At some point, you felt your eyelids start to grow heavy, and you suddenly realized just how spent you were – from the crying, the night before, the stress of it all…

It was when you yawned for the second time that Steve looked down, a warm smile coming over his features as he watched the way you were leaning back against his chest, finally relaxing in his hold.

“You gettin’ sleepy?” he asked, and you tried to find the will to straighten up.

“I… No,” you shook your head, but you caught his disbelieving look out of the corner of your eye.

“C’mon, doll.”

You gasped when he suddenly shifted you in his arms before standing up, carrying you bridal-style into the bedroom.

“You’ve had a long day,” he remarked. “And it’s only just past 4. I think a nap would do you some good.”

You couldn’t deny that sleep did sound pretty amazing, but your heartbeat quickened as Steve’s bed came into view, still rumpled from the morning. As he laid you back, you tugged his shirt down and grew the covers up over yourself, praying that he wouldn’t get any ideas.

Once he saw what you were doing, the alpha rolled his eyes and started tucking the sheets around you.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you. “That can wait until later. For now, get some rest. I’m gonna go work out a little bit before starting on dinner. If you need anything, just let me know. Ok?”

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, watching him carefully as he smiled and stood over you. You squeezed your eyes shut as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, but true to his word, he left right after. You both knew what he’d meant when he said ‘that’ could wait, but you had no clue how much later it would be. Your body was still sore from how he’d used you last night, and your heart clenched at the thought of going through it again.

For now, though, your exhaustion was steadily demanding more and more of your attention. With one final yawn and the thought that you could worry about Steve after your nap, you turned onto your side and closed your eyes. Sleep came to you quickly, settling over you like an extra blanket as you breathed in your alpha’s scent from where it still lingered on his sheets.

_______

When you woke up, you only felt marginally rested. A small headache had formed in your skull as you slept, and you felt a somewhat restless inclination inside of you that you couldn’t explain. When you eventually sat up, though, the sun was already starting to dip beneath the horizon, and the clock on the wall told you that it was just a few minutes shy of turning 7. You groaned as you stretched, listening to the cracks in your joints as you raised your arms and rotated your wrists. There was a crick in your neck that ached any time you turned your head to the right, but try as you might, you couldn’t get it to pop.

Something close by smelled delicious, and you could hear Steve moving about in the kitchen. Your stomach growled, and even though part of you was tempted to stay in bed and ignore the man across the cabin, you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. And so, you lowered your feet to the floor and followed the sounds and smells until you saw Steve hovering over a steaming pot on the stove.

“Oh. You’re awake,” he observed, glancing over his shoulder at you. “Welcome back to the land of the living; you were out for a while.”

“Guess I was tired,” you muttered, voice hoarse and scratchy. You were still feeling a bit disoriented from waking up, and you knew your hair had to look like a mess as you sat down at the dining table.

“Guess so. Well,” the alpha continued, “I hope you like lo mein. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I thought I’d give this recipe a try.”

You nodded noncommittally and watched as Steve dished out two bowls of noodles before walking over towards you and taking the seat to your left. Once again, your stomach growled as the food was set before you, and you didn’t hesitate before digging in.

“…So?” he prompted, and you looked up to see an expectant look on his face. “Is it good? What’s the verdict?”

“It, um… It’s good,” you assured him, starting to twirl another bite onto your fork. “Really good.”

A proud smile came over his face, and you looked away as he started on his own serving. The food was good, damn him, but you were still feeling off. You were starting to feel hot, almost feverish, and a sweat had broken out over your brow. And the restlessness hadn’t faded, not by a long shot. If anything, it was getting worse; your body kept fidgeting as you ate, and you couldn’t help but twist your legs together, crossing them one moment only to uncross them the next. You were also acutely aware of the man sitting next to you, and you were starting to doubt that it was just because of your fear of him.

Your eyes, of their own accord, watched all of his movements attentively in your peripheral vision. And the delicious scent that you’d smelled earlier was only in part coming from dinner; you still hadn’t gotten used to the effect his musk had on you.

“You alright over there?” Steve asked, and you looked up to find him watching you with a confused look painted across his handsome features. “You look a little paler than usual.”

“I-I’m not… I’m not sure,” you murmured, setting down your fork with a heavy clang.

Frowning, Steve reached over and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Shit, doll, you’re burning up,” he sighed.

You, however, were too focused on the feeling of his skin against yours. Earlier that day, when you’d been sitting in his lap, he’d felt so warm, but now his touch was like a soothing breeze against your heated flesh. Without realizing it, you began leaning into his touch, letting your eyes flutter shut as he leaned closer to you.

“I think I should take your temperature,” he mumbled, and he went to stand up.

Your hand shot out, though, and grabbed onto his wrist, and his head snapped back down to look at you.

“Don’t-“

But you didn’t know what you were even asking him not to do. You swallowed, your eyes trailing up and down his naked torso, and once again you squeezed your legs together. Suddenly, a wave of understanding crossed his features, and he slowly sank down onto one knee in front of you. His look of concern had been replaced with a sort of playful curiosity, and the remaining logic in your brain started sounding out warning bells.

“Oh, hon,” he chuckled. “Ok, I see what’s going on.”

“Wh-what is it?” you stammered. You felt tears start to prick at the back of your eyes, and you rapidly blinked them away. “I-I don’t know what’s happening to me-“

“Oh, baby, shh…”

You closed your eyes, ignoring the full-body shiver that coursed through you at the low timber his voice had suddenly taken on.

“It’s ok,” the alpha went on. “I think you’re just going into your first heat; that’s all.”

Your eyes popped open at that, and you shook your head.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. I can’t be-“

“Sometimes, omegas don’t start having heats until they find an alpha,” he was explaining, either unaware or indifferent to your shock. “Maybe that’s why it’s coming on so suddenly for you…”

“I’m not,” you suddenly shouted, “going into heat. That’s ridiculous-“

You moved to stand, but another wave of heat swept through you, and you wavered on your feet. In a flash, Steve drew himself to his full height and scooped you up into his arms, tutting under his breath.

“So stubborn…”

You couldn’t find the will to struggle against him as he carried you back towards the bedroom; instead, you marveled at how cool he felt. You let your flushed cheek rest against his chest, listening to his heartbeat even as you tried to think your way through the situation you’d found yourself in. But your brain was slowly starting to check out, succumbing to the relief you felt as Steve’s skin pressed against yours.

An embarrassing whine sounded from your parted lips as your alpha (your alpha?) laid you down on the bed again, taking a step back to look at you. You squirmed on the sheets as you felt more sweat start to drip down your face, pooling in the groove of your collarbone as you looked up at him pleadingly.

“Listen, ‘mega,” he began, “I’ve never dealt with something like this before, but I have a couple of ideas about how I can help you.”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on your heaving chest as he said that, nor could you ignore the double meaning behind his so-called ‘ideas’.

“But you still seem to think that I’m the bad guy here,” he continued. “After all, I apparently raped you last night, didn’t I? At least, that’s what you said this morning.”

You whimpered again, looking away as images from the night before dashed through your head. However, now, as you looked back on them, you couldn’t feel any horror at the memory of what he’d done to you. No, the thoughts of him ravaging you, taking you, only fanned the flames that were licking at your body.

“Steve, please-“

“Nuh-uh-uh,” he chided. “You wanted me to leave you alone so bad earlier? Then fine; I can leave you alone.”

A wicked, smug smirk had settled over his features, and in that moment, both of you knew that you wouldn’t be the one to win. Steve finally had you right where he wanted you after less than a day of your captivity.

“Well,” he clapped his hands together, turning towards the door. “I think I’m going to go clean the kitchen a little bit. Maybe I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, just to give you some space to think things over."

With one last smirk sent in your direction, he turned and walked away, leaving you to your own devices. You let out a frustrated growl as you turned towards the ceiling. Your fists clenched as wave after wave of warmth washed over you, pooling between your legs until your cunt was practically throbbing.

In the end, you laid there until long after the sun had gone down, shivering as you tried to will your heat away. It would have been one thing if Steve had fucked you right then and there, taking advantage of your ailment and using it to his advantage. But this… This was so much worse. Because now, you found yourself wishing that he would do just that. You suddenly felt so empty, so terribly empty, and your feverish brain knew that he would be able to fill that void within you.

After what felt like an eternity, a thread of your pride snapped, making you grow even more desperate. Biting your lip and praying that Steve wouldn’t be able to hear you, you reached down and pulled his thin t-shirt up before slipping your hand between your legs. Your pussy was drenched, and you couldn’t help the small noise that escaped your throat as you slid two fingers inside of yourself.

You tossed your head back and writhed as you started thrusting them, not caring about the wet, sucking sounds your cunt was making. The flames within you settled down by a few degrees as you fucked yourself on your fingers, but as the minutes ticked on, you found that it wouldn’t be enough. You let out a frustrated growl as you clenched your teeth and ground the heel of your palm against your clit, but it was no use.

Helplessly, you let your hand fall back down to your side, accepting the bitter fact that you wouldn’t be ale to get rid of this heat by yourself. Which left you only one option.

Gulping, you sat up, turning towards the living room. There was a wall that served as a divider between the bedroom and the den, but you knew that Steve was laying on the sofa, probably listening to you struggle. But as another shiver crept down your spine, the last bit of your pride, your integrity, burned away.

The floor was chilly against your feet as you padded towards the alpha, but it wasn’t enough to cool you down, not by a long shot. When you turned the corner, Steve was already sitting up, waiting for you. He’d shed his sweatpants at some point during the night, and you came to a stop between his spread legs, feeling your mouth water at the sight of his already half-hard cock.

Without saying a word, you lifted the shirt off your body, and his eyes glinted in the dark as his gaze roved over your curves.

“So,” he grunted, his voice rough and gravelly, “is there something you want me to do for you?”

Biting your lip, you found that you couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, so instead you focused on his chest as you crawled into his lap. You straddled his thighs and pressed yourself against him, letting out a moan as you finally felt some relief. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding downwards, dragging your wet, swollen pussy lips against the length of his cock.

“I… I need you,” you admitted in a whisper, and you yelped when one of his hands tangled in your hair and pulled your head to the side, exposing your bondmark.

“Oh, yeah?” the alpha mused, nuzzling the side of your neck. “What do you need me for, hm? What do you want your alpha to do?”

You gasped when his tongue darted out, tracing your mating gland and sending shocks of pleasure down to your core. He was fully hard now, and you went to hover your entrance over him; you were so close, so fucking close, but his hands suddenly closed around your hips and held you in place.

“No, doll,” he panted. “Tell me. What. You. Need.”

You hadn’t even realized you’d closed your eyes, but you opened them now to focus on his face as he considered you. The two of you were both breathing heavily, now, and there was a wildness creeping along the edge of his features; he looked like he had last night as he stood over your bed. God, had only 24 hours passed? You felt as if you’d been surviving this torture for an eternity, and you were already desperate to surrender.

“I… I need you to fuck me,” you whispered. “Please, Steve, please… I need it.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked upon hearing your words, and in the blink of an eye he was forcing your body downwards, impaling you on his thick cock. Your lips parted in a silent scream at the stretch, but you welcomed the pain as you pressed your heated skin to every inch of him that you could reach. You wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your forehead against his, babbling incoherently as he bottomed out inside of you.

“Yes, yes- Fuck, Steve, oh my God-“

Your words blurred together as you instinctively lifted your hips, rolling them downwards as you began to chase your pleasure. Every cell of your body was aching, begging, for more, and you didn’t waste time as you started riding him.

“That’s right, baby, bounce on my cock,” your alpha growled. His hands kneaded at your ass, helping you set a fast pace as you both gave in to your desires. “So fucking tight-“

Your senses were flooded with him, and it drowned out the heat, it drowned out the burning in your thighs and the bite of his nails digging into your skin. There was only Steve, only his body and yours, moving in tandem. The obscene sounds of skin sliding against wet skin filled the air, and neither of you did anything to try and quiet your moans.

You barely registered the world around you as it shifted, and suddenly you found yourself on your back with Steve laying over top of you, pounding into your pussy as he pulled you into a deep, sloppy kiss. Your tongues fought to gain control, and your teeth clanked together, but you still couldn’t help a high-pitched, helpless moan from spilling out of your lips. You put up no resistance, letting him use you like a ragdoll as he slammed his cock into you over and over again.

Really, all things considered, you were surprised that you lasted as long as you did. The knot inside of you tightened and tightened until, without warning, it burst, leaving you clinging to Steve as your cunt fluttered around him. But now, unlike your first time in the woods, he gave no sign of stopping.

“S-steve-“ you tried to say, but all words left your mind as his hand wrapped around your throat.

“You think it’s over just because you cum?” he panted, looking down at you as his lips pulled back to reveal a sinister grin. “Oh, no, omega. We’re done when I fucking say we are.”

You should have felt afraid. Or used. Or violated. But despite all of those truths, you found yourself nodding, letting the fight drain out of you as he continued to fuck you into oblivion. And when his smile fell into something more sincere, more meaningful, a treacherous part of you celebrated.

Your eyes never strayed from one another’s as he slowed his pace, snapping his hips slower but hitting a spot deep inside of you that made your toes curl. His hand left his neck and snaked between your bodies to play with your clit, and you let out a low, needy whine. Your desire was slowly returning to you, nearly as intense as it had been before, and that was when you realized your heat was far from being over.

“I’m getting close, sweetheart,” Steve grunted. “You want me to cum in this pussy? Want me to fill you up like a good little omega?”

“Yes, alpha…” The words left you of their own accord, but you couldn’t focus long enough to feel ashamed of them. “Yes, please, cum in me. Cum in me, Steve-“

It wasn’t long before you felt his hot cum paint your inner walls, and the combination of the look on his face and the sensation of his seed spilling inside of you sent you over the edge for a second time. Your body felt weightless and heavy all at the same time, and the pleasure coursing through your veins was white-hot in contrast to Steve’s cool skin.

As you both lay there, catching your breath, you closed your eyes and hoped that the restlessness inside of you would go away, that you would come to your senses and feel something other than the desire to be close to the man who’d claimed you as his. But when you finally looked up to see his now-familiar blue irises focused on you, you felt your pussy clench lazily around his softening cock, and you knew it was far from being done.

“How long-“

“About a week,” he interrupted. Slowly, he pulled out, and you whined at the loss. You couldn’t even manage to close your legs as he sat up, watching his cum leak out of you intently.

“It… It didn’t stop,” you whispered. “I still want… I still feel like…”

You couldn’t form the proper words to encompass what you were feeling, and a look of pity crossed over Steve’s features.

“Hey, it’s ok, doll,” he assured you, pushing an errant strand of hair out of your eyes. “It’s ok. I’ll get you through this, ok?”

He smiled, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. You bit your lip, staring up at the ceiling as he tilted his head downwards, trailing more kisses down the side of your neck, right over your scar. He continued further, his lips tracking down over your chest, to your sternum, then to your belly.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him as he shifted backwards on the couch, spreading your legs and making himself comfortable between your legs.

“I’m your alpha, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your inner thigh. “I’m gonna take care of you – whether you like it or not.”

With that, he wasted no time in pressing his lips to your pussy, letting his tongue glide over your folds until it settled on your still-sensitive clit. A sharp, surprised moan escaped you as he started tracing soft, teasing kitten licks against it, and you let your head fall back as your legs spread wider to welcome his touch.

_________________

You lost track of the days after that. The flames within you only died down when Steve was touching you, kissing you, or fucking you. And after that first 24 hours, you turned your brain off and gave in to every single one of your body’s whims. You even asked Steve to share your showers with you on the odd occasion when you were able to pull yourself out of his bed. By the end of the second day, after you’d ridden him for the second time in as many hours, you wondered if he was still the one using you.

Between your fucking, when the two of you only had energy to lay together and catch your breath, he would talk, and you knew that, later on, you would hate how easily you opened up to him in those moments. You ended up telling him about your childhood, your family, the things about yourself that no one else knew. And, in return, Steve told you about himself, letting you get a glimpse of the humanity behind the monster who’d abducted you.

On the fifth day, around noon, you found yourself curled up against him with your head on his chest, very nearly purring with contentment as you basked in the afterglow of your latest round. His fingers were combing through your hair, scratching ever-so-lightly against your scalp, and you were on the verge of falling asleep when his voice rumbled against your ear.

“My parents would have liked you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“Well that…came out of nowhere,” you observed, and he nodded, letting out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, I know… Sorry. I don’t know what got me thinking about them,” he trailed off, letting his eyes fall shut as he spoke. “But it’s true. They’d like you. I just…

“I wish they were still around.”

Maybe it was the hormones in your system, or maybe it was a strange form of Stockholm Syndrome, but for whatever reason, you suddenly sat up, cupping his cheek and turning his head towards you. It was only once he’d opened his eyes that you spoke.

“…Earl told me what happened to them,” you said carefully. “And knowing what I know now, I can tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

Steve swallowed thickly, and his lips pursed together before he turned his head away.

“…You weren’t there,” he grunted. “You didn’t… You didn’t see what I did to them.”

You sighed, turning over onto your back and letting your eyes close.

“I don’t need to have seen it to know,” you insisted. “It’s obvious that you love them; do you think you would have killed them if you hadn’t have turned into a wolf that night?”

