#was it his heart condition? was it an aneurism

[twowivestwoknives]

coroner says Des' death was not a OD; greatful cuz he was so proud of getting 3 weeks sober, complex bc then wtf happened

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 6 Bruises / Touch Starved / Hunger Whumptober No. 30 major character death / left for dead / ghosts

Me: I can’t believe I have to post this absolutely incomprehensible piece of writing. 

Me: You don’t... have to?

Me: No, I’m gonna. 

Buck has an exceptional number of pillows on his bed. There are six, before he knocks a few to the floor every night, and he burrows into them like a nest, curling up with one against his chest, two pressed against his back, one between his legs. His sheets are a ridiculously priced, cool, crisp cotton that welcomes him in, surrounding him. The blankets he uses aren’t weighted, but they’re heavy and thick and he keeps his air conditioning turned up so he doesn’t have to give up the feeling of nestling into them in the heat of summer. Along with the white noise machine on his night stand, all of it is chosen to trick him into sleep. To keep back the feeling that night time in his own apartment is the loneliest part of Buck’s day. 

It wasn’t perfect, pre-covid. It’s been a long time since Buck had someone share his space, share his bed, someone he could reach out and touch whenever he wanted. But his life outside of home was full. He didn’t lack for closeness; in some ways he had more than he’d ever dreamed. So while he had lonely moments, they weren’t a constant ache in his chest. 

These months though. These months hurt. Facetime isn’t a substitute for curling up on Maddie’s couch with whatever silly-labeled wine she’d liked best that week. It’s definitely not a substitute for Eddie’s couch and losing to Christopher over and over again at Mario Kart. The last time they talked, Eddie had reached over and ruffled Christopher’s hair and Buck felt it. First as a tingle up the back of his scalp and then as a bruise to his heart. Eddie’s touches, so constant and so casual, became essential somewhere along the way and Buck feels himself reaching out for them even when he knows it’s not allowed.

“Six feet, gentlemen,” Bobby says gently when their orbits swing toward each other and Eddie makes a dramatic show of raising his hands and taking a giant step backward. Bobby just shakes his head and reminds them it’s the price they all agreed to pay for not wearing masks in the firehouse. 

Buck starts dreading the end of a call when taking off his heavy turnout coat leaves him feeling cold and exposed. He folds into himself, claiming a chair, putting in earbuds and crossing his arms tight over his chest, pulling his knees up even though he knows better than to put his shoes on the furniture.

It’s a similar position to the one he lies in at night, clinging to the pillows, trying to draw comfort out of the smooth fabric. In those moments, his loneliness is so loud it might as well be a beacon sent out into the universe, a burning shout of need. 

And that shout is heard. 

***

“Have you guys heard of exploding head syndrome?” Buck asks one morning when the calls are slow and the crew is all lingering in a lazy way rather than rushing off to take care of their other duties. 

“What, the band?” Chimney asks.

“I think it was an album,” Bobby says.

“No,” Buck sighs. “It’s a sleep thing. It’s this loud noise that you hear when you’re falling asleep like a massively loud explosion. Only it’s just happening in your head.”

“Is your brain actually exploding? Like an aneurism?”

“No. It’s just the noise.” 

Just the loudest noise Buck had ever heard. It woke him up with a feeling of abject terror. It was an explosion that didn’t echo. It just rang, clear and true through his eardrums like the end of the world. Even as he struggled out of his sheets, searching for the source so he could run from it, part of him knew it wasn’t a sound that left any physical evidence. What could it even be? A sound like that? An old fashioned safe dropping from two stories up? A car crash without the crunch? Just a high speed collision of two immovable objects, all of the equal and opposite reaction of their momentum forced to escape as sound. 

Once his heart rate had slowed, he googled. He wasn’t initially sure what to google. “Ridiculously loud noise woke me up” seemed at once too vague and too specific but sure enough. Exploding Head Syndrome. It was what happened. Obviously. But Buck remained too full of adrenaline to sleep. As he sat up in bed, he couldn’t shake the urge to look around. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. He didn’t feel alone. 

“I’m just glad it’s happening in your head instead of mine,” Chim laughs. “Maybe try putting some earmuffs on before you go to sleep tonight.” ***

The sound doesn’t reappear. Buck is relieved, but sleeping doesn’t get any easier. He tries to soothe himself with obscenely long hot baths, by ordering a hoodie that’s more fluff than fabric, by running a foam roller across his muscles, trying to pry them into relaxation. It’s so much work and it does so little. Buck’s entire body is screaming out at all times for a hug or a massage or even just a really fucking good haircut. It takes longer and longer to fall asleep and the little sleep he does get isn’t restful. It’s like whatever meager comfort he manages to give himself during the day is leached away in the night. 

He doesn’t even notice the bruises at first. It’s an easy enough thing to miss. Their job is heavy physical labor and Buck barrels through a scene like a one man stampede. Bruises are as common as the smell of smoke in his hair. The ones Eddie points out on his arm though are different. 

Buck’s carrying a kitten at the time. The fire they’ve been fighting is beaten back to smolders. Buck shucked off his coat, wet and dripping from the hose and too cold for the shaking animal, and grabbed a blanket from the ambulance to wrap her up and cradle her against his chest. He’s rubbing his face against her damp fur, feeling the softness like a concentrated shot of endorphins when Eddie asks, “What the hell happened to you?”

“What are you talking about?” Buck asks and Eddie’s hands are pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, rolling them up to his shoulders while Buck’s trying to hold onto the cat.

“You don’t feel that?”

“Feel what?” He’s maybe a little ruder than he means to be but the sleep deprivation makes him cranky and the touch deprivation means that Eddie’s gently probing fingers feel like a dream on his skin. The care in the brush of his hands makes Buck’s knees weak. 

“Your arms are bruised to hell,” Eddie says. “Are you- Did someone grab you or something?”

“I swear to god, Eddie. I don’t feel anything.” Except grumpy and exhausted and longing. 

“Jesus, it goes all the way up your shoulders. It looks like-” He stops, pulling Buck’s collar aside and tracing a small spot that Buck can’t see even if he turns his head. “They look like fingerprints, Buck. Are you seeing someone?” 

“What!”

“These are handprints. And they’re dark. Do you really not-”

Buck wrenches himself from Eddie’s grasp so he can turn around and look at him because if Eddie’s really accusing him of putting everyone at risk by trying to date someone right now… But Eddie’s face is nothing but concerned. Which makes Buck scared. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asks, clutching the cat to his chest. 

Eddie rubs a hand up Buck’s back (it feels so good, hot like Buck’s t-shirt isn’t even between them and is it just because it’s been so long or just because it’s Eddie?) without looking around to see if Bobby’s watching and that’s really all the confirmation Buck needs. It’s bad. 

***

After that, Buck starts to feel them. He wakes up and he can’t breathe. He wakes up and he can’t move. He wakes up on the floor. He spends every moment that he’s asleep fighting to wake up. Buck can only remember fragments and pieces of the torment but he knows that it feels like drowning. Like being held down. Like being grabbed and pulled and smothered. He thinks he remembers long dark hair. 

Google is useless. Sleep apnea. Sleep paralysis. Sleep terrors. Even sleepwalking. None of them can account for the worst of it. For the physical signs of whatever is happening to him while he sleeps.

Bruises bloom blue on the pale skin of his hips. Purple on his ribs. Green on the back of his neck. The ones that Eddie saw first on his arm fade to yellow.  A long scratch runs down the side of his face. Dark circles under his eyes grow darker every day. 

“What’s happening to me?” he asks his reflection.

All he wants is to be able to ask that question with someone’s arms around him. He wants anyone to hold him tight and shush his fears and tell him that it’ll be okay. 

It’s easier than he thought to hide it. Buck just chooses his shower times strategically and opts for a long sleeve uniform, complaining that he ruined his short sleeves ones by grabbing bleach instead of detergent while he was half asleep. 

He’s always half asleep these days.

At least in the bunk rooms, he gets some semblance of rest. Whatever presence he feels in his own bedroom doesn’t cross this threshold and Buck sleeps deeply, almost missing the scream of the alarm. 

“It’s getting worse isn’t it?” Eddie asks, cornering Buck in the locker room. Buck can’t help but nod and Eddie steps closer as if to touch him. 

Buck flinches away and Eddie pulls up short as though hitting an invisible wall. 

He breathes Buck’s name on a pained exhale and says, “You have to get some help. Whatever it is…”

“I don’t know what it is!’ Buck answers. “It’s living in my house and it- it- God. Maybe I need an exorcism.”

“Maybe you should come home with me,” Eddie suggests and Buck recoils again. 

The firehouse seems safe but there’s no guarantee that Buck won’t be followed anywhere else. He’s desperate to be safe--desperate for Eddie to make him safe--but not at the expense of anyone else. Not when he doesn’t know what he’s facing. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “But call me in the morning.” 

***

The burned girl screams louder when she sees Buck than she did while they were putting out the inferno of her car. 

“Stay away from me!” She shrieks. “Stay awaystayawaystayaway.”

“Miss, we’re going to need you to calm down,” Hen says to her. “Buck, you wanna move aside? Like preferably somewhere she can’t see you?”

Buck does because the patient’s well-being is more important than anything, but his skin feels like ice. He wants to demand to know what else she sees when she looks at him. Wants to know how she knows. For half a second, he imagines following her to the hospital and waiting for her outside the glass doors.  

They aren’t far from her house (52% of accidents happen within five miles of home) and the girl’s father arrives on the scene before they finish prepping her to be transported. And he sees Buck. 

He freezes when he does, but at least he doesn’t scream. He ignores Buck completely, instead going to the ambulance where his daughter is still crying and trying to soothe her. Hen offers to let him ride in the ambulance, but he says that he’ll take his car. 

“You’re in a lot of trouble,” he says, returning to Buck as the ambulance pulls away. “What you summoned… That’s not a normal ghost.”

“I didn’t summon anything! It just happened.” Buck’s voice is high-pitched and he just barely stops himself from grabbing onto the man’s arm, but the man doesn’t seem afraid of Buck the way his daughter was. “What is it? How do I make it go away?”

The man shrugs, “She came in through an open door. Which door depends on the person. But she’ll do everything in her power to keep it pried open. All you can do is try to close it again.”

It is… the least helpful advice Buck’s ever been given in his entire life. But the man’s daughter is on her way to the hospital and he needs to follow her. He vanishes. 

***

They’re about to have four days off. Buck’s bracing himself to meet the woman in his dreams. To look around in that dreamspace for open doors and slam them shut again. He can do it. He has to. 

***

The next night Buck wakes up and he can’t move. He’s paralyzed on the bed. He’s paralyzed on the bed and someone’s standing at the top of his stairs. 

She’s not… right. Buck can’t quite see in the dark and he can’t lift his head but the woman on his stairs isn’t solid in the way a human should be. The outline of her is strong, but it’s like she’s a shell wrapped around a cavernous emptiness. She’s across the room but she’s already pulling at him. 

Buck tries to thrash but his arms are pinned as if her hands are already on his wrists. He needs to reach the lamp. If he can just turn on the light.

“Get away from me,” he pleads and the part of her face where lips should be turns up, revealing pointed teeth that stand in front of a void.

“You called me,” she says. The words don’t come from her mouth and Buck doesn’t hear them with his ears. It’s wrong wrong wrong. He throws himself hard to the left and he rolls, flying further than he expected to, suddenly free, and crashes hard into the table, knocking the lamp to the floor. It shatters, bulb and all and pain scrapes across Buck’s shoulders.

“Poor boy,” the ghost mocks. “Poor lonely boy. Just wants someone to touch him. Just wants someone to stay with him. I heard you.”

“No,” Buck says and he tries to scramble, but his feet can’t find purchase on the floor. “I didn’t want you.”

He doesn’t deny the call. Can’t deny it when his heart is reaching out in the same pleading, desperate way now. Please. Anyone.

In the time it takes to blink she’s in front of him. She’s so close. She shouldn’t be able to get that close without standing on him but she’s there. Her voice whispers in his mind, “You should choose your words more carefully.”

And then her hands are around his throat.

The pressure is insistent and her motive is unmistakable. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to squeeze the life out of him. He’s going to die here and Eddie’s going to find his body because Eddie’s going to come rushing over as soon as Buck doesn’t call him in the morning and what if this thing is still here waiting for him. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Buck’s mind yells for him like his lungs did when Eddie was buried except now it’s Buck who’s too far away, who’s trapped somewhere deep and dark with no hope of escape. 

He tries to breathe and his breath whistles. It’s like the first time someone handed him a styrofoam cup of coffee and he tried to drink through the plastic stir stick. Black stars twinkle in the room and tears build in his eyes. 