“No,” he was quick to reply. “No, I never wanted to hurt anybody-“

“Then it wasn’t your fault.” You turned your head and arched an eyebrow at him.

“You were scared,” you continued. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, to become a wolf for the first time ever, without knowing what was happening to you. And since then, you’ve changed, right? You met up with the, uh… The Commandos?”

“The Howling Commandos,” Steve supplied, his voice soft as he watched you.

“Right, them,” you nodded. “You met up with them, and they helped you change. Listen, I know what happened to your parents and Peggy was…was awful, but all we can ever do when we make a mistake, no matter how big, is to change until we’re sure we won’t make the same mistake again. And you did. I mean, you literally had me pinned the last time I was face-to-face with you in your wolf form. But you didn’t…”

You were about to say, ‘but you didn’t hurt me,’ but the words died in your throat. Because, for the first time since your heat hit, you had a moment of perfect clarity, and you knew that Steve had, in fact, hurt you so much - you would never be the same again. Not after what he’d done to you.

But Steve didn’t notice the way you’d trailed off. When you focused on him again, there was so much affection glistening in his eyes that, for a moment, it took you completely off guard. You watched, stunned, as a tear trailed down his cheek, but instead of wiping it away, he pulled you to him and pressed his lips to yours in a deep, desperate kiss. All you could do was return it as he slowly crawled over you, settling down between your legs as his cock started to harden once again.

“I love you so fucking much,” he breathed, and your eyes widened at the admission.

Before you could do or say anything in response, though, he was thrusting inside of you once again, and the heat returned to you full force.

____________

When you woke up on the eighth morning, your throat was dry, your body was sore, but your skin was blissfully, blessedly, cold to the touch. Steve was sleeping beside of you, worn out from the day before, and you were careful to stand up slowly so as not to disturb him. Fearing that this was too good to be true, you walked into the bathroom and mechanically started the shower, shivering as you stared at your naked reflection.

Your lips were swollen from all the kissing you’d done, and bruises were littered all over your body. Your neck, your chest, your thighs… They were everywhere. But, still, the bondmark remained, silvery and smooth against your mating gland.

When you finally stepped into the shower, you made sure the water was as cold as possible; you didn’t think you’d ever want to feel warmth against your skin again. You scrubbed, taking the time to make sure every trace of Steve that could be washed away was, and when you stepped out of the shower, you felt your first genuine smile in what felt like forever spread across your face as the cold air nipped at your body.

From there, you dried off and padded into the bedroom again, surprised that Steve was still snoozing away; usually he woke up hours before you did. You were careful to keep quiet as you rooted through his dresser, pulling on a pair of his boxer shorts and another of his t-shirt before walking into the kitchen; you were starving.

Chewing on your lip, you started opening his cabinets, looking for a bowl that you could use for cereal. You searched for a few moments until you tried the cabinet above the stove, and even though there were no bowls within, the sight there that greeted you made you pause in shock.

Keys.

All of the air inside your lungs rushed out at the sight of them, and you shakily reached out, picking them up and squeezing them tight to keep them from jingling together. You brought your other hand up to your mouth, trying to muffle your shocked, heavy breathing as you peaked around the corner. He was still laying there, breathing steadily, and your gut turned as you glanced out the nearest window to the green Jeep sitting in the driveway.

It took you a split second to find the ability to move again, but once it came back to you, you moved as quickly as possible. You ran on your tip toes to the door, opening it as silently as possible before taking off towards the driveway. The gravel dug into your feet, and you were sure there would be cuts left on your soles later. But you barely registered the pain as you fumbled with the key fob to unlock the car.

Once inside the Jeep, your fingers trembled as you started the engine, and you all but slammed on the gas pedal once you put the vehicle in drive. You cursed as the tires turned the gravel beneath them, no doubt waking Steve from his slumber, but you didn’t dare look back before steering the car down the driveway.

Your heartbeat was thunderous in your ears, beating so hard and so fast that you could feel it in your toes. You turned left when you reached the nearest road, pushing the car past 60 miles an hour and watching the speedometer climb, first to 70, then to 80. Frantically, you scanned the treeline as you drove, trying to pick out any movement, paranoid at every turn that you could see a flash of blonde fur or white fangs.

Your mind still hadn’t caught up with what you’d done, but once you reached a long, straight stretch of road, you felt yourself start to shake with sobs. Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks, and you couldn’t shake the sense that this was just a dream, that soon you would wake up in Steve’s arms again, trapped both by him and your own body.

But that moment didn’t come. Despite your blind, panicked navigation, you started to spot signs alerting you that you were getting closer to town, and you sped on, running stop signs and ignoring red lights as you made your way to the police station.

It was early in the morning, not even 8 o’clock yet, when you found yourself running into the lobby of the sheriff’s station, startling the plump, middle aged receptionist as she took in your haggard appearance.

“Oh, my goodness, dear,” she exclaimed, pulling herself up to her feet. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

She rounded the desk and set her hands on your shoulders, and for a second, you wanted to draw yourself away from her. So soon, you’d grown unused to the sight and touch of other people. But as she looked up at you, worry settled over her features, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning down and setting your head on her shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her as you wept, but as she hugged you back, you couldn’t help but hear Steve’s voice in your head, telling you he loved you.

______________

Sheriff Wilson shook his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he took in everything you’d told him. You hadn’t held back when he’d asked you what had happened, and now the two of you were sat in silence in his office. He’d given you a blanket after taking in the state of your undress, and now you were curled up on his small sofa with it wrapped around your shoulders.

“…Shit.”

You glanced up at the sound of his voice, watching as he stood up and began to pace in front of you.

“I mean… Shit,” he repeated. “I knew he was a little fucked up, but… Shit.”

“I know that it sounds crazy, Sheriff Wilson,” you said. “Believe me; I didn’t believe the werewolf thing when he first told me, either. But please, at least believe that he kidnapped me. I have the scars to prove-“

“I don’t doubt a single word you said,” he assured you. “And it’s Sam, (Y/N). You can call me Sam.”

You blinked in surprise; you hadn’t expected him to actually believe that Steve had turned into a werewolf. Even as you’d told him your tale, you’d known how crazy you sounded. But he didn’t even seem phased by it; he was, however, very clearly disturbed by everything else you’d told him.

“…Can I see it?” he suddenly asked, and your mouth went dry as he nodded towards your neck.

You slapped your hand over your bitemark and looked away, holding the blanket tighter against yourself.

“I…”

You hesitated, but after a few moments you conceded, letting your hand slowly come to rest in your lap after flicking your hair over your shoulder. He leaned over you for a moment, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a step backwards.

“He really fuckin’ did it,” he mused, scratching his chin.

Both of you jumped when a knock came to his door, and he gestured for you to stay where you were as he answered it. You didn’t move as he poked his head out the door, and you heard his receptionist tell him something in a hushed voice.

“He’s here?” he asked, and your blood ran cold. “Yeah, send him in. We have a lot we need to discuss. And can you make sure we’re not disturbed?”

Your instincts were screaming at you, telling you that you needed to get out of there as quickly as possible, but Sam was blocking your path to the door.

“Sh-sheriff, I-“

You were cut off, though, by the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and when Sam opened the door fully, you saw Steve standing on its other side, dressed in jeans and a flannel and looking severely pissed off.

Sam went to say something to the man, but he brushed past him and started marching towards you.

“How could you just up and leave me like that?” he demanded, and you shrank back against the sofa as he advanced on you. He raised a hand as if to grab you, but then the sheriff was standing between you and the angry alpha, shoving him backwards.

“Hey, man, that’s enough,” he shouted, and you felt marginally relieved when Steve’s eyes left you in favor of glaring at Sam. He opened his mouth to put up an argument, but for some reason, he just let out a deep sigh before raking a hand through his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, almost too low for you to hear, “that I had it under control-“

“You call this ‘under control’?” the officer shot back. “Having your omega show up here looking like she just lost a fight with a semi-truck, saying you kidnapped and raped her?”

“I did not-“ Steve shouted, but then he took a deep breath and started speaking again, clearly struggling to keep his voice even. “I did not rape her-“

“Well it sure as hell sounds like you did,” Sam insisted. “And the fact you ain’t even gonna try to argue that you didn’t kidnap her speaks volumes.”

For a second, the two of them just stood there, sizing one another up, and you were suddenly reminded of your first day in Steve’s cabin, when you saw the two wolves in the woods. Realization dawned on you, and you stood up and backed away, wanting to put as much distance as possible between you and them.

“Oh, my god,” you whispered. “You’re the other werewolf.”

Now, both of their eyes were on you, and you searched the sheriff’s face for any sign that you were wrong. You didn’t find one, though, and your heart sank so quickly that you felt light-headed.

Once more, the two men turned to one another, but you didn’t listen to what you were saying – you couldn’t. Your head was spinning, and your ears had started ringing so loudly that you covered them with your hands. It was of no use, though – the ringing grew until it was nearly deafening, and your knees wobbled with the strain of staying upright. You thought you heard your name being said by one of the two men, but you couldn’t even tell which one had spoken.

Soon, you felt yourself collapsing, and your teeth clattered together as you hit the concrete floor. The last thing you saw before passing out was a pair of boots rushing towards you, and you felt yourself being lifted into someone’s arms before the world faded to black completely.

_________

You woke up in your own bed. You immediately recognized the feeling, the smell of it, and it was so comforting that you nearly cried. For a moment, you prayed that it had all just been a nightmare, that you hadn’t even left your cottage and that everything was and had always been normal.

“Oh, thank God; you’re awake.”

But those hopes were dashed almost as soon as you’d thought of them.

Sunlight stung your eyes as you opened them, and when they were finally able to focus, you saw Steve hovering over you with a glass of water in his hand.

“S-ste-“

“Shhh, hon,” he cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He helped you sit up before pressing the glass into your palms, and you traced your fingertips through the slick condensation that had gathered over it. “Drink this; you’re dehydrated.”

You did as he asked, immediately feeling better as the water soothed your dry, scratchy throat. You downed the entire glass, and wordlessly, Steve got up and retrieved you another, which you also chugged until it was gone.

“…What time is it?” you asked.

“It’s 9 in the morning,” he told you, and you frowned in confusion.

“I… I feel like I’ve been asleep for longer than-“

“You’ve been asleep for more than a day,” he explained, and you gulped, nodding.

“Oh.”

The two of you were quiet for a few moments, and even as the events of the past week swirled together in your mind, you were too exhausted to feel anxious over them.

“… I get why you left,” he said, breaking the silence. “And I’m not mad. Not at you, at least. With myself, yeah. I… I put way too much on your shoulders, and we moved fast enough to scare anyone away.”

You nodded, fiddling with the empty glass.

“I’m not going to keep you at my cabin anymore,” he told you. “I can come visit you here; I think you’d be more comfortable with that. But I’m not going to leave you. And before you think about going to the sheriff about it, he said that he’s not going to involve himself in our affairs anymore. Not after I told him…”

He paused, looking at you almost…nervously.

“…What is it?” you asked.

Steve pressed his lips together before reaching out, taking one of your hands in his. You didn’t try to pull away – you knew there would be no point.

“Wolves, they can sense things,” he stated. “I can tell when the moon is about to be full, when the weather is gonna turn warmer or colder. I can tell…”

He trailed off, staring into your eyes for a long, heavy pause, and you suddenly knew, even before he said anything. Something in your gut, something prehistoric and instinctual, told you the second before he uttered the words.

“…I can tell when someone is pregnant.”

The glass fell into your lap, and your entire body went rigid. You wanted to dismiss him; you wanted to say that he was crazy, that you were crazy, that this whole situation was crazy. And maybe it was, but that wouldn’t change the facts.

You were pregnant.

A soft exhalation left your lips, followed by a soft, nearly silent chuckle. A humorless smile stretched across your lips, and you watched as Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together in concern as a full-bellied laugh shook your shoulders. You squeezed your eyes shut and bowed your head, laughing until you were short of breath.

Because the realization that you’d been an omega this whole time? The bondmark over your mating gland? The week-long heat that had made you betray yourself for the primal, uncontrollable need your body had forced upon you? That was all a joke. It was nothing compared to this.

You were pregnant with Steve’s baby, and you knew, you knew, that you would never be free from him.

[notimetoblog]

Love After You (Pt.4)

Summary: In a time of ballrooms and ballgowns, a looming war threatens to bring darkness to the town of Rosea. Still, love finds a way to cut through. Some loves, you find, come slowly. Others, come unexpectedly. Could either one survive the war that is to come?

A/N: Hi HI!!!! Here is another chapter for you guys! its been a while in the making lol but it’s done and its here. This chapter is somewhat long  ;) and it spans some time. Bucky is back and we also get some steve (sort of) ALSO A NEW COOL DUDE MAKES AN APPEARENCE..you’ll see lol !!! yay!!! I hope you guys enjoy it and as always thank you so very much for reading. 

Links might still be weird so if you’d like to read previous chapters look up “love after you links” :D

Sweetheart,

It’s only been a few days, but my heart already longs for you.

I’ve managed to find a quiet spot underneath a grove of trees. Away from the rest of my battalion who are now distracted with a new game they’ve begun playing when we have some time to ourselves. I won’t bore you with every detail, but they’re having us do exactly what we did back home. When we’re back in the barracks, we can’t help but wonder why they moved us so far away. We keep our discontent amongst ourselves, though. Despite our complaints, none of us are willing to risk the discipline we might be put under if our superiors hear our whispers.

I wonder if you remember Sam Wilson, a fellow who thinks himself the most handsome man alive. He was with me the day I met you, and I wouldn’t doubt he tried flirting with you. In any case, they joined our battalions, so the days don’t feel as long now that his never-ending conversation keeps me entertained. He has an opinion on everything, and if our superiors ever find out what we whisper behind closed doors, it will probably be because of Sam. That man speaks his mind and holds nothing back.

Still, his words often fail to cut through my thoughts of you, of the day I asked you to be my wife. I made a promise, and I’m determined to keep it. Sam still doesn’t believe that you actually said yes. And frankly, neither do I. He says it’s because you’ve forgotten what he looks like. If you could clarify this matter, it would give me some leverage over him, maybe knock him a couple of pegs down. My day would be made.

I miss you, sweetheart, but every day brings me closer to you, and that’s the only thing that keeps me going.

I hope all is well with you. I hope that same smile I saw last is still on your sweet lips.

I’ll be home soon. I promise.

 Yours,

Steve Rogers

--

The sun shone a little brighter; the birds sang happier tunes after you read those words. Just a few days ago, this same paper had been in Steve’s hands, and now here it was- a little piece of Steve, and it meant the world to you.

You had come up with the perfect plan to avoid any trouble when Steve wrote to you. After a few days of investigation, Abigail had discovered that the Hill family had once again left town- this time for months as they prepared to expand their businesses. With this information in mind, Steve had been signing all his envelopes as Maria Hill.

What could ever be suspicious of two friends keeping in touch while one travels?

Gently folding the letter after reading it for the fourth time- or maybe it was a fifth time, you weren’t sure anymore- you tuck it behind the music box you treasured. Even if your mother ran across it, she was already aware you were exchanging letters except, of course, she believed it was with Maria. Still, you hoped, if by some chance she saw the letter she would leave it alone after noting Maria’s name on the envelope.

It was clear Steve still had some time on his hands. The writing in the letter wasn’t rushed; it still had that elegant curve that made it so distinct. He had made the folds on the letter crisp, and straight, taking his time to make it as neat as possible.

Even in the tiny details, he still had your heart.

You would have to respond to him soon, made sure he was aware that you did, in fact, remember Sam. He did have something to brag about, as the man you remembered was strong and tall with sweet eyes. But still, no one came close to your Steve. So you’d help him knock Sam a few pegs down, just to make sure he had something to laugh about while he was away— a clear victory under his belt.

With a sigh, you leave your room, already a dozen ideas in mind in case your mother chose to ask what Maria had written about.

“Your father is returning today,” your mother speaks as soon as she hears your steps coming down the stairs, her back is to you as she peers into the garden. “Mr. Barnes will be coming over to speak to him about business, so I expect you on your best behavior.”

“When am I not?” you joke, regretting it instantly when she abruptly turns to you, but her expression catches you off guard.

She has a smile.

“Isn’t he handsome?”

“Father always is,” you smile back, not willing to play her game.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that as a matter of fact,” she moves along with the conversation, side-stepping your comment. “You two looked very close that night at the party. I heard your laughs all the way from across the room.”

“We weren’t close,” you retort, breathing deeply as you take a seat on one of the couches. We were both just sharing our common distaste of you. “He simply asked for a dance and thanks to your ever-present teachings, I agreed, to be polite.”

This was strange. Having a mother that for some unknown reason, is suddenly interested in talking to you.

“Well, that dance was the envy of every other girl that night. Do you know how many other girls he danced with? None, just you.”

That wasn’t the dance you often thought back to, though. The one in the dark and in silence, with your favorite soldier, that’s the one that mattered.

“He was just being polite too,” you reply, hoping she wouldn’t make his visit more than it was. “I’m sure his father taught him to be polite and chivalrous, especially to a party hostess’ daughter.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was that too,” she says, and her tone is playful. Strange.

“Ma’am,” Abigail’s voice cuts through the strange atmosphere your mother created. “Mr. Barnes is here.”

“He’s early,” she almost chirps, a pep to her step as she walks towards the foyer. “Wonder why that is.”

You hear your mother’s muffled greeting from the living room followed by a pair of steps, and you stand up, straightening the skirt of your dress because they’re always there, those rules and norms that tell you how you must present yourself. 

“Miss,” Mr. Barnes halts his conversation with your mother as he catches your gaze. He’s dressed sharply, but what catches your eye is the two lilies he holds in his hands. They’re beautiful, a soft dusting of pink covering their white petals. It’s almost as if he painted them. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Your mother stands tall beside him, apologizing again that your father isn’t home yet.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Barnes,” you say, giving him a polite nod of your head.

“This is for you,” he extends one of the lilies to your mother who practically beams. You’ve never seen her this happy; it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why thank you so much, Mr. Barnes,” she says coyly, taking the lily and twirling it between her fingers.  

“And this one is for you,” he says, gaze soft as he extends the second lily towards you. His hand trembles a bit. “These are the lilies I mentioned at your party.”

He approaches you slowly, a smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” you reply, reaching out to take the lily. “Now I know why your father never wanted to share them. They’re beautiful.”

“About that,” he winks, and you don’t think a practical stranger has ever winked to you before. Your mom, though, seems delighted. Maybe she missed it. “I may have another surprise.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a pink handkerchief, all four corners loosely tied with some string. He draws the string to undo the knot, letting the corners of the handkerchief fall.

“They’re the bulbs I promised,” he says, gesturing to the three bulbs he holds and you take a half a step back as you realize he’s a little too close for comfort.

Did he promise? You don’t remember any promise, but to be fair, you had been distracted as the golden hair of your sweetheart had been bobbing around the garden while Mr. Barnes had talked to you.

“They will be a lovely addition to our garden,” you mother chimes in, clapping up a storm, noting you’re standing there not saying a thing.

“Yes,” you finally say, taking a deep breath as you mentally shoot daggers towards your mom. “Thank you, Mr. Barnes. I’ll be sure to take care of them.”

You did remember him mentioning no one else had ever been fortunate enough to get these sought-after bulbs. But here he was, offering them to you despite the wishes of his late father to keep them only on their estate. That, paired with the face-splitting smile your mother had, made your insides twist. Never had your mother been this happy around you. She mostly scolded and corrected you, and yet she now stood only a few feet away, smiling as if you had just achieved everything she had ever hoped for.

“I know they’ll be very happy here,” he responds, as he hands you the bulbs with so much care you’d think they’d break if he moved any faster.

--

Sweetheart,

Sam did not appreciate your response, but I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Getting to read it to him has been the highlight of my time here. Of course, second to receiving your letter.

We don’t have much time to complain or play now, though. They’re moving us east, so I’m afraid even my letters will take longer to get to you. But worry not, because no matter the distance, my love for you is just the same. Maybe even more now that I dream about your eyes every night. I miss you with all I’ve got.

The more eastward we get, the more the air smells like gunpowder, but I smile when I remember that your scent is something, I made sure you knew I missed. And, my God, do I miss it.

I must go now as the sun is almost entirely up and we’ll continue moving soon.

I love you,

Steve Rogers

--

He had been correct. His letter had taken almost double the time the first one had taken to reach you. But as he had mentioned, despite the distance, your love was still intact.

The fact that his battalion was on the move worried you greatly, but his spirits still seemed to be up. Thank goodness for Sam and whatever nonsense he filled Steve’s ear with. At least they weren’t alone. They had each other. And maybe Sam was lucky enough to pull one of those adorable laughs from Steve. The ones that made his eyes water.

So with a bit of worry in your heart, but with still more happiness at having heard from him, you had tucked this letter behind the music box, on top of your first letter.

It had been almost one month since your father had returned, and even though you protested every minute of the day, he still worked just as much as when he was in better health.

He needed to rest, you knew that, but he still moved forward, seeing Mr. Barnes almost every day as they arranged details for a deal they were working on.

“Miss,” you hear Mr. Barnes’ voice come into the living room where you sit. He walks alongside your father, having built a relationship of trust and respect. Mr. Barnes always taking time to ask your father about business, or about his time in the military. He had found in your father a mentor, and your father was more than happy to oblige to all his queries, seeing in him someone reminiscent of his youth. “I hope you’re not too upset that I’ve kept your father away.”

“It’s not you I’m upset with,” you stand, sending a warning look to your father who seems unbothered. Typical.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he smiles, a genuine look of relief on his features as holds up one of his hands to his chest. “I was hoping to see how the lilies are doing, if you don’t mind, that is.”

There’s always this softness to his voice. As if he’s unsure of how to speak to you. Always this sense of nervousness that almost makes you hope he isn’t afraid of you. Because that is not something, you ever wanted. To be feared. Sure, you’d been keeping your distance, but only because he was nothing more than your father’s newest business partner, not because you rejected the idea of a friendship.

Looking to your father, you see his nod, and you smile, hoping to right whatever wrong you had committed with Mr. Barnes.

“Of course, I don’t mind,” you reply, and there’s that look of relief again. “Come with me.”

He follows, just a few steps behind, commenting here and there about all your flowers currently in bloom.

“I knew I was giving them a good home when I brought you the lilies,” you hear him say, a bit more self-assured.  

“Well, I do my best, Mr. Barnes,” you say, stopping when you spot the growing lilies. They’re standing a few inches from the ground, not close to blooming, but he looks at them as if they’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen. “They’re looking well enough, a few more weeks and they’ll bloom.”

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, you know,” he says, voice shaky with those nerves again as his gaze comes up to meet yours. “Your mother and father call me James, and we’re not that far apart in age.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Have we ever been appropriate?” he asks, catching what he said quickly, and you almost laugh at how red his face has gone. You really didn’t know what to think of him. He looked like a lost puppy at times, stumbling his way through a conversation or following your father around wide-eyed and trying to take everything he said in. Other times, he seemed so sure of himself, the picture of a determined man. And you still weren’t sure what triggered the switch that got him from one disposition to the other. “I mean- I- I just mean our first conversation wasn’t entirely parent approved.”

“It wasn’t,” you admit still thankful your mother had only heard your laughs that night. “Still, I called you Mr. Barnes that night, and I don’t think that will change anytime soon. I hope you understand.”

“You could call me Bucky,” he beams, and his cheeks look like the petals of the lilies he brought you; lightly coated with the softest of pinks. He gazes at the lilies again, crouching as his fingers reach out to touch the small leaves that have sprung around the growing stems.  

“Why would I call you that? That’s not even a word,” you can’t help but laugh.

“It is definitely a word,” he joins you and laughs, little wrinkles forming in the corner of his eyes. Yes, you wouldn’t mind a friendship with him. “And it's a nickname. Only my friends call me that.”

“What does it mean?”

“I’m afraid my friends weren’t very creative. They just shortened my middle name, Buchanan.”

“And here I was picturing you with big buck teeth,” you joke.

“Well,” he begins, standing up, dusting off a bit of dirt on his fingers by brushing his hand against his suit. “If I cave and say that’s why they call me Bucky, would you stop calling me Mr. Barnes?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Barnes,” you laugh at his overdramatic groan.

—

Sweetheart,

It’s begun, and I’m afraid I don’t have many nice things to share with you. Sam gave us a scare a few days ago. He apparently doesn’t only think himself handsome, but also indestructible. Luckily it was only a graze wound, and he’s still alive and filling the air with his nonsense. I couldn’t be happier.

I can’t lie to you; it’s grim. We never see their attacks coming. But for now, I try my best to tune it all out with my memories of you. Instead of gunshots, I think of the soft tune of your music box. Instead of the mud we walk through each day, I think about that climb I made to your room. Instead of the cold, I think about how warm you always are. You’re what keeps me going. That’s what you have always been. Do not worry about me; I’m happy in our memories.

Always yours,

Steve Rogers.

—

Steve had written the letter almost three weeks ago. For all you knew, at this point, his battalion had been ambushed. Steve could be gone. And you knew that if it ever happened, chances were you would never be told. After all, the only one who seemed to know about your plans outside the both of you was Sam. Still, your heart refused to dwell too much on that, hoping instead to learn more about the situation. Knowing was better than letting your mind run wild speculating. If left alone, it only seemed to be able to paint dark images that scared you beyond belief.

Word had reached town about the start of the war around the same time Steve had written the letter. Your father and every other respected veteran had met with the mayor, in preparation of any form of attack on the town.

It was silly, really, for Steve to ask you not to worry. How could you not when the love of your life was in the line of fire every day?

You knew things were dangerous, especially towards the east where Steve was. And you tried to ask your father about it, but he was determined to keep most details from you, requesting that you not worry. There was something about the men in your life and the way they never wanted you to worry that frustrated you.

Your mother, with her head in the clouds, assumed everything would be over within a few weeks. If she had her way, she’d throw another party to lighten the mood in the town, and to the disbelief of no one, she had already proposed it.

So you came to the conclusion that the only one that might be open enough with you about the war would be Mr. Barnes.

“I'm surprised your father hasn't talked to you about it,” he says, once again playing with the leaves on the lilies. They were almost ready to bloom. He looked so proud of them, you’d think he’d grown them himself. Whenever he had the chance, he asked to see them, asking so many questions your head spun.

“Well, he’s said a few things, but he’s held back his thoughts. Asks me not to worry.”

Frustrated wasn't enough of a word to describe how you felt. Every day Steve was in danger, and there was nothing you could do about it. There was nobody you could be direct with and nobody that was direct with you.

“He’s right in some way; there’s nothing you should worry about. I'm sure the war won't be on your steps anytime soon,” his voice is firm, but there’s something in his eyes. He’s almost analyzing you, wondering how much you’ll push.

“It’s not that I'm worried about,” you heave a sigh, walking away from Mr. Barnes. “It’s those who are fighting. The men who are risking their lives.”

“Someone, in particular, you’re worried about?”

He approaches you timidly, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

“I could ask around if there is, make sure you get the information you need.”

Steve had told Sam. Could you trust Mr. Barnes to guard your secret? So far, he’d been nothing but polite, and a man like him had surely experienced love and felt that almost ferocious desire to keep it safe.

But then again, he was close to your parents and a man from a wealthy family who had undoubtedly been taught how people like you should behave. Someone who had grown up in this same world of strict norms regulating every single move of your life would most likely think like your parents and judge what you held so dearly.

He looks on to you, eyebrows raised in almost concern. And he just waits for you to get your thoughts together, his gaze soft, prompting you to be honest and part of you wants to be.

Part of you just wants to tell someone about Steve and the love you have for him. Tell someone about the letters, and the music box, and the ring.

But that someone is not Mr. Barnes.

“No, no one in particular,” you reply after an eternity, “But I’m sure all of those men would rather be home with their families, somewhere warm, somewhere safe.”

You will your tears to stay put, beg them not to roll down your cheeks. Beg your mind not to picture Steve longing to be back home because if you let those images flash through your mind, you would, without question, crash to the ground in sobs.  

“I see,” he says, the concern he showed moments ago melting away. “War is never pretty, never something we hope for.” He leads the way, following the stone path your father had built into the garden so many summers ago. “Your father means well, he does, but it’s best to stay informed. The war will be long, I’m afraid, and we will lose many great men. There’s no way I can paint you a pretty picture of war. I’d be lying to you, and I’d like to think we are not the type who lie.”

“I’d like to think that too,” you agree despite not being entirely honest with him.

“It won’t be over in a few weeks like your mother chooses to believe. Patrick won't be forced to return and play at another party of hers, and I'm sure he’s very grateful. But it will be over one day, and then all those men will be able to come home. Some alive, some not, but they’ll all be back.”

There’s nothing reassuring about his words, but there is in his honesty.

That night as you tuck away this latest letter behind the music box you find the previous two beside the music box instead. All those late night re-readings of the letters must’ve caused you to forget to put them back where they belong, so with nimble fingers you return them to their rightful place quickly peeking at the ring hoping Steve could feel you thinking of him— hoping Steve would be one of the lucky ones who would come home alive.

---

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[localcryptic]

the hozier deep lore timeline

conspiracy theory: all of hozier’s songs off of his first album piece together as a timeline telling the story of his life, and death. 

listen to the playlist here

From Eden: this song acts to set the stage for the rest of the timeline. it tells the story of adam and eve, from the point of view of the snake, or the devil. the devil is in love with eve, and will do anything for her. the story comes off as timeless, and will repeat, as the devil says eve is “familiar” and the way he says he “slithered here from eden just to hide outside your door” implies the story has begun its cycle again

Someone New: enter hozier. he is a happy go lucky man who sees the good in everything around him, and falls in love with someone new each day. despite his optimism, he feels like he is doing something wrong, he feels guilty. he is seeking answers, thrills, anything that will answer this deep tug when he meets...

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene: the angel. to put it frankly, she’s a badass. she’s gorgeous, and she’s mean, and there’s a mystery to her that brings him back for more. this is the thrill he had mean missing this whole time. the angel has everything he had been looking for, she makes him feel alive, and they enter a whirlwind romance. 

Foreigner’s God:  hozier thinks the angel is perfect. she sees something in him that even he doesn’t know about, and he trusts her. the idea of praising anyone else over her feels wrong, feels foreign. she is the only thing worth praising.

Take Me to Church: simply put, it’s the honeymoon phase. hozier is unbelievably in love with the angel. he worships her, and doesn’t care what anyone else thinks, she is his everything. he dedicates every second of his time. he’s enthralled. she is beauty and sin, good and evil, love and pain are synonymous, she is a god to him.

Work Song: their relationship has begun to settle down a little bit, but he doesn’t love the angel any less than before. they’ve settled into a routine, and he stops and realizes how much he loves her. he’d defy every law of the universe for her. he doesn’t just love her, he trusts her, and would go to hell and back for her.

Sedated: here’s where things begin to take a turn. hozier is still hopelessly in love with the angel, but recognizes that she is not good for him. she became his everything, but now she’s all he has. he feels trapped, but he turns to her because she is the only thing that makes him feel better. 

Cherry Wine: hozier and the angel begin to fight. she fights with him, yells at him, overall treats him like shit. he is still hopelessly devoted and loves her, and just accepts that this is their relationship now. hozier begins to suspect the angel is cheating on him.

To Be Alone: hozier is “addicted” to the angel. being with her is the only thing that makes him feel better, feel okay, feel alive. hozier knows the angel is seeing someone else, but doesn’t want to bring it up, because he would lose her. 

It Will Come Back: and now we enter the spooky realm. hozier learns more about the nature of the other man the angel has been seeing, and urges her to cut off ties, for her own safety. halfway through the song we switch POV and learn exactly who it is she’s been seeing. it is the snake, the devil in From Eden, and the angel is eve, evidenced in the lyric “you’ll hear me howling outside your door” which reflects the lyric in From Eden, saying the devil is hiding outside eve’s door, waiting to strike on her new adam.

In The Woods Somewhere: one night, hozier is sick with a fever, and hears a scream out in the woods. terrified for the angel, knowing the kind of danger she’s gotten herself into, he runs out to find her. he quickly realizes he was baited, as the devil begins to hunt him down. hozier runs, but is caught and killed. as he dies, he vows that he is “not done yet.”

Arsonists Lullaby: somewhere between life and death, he remembers the voices he used to hear, the power he used to have, the magic that used to fill his life, that fire that he only began to feel again when he was with the angel. in death, he is reawakened and feels his power. 

In a Week: the morning after his encounter in the woods. the peace with the forest around him, and the peace that comes in the rot. his spirit is one with the woods, the foxes, the birds and the bugs. he wants to be reunited with his angel, and be home with her.

Run: hozier urges the angel to find him out in the woods, to run to him, to save him. he recognizes her true power. she is the reincarnation of eve, an angel in her own right. she is a deity, a goddess, an immortal. he misses her, aches for her, wants her back, and eve is searching for him, too, looking for her lost adam.

Like Real People Do: eve finds adam. she digs him out from the earth, resurrecting him, and gifting him with immortality, same as her. hozier wants to put aside everything that’s just happened, stop asking questions, stop learning new things about the world and life and just wants to be with eve, and kiss her like real people do. after everything, they deserve to be real people. after dying, it’s time to live again.

Jackie and Wilson: rebirth. two immortals, hozier and the angel, adam and eve, against the world. all they need is each other, they’ve tried the world, it wasn’t for them. every version of hozier is dead and buried in the yard outside, literally and figuratively, seeing as he’s died and left that version of him behind, but also the version of him that was seeking the answers he has found. their life together is one big adventure... until one morning, hozier wakes up, to find the angel has left him. she was always a spitfire, a thrill seeker, and she’s off to catch her next adventure. so hozier, cursed with immortality, forever to walk this earth, is forced to move on.

(when wasteland, baby! comes out, i’ll either piece together the timeline further, or it will be a completely new story, and i can’t wait to find out. moments silence would fit in between angel of small death and foreigners god. NFWMB would be in between arsonists lullaby and in a week, and shrike would be in between in a week and run. almost (sweet music) fits as a next piece to the story after jackie and wilson, learning to move on from the angel.)

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last how much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald

-98 Days After- 

Two months at the cabin had been blissful. The Winchester’s and the Maklen’s had quickly and effortlessly fallen into a routine. It didn’t feel like the end, not anymore. Emerson felt like it had actually started to feel like home. 