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

There’s a shift as she adjusts her grip and it’s enough for the stars to clear. Buck throws himself forward, shaking his head like he isn’t a ragdoll trapped in the jaws of a rottweiler, like he has a hope of breaking free and then he does. The ghost is thrown off balance and Buck jumps, scrambling back over his bed for the stairs. He can’t even think about defeating her, finding out the secrets of where she came from, closing whatever fucking door he left open. All Buck wants to do is live. 

A force behind him swells like a wave to lift Buck off his feet and slams him into the bathroom door. He expects to slide off of it and onto the floor, but he’s held in place hard, his head turned and his cheek pressed to the wood, toes just brushing the ground. 

“You begged me to come,” the ghost hisses. “I’m here for you, lonely boy. Don’t fight so hard.”

A hand skims up his back, nearly gentle, but leaving a numbness in its path and Buck shudders in disgust. He jerks against the door, but his arms are wrenched behind him and he screams. He realizes it’s the first time he has.

“I didn’t call you! I don’t want you here! Get out.”

“I came because you needed me.” A long finger trails down his cheek and Buck whimpers. She’s taller than him now. Was she always? “I could feel you from so far away. An aching ball of need. I’m here for you now.” 

“I don’t need you,” Buck growls and the room flashes like lightning. He hopes to fall, almost expects to fall, where he can scramble again but instead, Buck is hurled away from the door completely. He has time to see that he’s above the stairs, throw his hands out uselessly and then he’s frozen. 

Buck hovers there in the air above the stairs, dangling in the grip of the ghost, like a cat grabbed by his scruff. Kicking wildly, he grabs for the invisible hand that’s holding him, yelling “No, no, no, no.”

“Need me now?” the ghost asks. 

Smothering the terrified part of him that nearly answers yes, Buck forces himself to stop twisting and just hang there. He doesn’t want to fall. He doesn’t want to die. But what he needs isn’t going to come from the ghost. 

“No,” he answers. 

And he can’t explain how he knows what her face looks like when it’s screwed up in fury, but he does. It’s vicious and vindictive and Buck’s not surprised at all when he’s flicked away from her and down the flight of stairs. 

He seems to hit each one as he falls, something that should be impossible with the speed that he’s traveling and the force with which he bounces off of them, but the ghost is obviously responsible. Air leaves his lungs as his ribs crack against the stairs. His elbows and knees scrape. His head bangs the rail. Buck’s long, long legs seem to tangle as he falls, cartwheeling him down and he lands in a heap at the bottom. 

As he tries to figure out if he can still move, the door flies open. 

Warmth rushes in. Buck hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten since he first woke up, but the room seems to thaw around him. It’s like sunlight. 

It’s Eddie. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Evan. Buck. I’ve got you, Buck. I’ve got you.” 

Tenderly, he scoops Buck off the floor, unsnarling the mess of his limbs and feeling all over for the damage he can’t see. “I’ve got you. Open your eyes. Come on.” 

The ghost stands at the top of the stairs and then she’s at the bottom. Buck clambers backward again, digging his heels into the floor to push himself upright in front of Eddie, to try and hide him from view. Eddie doesn’t seem to see the ghost. All of his attention is still on Buck, stroking his hair, promising over and over that he’s there, that he has Buck. 

All of the ghost’s attention is on Buck too. “You need me,” she says. “You called for me.” She sounds different now. Bitter. Like Buck wasted her precious time. 

“I don’t need you,” he says and he reaches behind him to grab Eddie’s hand. “I already have everything I need.” 

Lights flicker and that impossibly loud sound bangs in Buck’s ears again. He gets one last look at the ghost’s vicious, violent visage and then she’s gone. 

And then Buck wakes up.

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 2

Summary: Erik finds out he has a son. But life doesn't like seeing him happy, so it made sure he was already missing when he learned about his existence.

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, 

Chapter 2: Erik and his rotten luck with family

It had been a week since the 70s episode had aired and no new episodes had shown up since. That left plenty of time for thinking and pondering on what was this WandaVision show. After many theories, they had conceded to Hank’s idea. It definitely seemed like a glimpse into a parallel universe. The mystery of Peter’s implication still lingered in the air. Charles wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answer. This all-powerful woman with the same surname as the speedster could have decided to do anything with him. He had yet to show up anywhere; they had combed the background for signs of him, but they had found nothing. The team went as far as to call it a misleading clue, but he didn’t let himself believe that. It was too strange to simply be a coincidence. The telepath was in his office one night when Raven entered.

“Is this a good time?” Wondered the shapeshifter. The professor nodded his head yes and she closed the door behind her before taking a seat. While he didn’t look into her head, he could sense her determination and hesitation about what she was about to tell him. Finally, she took a breath, “we need to tell Erik. About Peter.”

Erik. How could he have forgotten?

He was the boy’s father after all, even if he didn’t know it yet. Raven had told him as she filled him in with what had happened when they were fighting Apocalypse. She had mentioned Peter’s confession and how close he came to tell his father the truth. He had kept silent since, deciding that no one was in the right to inform the metal bender other than his own son. But now Peter was missing, they had to get him back. Erik needed to know.

Charles agreed with her and they were off to Erik’s room. The man was reading a book in front of the fireplace, seemingly enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. He turned to them as they opened the door.

“Charles. Raven.” He greeted them as he closed his reading. “What’s going on?”

The professor wheeled himself forward to his friend, he knew he had to break it to him gently. “It’s Peter,” he started. The man looked at him, his thoughts echoing his confusion as to why he was bringing up the speedster. “He’s missing. Has been for about two weeks, but I wanted to make sure before telling you.”

“Okay,” Erik replied after a few seconds of silence, “have you found anything?”

He could feel Raven’s frustration growing as the metal bender barely showed any concern. Charles didn’t blame him; the man had only seen Peter for an hour at most in the last ten years. He felt the same level of concern to the boy as he would with any other students at the school.

“We have found something, we’re not sure what it is, but it’s definitely linked to his disappearance.” He paused, trying to see if Erik was starting to understand. He continued when he found no reason to believe so. “Do you remember when he broke you out of prison?” The man nodded. “And when he came back to help fight Apocalypse and was injured in the process?” Another nod, more hesitant this time. Erik clearly didn’t get where he was going with this. “What I’m trying to say is that he’s a very special person, I hadn’t seen his type of power before meeting him and Hank found him fascinating as well. Can you believe he agreed to break you out just for the challenge? Quite extraordinary if I say so myself. But my point is, Peter’s-“

“He’s your son, you moron!” Snapped Raven, earning herself an offended glance from Charles. “What? You clearly weren’t going to tell him with all that rambling.”

The pair looked at Erik, awaiting a reaction. Had they not been aware of the situation, they easily could have believed that he was doing an aneurism. The man didn’t speak, but the metal in the room started shaking. Raven called out to Erik to try to calm him down, but her voice fell on deaf ears. Only when Charles shouted at him to stop that the man gradually calmed down.

“I... I have a son?” He seemed beyond shocked as he finally acknowledged the truth. Charles nodded yes and met Erik’s gaze as the man spoke once again. “What did you gather about his disappearance?”

“Don’t you need a moment to collect yourself and take in the situation?” Wondered the telepath. The man’s thoughts were all over the place, filled with shock and worry. It was obvious he needed some time alone. “Erik, please take some time, join us when you’ll be ready.”

The man didn’t protest as Charles and Raven exited the room. They closed the door and met up with the team, informing them about the situation.

...

Erik, in all his life, had never considered himself lucky. He had lost his family in Auschwitz and was then used as a lab rat by Shaw. Once the evil man had been taken care of, many years later, he had then accidentally paralyzed Charles, one of his few friends. Then he was wrongly accused of killing the president and imprisoned for nearly a decade until he was freed. By his son. But of course, he didn’t know, because life was just like that with him, and he had gone on a quest to show the world the true power of mutant kind. That, of course, ended horribly; so, he went into hiding. He had built a family, a happy one even. He truly had hope for a better future, but life loved to prove him wrong. Madga and Nina had died, and he had been chosen to be a horseman for a god. He had, in his grief, accepted and it led to Peter having his leg broken. He felt sick to his stomach as he recalled the panicked look on the young man’s face, his eyes pleading him to do something. He didn’t know, why hadn’t he known? The boy had almost died, and he did absolutely nothing.

How could he even consider himself his father when he had already failed him so much?

Still, he might not even get a real chance to properly know him now that his son had gone missing. Erik definitely wasn’t a lucky person.

He looked at the fireplace that had previously given him comfort and suddenly felt like the heat was choking him. He paced quickly through the mansion; the corridors were empty due to the late hour. After getting outside, he decided to walk around the lake. The little waves created by the soft breeze always helped grounding him. His Nina always loved the water. They had installed a bird bath because she had requested that the surrounding animals should always have something to drink when they came to visit her. He wore a small smile on his lips as he sat on the grass in front of the lake and sighed.

“Hello, my darling,” he told the water. “It’s already been a year since you and your mother left. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.” A curious bird landed next to him, looking at the man with puzzlement. Erik smiled, perhaps Nina lived on in all the creatures she loved so much. He held out a hand to the small animal, not really expecting anything. Surprisingly, it flew towards him and landed on his finger. Erik felt his heart grow warm as the bird let him pet his back. The soft feathers felt so similar to his daughter’s hair. “You might not believe it, but I just discovered that you have a half brother. He’s older than you, but I’m sure you would have gotten along well.” The bird chirped at his words. He stopped stroking it, “but I’m afraid he’s gone for now. What do you think we should do?” The bird looked at him with its small eyes and stretched its wings, taking off in the sky to regions unknown. Erik dared a hopeful smile as he watched it fly away. He looked at the sky, contemplating the stars before getting up. “Don’t worry Peter,” he told the wind, “we’ll find you.”

...

The moment he had gone back in the mansion, he was intercepted by Charles who called him to his office. The wheelchair bound man had a few files open on his desk. He motioned Erik forward as he spotted his friend.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, I take it you want to know what we’ve gathered so far?”

Erik nodded, of course he did. Charles took the files with him and led them out. They entered the room containing Cerebro, he was about to ask him their reason for being there, but he was interrupted by his friend.

“Before we start, I want you to keep an open mind. We don’t know what exactly is going on.”

Erik frowned but agreed to the conditions, nonetheless. The bald man pressed a few commands on the board and the screens lit up.

Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t this. He had expected government videos showing his son dragged out of a car, him being taken or even tortured. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a sitcom that somehow changed decades every episode. It seemed completely irrelevant, but the few cuts and creepy details kept him from dismissing the whole thing as a joke. The third episode was particularly strange. Fear creeped into his veins as the woman menacingly approached her friend. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the cut that showed nothing or the possibilities of what could’ve have happened to the poor woman.

When everything was done, he turned to the telepath. “What does this mean Charles?”

The man sighed, putting a finger to his head for a second before looking at him again. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon.” He turned to the screen that showed the rolling credits. “From what we’ve gathered, this is a parallel universe. The woman, Wanda, seems to either control this world or is trapped there as well.”

“But what does this have to do with my son? As far as I’m aware, he’s never met this woman.” Their discussion was interrupted by Jean, Scott, Kurt, Ororo, Hank and Raven coming in. They had probably been woken up by the telepath’s call, judging by their yawns and sleepy eyes. After a few seconds of questioning from the tired young adults, Charles motioned them forward and opened one of the files he had with him.

“This is Peter’s file, I hadn’t really thought about reading it, since he’s past high school age, but Wanda’s comment made me curious.” He pointed to his personal information, it contained his name, address, and schools he had previously attended. Nothing seemed amiss. “I did some digging and it turns out that ‘Peter’ isn’t his real name. It was changed when he was very young.” He flipped the page, showing a government document authorizing the name change. The team looked at themselves in shock as they read ‘Pietro Maximoff’.

“So, what does it mean?” Chimed in Hank. “Sure, he has the same name as the woman’s dead brother, but there’s no way they’ve ever met.”

Charles scoffed in amusement, “yes, you’re right. But I searched through various archives to find more about him, and I came across this.” He pulled out an old newspaper clipping. It read: mysterious death of a teen leaves the police baffled.

The article had one picture, it showed a teenage girl smiling, like any other child her age. Erik looked at Charles, demanding confirmation about his suspicions. The telepath nodded, “this is a picture of Wendy Maximoff, Peter’s twin.”

The group was silent for awhile when Jean suddenly gasped. “Oh my god,” she covered her mouth in horror. “I once asked Peter why he didn’t like celebrating birthdays and he told me how he used to have two cakes but only had one now.” She looked towards Scott and Kurt. “I- I assumed he was being greedy, but the loss of his twin could explain it!”