The leaves had changed and autumn was in full swing. There hadn’t been any more incidents with the rain, and they hadn’t seen more than a stray Rogue in weeks. The guys would sometimes leave for a day or two to go find supplies, but they mostly lived sufficiently on their own. They’d started a little garden with seeds that Sam brought back from town, and Dean had kept the weeds and grass cut low. There was a newly constructed, mismatched fence surrounding their little paradise to keep danger out. 

There hadn’t been a night that Emerson and Dean hadn’t wound up sleeping side by side, even if half of the time Emerson snuck out of bed and walked down to the edge of the dock and sat, staring at the reflection of the sky in the water. Dean was keeping his respectable distance, trying with everything that he had not to push her boundaries. 

In the wake of the new life that they’d all created with each other, they found themselves easily getting into a comfortable swing, like the sway of the recently hung swing under the large Dogwood tree. The flowers had plumed a blood red, like the rest of the world, making it unremarkable in comparison to its usual draw. 

Pheli had found a few cans of potato soup in the back pantry and insisted on cooking it all by herself. She was going to make the first real Autumn meal. This left Emerson to sit on the end of the dock with her knees against her chest, staring out at the water like she did most days. 

 She thought about the day that they said goodbye to their mother. They wrote her letters, and Sam folded them into small paper boats. Emerson set the paper on fire with Dean’s lighter and sent them out onto the lake. She couldn’t say goodbye then, she couldn’t cry, but more than anything she couldn’t admit that the letter wasn’t for her mother at all. It was for herself. 

She closed her eyes and felt the cool breeze off the water, not bothering to wipe the stray tear that rolled down her cheek. Somehow, in the ease of life, the weight that pressed down on Emerson’s shoulders felt so much heavier than it ever had before. It was heavy on her chest so she couldn’t breathe, she’d lost her appetite, and she could hardly sleep. That was no real surprise, though, sleep had begun to feel like a luxury that she couldn’t afford. 

It was like she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, like she was being watched. She’d tried to explain it to Dean in the darkness when his nose was pressed to hers, but every time she opened her mouth, it was like Gordon’s palm was pressing against her lips to keep her silent. She just hoped that Dean understood that it wasn’t about him, that the cracks in her soul weren’t something made by him, but they also weren’t something that he could mend.

  -9 Years Before-

 Emerson watched the flames of everything her father left behind burning in the fire pit in their backyard. They licked up toward the night sky, the smoke blowing up, black even against the night sky, carrying glowing pieces of ash up to Heaven. She was sure that her mother didn’t intend to share an entire bottle of red wine with her two fourteen year old daughters, but there she was, sitting in the darkness, watching the fire burn down, her mind fuzzy and her tongue heavy. Ophelia had fallen asleep with her head on their mothers lap, Jana petting her hair, whispering quiet promises. She took Pheli inside, admitting that she was tired as well. 

 Emerson offered a brave smile and promised her mother that she would put the fire out and come to bed soon. What else could she say? She watched her father’s clothes burn. His favorite striped tie, the comb he used to tame his thick mustache, and the last newspaper he ever read. She’d never forget curling up on the porch swing, taking in the scent of his strong morning coffee as he read the paper out loud to her. “You see Emmy, this man saved a little girl from a fire. He’s a hero, don’t you think?” Who would save her father from the fire? 

 She didn’t know why he left, just that she woke up, and he was gone. She’d never seen her mother cry before, but right in front of her eyes Jana’s knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor like she was made of paper. She felt sick to her stomach, but immediately reacted. “It’s okay, Mom. We don’t need him. We have each other.” They burned the wall piece that said The Wilson’s and angrily cut him out of every family photograph. They didn’t belong to him any more than he belonged to them, and even though it didn’t look like it, Emerson felt that loss to her core. 

 Dean was seventeen years old, eighteen on his coming birthday. He was sneaking into the backdoor of his house when something caught his attention. His green eyes popped up over their shared fence, they glowed in the light of the fire. “Got any s’mores?” 

 “No,” Emerson grunted in annoyance. 

 “Damn, sorry for asking.” 

 “They’re always sorry aren’t they,” she slurred, her tongue still heavy with wine. 

 Her eyes were focused on Dean, well as focused as they could be. She caught his eyebrows coming together in a frown. “You okay? You sound a little…” 

 “Drunk? Yup. I’m great.” She turned her head away from him and focused back to the fire. She was pissed at the world, at men, and she just wanted to let herself cry, but she couldn’t. She’d crowned herself the strong one before she even had a chance to process what had happened. 

 There was a groan from the fence before the sound of Dean’s feet hitting the grass with a soft thud. He walked to her, lowering himself down next to her. “You’re drunk? You’re just a kid.” 

 “Fuck you,” she snapped, resting her chin on her knees. “I’ve never been a kid.” 

 Dean was quiet at her side, and for a second she thought he’d left. “I shouldn’t judge,” he said after a breath of silence, and her eyes flickered to him. “I’m not exactly a good role model.” He snickered into the darkness, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He stuck one between his lips, but didn’t light it. He stared at the fire with a desperate look of longing. “What’s with the clothes? You commit a murder or something?”

 She pursed her lips, turning back to the fire. “Or something.” 

 “Want to talk about it?”

 “No.” 

 Emerson’s eyes focused on the stacked items inside of the flames disappear into each other, collapse into dust. Once everything had burned away would it be like he never existed in the first place? The concept made her chest ache. 

 Dean sat next to her like a silent pillar for minutes. It felt like he was building protective walls around her, brick by brick. The more safe she felt with him, though, the more distrustful she felt. Her father had been there for fourteen years, and he still up and left one day. Dean looked at her like a kid, so why would he be of any significance to her? What reason would he have for staying? None. You aren’t worth staying for. 

 She turned back to him, catching him looking at her. To her surprise, his eyes didn’t waiver when she met his stare. “Why are you here?” 

 He opened his mouth, but hesitated for a moment. He cleared his throat and put on a smartass smile that made Emerson want to reach out and punch him in the nose like she’d done six years previously. “I was out on a date with Stacy McGilvery, but I’m grounded. I was trying to sneak back in. The date went good, but I don’t know, she’s not really my type.” 

 Emerson frowned, her nose crinkling. “Stacy McGilvery… isn’t she a cheerleader?” 

 “Prom Queen last year.” 

 “So she’s pretty and popular, why not your type?” More importantly, why do I care?

 “Not much under the surface.” 

 “No boobs?” 

 Dean looked at her surprised, letting out a laugh. “What? You’re seriously asking me that?” 

 “I don’t know what else you could be meaning,” she said, her tongue pressed to the inside of her teeth. 

  “Personality, kid. That’s what I mean. She’s got no substance.” 

 “Didn’t think guys like you cared about substance.” 

 “Ouch,” he said with a wince, touching his chest. “And I didn’t think girls like you got wasted on Saturday night. Guess we were both wrong.” 

  Touché. “I don’t, normally.” 

 “So why now?”

 Maybe it was the wine pulsing through her veins, or perhaps it was the weight of him next to her drawing her in like an orbit, but she wanted to tell him. She wanted to say it out loud and let it go. “My dad left today.”

 “Where’d he go?”

 “No idea.”

 Dean was quiet, pensive, but it didn’t last long. “Wait… you’re saying he…?”

 She nodded, pressing her chin back to her knees. 

 “Wow. Wow. You didn’t know? Did he say where he was going?”

 “I woke up, and he was gone.”

 A new smoke invaded Emerson’s nose, making her eyes water. Dean had lit up his cigarette after all. 

 “Motherfucker,” he mumbled into the cigarette. “What kind of man…” Dean’s voice trailed off into the darkness in a puff of smoke. “Are you okay?” He asked finally. 

 “I feel like he took a piece of me with him. It’s like every person we interact with gets a small piece of us. They break it off, and when they leave they take it with them. Usually we don’t notice, but if someone is important… then that piece leaves a much bigger hole. I feel hollow.”

 “He isn’t worth it.”

 “How can you say that? You don’t know him,” she snapped, pain radiating through her.

 “If he walked out on you, then he isn’t worth it. He’s an idiot. Anyone who would willingly walk away from you isn’t worth the time that you’d spend missing them,” Dean said seriously. 

 She turned to look at him and was caught off guard by the intensity of his stare, by the smoke leaving his lips as if his mouth was full of fire. She could feel herself burning within him, crumbling into dust under his tongue like her father's life was in front of her. 

  -98 Days After-

 People are made up of moments, she decided. Every decision, every piece that’s broken off of them created a single person that was completely unique. She knew if her heart was held up next to her sisters that it wouldn’t be recognizable. It had to be so full of holes and broken pieces that she knew if it was held up to the sun that she could see the sun rays breaking through it, speckled and fantastic, casting shadows on the ground. It had started to break long before Gordon. She was built of moments, stacked together like Lincoln logs, up far too high that it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she was unsteady. That she wobbled and eventually crashed to the ground. 

 The dock groaned behind her under a weight that she now recognized as Dean’s. “Thought I might find you here,” he said gently, draping a blanket over her shoulders. “Can I sit?”

 “Yeah,” Emerson breathed, exhaling warm white mist into the chilled, autumn air. 

 He lowered himself next to her and slid his arm around her, creating a protective belt of strength to hold her together. “I brought you something,” he said softly, tugging at the ends of one of her curls against her back. 

 “What is it?” 

 Dean reached into his coat and pulled out a KitKat bar and offered it to her, his palm flat. 

 “You got me candy?” She asked, her eyebrow quirked. 

 “I found it out of place at the supermarket. It’s your favorite, right?” 

 Emerson’s eyes scanned the candy and up his arm to his eyes. “It is. How did you know that?” 

 Dean smiled sheepishly. “I remember when we were kids, after Halloween, you and Phel would sit on the porch trading candy. You’d trade anything for those damn KitKat’s.” 

 She pressed her lips together and felt a tug in her chest. “I can’t believe you remember that.” 

 “I remember everything about you, Em.” 

 “Not everything,” she admitted softly. 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She sucked in her breath through her nose. She wasn’t sure why she was bringing it up. It wouldn’t change anything. If anything it would just give him ammunition to take another piece of her, but she needed to release the weight that held her down. “I was there, after your accident. I was there every day for weeks. Your heart stopped right under my cheek.”

 “Wait… what? You were there?”

 She nodded, avoiding his eyes. 

 “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that?” 

 “You didn’t want to have any visitors. You kept everyone away. I thought that you didn’t want me there. It just felt like maybe I’d been making it all up.” 

 “Making what up?” 

 “This thing between us.” 

 She felt his finger hook under her chin, tilting her head to look at him. “I had this dream, well fuck I thought it was a dream, and when I woke up I couldn’t shake it. It was more of a feeling I guess.”

 “What was it?” 

 “I thought… fuck, it’s hard to explain.” He let out an irritated sigh, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts “It was you. It was just your face and when I saw you… I just felt so warm. It was right, Em. It’s like I knew that I couldn’t live without you. I didn’t want to.” She could feel his breath on her lips as they were separated by a short distance. “You didn’t make it up, Em. This thing between us is real. Fuck it may be the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. You’re it, Em.” 

 She took the candy bar from him like it was a goddamn engagement ring, like it was precious, and she laid it down on the dock gently before running her fingers along his jaw. She wanted to count every freckle that danced along the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. She wanted to kiss the one right at the place that his skin met his bottom lip. Every fleck of gold in his eyes seemed to glow in the low light, like the sun breaking through the trees, speckled across the ground. 

 She wondered then if some people were made of glue, because every second that she thought she was too broken to continue, Dean slid into the cracks inside of her that threatened to break her in two and held on tightly, holding her together even just for a minute. 

 There was something between them that didn’t have a name, something bigger than love, something that reached out past the bones in her chest, and deeper than the reaches of her blood. His soul touched hers, brushing it until it glowed brightly. As broken as she felt, there was something about the way he looked at her that made everything feel so much more stable. 

 “What’s that look for?” He asked her softly, as she ran her thumb over his bottom lip tenderly. 

 “What look?” She asked, her voice a whisper in the breeze. 

 “This one.” His fingers were tracing her features then, his thumb across her jaw, her earlobe, and knitting into her hair. 

 “I’m just wondering how I didn’t see you before. You’ve been here the whole time.”

 “Yeah,” he agreed. “But you weren’t ready. It’s okay to not be ready.”

 What did ready really mean? 

 She thought about when her father taught her how to ride her bike. Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go! She didn’t think she was ready. She was wrong. 

 Her eyes flickered back up to his. Her lips parted, and she was ready to tell him everything. He was Dean, after all. 

 “Hey lovebirds! The soup is ready! Get your butts up here!” Pheli yelled from the back porch, her hand on her hip. She shook her wooden spoon in the air like some housewife, beckoning them. 

 Dean exhaled swiftly and pressed a kiss to her forehead, making her heart race. “Let’s table this, yeah?”

 “Yeah,” she agreed, even though all she wanted to do in that moment was drown in him. 

 Emerson took his hand and let him lead her up to the house. Pheli had already went back inside by the time that they reached the back porch. Dean reached for the doorknob, and she placed her fingers over his, stopping him. He turned to look at her, and she captured his lips in an urgent, breath-stealing kiss. 

 He ran his tongue over his bottom lip; his were eyes wide like he was surprised. “Can’t kiss a guy like that and expect him to think about soup, Maklen,” he said with a rough voice.

 She grinned up at him and offered a wink. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

 “Evil, evil girl.” He shook his head disapprovingly, with a smile that he was trying to hide.

 He opened the door wide, and she ducked under his arm to enter the house.

 The handmade oak table was Sam and Dean’s grandfather’s, it had been built by a tree that he cut down himself, sanded down by hand, and glossed over with a shiny finish. The shape was irregular, like the thickness of the tree trunk, and the rings of age were visible through the sheen. Pheli placed a vase with the remaining last few mutant roses from the bush out back. The vase was surrounded by a random assortment of candles, which flames flickered, creating a peaceful glow against the white china bowls.

 “It smells great,” Dean mused, eyeing Sam.

 “It was just from a can,” Phel said self-consciously, as she sat down in her own chair.

 “Looks amazing, babe,” Sam promised, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

 Emerson discarded her blanket on the couch, and walked to the table. She ran her fingers along the back of her chair before lowering herself into it. Dean sat next to her, instead of his usual place across from her at the table. His fingers brushed her knee under the table making her sit up a little straighter. She picked up her spoon, spinning it in her fingers. Her eyes locked with her sisters. Something was up. She could feel it like a static in the air. She could almost reach out and touch it.

 The girls were in no way psychic, but there was something special about having a twin that was completely unique. Most of the time, the girls knew what the other was thinking with a single look. They were usually so in sync, but ever since the Pheli killed Gordon, it was like a wall was put up between them. Emerson had no idea what her sister was thinking. She still didn’t, as she looked at her across the table, but she wanted to know. There was something there, she just couldn’t identify it.

 Dean slurped at his soup next to her in a way that was so obnoxious it was almost laughable. He was such a child. She shot him a look and he shrugged at her mid bite, with his spoon against his lips. She grinned widely at him and put her own spoon in her soup.

 She wondered if maybe growing up required distance. Pheli knew her better than anyone, but she always had Sam. Ultimately, he knew her in a way that Emerson never could. Maybe growing up meant loosening the leash she had on her sister to make room for someone else.

 Dean was humming into his soup, picking up the bowl and finishing it off. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a satisfied, happy sigh. “Damn that was delicious.”

 “Damn, big hungry,” Emerson complained.

 He grabbed his spoon, stealing a bite from her bowl playfully. He slid the spoon into his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

 “Hey!” 

 He tried to put his spoon back in, but she stopped it with her own. “Back off, Dean Winchester or you may lose a finger,” Emerson threatened, narrowing her eyes. 

 Ophelia cleared her throat, causing Emerson to stop clinking spoons with Dean and look up. Her sisters hands were intertwined with Sam’s and they were looking at her and Dean intensely. Em’s gut twisted as she stared at her twin. Something was up, she was sure of it. 

 “Sam and I want to tell you something,” she began. “Both of you.” 

 “Sammy?” Dean questioned, his eyebrow quirked up. His spoon was left in Emerson’s soup as his hand moved away. His palms were flat on the table. 

 Emerson felt like they were both waiting for an impact as if they were standing on the train tracks, staring into the light of an oncoming train. 

 Pheli took in a deep breath, before pulling her hand from Sam’s and thrusting it across the table. A glistening stone caught the light of the candles, sparkling golden in the lowlight. Emerson’s mouth went immediately dry as if she’d just been told something horrible. She stared at her sisters left hand. An engagement ring? It all seemed so normal.

 “You son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. 

 Emerson jumped, turning to Dean, but what she saw was unexpected. He stood up, his palms still flat on the table. His lips were turned up in a bright smile, and his eyes were filled with tears. “You finally did it.” 

 “I’ve been carrying it around in my pocket for a year,” Sam said, with a bright smile. He was looking at Pheli like he always had, with this proud look of adoration, like he couldn’t get enough. “And I figured that there was no point in waiting. Not anymore. She’s the good in the world and from what I’ve seen in the last two months has shown me that we need as much good as we can get. Our time is limited, and I don’t want to waste any more of it not being with her.” 