Erik didn’t listen to the group’s reaction; he was too busy processing the information he had just learned. How could he miss so much of his son’s life? He should have been there to help him and make sure that he would be alright. Instead, he was too focused on getting revenge and he had missed nearly thirty years of Peter’s life. And with his disappearance, it unfortunately was very possible that he’d miss more. Everyone’s rambling was interrupted by Cerebro lighting up again. Erik watched nervously as the front of a house appeared. The woman and her husband were trying to get their babies to sleep, something they were apparently not keen on. They continued trying, Wanda even tried to use her magic on them, but, surprisingly, it didn’t work. Their neighbor came in, saying how she had heard them and could help. Then it became strange as Vision suddenly suggested that she shouldn’t help. Agnes looked at Wanda for instructions, asking if she wanted to restart the scene. Erik didn’t have to look around to know that everyone here was confused. Wanda brushed it off, to the confusion of her husband. All of a sudden, the crying stopped; the twins were asleep. Except they weren’t in their cribs. A slight panic settled in Erik’s stomach; the loss of a child seemed too dark for a show like this... right? Strangely enough, the twins weren’t missing, they had aged up to five. The screen cut to the theme song.

“Are the children mutants?” Asked Raven, uncertain about the change of event.

Charles has a pensive look to his face, “I’m afraid I cannot say, for now.”

The episode continued, with the twins adopting a dog. Curiously, Wanda seemed tired of hiding her powers, going as far as using it in front of their neighbor. The most peculiar thing happened when the two parents settled that the twins were too young to keep their dog. They suddenly aged up again, now ten years old. Erik had to give it to Charles, this show definitely wasn’t just a coincidence. Were they looking at a new concept for a mutant prison? It certainly seemed like it.

The scene changed to show the husband’s workplace, they were installing computers and people around him were trying to figure out how to make it work. After some corny jokes, an email showed up and the whole room read it together. The X-Men watched Vision wake up his co-worker who seemed to panic about contacting his father.

“That’s mind control,” gasped Jean, “I know that panic, it’s horrible.”

The man screamed about a woman in his head, probably Wanda, and became more and more agitated. Vision zapped him again and, like a switch, he was back to Norm, the friendly co-worker. The group watched in stunned silence as it cut to Wanda and her children. Billy was training the dog and seemed pretty good at it. The twins excitedly got up, wanting to show their father but Wanda told them he was at work. The conversation then turned into a classic “family is forever” speech; telling them how they’ll always have each other, no matter what.

“Do you have a brother, mom?” Asked of the boys.

She looked off in the distance, obviously wondering how to explain her brother’s situation. “I do,” she said, “he’s far away from here and that makes me... sad sometimes.”

Erik didn’t have time to dwell on the possible meanings of her words as the dog suddenly ran out of the door. The twins and Wanda ran out, chasing it. They lost sight of it. Suddenly, the redhead looked up at the sky in anger and told the boys to continue look for Sparky without her. The scene continued with the boys walking alone.

“What do you think she meant by far away?” Asked the boy in green, Tommy, if he remembered well.

His brother shook his head, “I don’t know, but how cool would it be to meet our uncle?”

The boys giggled and continued calling for their dog. Seeing how the episode was significantly darker than the other ones, Erik didn’t have much hope for the poor animal. Turns out he was right; it had eaten a poisonous plant and the boys were heartbroken. After some strange comments about bringing back the dead, they were back at the house. There was tension between Wanda and Vision. He told her about what happened at his work, accusing her of being the cause.

“You can’t control me the way you do them.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, clearly challenged by her husband’s words. “Can’t I?”

There were scoffs of surprise in the room as the credits suddenly rolled. The android didn’t let that stop him as he pointed out the problems with the world, they lived in. He went on to say that he had no memories of his life before the show. That was puzzling, did this place erase people’s memories to guarantee their good behavior? Vision then pointed out the lack of children, something Erik hadn’t noticed but was unmistakable once you realized it. Wanda sat on the couch, trying to explain why she wasn’t controlling anyone. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“I swear, if Agnes comes in at that moment, I’m going to lose it,” whined Scott.

“I don’t know,” replied Ororo, “usually she just lets herself in.”

The doorbell rang a second time and Vision watched Wanda with accusations in his eyes as she walked to the door. She opened it and was immediately shocked at whoever was at the door. The android asked his wife for the identity of the guest with suspicion. The camera slowly panned over to the person, only showing to back of their head.

Showing his silver hair

The suspense didn’t last much longer, the camera showing that it was indeed the missing speedster. Quiet gasps were heard as Peter walked towards the woman.

“Long-lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death or what?” His voice echoed on the walls of the room.

“Pietro?” He nodded his head and the two shared a hug. It lasted a few seconds and Peter pointed to Vision as he walked in.

“Who’s the popsicle?”

The audience laughed at his joke and the screen faded to black, leaving the team stunned as the credits rolled.

“We have to go get him,” said Raven. “I don’t think he’s safe with her.”

Hank nodded, “I think I can find a way,” he pointed to Jean, “I think you could open a gateway to wherever Peter is. I’ve adjusted the machine to focus on the frequency. If you really concentrate, I’m sure it’ll work.”

“Alright, Raven, Erik and I will go,” decided Charles.

Kurt stepped in, “you might need a quick way out, I can help.” He shook his head as Raven and Charles were about to protest. “I’m the one that noticed he was gone; I want to be there when we bring him back.”

The professor agreed and told them to go pack whatever they’d need and to be back as soon as possible.

***

Jean put on the helmet and closed her eyes in concentration. She held out a hand to better focus her power. Nothing much happened, but she frowned her brows with renewed efforts. Flickers of orange light made itself known, slowly gathering together to form a small circle. She grunted in efforts and the portal grew bigger. She opened her eyes which were now glowing a fiery orange and she let out a screech. The gateway was now big enough for them to go through. They quickly said their goodbyes, Charles leaving Hank in charge for the time he was gone. The four shared a look and took a determined step forward. Passing through another dimension definitely felt strange. Nothing seemed solid as they were suddenly free falling.

They landed on the grass. Erik quickly helped Charles back into his wheelchair and took a look around. There was a military base with soldiers that stared at them with dumbfounded faces. He could hear an alarm, probably trigged when they came in. An older man that seemed to be an authority figure started shouting at them, but Erik didn’t hear him. All he could see was the sign that indicated that Westview was in front of them; and the force field surrounding it.

***

Notes: I have to say, Erik talking to Nina is probably my favourite part of this chapter. I've also made up a scene of the boys talking together based on the image of them walking alone that was in the SWORD base in WandaVision. Next up: The x-men meet Hayward (Erik doesn't like him) and learn about who Wanda Maximoff is.

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 2

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Everyone turned to see Midoriya standing on the stairs to the beach, looking down at them.  None of them, least of all Shouto, had ever seen that expression on his face before. That… flatness that almost rivaled his own.  

Uraraka took a step forward.  “Deku?” she asked, uncertainly.  Suzuki, the commission instructor, threw his arm in front of her, blocking her path.  

“Whatever that is,” he said, voice strained and low-pitched, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.  Saito’s quirk doesn’t allow for the subject to have an avatar in the dreamscape without a lot of practice.  There’s another quirk at work here.”

“You need to leave,” said Midoriya, descending a single step.  “Now.”

“It could be a result of his own quirk,” said Aizawa, who nonetheless had a hand on his capture weapon.  “He’s had odd reactions to mental quirks in the past.  Jumping to conclusions is illogical.”

“We have evidence Midoriya Izuku is working for the League of Villains,” said Suzuki, backing away from the stairs, slightly.  “By the rules laid out in the standard—”

Shouto tuned Suzuki out, by now quite convinced that the man had nothing particularly meaningful to say, in favor of examining Midoriya.  

It was Midoriya.  Just, a Midoriya that was annoyed, defensive, and maybe a little offended with just a touch of something else.  Which was a weird combination on Midoriya.  Especially as muted as it was. Midoriya’s expressions, no matter what they were, were always so big.  

“—I am recruiting you to aid this investigation and determine the League of Villain’s plans!”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll make you leave,” growled Midoriya.  

Wow, for someone who was the embodiment of sunshine, he could be really threatening.  Then again, sunburns were a thing, so maybe it wasn’t too surprising.  

“You’re here against my will, after coercing me into allowing a quirk to be used on me.  I want you out.”

“Eraserhead, I suggest you restrain this projection, whoever it belongs to.”

“I’m not going to warn you again,” continued Midoriya.

“I suggest,” said Aizawa, “that you listen to him.  We can ask Midoriya about this when we’re all awake and not in his head.  Like you should have done in the beginning.”

Midoriya tilted his head slightly to one side.  

“I agree!  This is very unethical,” said Iida, chopping at the air.  “This is basically an interrogation, and Midoriya is a minor! You need parental permission!”

“Which, before you start talking about him willingly participating in this course,” said Aizawa, “he has explicitly withdrawn. Not to mention his mother signed those opt-out forms, so her permission is withdrawn as well.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“I am,” said Aizawa.  “Take us out.  This whole thing is illogical.”

“I can’t,” said Suzuki.  “Saito is the only one who can shut down her quirk prematurely.”

“What?” said Uraraka.  “There’s no way for you to contact her in an emergency?  That’s really dangerous!”

“That’s not what Saito Yume said, either,” said Midoriya, flatly. “’The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass.’ Implying that there’s another way to break free.  One that you, by necessity, must know.  So, leave. Or I’m going to start to defend myself.”

Suzuki took a deep breath.  “I am here,” he said, “to complete a mission given to me from the Hero Commission.  Your refusal to comply with the terms set out in your licensing agreements will be noted.”

Midoriya brought his head up straight again and squared his shoulders.  His hands clenched.  He was wearing gloves, Shouto noticed.  Not the gloves that went with his hero costume, but work gloves.  He’d seen the landscapers who worked at his family home wear something similar.  

Why?

“Fine,” said Izuku.  “Then I’m going to kick you out.”

“That’s impossible, you—”

“I know this beach very well.”

Abruptly, the pristine white sand was covered in towers of trash, separating Shouto from the others.  Suzuki’s insistence that Midoriya was a spy had already had him on edge.  This put him fully into battle-mode.  

He dropped into battle stance, and carefully froze one of the trash piles in front of him, making an icy stair to the top.  His first priority was to find Aizawa and his classmates and regroup.  To do that, he had to get a better vantage point.  

He jogged up the stairs, noting, absently, that he was now in his hero suit, not his school uniform.  What had he been wearing before this turned into a fight?  He hadn’t particularly noticed.  

He reached the top just in time to see Midoriya bludgeon Suzuki with a piece of rusty rebar.

Alright.  Maybe that wasn’t Midoriya.

.

Aizawa wasn’t fast enough getting around the piles of trash. He would have tried to scale them, but there was no safe place for him to grab on to.  The piles were simply too unstable, too untrustworthy, too poorly shaped.

He arrived just in time to see Midoriya, or what looked like Midoriya, impale Suzuki with a pole.  

Before his mind could fully process the problem child attempting what looked a whole lot like murder, he had him wrapped in his capture weapon.

Midoriya had the gall to look confused, if only slightly.

“Todoroki,” Aizawa barked, spotting his other student on top of one of the horribly dangerous trash mounds.  “First aid, stat.”

“Yes, sir,” said Todoroki, making an ice ramp to glide down.

“Midoriya,” he said.  “What was that?”  Perhaps it was illogical to ask, but he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes.  

“I was testing to see if he’d wake up and go away if he got knocked out,” said Midoriya.  He made a tiny, not-quite-shrugging motion.  “This is just a dream, after all.”

Alright.  That was true, but it was still incredibly disconcerting to see Midoriya act so callously towards the life of another human being.  Although he was unsure how many times Midoriya had hit Suzuki, and certain places of impact were less lethal than others, blunt force trauma, especially to the back of the head, could still be deadly.  

There was the sharp report of a gun, and Midoriya jerked forward, blood leaking from some invisible wound to drip down his face. Then he vanished.  

He turned towards that utter bastard Suzuki, eyes blazing, only to find him entirely encased in a glacier except for his head.

While Aizawa had been trying to train Todoroki out of reflexively encasing human beings in ice, due to frostbite, hypothermia, and other potential health issues, he was willing to let it slide.  Just this once.  

“I told you,” said Suzuki, teeth chattering.  “That isn’t your student.  And even if it was, he’s a traitor.”

“Sensei,” said Todoroki, “what are we going to do?”