 Dean’s hands left the table, as he approached Sam, pulling him into a brotherly hug. He was mumbling something against Sam’s ear that Emerson couldn’t hear. Her eyes were locked back on the stone. 

 “Em?” Pheli asked, her voice shaking. 

 The sound of her name pulled her out of her trance, and she finally met her sister’s eyes. They were a perfect reflection of her own. “Yeah?”

 “What are you thinking?” 

 “I’m thinking…” Emerson ran her tongue over her bottom lip, thinking about what Sam said. They always treated life like it was a given, when in reality it’s never been. She thought about the glowing butterflies, and Dean’s fingers brushing against hers. “It’s about damn time.” She took her sisters hand in hers. “It’s beautiful.” 

 Ophelia immediately broke into a relieved cry, wiping her cheeks. “I’m so glad. I love it.” 

 Sam put his hand on Pheli’s shoulder. “Dean, we were going to ask you if you’d marry us?”

 “I’m not into you like that, Sam,” Dean teased. “But I’ll say some stuff, if you want.” 

 Sam rolled his eyes and made a face, curling his lip up in annoyance. 

 “When?” Emerson asked, her stomach clenching at the idea of a wedding. On one hand it seemed so trivial in light of the world, but on the other it seemed like the exact kind of thing that they needed. 

 “A week,” Pheli said, squeezing her sisters hand. “I want to go into town and see if I can find something to wear. Maybe dress the place up a bit.” She gestured widely out to the back of the house. “And I want to stay in your room all week, so Sam and I can have a chance to miss each other.” Her nose wrinkled as she looked up at Sam, he leaned down and kissed her nose. 

 Dean grunted at Emerson’s side, and she shot him a look that said, this is so not the time . He shrugged in response. 

 “Of course, whatever you want,” Em said with a nod. 

 “We’re getting married,” Phel said in a rush of air. 

 “Yes we are.” 

 Emerson’s eyes locked with Dean’s. “I’m going to do the dishes.” 

 “I’ll move my stuff up to your room,” Phel said, standing up. 

 “I’ll help,” Sam said mischievously. 

 “Don’t even think about it, Winchester. You haven’t made an honest woman out of me yet.” 

 “I’m banking on that,” he snickered, chasing after her to their room. 

 Emerson grabbed a few dishes and turned on her heels to start the dishes. She made it to the sink and turned the water on at the sink. It wasn’t a moment later that she felt two arms snake around her waist and lips against the back of her neck. Dean. 

 “A wedding,” he sighed against her neck. 

 “A wedding,” she repeated.

 “That’s the last thing I thought would happen out here.” 

 “They’re insane.” 

 “I don’t know.” Dean kissed her skin again, swaying gently back and forth. “I think Sam’s got the right idea.” 

 “Yeah?” She asked, letting the water run over the bowl, overflowing into the sink. Her mind wasn’t on her pruning fingers, the bowl, or the water. She couldn’t escape from the sway of his body against hers and the inevitable weight that a wedding brought. 

 “No real reason not to be with the person you wanna be with. The wedding is symbolic, it’s not like anyone is going to take an apocalyptic marriage seriously if we ever get out of this, but if it makes them feel better then I don’t see a problem. Fuck, I get the sentiment.” 

 Emerson always felt like marriages were supposed to mean forever, but she supposed that humans were more likely to be able to commit to that forever if their time was so limited. “You’re right,” she said with an exhale. She sat the bowl down, wrapping her arms around his, brushing her wet fingers against his. She closed her eyes and swayed with him. “Maybe it’ll be nice.” 

 “You’re gonna be there?” 

 “Yes?” She asked with a laugh, as if it were a trick question.

 “Then it’ll be more than nice.” He hummed against her hair. “Maybe we can find some liquor and dance out there on the dock.” 

 “Promise?” She asked, spinning around, wrapping her arms around his neck. She stared into his green eyes, trying to pull his soul into her body, and wrap him around her as tightly as she could. 

 “Anything you want, Em. I’ll give it to ya,” he leaned in and kissed her. The water still ran in the sink behind her in a moment that was so painfully and beautifully normal that it made her vision blur at the edges and her stomach ache.

  This is how it could’ve been , she thought sadly, before correcting herself. No, this is how it is. Her life with Dean wasn’t a consolation prize just because the world was crumbling around them. He came to see her the day the girls came home, the day that seemed like a lifetime ago. She wanted to ask him why he’d come by, because it certainly wasn’t to invite her to a party. She had to believe that whether the explosion happened or not, that they’d always end up right there. Just as she thought that she’d pull away and ask him, he depended the kiss, pressing her against the sinks edge, and she resolved to enjoy him instead. She spent too much time in her head, worrying and thinking about the next thing, or what could’ve been instead of what was happening in the moment. 

 The moment was Dean, and if people were made of moments, then maybe Dean and her were made of each other. Maybe they’d always been that way. 

—————

Chapter Twenty-Six

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Earth 33: Outlaws - Jason Todd

Earth 33 is my attempt at rewriting the dc universe. I’m doing this entirely for my own entertainment and as such will be writing what appeals to me. I’m starting this au off with the members of the outlaws, almost all of whom never canonly have been members.

So without farther ado, here’s Jason (This is a long one)

(TW: Death, Drugs, Overdosing, Crime, Vague Allusions to Rape)

Jason Peter Todd was born to Willis and Catherine Todd in a backstreet in Crime Alley. His father a small time crook and his mother drug addicted and unable to take care of him, he was basically left alone emotionally other than the few times Willis made time for his little prince of Gotham. Such as when he pickpocketed two tickets for a flying grayson show.

Willis got arrested on charges of drug use, theft, and grand theft auto. Reportedly he died in a prison riot started by some of Harvey Dents goons. Jason was 8 when this happened and it affected him greatly, he locked himself in his room in the Todd familys beat up tiny apartment for three days till he realized his mother hadn’t gone shopping or even begun to try and hustle any money for bills. He knew then that he’d be taking care of his mother till the day she overdosed like how the neighbors kept saying she would. Pick pocketing and theft became his new way of life but it was beyond stressful for a child of his age, and he was beat up several times by both gang members and police officers who caught him stealing.

He was 10 when his mother died from an overdose, it had been a long day and he was just happy to be able to bring some noodles and dollar store tomato paste home. But as he entered his home of ten years it smelled like how the alleys he always rushed through instead of walking smelled. He set the bags down at the door and rushed to the source of the scent. He got into the cramped kitchen and found his mother, dead. He went into his room and with a vacant expression on his face packed anything he had of value, he knew he couldn’t call 911, the phone service to the house had been cut three months ago, and besides there was no money to give his poor mother a proper burial.

He lived on the streets for the next two years and those two years taught him the way of the street, the distrust, the scrappy fighting that came when you hadn’t ate in three days, the value of a warm meal. Late one night he saw a chance that didn’t come by everyday, the batmobile, unguarded in an alleyway. He could only imagine how much the tires on it would fetch, so yeah he tried to jack the tires off the batmoblie. He was caught by Batman, who took him to get some food and talked with him. He was dropped off at a Wayne funded shelter.

And the next morning something bizarre happened, the people at the shelter let Jason know that there was someone interested in taking him in. He was hesitant at first but agreed to meet this person. A little later Bruce Wayne came in and chatted with Jason who was at first dismissive of the man but warmed up during the conversation, especially when Bruce shared about how he lost his parents when he was around 10. Jason agreed to try out living with him.

He liked it alot to say the least. He ran around the manor stuffing his face full of junk food almost constantly when he first got there till Alfred stepped in, just for his healths stake as a tumble down the long stairs or getting stick off of eating too much wouldn’t be all that fun for the kid. Jason wanted to stay and so stay he would.

Bruce put graves for Jason’s parents in the Wayne family graveyard next to Dick’s parents. Jason was put at ease by finally being able to put them to rest, including his mom’s body that was tracked down in GCP’s system as a yet to be identified body, his father’s body however had not yet been found.

Something that Bruce hadn't accounted for was the fact that Jason was a troubled sleeper, everything else he was doing perfectly with adjusting too, he was doing amazing at school, his checkup only indicated that they might want to give him some multivitamin gummies. But he just couldn’t get to sleep, he was too nervous too, and when he wasn’t too nervous he was too full of energy and trying to use it up doing something. So it was inevitable that he noticed how often Bruce was out at night and how at times he couldn’t find Alfred anywhere.

So when Bruce and Alfred were busy at some glala that didn’t let children in (Side note to myself, write younger Jason at one of these glalas) Jason poked his nose around the house looking for anything hidden. And while pulling books off the shelf in the study he tripped on the carpet and knocked a bust on the desk over, revealing a button. He did what you do when you find a button and he pressed it revealing a firemen pole, which he went down.

He ran around the cave unattended for an hour and when Bruce and Alfred has finally managed to get back home he had managed to put on one of Dick’s old robin costumes and was trying to figure out how to turn on the batmobile. Bruce sat him down and explained everything, and once he was done Jason asked if he could be Robin, and pointed out all his selling points like that his grades were good, he was good at running, he could throw a punch.

Bruce agreed to let him become Robin after a few months of training. Jason would remember his first night as Robin as one of the best of his life, only second to being adopted. His first night they dealt with a few purse snatchers, a mugging, and the crown of the night was a heist being pulled off by The Riddler at an art museum.

He met his brother Dick he and Bruce went to Bludhaven for a weekend due to Wayne Enterprises related business. The three of them met up for lunch on the Saturday and Jason and Dick got along greatly and poked fun at Bruce throughout the whole meal. On Sunday it turned out a mob had made the billanet plan to kidnap Bruce Wayne and hold him for ransom. Nightwing and Robin teamed up to save him and by the end of the adventure Dick gave Jason his phone number and told him to call whenever he’d like.

He was pretty friendless though, at school he was focused on the work and there wasn’t any sidekicks around his age running around Gotham. So Bruce organized the sidekick equivalent of a playdate with Blue Devils on again off again sidekick Kid Devil, also known as Eddie Bloomberg. The two were only supposed to taking down Polka-Dot Man who was planning a robbery. But when they returned to where Batman and Blue Devil were supposed to be figuring out a case with Zatanna at her hotel all they found were scorch marks and a very confused Zachary Zatara who had been in the hotel dining room before hearing a bunch of yelling and coming to investigate.

The events that followed were both chaotic and too long to list here. But for more details you can read here!

A couple years later he had hit the age of 15 and was overall, happy. He had a brother who loved him and checked in on him, he had a penpal who understood the stress of being a sidekick. But he also had lingering problems, anger over the treatment he got as a child and the treatment he saw others get, an empty feeling left by his parents. And what really brought out these feelings was a man by the name of Felipe Garzonas, someone that represented everything he hated. A person who abused his privilege to take advantage of those less fortunate, and then got off thanks to that privilege. Batman and Robin got him arrested but he got out the same day thanks to diplomatic immunity. And the man’s victim, overcome with terror took her own life. So when Jason was left alone with the man on a balcony it didn’t come as a surprise that he didn’t help when Felipe was falling to his death. Though the question of if he was pushed or slipped would never be answered.

Jason’s mental health took a dip due to what had happened and the fact that Bruce was avoiding him, and he called Dick who was having problems of his own at the time. But agreed to take Jason on a teen titan mission or two while his mind lingered on what had happened in Gotham and wandered to his family. But his mind got taken off that by meeting the titans and helping with one of the many smaller problems they had.

But when he got back he couldn’t get his mind off his past, so in an attempt to bring himself more closure on the topic he started looking for his father’s body. But meanwhile The Joker pieced together that one of his goons, was Robin’s father and so a plan was formed. Jason figured out that his father wasn’t dead but had gotten away the day of the riot and was working for The Joker who was planning something off in the alps. And due to the avoidance Bruce was showing to Jason, Jason decided to go out on his own. And we all know how that goes. His body, alongside his father’s was found in the wreckage of the blown up building.

He was laid to rest next to the graves for his parents and finally for the first time in years they were all together. But nothing lasts and Taila Al Ghul, in a bid to have something to use against Bruce in case he found out about Damian prematurely. So she sent one of her other pet projects, Twilight, or better known is Slade Wilson’s missing son Grant Wilson.

When he came out of the Lazarus Pit he was confused and tried to flee and there was some trouble stopping him till Taila tranquilized him. It turned out he had no memory of his life than his own name and the fact he died. He was respective to The League Of Shadows training, he still had the muscle memory from being Robin and was in a mental state that was easy to manipulate. He took to hanging around Grant as he reminded Jason of someone in a couple ways and Grant’s inner big brother came out around Jason.

By years end, Jason had fully integrated with The League and was sent on his first mission. When he had came back from it he had been sobbing but the deed was done. Taila talked with him about what had happened and tried to help him desensitize to the issue, she had grown to care about him and it hurt her to see him like this. After this incident his memories started to return, sparked by the familiar feeling caused by what he had done and the subconscious fear of being ignored again because of it.

He shared what he was remembering with Grant and that only helped to fuel the flame of rage in him. He wasn’t mad that Bruce couldn’t save him, he was angry that Bruce let there be chance the same would happen to another kid by letting The Joker live. He made a plan to try and make Bruce understand and set out on his way. Taila feared for him but did offer the original funds he needed for the plan.

He had his 17th birthday right as he was taking over Gotham’s underground as The Red Hood. It was a quick and hostile take over where he intimidated those he could, and killed those he couldn’t. News of The Red Hood found it’s way to Bruce quickly who was working alone at the time due to Tim being with Young Justice at the time. The drug lords were scared and one even agreed to meet with Batman but before they could give out much information they were shoot sparking a chase through the city where Batman failed to catch Red Hood.

He tracked down The Joker and kidnapped him and while waiting for Batman to arrive did all the things that Joker did to Jason in that warehouse so long ago. When Batman did arrive it became a tense confrontation where Jason revealed himself and demanded to know why the clown still breathed. Bruce answered the way he always did, saying they could not be the judge, jury, and executioner. He ended up forcing Bruce to make a choice, either kill The Joker himself or Jason would do it. Bruce instead threw a batarang at Jason, cutting the side of his neck and then The Joker detonated explosives that had been in the building.

He survived and fled Gotham. He decided to go meet his replacement Tim, he broke into the Young Justice base and kidnapped Robin not wanting to also take on a half kryptonian, speedster, and a demigod. The two fought and Jason mocked his replacement but he wasn’t trying to kill Tim. And when things were looking dicey for Tim, Jason nerve pinched him and left.

He then went off to Bludhaven to bother Dick. Who at the time was dealing with the Court Of Owls and the fact they were stalking him and trying to kidnap him. So when Jason was following him and saw some other shady character was following his brother he started a fight with them. Nightwing very quickly joined the fray between Red Hood and Talon and the two scared them off. Their chat afterwards was awkward to say the least, but weirdly friendly since Jason had just helped Dick and Dick caught on to the fact that Jason had been trained by The League of Shadows.

Dick made an effort to help Jason who he had figured out had been brainwashed during his time with The League of Shadows. And some progress was made. But when they went to Gotham so Jason could try to have a normal-ish conversation with Bruce, it blew up in his face when they had gotten talking about Taila and Jason let it slip that Taila had a son that she said was Bruce’s. Bruce, with no where to direct his feelings on the matter, got cross with Jason for not telling him sooner and the two started arguing. It ended when Jason pulled a gun on Bruce and Dick knocked him out with some sleeping gas.

Jason spent a month in Arkham and was beyond angry, he was angry at Bruce for taking out his complicated emotions on him and he was mad at Dick fortaking Bruces side. He had been admitted under an assumed name as a non criminal resident so he was being kept away from where the violent offenders were. Which was for the best, if he had been anywhere near The Joker it wouldn’t have been pretty. He got out when Tim bribed Arkham to let him out. Jason thanked his younger brother and asked about why he did that and Tim explained that the reason Jason was in there wasn’t fair, and besides he was mad at Bruce as Damian just showed up and stole the Robin name. Jason offered to get Tim a drink but he rejected pointing out the were both underage.

It wasn’t long after that he turned 18. He was headed out of a gas station with the first legal box cigarettes he had ever bought that he got a call from Dick asking him to come to the cave, it was important. So he did, everyone did. And it was a grim affair as Bruce had died. Jason didn’t handle his grief well and left the cave before he could hear the message that was left for him. He left Gotham city as well, both because he needed some space from the situation and because he knew that there was about to be a fight over who would wear the cowl.

He went to LA and met up with an old friend, Eddie Bloomberg who was acting as part time tech support for the Teen Titans. The two had a happy, tearful reunion. Jason, who was crashing on Eddie’s couch for the moment continued his work as Red Hood but it was mellowed out. There was a combination of reasons for this, Dick’s support (even though it had been withdrawn), not wanting Bruce’s ghost judging him, and trying to get in a better mental space and not throw away the chance he had.

After Bruce had came back Jason went back to Gotham, and they hashed things out, by no means were they on the same page, they probably never would be again. But Bruce was willing to offer Jason a place in the batfamily as long as he agreed not to kill anyone, and Jason was willing to agree.

Jason and Stephanie got to know each other pretty well since they were given the chance finally. And they got along greatly. It was a nightmare for Bruce however as he had snark coming left and right. Jason also got to know Cass better and they had a couple things to relate on. And for the first time in three years he was finding happiness in his family life.