“First,” said Aizawa.  He didn’t get beyond that, because Uraraka was abruptly launched from behind a wall of trash, trailing a makeshift tether of salvaged bungee cords.

“Found them!” exclaimed Uraraka.  “I don’t see Deku, though!”

“First,” said Aizawa, feeling exhausted despite technically being asleep, “we regroup.”

.

Toshinori was supposed to be teaching a third-year heroics course.

He wanted to be with Izuku at the Hero Commission training, even if he was retired, with only a retiree license to his name.  

He was in the nurse’s office, getting his brain checked by Recovery Girl, because sudden debilitating headaches weren’t on the long, long list of symptoms he’d come to expect from his injuries and medications.

Chiyo was worried he might be having a stroke, an aneurism, or some other sudden, lethal, brain condition.  She’d used her quirk on him at once, and the pain hadn’t stopped. She’d said that, at least, it should stop an aneurism from getting worse.  

Toshinori hoped it wasn’t brain cancer.  As far as personal abilities went, all he had going for him right now was brainpower and a stupidly high pain tolerance.

He closed his eyes against the bright lights of the room. Everything seemed too bright and blurry.  Sounds warped oddly in his ears.  The fabric of the bed underneath him felt gritty against his fingertips.  

It was like he wasn’t entirely here.  

Oh, the joys of hallucinations.

(Something like urgency pushed against the back of his mind. Whispered Eight, and help, and Nine.)

(Something was going more wrong than usual.)

He waited for Chiyo to step out of the room before he snuck out.

.

Izuku emerged from sleep with a choked gasp, heart racing, head spinning.  Where-?

It took him several fraught minutes to get his breathing under control and recognize where he was.  The room for the Hero Commission course.  His classmates and teacher were sleeping next to him, as well as the commission instructor.  What had his name been?  Something with an S?

Thinking was hard.  It was like his brain was occupied with something else and he kept having to nudge it back on track.  It was like—

He shook his head, which pounded with the movement, distracting him further.  He—He should—

What?

An odd sensation overtook him, and he found himself slowly, cautiously standing up.  It wasn’t like Shinsou’s quirk, where his body was out of his control, but more like he was almost sharing control, somehow.  Like he could, at any point, take control back.  And he did, just to test the theory, stopping for a moment, his hand halfway to his backpack.  

But that was hard, and he really wasn’t up for much in the way of decision-making, and the others were quite adamant that he had to get out now.  They’d know.  He trusted them.  

They picked up the backpack.  

Eight was coming.  They could trust Eight.  

The door slammed open.  Izuku froze.  Several heroes in costume and a man with a suit and a commission nametag stood in the doorway.  

“Get him!”

Four moved so differently from Izuku.  Precisely, like he knew exactly how his opponents were going to act, where they were going to be.  It reminded Izuku of how Sir Nighteye moved.  

In seconds, they were in the main hall, sprinting past crowds with the help of One for All.  Izuku felt bad about leaving Aizawa and his friends, but they knew, they weren’t targets. Izuku was.  

Izuku didn’t know how they knew that, how he knew that.  

Parking lot.  Streets. Alleyway.  Rooftops.  His UA uniform was too attention grabbing.  They dropped his blazer behind one of the rooftop ventilation shafts and tugged off his tie.  The button down by itself was less attention grabbing.  There was nothing they could to about his pants.  Alley again.  The people chasing him could track his phone.  They needed to get rid of it.  

Preferably in a way that wouldn’t immediately tip their pursuers off to the fact they had gotten rid of it.  Sending them the wrong way would be a good distraction, would buy them time.  

They slipped onto a bus and dropped Izuku’s phone into a woman’s purse.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice the change in weight for a while.  

Six and Two were very good at this kind of thing.  Not to mention One.  

It would probably sound weird to an outsider, but it was comforting.  The experience and care of the past users wrapped around him like a thick blanket, making it so that Izuku didn’t mind so much about his distraction, even though he wished he could help more.  

He got off the bus.  They needed to find Eight.

.

“Just so you know,” said Aizawa, several registers shy of conversationally.  “If you’ve harmed my student in any way, I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell.”

“Nothing here actually affects the mind of the subject,” said Suzuki, rolling his eyes.  “Otherwise, we wouldn’t use Saito’s quirk.”

“Your information hasn’t exactly been accurate so far,” said Tenya, pushing his glasses up and frowning.  Suzuki had, in fact, been fundamentally unhelpful.  “In fact, I believe you have outright lied to us on several occasions.”  He glanced at his classmates for support and did a double take.  

Standing behind Uraraka, half-hidden behind a beaten-up old refrigerator, was Midoriya.  A smaller, slimmer, younger Midoriya, who was wearing an ‘ALL M’ t-shirt, thick gloves, and… and an awfully large amount of rope?

He was also crying, silently, and staring at Suzuki.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.  He pulled on the rope.  The refrigerator came free, destabilizing the pile of trash it had been supporting.

It all came tumbling down.  

.

Ochako managed to avoid most of the debris coming for her, and slapped most of the remainder, making them float with her quirk.  Even so, by the time the dust settled, she was covered in scrapes, the pink fabric of her hero suit torn—

Wait.  Hero suit?

Whatever, she was asleep, and the more important thing was to find Iida, Todoroki, and Aizawa-sensei.  They had been in the direct line of the collapse.  She was pretty sure Deku had been able to get out of the way.

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

“Five-point touch activation.  Seems to affect buoyancy of objects.  Possible martial arts background based on movement.”

Ochako spun to face not one, but two small Dekus. The new one was, if possible, even smaller than the first and wearing a gakuran.  He had a notebook spread out across his left arm and was writing in it at lightning speed.  

“Hands are a possible weak spot, but a known one.  Be careful of kicks.”  Gakuran Deku’s words devolved into mumbling, but t-shirt Deku was still nodding, so he must understand.  

T-shirt Deku also had a length of pipe.  Ochako did not like where this was going.  

Then again, the whole point of this exercise was to learn how to defend one’s mind.  She couldn’t exactly fault Deku for doing just that.  She dropped into a fighting stance and grinned.  

.

It was nothing short of a miracle, Aizawa decided, that they hadn’t been killed yet. Then again, it was possible that Midoriya, despite his obviously altered and disturbed mental state, was still holding back against them.  