But again, nothing lasts for forever. Jason late one night while on patrol noticed someone had broken into the penthouse of a well respected lawyer. And he found Twilight was the intruder and it was no mistake that he caught him. The League wanted him back and weren’t willing to take no for an answer, and Grant felt it was personal. So the ensuing argument was intense and by the end the fight had found it’s way onto the top of Wayne tower where Grant misstepped and fell to his seeming death, and worse batman had seen the end of the fight and given prior events including falling to death and Jason Bruce didn’t trust that it was an accident and banished Jason from the city till things were more clear.

Out on his own yet again he decided to form a team and work on the move, no superhero wants the murdery batfamily member in their city for long. So he got on his bike and he went back to LA.

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo, square: “You’re a disappointment.”

Fandom: Marvel, MCU, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Words: 4.490 Tags: Slightly Unhinged Tony, Morally Grey Tony, First Meeting

Summary: "You," Tony says as he looks down at the trembling body of Steve Rogers, "are a disappointment." It's too bad that Fury wants Rogers on the team anyway.

---

Afghanistan changed Tony. Of course it did. Before, he would not have taken the time to sit in a street café, sipping his coffee as if it is the only thing he has come here for, while he looks at the apartment complex on the other side of the street through his sunglasses.

Fourteen people are currently in there, but Tony is only interested in one. JARVIS feeds him information on the stability of the building, on possible structural and collateral damage should it come to a fight. He is also analysing Tony’s caffeine levels as if that has ever stopped Tony from pouring more coffee down his throat. He has already filled half of this cup with whiskey, so it is not like he is not watching his health.

“Target is asleep,” JARVIS speaks up when there are only a few sips left in Tony’s cup. Perfect timing. Tony is sure JARVIS would have intervened if he had ordered another one.

For the past hours, the man they are looking for has been restless, pacing the small apartment, then he tried to sleep but woke up from a nightmare only minutes later. He has also wolfed down most of what was in the fridge. Now, the readings indicate that he is not going to wake up again soon. Tony almost regrets having to disturb the sleep that he has waited so long for.

Leaving enough bills on the table to cover his coffee and the tip, Tony walks over the street and lets himself into the apartment building. He saunters in there as if he belongs here, knowing exactly where he is going and trusts JARVIS to inform him should any trouble arise.

Tony does not go in guns blazing. Instead, he opens the door quietly, has a look around the flat, which belongs to a Sam Wilson, who appears to be a nice guy, although he might come to regret that. Tony’s feet make no sound as he walks towards the bedroom. Ever since he has begun experimenting on a stealth suit, he has included some of the features into his everyday life. Walking soundlessly is definitely a perk.

Propping the door open, Tony remains where he is and takes in the target first. The man lies curled around himself on the bed. From what little there is visible of him, he looks exactly like in the pictures; blonde, tall, muscles piled upon muscles. He is nice to look at, but Tony has done enough looking for one day.

Tony walks up to the foot of the bed, looks down with a strange feeling in his gut, and clears his throat.

The change is instantaneous. The man’s muscles tense as he comes awake. One moment, he is lying down, the next his back is pressed against the headboard, looking around wildly until his eyes fall on Tony. He is shivering and his heart, as JARVIS supplies helpfully directly in Tony’s ear, is racing.

“You,” Tony says as he looks down at the shivering body of Steve Rogers, “are a disappointment.”

all the stories Tony has heard, growing up, Captain America was that inspiring figure, never backing down from doing the right thing. In reality, Steve Rogers is a man like everybody else, frightened and confused, running from his problems as if there is any escaping them. Tony never runs. He is built from sterner stuff, and he hates that he has wasted years of his childhood looking up to a man who is just as fallible as everybody else.  

Rogers blinks up at him, perhaps wondering whether Tony is only a figment of his mind. The tension never leaves him, but he does not lash out. He probably does not see Tony as a threat. Few people did before Iron Man, and Rogers does not know what he is capable of, with the suit or without.

Right now, Tony is wearing a three-piece-suit and his sunglasses. He looks wealthy and careless and altogether not like someone who would break into an apartment complex – at least not in this part of town – so he understands Rogers’ confusion. Being underestimated has made things so much easier for Tony countless times.

Rogers’ throat moves as if he wants to speak, but no sounds passes his lips. He just blinks several times, then pinches the bridge of his nose. Tony expected something more.

He has been watching Rogers for days now, ever since Fury came to him after they lost their newly defrosted supersoldier, expecting Tony to fix their mess as usual.  His unfamiliarity with modern times aside, Rogers should have had more of a plan to his flight. As someone praised for his strategic genius, getting on the first bus out of New York and then turning to stress-running in Washington until Mr. Wilson stumbled over him and offered to help does not sound very strategical to Tony. Perhaps that only comes out when there is gunfire and falling bombs. It will not be that hard to arrange for that. If Tony decides to go along with Fury’s scheme to pull Rogers on the team. For now, Tony still has doubts.

“Dear old dad always said you were his greatest creation,” Tony continues in a tone that is almost pleasant if not for the sharpness lingering beneath the words. “But I just don’t see it.”

Tony makes a show of looking Rogers up and down. He is wearing an obviously borrowed shirt, which does not leave much to imagination, stretching quite nicely over Rogers’ muscles.

Rogers looks more aware now, but he still does not say anything. He watches Tony, almost like he is biding his time. Well, Tony decides to start poking the bear, lest they keep staring at each other for even longer.

“I think you’re just like a dog,” Tony says, the words belying the sweetness of his tone, “who throws himself happily into every fight he can find. But when you don’t like what you hear, you become rabid.” Clicking his tongue, Tony leans a bit forward, although he takes care to remain out of Rogers’ immediate reach. “That’s not a good trait in a dog.”

Rogers’ demeanour changes from confused and shaken to angry within seconds. His forehead folds into a frown, while his eyes become more focused, assessing. It is too bad that all of this comes too late. Tony could have taken him out a dozen times by now, in a dozen different ways.

“Who are you?” Rogers asks. He shifts his position to better push himself up if needed, trying and failing to be subtle about it.

Tony is sure the only reason things have not already devolved into a fight, is because Tony does not look like any of the other goons Fury must have sent to follow Rogers up until now. Instead, he looks like a businessman, and people like Rogers do not know to be afraid of those. Although Rogers should know better, considering he was acquainted with Howard.

“Your employer works for me,” Tony answers brightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “If you ask Fury, he’d tell you I’m working for him, but I could tear down his laughable organisation during my lunch break. I let him keep his illusion, though. Makes working together much easier. Unfortunately, that makes you my problem,” Tony points at Rogers, grimacing, “and I’m not known for letting my weapons run rampant.”

The world knows that by now after he has torn Stane down for all the world to see from the throne he had built on Tony’s shoulders.

Afghanistan has changed more than his tendency to be impatient. People say Tony snapped over there, that he has gone mad under torture. The truth is, he has always been a little unhinged. That should not surprise anyone, considering that Stark blood is running through his veins. He has just stopped pouring so much energy into pretending otherwise. Life is much easier like this.

Stane and the Ten Rings also made him realize that supplying his country with the biggest sticks is not the best way to deal with war. Especially considering he trusted the wrong person and let his weapons end up all over the world, in all the wrong hands. Tony has to be the biggest stick himself, on the field and off.

He has never had much patience for politics, but he stepped up nonetheless. Everybody has known him before, if just as the billionaire playboy who also sells the best weapons around. It was not so hard to form that image into something with more political sway. The prodigal son returned home, a little bit broken but more ready than ever to defend his country.

Stark Industries has never sold more or better weapons, the stock sky-rocketed. In just a few years, Tony has taken Howard’s legacy and made it into something to be really in awe of.

Reaching out to SHIELD had been the logical next step, considering its influence and the fact that it is his father and godmother’s brainchild. Of course, it comes with annoying tasks like hunting down an errand Captain America, who does not yet know that it is best for him to play along until there is a fool-proof opening – not that Tony plans on letting him have that. Ever.

If Fury and his extra-terrestrial source are to be believed, they have worse enough things coming for them to need all capable hands on deck. Even if it means that Tony has to deal with a defrosted hero he really could have done without ever meeting.

“I’m not a weapon,” Rogers finally says. His voice is hoarse, likely from screaming out earlier during his nightmare.

Tony allows himself to laugh. From his point of view, Rogers appears small, literally and metaphorically. It is probably not a good idea to provoke Rogers but Tony cannot help himself. Angry people make mistakes.

“Erskine wanted to create the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon,” he says, remembering the recruitment flyers Howard kept close to his shrine for Captain America. And there you were, the first in line.”

“I wasn’t –” Rogers protests but Tony cuts him off. They have already wasted enough time.

“Let’s adjourn this argument,” he says shortly. “Fury wants me to put a chip inside you so he can track you down next time you run off.” Tony does not need such primitive means, and there is already a tracker in Rogers’ phone, but he keeps that to himself. Rogers looks spooked enough already. Spooked on the verge of getting furious. “For now, I’m telling him no. I can change my mind any time, though, so you had better not make an enemy out of me.”

Which is easier said than done since Tony does not have a very high opinion of Steve Rogers already.

Rogers straightens further. He has not yet made a move to stand up, but he probably thinks surprise will be on his side if he strikes from his place on the bed.

“Who. Are. You?” Rogers repeats his earlier question, although with much more of a bite to it now.

“Shouldn’t that be obvious? They told me you are smart, but I guess that only works when you’re trying to figure out where to best hit people.” Spreading his arms, Tony sticks his chin out and says, “I’m Tony Stark. Don’t compare me to my father, I’ve surpassed him a long while ago.”

Right before him, Tony can see how Rogers re-evaluates him as no threat at all. This will be fun, at least until it starts to become annoying. Rogers should be concerned with how Tony found him and managed to sneak up on him until he was literally standing over the bed. Yet, people like Rogers put too much on appearances.

“And what do you want from me?”

All his childhood, Tony wanted to live up to Captain America, to make his father proud.  Afghanistan has changes that too. Tony is completely his own person now. He prefers others wanting to live up to him.

“Frankly, I would have preferred if you’d stayed in the ice,” Tony explains easily, rocking back on the soles of his feet, seemingly easy to be pushed off balance. “But Fury’s got that idea of a group as a first line of attack against a superhuman threat he thinks is coming, and he wants you on the team.”

Nobody can quite say what that threat is, but as little as Tony likes Fury, he trusts the man’s instincts. Without them, he would not have survived half as long as he has. Peggy personally made him her successor too. That has to count for something.  

“Right now,” Tony continues with some smugness, “I’m the team, and I have no problems with it staying that way if you can’t listen to orders.”

His, of course, not Fury’s. But these semantics are better hashed out once they are all back home.

“I’m no one’s attack dog,” Rogers all but growls, hands clenched at his side.  

Tony looks at him with pity. “Except the US Army’s?” he asks and shrugs as if he does not mind that. “You were quite eager then to become their mascot. And they are eager now to get you back.” In fact, they are eager enough that they have stopped bothering Tony about giving them the Iron Man suit for the time being. It will not last, but Tony is glad for the respite. “You’ll find that your nice patriotic title won’t help you much these days if you decide to defy them. Compared to them, Fury’s very lenient. But it’s your choice, the military or SHIELD.”

Rogers does not like his decisions being made for him, Tony would not have needed Peggy’s stories to know that. One look at Roger’s face right now makes it very clear. His lips are pulled down as if he has bitten on something sour even while something suspiciously like relief flashes over his face. It is the anticipation of a fight that has him able to pull himself out of the last lingering traces of his nightmare-induced misery, to shake off the feelings that made him run away in the first place.

“What if I don’t want either of those?” Rogers asks, a little impatient as if he is ready to be done with words.

“I like people going for the third option,” Tony declares with a bright smile. He naturally prefers it when it benefits him. “Sadly, there’s none for you. Sorry,”

Rogers squares his shoulders as he sits fully up. “I refuse,” he says very clearly, staring at Tony as if he thinks he can intimidate him with that alone.

“Wrong answer,” Tony snaps, voice suddenly sharp and without any trace of humour. “Try again.”

Silence engulfs them as they stare at each other as they go from a mostly-friendly chat between a run-away and an intruder to facing off. With a shuddering breath sounding almost a sigh, Steve gets to his feet and Tony lets him, even though his violent intent is apparent in the way he glares. Tony is not afraid of their defrosted supersolider. No matter how good the serum is, it is outdated compared to what Tony has built for himself.

“No,” Rogers says firmly, never breaking eye contact.

He settles into a fighting position, legs hip-width apart, fists raised. Tony is still standing at the foot of the bed, but he has seen videos of Rogers in action, so he knows how fast he is. Rogers does not have his shield. It is no secret that, like this, Tony is no match for Captain America. Luckily, he does not have to be.

Stepping around the bed, Tony taps against the arc reactor hidden under his shirt, and smiles when he feels the armour stretching out over his skin, engulfing him whole.

Rogers must have been informed about Iron Man, although he obviously does not know any specifics. His face goes blank as he stares at the rapidly unfolding metal swallowing Tony whole.

“Let’s do it your way then,” Tony says once he is all suited up. The voice modulator makes his voice sound impassive, even while he feels like giggling at the sheer excitement of going up against Captain America.

He raises his arm and powers up the repulsor, the familiar sound is like music in his ear. Even for someone who does not know exactly what he is facing, this is an unmistakeable threat.

When Rogers does not move, Tony taunts him, “Come on, I love to dance.”

Satisfaction shoots through him when Rogers finches as if he has already been wounded.  Peggy had told him about Roger’ last words to her. It might be a low blow to use them like that, but Rogers might as well have not reacted to them at all. Being that sensitive only gets one killed.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Rogers says, even though the trembling eagerness in his position belies that. It is rather belittling of him to insinuate that he can take Tony.

“Great,” Tony exclaims and goes so far as to power down the repulsor, “you’ve got some brain cells left up there. Let’s head right back to SHIELD then. Fury’s got someone to introduce to you. Two people, actually. You’ll like them.” Because there is always a little devil riding Tony’s shoulder, he adds, “One is a redhead. I heard you like to go for them.”

Tony expects the punch even before JARVIS warns him of Rogers’ movement. He does not move, though but lets Rogers split his knuckles on the suit’s faceplate. Despite the power behind it, Tony barely feels a tingle.

Tony waits for the confusion at the ineffective punch to register with Rogers and only then does he react. In one smooth motion, he grabs Rogers’ arm and kicks his legs out from under him. With enough power to knock the breath out of him, Tony pushes Rogers face-first to the ground and follows him down, pinning him down with the armour. He twists Rogers’ arm up his back, applying just enough pressure to make Rogers gasp.

Rogers struggles and tries to throw Tony off, but the suit does not budge even one bit. He is always tinkering with the suit, making it better. Ever since he heard of Rogers having been found in the ice, he put in special effort to be sure it will withstand an assault by the supersoldier. In Tony’s mind, it has been inevitable that they will clash one day, so he does not mind having sped up the schedule a bit.

They lie on the floor for a long minute, Rogers is breathing heavily, while Tony allows himself to grin in the safety of his helmet. It is better not to let Rogers know that he is enjoying himself.

“Are you ready to come back?” Tony asks right in Steve’s ear. “Or I can let you get back up and we can go again.”

Perhaps Rogers would even last longer this time, not underestimating Tony so much.

“Do you feel good about yourself? Hiding behind your suit?” Rogers hisses back. “Take it off and you’re nothing.”

Tony is so bored with people trying to take the moral high road with him, of people reducing him to what he has as if he has not built all of that for himself. Howard might have laid the groundworks for Stark Industries, but Tony has already gone far beyond what his father could have ever achieved with it.  

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Tony replies, wishing he would have let Rogers punch the suit a couple more times. “I built the suit. If you take it away, I’ll build another, or anything else I can think off.” Leaning forward, he applies more pressure on Rogers’ twisted arm. “What are you without the serum? Erskine and my father made you what you are. If you keep being a bother, I might just go ahead and reverse it.”

For a brief moment, Rogers goes still beneath him, then he fights with new fervour. “You can’t do that,” he says but sounds slightly uncertain about it.

“Everything special about you came out of a bottle,” Tony explains, almost gentle although the voice modulator makes a mockery of it, turning it flat. “You were made, so you can be unmade.”

Rogers doubles his efforts to get free, but Tony locks his joints in place and becomes literally dead weight on top of Rogers’ body. A lesser human might have been crushed by that. Finally, Rogers relaxes as a sign of surrender, although his expression remains tense, angry.

Tony remains where he is for a moment longer just to drive the point home. Then he gets smoothly to his feet and does not offer Rogers a hand to help him up. It is not even that he dislikes Rogers. From what he has seen up until now, he seems like a decent guy. Nonetheless, it feels like bringing a piece of Howard back to life.

Giving a quiet command, the suit folds back into itself, leaving Tony in his immaculate suit. Rogers, still lying on the ground, tracks the process with keen eyes before he pushes himself up. Standing right in front of each other, if becomes obvious how much taller Rogers is. None of that helps him here, though.

Tony nods, considering the arguing part of their meeting as dealt with. He turns around to look at the room, deliberately leaving his back open. It is as much a show of power as it is a gift. He is not here to make an enemy out of Rogers.

Once he has surveyed the whole room – what little there is – he looks back at Rogers. His lips are pulled up into a wide smile, friendly but obviously hiding teeth.

“I’ve got an apartment waiting for you in my tower.”

Of all the things Tony could have said, Rogers definitely did not expect this. Several emotions wander over Rogers’ face, the most easily recognizable is doubt.

“Why?” he then asks, a dozen more questions waiting beneath that word.

Tony sighs exaggeratedly. “We’re supposed to be a team,” he says as if their altercation just now never happened. “And I’d be grumpy too if I had to live in SHIELD’s barracks. I’ve seen the cell they call your room. I promise you’ll have windows from now on. The view is quite nice too.”

It becomes apparent very quickly that Rogers does not know what to make of Tony. Few people do, though, and he likes it that way.

“Is that what you do?” Rogers then asks. “Going from threatening someone to inviting them to live in your home in under a minute?”

Tony grins and knows it must look manic. “Short answer? Yes,” he says. It is not as if he has much to fear from Rogers.

Afghanistan has changed that too. Tony has never trusted easily, but he is not waiting for others to prove their worth anymore. Neither does he try to prove his. He simply shapes his world in a way that makes it very hard for others to betray him. He will take in Rogers, and even Hawkeye and Black Widow, although he already knows he cannot trust them. In the tower, he will have them under constant surveillance, though. There is no hiding from him anywhere in the world, but especially not in his own kingdom. Fury wants them to play nice, so he will do that – as long as he can make the rules.

“But I didn’t come to threaten you, just to bring you back,” Tony continues nonchalantly, not mentioning how much fun it was anyway. With a gesture at Rogers body, he adds, “I’ve also already designed new armour for you, and since no one else has such a ridiculous body shape, I need you to come. I’d hate for my effort to be wasted.”

The fainted hint of a warning accompanies his tone, not mixing well with his otherwise smiling face.

Tony feels Rogers’ eyes on him, practically hears the thoughts rattling inside his head. His behaviour throws people off, his mood swings, his unpredictability. He likes putting people on edge, though, making them wonder how he will react – especially since it is not usually in their favour. It is a good thing bullets tend to ricochet off the suit. Enough people have tried to get rid of him even before surviving Afghanistan has turned him into a better version of himself. He is not yet done with the world.

In front of him, Rogers’ gaze wander from him to the door and then to the window, checking possible escape routes. The moment he steps onto the street without Tony at his side, two more Iron Man suits will keep him from running further. Tony has promised Fury to bring the good Captain back. If his words fail, his tech will not.

After an eternity of contemplation, Rogers’ stance relaxes a bit. He does not quite look like he is giving in or that he will not try to run again at the first opportunity, but that would have only disappointed Tony further. For now, though, Rogers will play along.

“All right,” Rogers says with some trepidation, “but I’m not going to let you send me anywhere blind. I want to know what we’re doing at all times.”

There should be questions about what superhuman threat is supposed to mean, or why a group of people with special abilities is needed, but Rogers has seen his fair share of strange things, so he takes it at face value for now.

It is amusing, of course, that Rogers thinks he is going to have any say in what is going to happen, but Tony knows how important it is to leave people their illusions, so he nods.

“Done. Now come on before Fury sends the Black Widow after us. She could kill you with her little finger alone.”

Not Tony, though. He has a hundred precautions in place to keep Romanoff from stabbing his back. The moment she makes a single wrong move, she is going to find she made the wrong kind of enemy in him.

“That team of yours,” Rogers asks, taking the first hesitant step towards Tony, “what is it called?”

Tony grins like a shark. “We’re the Avengers.”

It is a fitting name. Vengeance has always been dear to his heart. And Rogers, if the faint glint in his eyes is anything to go by, has some things to put right too, even if it means throwing his lot in with the likes of Tony.

He has a feeling they will work well together once this awkward phase of getting to know each other is over. If not, Tony will make it so.

[someone-im-close-to-fanfic-blog]

Chapter 7- His Trial

Wilson’s a mess right now, both physically and emotionally.

Chapter Rating: PG-13, but just barely.

All eyes were on Wilson as he stepped up to where the defendants stood before his little sister.

"He pleads not guilty." Wilson said again, this time more seriously.

"What happened to no lawyers, Wilson?" Willow raised an eyebrow.

"Please, just hear me out!" He begged. No way had he kissed a murderer last night. No way. "I say he couldn't have done it because the blades of the weapons carried by his clones simply could not have made the same marks the weapon used on Wickerbottom made!"

"Show me your proof." Willow challenged. In this moment, she was less like a sister and more like a real judge. The difference was enough to make Wilson visibly cringe.

"Help me carry the body over and I'll show it to you." Wilson retorted, mimicking his sister by crossing his arms. Willow considered this for a moment and nodded. The two wandered over to where Wickerbottom's corpse lay.

"Have you gone mad?!" Willow whispered as the two hoisted up the old librarian. "You're defending this man, after all that's happened?"

"I went mad a long time ago, dear sister." Wilson smiled weakly. "Just listen to me, okay? It'll all make sense in a moment. Besides, we have no proof Wigfrid's actually telling the truth." At least, for now they didn't. Bruises had already begun to form on the body, and the sight nearly made Wilson vomit on the spot. Despite this, however, the two managed to lift and carry the body over to the makeshift podium on which Willow had stood. They set it down and Wilson unbuttoned the shirt collar again, revealing the gaping neck wound.

"As you can see," Wilson pointed out the sides of the wound. "This cut was made rather sloppily, and was clearly made with a serrated blade. Maxwell's movements with a sword are too precise, and the blade of said sword are perfectly straight and deadly sharp. While it's an interesting accusation to make, Wigfrid, evidence shows there's no way his sword could have made this cut."

Wigfrid sneered at him. "Oh really. And how can you be so sure? Maybe he messed up his cut on purpose to make it seem-"

"No." Wilson cut her off. "Not possible. The shape of the blade helps determine how the skin is cut, in that I mean it shapes the wound itself. If the cut was smooth, the wound would be neater than this. This was a sloppy job, almost like the person holding the weapon had difficulty handling it." He smiled. "It wouldn't be easy to slice a person's throat with the serrated blade of a spear, would it, Wigfrid?"

The crowd gasped.

"What?! Like I said, I LOVED Wickerbottom! I could never do it!"

"Maybe not." Wilson nodded. "But let me show you why it couldn't have been Maxwell, either." He turned to the taller man next to him. "Pull out the Codex Umbra."

Maxwell looked surprised. "Excuse me?"

"Did I stutter?" Wilson cocked his head. "Do it." 'It may be your only chance of being proven innocent.'

Carefully, Maxwell retrieved the Codex Umbra from his inventory.

"Good. Now summon a shadow clone." Wilson commanded, his stare unbreaking and equally as serious as the one his sister wore.

Maxwell mumbled a spell in what sounded like Latin and a shadow clone appeared next to him, sword in hand.

Wilson nodded and rolled up his shirt sleeve.

"What are you doing?" The magician asked uneasily. No one else spoke, but the tone in the man's voice was present in emotion form in the eyes of everyone around him. The scientist held his arm out without a second thought.

"Have him cut my arm." He tilted his head back slightly.

"Wilson, I-"

"DO IT!" Wilson roared in a tone he did not expect to come from himself. Maxwell, taken aback, glanced over at his shadow clone, pointing at Wilson's arm. Wilson shut his eyes as the clone swiftly cut a medium-sized gash in Wilson's arm.

Holy shit. The scientist saw white, the pain was so great. Carefully and with shaking hands he dried the blood seeping out of the cut off with his sleeve. He managed a weak grin and held it up next to the cut in Wickerbottom's neck.

"Observe." He managed to croak out. "The wounds are not a match."

Everyone gasped again, and this time Wilson couldn't tell if it was because he was bleeding profusely or if it was because Wigfrid had been proven wrong.

"Wilson, you idiot!" Willow hissed. "Your arm!"

"I don't care about my arm." Wilson shot back. "I care that the wrong person is about to get framed for a crime he didn't commit."

"What other proof do you have that I did it?" Wigfrid rolled her eyes. "Besides a bloody arm, of course, which doesn't prove shit."

"Not so fast." Wilson grinned again. "Hand me your spear."

"Wilson Percival Higgsbury, I swear to god, don't do it." Willow mumbled, loud enough for her brother to hear her.

"Well," Wilson replied as he took the spear from Wigfrid. "The thing about that is, I'm going to do it." Quickly he sliced another gap in his arm, right next to the one the shadow clone had made, and for a split second he saw that blinding white again.

"Ah..." He bit his lip. "Fuck, that hurt." He dried the blood off the spear head best he could and handed it back. He looked down at the wound, and his eyes widened.

"Wait a minute..." Willow grabbed his arm and looked from the new cut to the one in the corpse's throat.

"Oh no." Wilson's heart sank.

The wounds weren't a match here, either.

The group of people behind them exploded into chatter.

"Maybe that wasn't the best way of determining what made that." Woodie offered.

"Possibly not." Wilson winced. "Wes? Can you bring over some healing salve and bandages, please? God, this hurts..."

"You shouldn't have done that, then, idiot!" Willow grabbed her brother's other arm and slapped him across the face with his own hand. Wilson was startled for a moment and then smiled.

"Guess I sorta deserved that, didn't I?" He laughed.

"Yeah. Yeah ya did. Hurting yourself like that..." Willow mumbled as Wes brought the medical supplies over and the woman began to treat her brother's wounds.

"I just...uh..." He didn't want to admit the real reason for him sticking up for Maxwell. Not here. Not now. Maybe not even ever, if he could help it. "I realized that thing about the blades at the last minute. Sorry. I should have considered such a thing sooner."

"Yeah, well, too late for that." Willow huffed and finished bandaging his arm. "There. Cut yourself again and I'll personally burn one of those curls of your hair. You know, the ones that form the W shape."

"Alright, alright. Calm down." He looked over at Wigfrid and Maxwell, who stood there awkwardly. "What are we gonna do about..."

"Oh, yeah." Willow sighed. "Uh, hey, guys..." She tried to get the attention of the three standing behind the accused. They stopped talking and piped to attention. "I'm afraid we're going to have to suspend the interrogation for now. We just don't have any tangible evidence pointing to either of them being the criminal."

"Then who could have done it?" Wigfrid demanded.

"Actually," Woodie stepped forward. "I know I should have said something about this sooner, but after hearing what these two had to say, what I saw or think I saw was confirmed."

"Saw or think you saw?" Willow reiterated, eyebrows raising  in surprise. She and her brother exchanged uneasy glances.

"Go on." Wilson prompted.

"Well...what Wigfrid said about the shadows. I think I saw one over there, by the tree, just before I went to bed. Maxwell and Wilson were still...doing god knows what by the tree farm, and Wigfrid and Willow were still chatting with the young'ns. I saw a woman standing there, but I thought it was a hallucination. It wasn't Wickerbottom, I'll tell you that." He paused. "She was a bit taller. Short hair. She wore an all black dress, I think, but it may have just been the darkness. This was shortly before I heard Wickerbottom announce she felt ill, too."

Wilson's heart jumped up into his throat. "Did..." He drew in a shaky breath. "Did she wear a hat, too?"

"Couldn't tell. She was too far back for me to see." Woodie shook his head.

The scientist began to tremble and his stomach felt like it was collapsing on itself. A woman in a black dress with short hair. The image that immediately came to mind was that of the woman he'd met in the nightmare he had two nights ago. He reached over and squeezed Willow's hand, eyes fixed on the ground.

"Wilson, what's wrong? You're shaking like a freezing animal and you've gone at least three shades paler!" His sister cupped his chin sternly, forcing him to look back up at her. He could see in her eyes that she felt the same uneasiness, though. He wondered why.

"Dismiss the case for now." He whispered hoarsely. "We need to talk later about this."

Willow nodded. "Woodie, thanks for this information. The case will be suspended for now. Wilson and I need time to talk this over, and I'm sure you all need to recover from the initial shock of this morning's events. In the meantime, we need to figure out what to do with this body." She let go of Wilson's hand and glanced down at the corpse of the old librarian, once named Wickerbottom, her face becoming serious again.

~~

They buried her by the flower garden, not too far from the bee boxes. Webber and Wendy locked hands and didn't say a word the whole time. The Higgsbury siblings helped dig the hole, and then lowered the corpse inside. Everyone took turns placing a flower onto the body before burying it. No one said anything. They were all too weighted down with grief.

The day moved on painstakingly slow. No one really spoke to one another. Maxwell and Wigfrid glowered at each other from across the fire pits. Wendy kept mumbling something into Abigail's flower. Wes and Woodie sat passing notes by the stone wall. From the looks on their faces, they weren't writing about anything happy.

"This is so depressing." Willow mumbled. She sat with her brother at the fire pit nearest the tents, where they were last night. She had tied her hair back into pigtails and twirled one in between her fingers. "No one's eating. No one's talking. No one's so much as moving." She sighed. "I wish I had known her better so I didn't feel so morbid for not mourning too."

Wilson sighed. "I've known her since she came here, but for some reason I don't think I'm as sad as they are. The only thing that's really, really shaken me here is the thought of you being...well. You know."

Willow nodded. "I wonder if this would have still happened if I came."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Wilson shrugged. "There's just no way of telling." He reached over and grabbed Willow's hand, something he didn't even realize he did until she squeezed his hand. He figured it was just a reflex move, since being with Willow had a strange calming effect on him most of the time. It had always been this way. When he was upset, or she was upset, they'd hug it out or hold hands to relieve tension. Wilson wondered if physical contact was scientifically a good way to relieve tension, because it certainly felt like it.

Dusk fell quicker than expected. Everyone promptly went to their tents when it happened.

"Looks like everyone's emotionally exhausted." Willow observed the mass exodus of people to their tents carefully. "Wait, where's Maxwell?"

Wilson spied the man at the tree farm, leaning against a pine. Funnily enough, it was the same one Wilson had leaned against the night before, or at least it looked like the same tree.

"Over there." He said, flatly as he could muster.

"Perfect. Do we have any more alcohol?" Willow asked. Wilson raised an eyebrow.

"I think so, why?"

"Pour me a glass, will you? I wanna talk over this murder case a little more with you." Willow crossed one leg over the other and rested her chin on her hand as she began to think. Wilson got up and wandered over to the icebox, grabbing a glass of the wine-like liquor and poured a glass for himself and his sister, adding ice chunks as an extra touch.

"Here you go." He sat across from her at the fire pit and handed her the marble cup. She took a small sip of hers.

"Amazing. Tastes like I'm swallowing fire. Thank you." She smiled. "Now, about this damned murder. Who do you think did it?"

"No idea." Her brother admitted, eyes fixed on the roaring flames between them. "Evidence shows both sides are innocent. Then what Woodie said..." He sighed. "The most disturbing thing about it is, his story actually holds water. If another person was involved, it would explain why we don't have any evidence pointing to any of the people currently living here. But who could it be? We just have no way of knowing." He groaned.

Willow nodded thoughtfully. "Quick question...and I know this is completely unrelated, but I've been itching to know. What were you and Maxwell doing at that tree farm? It's a bit suspicious, you know. I wonder why Wigfrid didn't pull you into that mess, accusing you of being his accomplice."

Wilson tensed up. "You really want to know?"

The look Willow gave him next was enough to tell him that she meant business. "Tell me. I've never kept a secret from you in my life, other than the one about reading your study materials, but you never asked so I never told." She shrugged.

"I at least wouldn't have tried to throw them out if you had told me." He chuckled. "Fine...if you really want to know, he looked like something was bugging him all day, and since he helped get an emotional load off my back a few nights ago, I figured I'd do the same for him." He shrugged, hoping she'd leave it at that.

"Damn. What was it that you two were out there for so long?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Were you two..."

"No!" Wilson turned about six shades of red in the face. "I'll admit, we did...kiss...but--"

"Ha! I knew there was something between you two!" Willow grinned and took another swig of liquid. "So you stuck up for him because you didn't want to believe you kissed a murderer. Is that it?"

Wilson nodded sheepishly. "The thing I told you about how I realized last-minute the thing about weapons is true, though."

Willow nodded. "I see." She stared off into space for a moment. "If it makes you feel any better, I had planned to ask Wigfrid to date me, but..." She shook her head. "Her enjoyment from making Maxwell look bad in the interrogation session today is making me have second thoughts. Maybe she did do it."

"I can't stop thinking about what Woodie said about that woman in the black dress." Wilson admitted. "I mean, I think I've seen something like that before, but..."

"When?!" Willow demanded, leaning forward.

"Well, in a dream." Wilson admitted sheepishly. "I didn't say anything since...well, a dream's not good evidence for much of anything, other than your brain was busy that night."

The two laughed uneasily.

"Between you and me." Willow replied, her voice low. "I think I may have seen the same woman in last night's nightmare. Short, black hair, with a hat and dress of the same color. Black gloves. Red feather in her hat. God...what's wrong?"

Wilson had gone pale again. The description Willow gave matched up perfectly with the woman he'd seen in his own nightmare. The scene where she tried to get him to shoot her replayed in his mind, her accent adding a strange and eerie touch to the calm, clearness of her commands.

'Ten, nine, eight...' He could still hear it even now.

"I'd rather not talk about it." He blurted. "The dream...god, Willow, it was horrible. I couldn't move and she tried to..." He paused an drew in a shaky breath. "Tried to get me to shoot you. But I wouldn't do it, so she killed me instead. Then I woke up..." He shivered. "God, I mean it when I say I don't have the words to describe how glad I was to see you next to me when I woke up."

Willow had grown paler as well. "That's awful. Sounds a lot like the dream I had, only..." She bit her lip. "I watched her try to coerce you into shooting me instead."

The two were deadly silent for what felt like forever.

"That's so creepy." Wilson shuddered after a while.

"I woke up just when she pulled the trigger." Willow shivered. "It felt so real. I wanted to cry." She smiled weakly from across the campfire at her brother. "Thank you for not doing it."

Wilson nodded. "I could never hurt you, Willow. You're my sister. I love you too much for that."

Again, the awkward silence settled over them in a blanket so thick Wilson swore he could cut it with a knife.

"Anyway, about that murder." The scientist cleared his throat. "Nothing about this is making sense. If there really was a third party involved, number one, how would we know for sure? Number two, how would we find out who they are?"

Willow sighed. "God, you know, I genuinely wish I knew." She shook her head. "Not even Scotland Yard would be able to solve this one. Not like they'd have the chance to, though." She chuckled. "Hopefully the morning will bring new answers."

"You're going to bed?" Wilson asked as his sister stood up.

"I am. Here's my cup. Don't stay up too late, please. You need rest as well." She cautioned and handed Wilson her marble cup, still half full of liquid.

"I'll come to bed soon." He reassured her. "I just need more time to think. This is the most interesting topic I've been tasked to deal with in a while."

Willow nodded. "Have fun, I guess." She flipped out her lighter and used it to guide herself back to the tent. Wilson poured the remainder of his sister's drink into his own cup and set the empty one in the soft grass below the log on which he sat. He kept his eyes fixed on the flames as he began to review what had been gathered as evidence that day, and wrote out a list in his head.

-Both Maxwell's sword and Wigfrid's spear were shown to have been unable to cause the wound

-No bloody clothing or weapons were found

-Wickerbottom stated she wasn't feeling well on the night she was murdered, showing that she may have been poisoned with spoiled food

-The body was dragged to a tree, presumably so that we would find it more quickly

-Her throat was slit and then covered by her shirt collar

-Died with her palms facing up, showing relaxation in death

-Eyes were closed. Possibly killed in her sleep.

His head ached as he tried to piece the clues together. Nothing was making sense, third party theory or not. He sighed and downed about half the cup of liquor, knowing it wasn't a good idea but did it anyway, sort of like what he did with his arm.

He couldn't help but wonder how Maxwell had felt about that. The tone in his voice and the uneasiness in his actions hinted at genuine concern, but Wilson was not about to jump to conclusions.

"You and Willow are quite close, aren't you?" Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Well, Wilson hadn't exactly spoke of him in that moment, but still.

"Evening, Maxwell." Wilson greeted the magician flatly, not breaking his one-sided stare at the conflagration before him. "That we are. We're practically the same person, honestly. Anyhow, what're you here for?"

"Can I sit down?"

Wilson looked up at him and nodded, moving over a little. The magician sat on the log next to him, a bit awkwardly.

"I wanted to thank you for what you did for me today." He said to the scientist. "Without you, I think your sister would have my head on a stick right now."

Wilson nodded. "To be honest with you, you're right. Wigfrid had some good points out there. Very convincing, for the most part. The way she delivered the evidence sort of gave away the fact that she couldn't have been telling the truth, though, at least not to me." He chuckled sadly. "Damn. The woman you brought here was a hair away from taking your life away. I don't even think she knows you're why she's here."

"Probably not. I'm genuinely flattered that you did that, though." Maxwell showed a hint of a smile on his face.

"I couldn't stand the idea of you being accused, honestly." Wilson sighed. "I just...god. It didn't feel right." He looked from the fire to the magician. "That story Woodie gave about the woman...what are your thoughts?"

The magician was silent for a moment. "Chilling, to be as blunt as possible. It reminded me of someone I used to know..."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

Maxwell sighed. "It's a long story."

"I have time."

"I'd rather not discuss it, not in detail, anyway." The magician shuddered. "She and I...well. I used to be an actual magician, you know. I came to America from England to find somewhere I could start preforming. I met her there. Charlie was her name. She became my assistant. A freak accident is what brought us here. I'd...really not say much else, other than the Codex Umbra was involved."

Questions burned in Wilson's mind, but he decided not to ask them. "So this 'Charlie' woman...what does she look like?"

"Roughly the same as what Woodie described. Short, black hair. Shorter than me but taller than you, though to be honest it's not hard for anyone to be taller than you or Willow." He teased with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up."

"Sorry, sorry." The taller man couldn't help but laugh anyways. Wilson had to admit, while the joke was making fun of him, his laugh was nice. His smile dropped quickly, though. "Her dress is different. It wasn't all black last I saw it, but I wouldn't be surprised if it changed somehow. She didn't wear a hat, either. Just a rose in her hair."

"What side?"

"Pardon?"

"What side of her head did she wear it on?" Wilson reiterated.

"Ah...right, I think."

Wilson sucked in his breath. "Strange..."

Maxwell nodded. "Don't press any further. Please. It's not good to talk about someone who's listening, especially when that someone is someone like Charlie. Maybe we can re-visit this topic later, but tonight...."

"...someone who's listening?" Wilson repeated. "Excuse me? How would she be--?"

"Remember. Both of us were brought here. Together. Who do you think is on the shadow throne now? It has to be somebody." Maxwell crossed one leg over the other and waited for the puzzle pieces to click in the other's head.

Wilson's eyes widened in realization. "Oh. Oh." He swallowed nervously. "Makes sense, but I don't understand how she could have..."

Maxwell shook his head. "You know, me neither. It was an idea that just made sense, so it's the explanation I go with for why the shadows haven't personally taken one of us to sit on that damn throne. It also explains how you got off of it."

Wilson nodded thoughtfully. He had known that freeing Maxwell would result in him ending up on the shadow throne, and he remembered sitting there in that hallway, his sanity draining rapidly, but he can't seem to remember how he'd gotten off of it.

It was almost like his memory of it had been wiped clean of the event somehow.

"Wilson." Maxwell placed a hand on the other's shoulder. "You're shaking."

The scientist looked down at his hands and saw that Maxwell was right. "Oh. Yeah..." He swallowed nervously. "I think I may have dreamed about her, or at least a woman like her. I knew I was dreaming when it happened, but I couldn't control anything in the dream. And you know, you'd think that would be possible since it's your dream. You can control it, if you know how. And I do. But no. I couldn't control shit except where I looked and what I said." A lump formed in his throat. "She made me...tried to make me...shoot my sister..." Tears prickled in his eyes. "And when I wouldn't do it, she shot me instead."

Maxwell drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, good god. That doesn't sound like Charlie at all." He wrapped an arm around Wilson's shoulder and the scientist leaned in close to Maxwell's chest, shaking and trying not to cry.

"This is so scary." Wilson admitted in a voice just barely louder than a whisper. "Who's gonna be next, and when? Who's really doing this and why? I don't understand anything right now and it's pissing me off!" The trembling scientist wrapped his arms around Maxwell's waist and began to sob into his chest. "I hate this! Just when things were starting to make a turn for the better!" He whimpered and Maxwell toyed with locks of the scientist's thick black hair to try and calm him. They sat like that for a while before Wilson finally calmed down.

"Better?" Maxwell asked softly, a curly lock of hair still woven between his fingers.

"A bit, yes." Wilson nodded into Maxwell's coat. "Sorry, I just--"

"Don't apologize." Maxwell quickly cut him off. "You're nervous and extremely frustrated. I want to help you, remember? Don't tear yourself down for getting weight off your shoulders."

The smooth calmness in the magician's voice not only eased the scientist, but charmed him as well. "T-thank you." Wilson sat up and wiped his eyes. "Your jacket..."

"Don't worry about it." Maxwell let go of the curl of hair he was holding. The two sat in silence for a moment before Wilson managed to work up the courage to turn to the man next to him, his face flushed red, though he couldn't help but wonder if the man's kindness was sincere.

"Maxwell, tell me something." He tried to make eye contact to emphasize his seriousness, but doing that was never his strong suit, so it was hard. It was a question subconsciously turning in his brain for almost an entire day now, and he thought he'd go insane if it stayed in his head any longer. Besides, he badly needed some form of distraction from this crippling feeling of dread that was practically choking him to death right now.

"Yes?"

"After we kissed last night, I, uh, wanted to know. What are we? I mean...uh...what's between us?" He looked away slightly, too embarrassed to try holding eye contact anymore.

"I'd say about five inches of space." The magician joked. Wilson looked back up at him slyly.

"Why don't we fix that?" He asked, snaking his hand up to the other man's tie and wrapping his fingers around it. Maxwell smiled, seeming to get the hint, and the two leaned in oh-so-slowly until their lips met, Wilson gently tugging on his tie to bring them closer. Maxwell's hands found their way to Wilson's slim hips, where he carefully placed them. Wilson's other hand cupped the magician's face, thumb running over his jaw slowly. The two kissed for a few seconds, pulled away for a bit, and dove right back in. An uncounted amount of kisses later, Wilson was somehow sitting on Maxwell's thigh, straddling him, both hands now against the man's chest. Maxwell's hands didn't move. He didn't want to make the other uncomfortable, not after how well this had already gone.

"You know..." Maxwell pulled away and mumbled into the smaller man's neck. "If you wanted to, we could...I don't know, date."

The idea made Wilson tense up. "You mean that?"

Maxwell nodded.

"Uh..." Wilson sighed shakily. "Listen, I'd love to, but...I really don't understand feelings, okay, so I'm having a lot of difficulty figuring this one out. But maybe, once I'm more sure of myself, we could try." He smiled sheepishly. Maxwell nodded in understanding.

"I see."

"Yeah...I've never felt like this for someone before." He admitted. "I don't know if I like women, if I'm a homosexual, or what...I've got no experience here. Why would you want me, anyway?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure." The other man sat up, removing his hands from Wilson's waist. "We're so different, honestly. You're a scientist. You prefer the more logical answers to a  problem. To you, there's always a reason for something to happen, and you won't rest until you get your answer. You're stubborn and reckless and you always look for patterns in any given situation. They help you cope. Me, on the other hand, I prefer the abstract nature of magic. I don't see why there has to be logic to everything. Some things just...happen. That's the way I like to see it, anyway. But maybe my reason for liking you is just that. The way your eyes light up when you find the solution to a problem, the way reciting patterns of numbers calms you, and your enthusiasm towards your work are, I guess, all factors for why I like you, I guess." He chuckled. "We almost balance each other out. If you saw yourself the way I did, you'd know right away why I feel the way I do." The magician blushed darkly. "Oh, god, I'm ranting. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay." Wilson choked out, stunned. No one had ever said something to him like this before.

"Thank you." Was all he could manage before hugging the other man tightly, who promptly hugged back. Wilson screwed his eyes shut, trying desperately not to cry from the gratitude and happiness welling up inside him.

"You're welcome." Maxwell whispered, tweaking a curl of the other's thick black hair. They sat like that, hearts beating in sync, breathing steadily together, basking in the wonderfully pure feeling of a new relationship blossoming between them. A sort of fuzziness bubbled in Wilson's chest, making him feel warm. Comfortable. Finally loved by someone other than his precious little sister. If he had the choice, he'd stay like this forever, focused on nothing but the man whose arms were wrapped around him and the soft crackle of the fire behind them.

He was so consumed in these newfound feelings, in fact, didn't notice how dark it had gotten, or that three shadow hands had begun creeping out of the dark toward the rapidly fading fire that they had almost no backup fuel on hand for.

[lesserplaces]

Nine months ago that I realized I was in serious trouble.

My lower back had been bothering me for some time, progressing (slowly, as things always do) from slight discomfort to a persistent pattern of hike all weekend, struggle to get up from chairs all week.

By the end of Fall, things had become untenable. I missed a day of work because I “wasn’t feeling well,” which meant I couldn’t stand up, more or less finish my 2.5 mile walk to to work. A few weeks later, it was time for our long awaited (and quite expensive) deer hunt. This simply could not be missed.

I am not going to raise the hiker vs. hunter debate here. For now, know this: we scouted for months, dry camped many miles well within a wilderness area…

…walked up this hill 3-5 times a day…

…spent hundreds of hours freezing on hillsides…

…and left with nothing.

Two days after getting home I had my first back spasm. At first I was standing upright. An instant later I was laying on the ground, completely immobile. After a few moments laying their a drug myself hand over hand across the pavement lot to the driver side door, which I had thankfully left open, and pulled myself up onto the seat. In a moment I went from being a a twenty-nine year old who hiked 3-6 days a week to a person who couldn’t lift his kid out of a car seat or walk without a cane.

I’d love to tell you that these doctors at the hospital helped me very much, but ultimately they didn’t. A few pain killers and instructions to go see my doctor later, I landed at Functional Performance Center of Tempe, whose staff proved to be kind, generous, and ultimately exceptional (Editor’s Note: Hope you made it into PT school, Gracie!). Despite their incrediblye efforts, after about six weeks of therapy I began to periodically lose feeling in my feet, which resulted in several hours inside an MRI machine, followed by a great many injections into my spine, and ultimately the ablation of several nerves in my back. A year (and 20lbs on my waistline) later things finally seem to be on the mend.

Now that things are looking up, I have begun thinking about what I have learned from all this. There are a great many small lessons, I guess.

First, I should have sought care sooner.

I’ve written about this at great lengths now, but the greatest strength of hikers is their stubbornness persistence. We, hikers, get good at telling our bodies yes– yes, you can keep going— and no– no, you don’t need to stop. These are important skills for the hiker, but they are also dangerous, dangerous because at some point your body is sending you warnings for reasonable reasons.

I put my care off far longer than I should. That was dumb.

Second, I should have taken better care of myself when I was younger. I have also written much about the fallacies ultra-lighting on these pages, and I think it is uniquely stupid to draw a 1:1 correlation between my back problems and the fact I don’t think most people should spend a billion dollars on ultra-light gear they will never see the marginal benefits of. That being said, during a much younger, much darker time of my life I hiked many miles with a great deal of weight. This was probably dumb as well.

Third, I wish I had spent more time outside before and during the injury.

Before is easy. Of course I wish I had spent more time hiking when it didn’t hurt for weeks thereafter or threaten my ability to go to my job. That’s obvious. During is more complicated.

Small hikes, easy hikes, still require a few days of significant pain and recovery. I hope that this will get better with time, but it was worse in the past. I tried a great many things to scratch my get-outdoors itch while I was at the peak of my back problems, from “easy” hikes…

…to easier mixed fishing/hiking trips…

…to dedicated, stand-at-the-edge-of-a-stream-and-move-as-little-as-possible fishing trips.

From these trips I learned two things:

First, go on them.

And second, but more importantly, make sure you have the support in place to get home safe. There were some scary moments on these trips, all of which were avoidable, regrettable, and impossibly stupid.

Finally, being injured has helped me see the value in little trips. Years and years of trying to push hikes further and faster had left me feeling that much of the value in the outdoors came from pushing things further and faster. After a year of contemplating simple things like cabin trips with my family…

…and fishing trips on local streams…

…not as a temporary substitute for real outdoor time, but as the only recreation my body might ever be capable of made me consider what it is I get out of all this. Pushing myself to the limit on the streams and hills where I cut my teeth has held a simple and profound beauty I was not prepared for.

Those are the small lessons, though, and big lessons are harder. I think it comes down to this:

I remember, as a kid, sitting at a Boy Scout camp in the Southern Rockies. We were staying at one of the high elevation backcountry sites and we’d already completed a hard enough hike to filter out nearly ever other troop. Over the next couple of days we would move from peak to peak, dry camp to dry camp, slowly leaving everyone else behind. One of the workers had drug a Martin backpacker guitar back to the site, and on our last night before we abandoned the last vestiges of civilization his voice echoed across the valley…

https://open.spotify.com/track/5ug2EFqY1uivWl85mwynag

I think about that moment a lot, watching the sun set across our tiny alpine meadow, allowing the anxiety that comes before any long hard tip to sink in, listening to his voice echo over and over again:

There’s gold in them hills. 

I loved that moment. There was gold in them hills and it was waiting to be got. Hiking was simple, and hiking was beautiful, and hiking was perfect. All hiking required of us was that we persevere, and damnit, we might not be perfect but we could find it in ourselves not to quit.

I still love that moment. Older now, it needs another to make much sense:

Stay gold, Ponyboy. 

Stay gold. 

You can follow Lesser Places by email, or on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram using the menu at the top of the page. Or, you could click the links below to share with your friends directly. Or, copy and paste the URL someplace you think people will find it useful. Or, print the story, place it in a nice envelope, and send it to one of your friends. Basically we support any way you want to share.  No, we aren’t above begging.

Max Wilson is a graduate student studying ecology at Arizona State University. He writes here at Lesser Places, has occasionally written for Backpacker.com, and even more occasionally written for scientific journals. You can follow him on twitter @maxomillions.

          In the Belly of the Whale Nine months ago that I realized I was in serious trouble. My lower back had been bothering me for some time, progressing (slowly, as things always do) from slight discomfort to a persistent pattern of hike all weekend, struggle to get up from chairs all week.