Which was annoying.  Because neither of the two small Midoriya-lookalikes was particularly strong.  Nor did they appear to be using Midoriya’s quirk, despite the fact that Aizawa, Iida, Uraraka, and Todoroki had no trouble using theirs.  The problem was that they were terrifyingly intelligent, just shy of ruthless, and had an incredible home-field advantage in that they seemed to know the location and nature of every bit of trash on the beach and in that they could evidently make it disappear and reappear at will.  They also avoided head-on combat whenever possible, letting the terrain do their work for them.  

Fighting them was, in fact, like fighting someone with a quirk completely unlike Midoriya’s.  With a fighting style completely unlike Midoriya’s.

And that made Aizawa wonder, because all too often, he caught Midoriya trying to replicate All Might’s style, and if he did that when he could be doing something more like this—

But this wasn’t the time for such speculation.  

He pulled Todoroki away from a trap again (he evidently hadn’t yet grasped that Midoriya was attacking them), and then jumped away from a chain reaction caused by whatever Uraraka just threw.  

Unless they wanted to spend the next hour being beaten up by the problem child… “We need to get somewhere he has less control over the environment.”

“Off the beach?” suggested Uraraka, panting.  “He said—He said he knew the beach well, so…”

Aizawa nodded.  That was good thinking.  Where were the stairs?

“You need to leave!”  

“We’re trying, problem child!” snapped Aizawa, and, miraculously, that made Midoriya hesitate.  Aizawa pulled Todoroki towards the stairs.   The others were able to follow on their own.  

They made their way up, and as soon as they hit the top step the previously clear sky opened up and it began to pour.  Aizawa was soaked through in seconds.  

Wonderful.  

However, the attacks—which had been relentless up until this point—stopped.

“We left Suzuki,” observed Iida.  

Aizawa held back a groan.  

“Who cares?” asked Todoroki.  

“We do,” said Aizawa.  “We can’t let him run around unsupervised in Midoriya’s head.”

“I think he might have gotten crushed,” said Uraraka.  “He was still in your ice, wasn’t he, Todoroki?”

“Yeah,” said Todoroki.  “Trash should stay with trash,” he mumbled under his breath.  

“We have no idea how any of our quirks will function long-term in a dream,” said Aizawa, not addressing the trash comment because he honestly sort of agreed.  “Nor do we know what his quirk is.”  He sighed. “We may also have to consider that he is correct and Midoriya is compromised.”

Predictably, there was quite a bit of protest.  

“He may also have other information regarding the situation at hand,” said Aizawa.  “Which we need.”

There was a rattle among the trash heaps, and Aizawa turned to watch Suzuki drag himself out from under a mound of trash.  

“You left me!” accused Suzuki, loudly.  “You almost let that gremlin kill me a dozen times!”

“Well,” said Midoriya from behind them, where he absolutely hadn’t been a minute ago, “then maybe you should have left when I asked."

[punksarahreese]

Blue | La Douleur Exquise

Nosdecember day 24 | @neworleansspecial

Hanahaki!AU; Sarah starts suffocating on her flowers at work

CW: Hanahaki disease, vomiting/coughing up blood, medical gore, child abuse mention

***

“Doctor Bekker?” Sarah called from where she stood by the nurse’s station. Ava was in treatment one with a patient, though she looked up at the call of her name. She must have excused herself to the patient’s family because soon she was standing in front of Sarah and the resident had to force a polite smile.

“You paged?”

“Oh, yes,” Ava passed her a tablet with a chart pulled up, “A girl came in with an arrhythmia, presumably from an undiagnosed heart condition. She flinches every time I move and is anxiously looking at her father for his consent before speaking.”

“So you’re thinking abuse?”

“Looks that way, I figured a shrink would know best.”

Sarah nodded, ignoring the way her chest clenched a little when the surgeon leaned a bit closer to zoom in on something on her chart. She knew by then that she was suffering from Hanahaki disease, caused by Ava herself, but she hadn’t told anyone. She felt foolish, knowing she should make an appointment with a specialist and schedule a removal surgery. Still, she hadn’t let herself even humour the thought. Removing her flowers would mean tearing out every feeling she had for Ava. She knew this would kill her in the end but she couldn’t bring herself to kill it first, not yet.

“A history of broken bones and her x-ray today showed calcifications on her ribcage that suggest untreated rib fractures.”

“Poor kid,” Sarah mumbled as she looked over the x-ray Ava pointed out, “You want me to speak with her or the parents?”

“I’ll deal with them, take them to sign something. You talk to the girl, just be gentle; she’s scared”

“Of course,” Sarah couldn’t help the sigh of relief when Ava left to go escort the parents to a conference room, feeling the pressure in her chest ebb away. She had quickly learned that the closer she was to the subject of her affections, the more pain her flowers caused. She had done research on the petals she had begun coughing up weeks ago, unnerved by the blood speckling the pink and purple flowers she didn’t recognize. Barberton daisies, google claimed, were native to South Africa. That made sense, especially since Hanahaki was often characterized by flowers significant to the patient’s love interest. Daisies were beautiful, they used to be one of Sarah’s favourite flowers, but now that she had seen far too many covered in her own blood she had begun to hate them.

With Ava out of the room, Sarah had no problem sitting down with their patient. The girl was no older than seven, far too young to be exposed to any type of violence. She was scared, that was obvious, and it took a fair amount of coaxing before she would speak to Sarah. Slowly, the psychiatrist did get her to open up and she hid behind her hands as she told her the truth in a hushed whisper. Her dad got angry, she explained, and mom wasn’t much better. She was punished for many things, pointing out her most recent bruise; a big red welt across the back of her thighs.

“I didn’t finish my dinner…” she admitted softly, as though she was afraid Sarah too would punish her for that. The doctor immediately reassured her that she did nothing wrong, waving in a nurse to call child-family services as soon as possible.

Sarah should have paid more attention, because it was at that moment that the girl’s father returned to the treatment room. He must have heard her ask Monique to make the call, since it wasn’t before long that the room was full of yelling.

“You stay out of my family’s business, bitch!” he was yelling at Sarah, quickly having her backed against the wall. When Sarah cried out because she ran into the sharps container mounted on the wall, Ava had already walked into the room. Mo ran off to call security, all of them worried about what this man was capable of. The patient was in tears, shrieking at her dad to leave the nice doctor alone because it wasn’t her fault. Ava had the guy’s hand pinned behind his back the second he looked ready to hit Sarah, dragging him towards the door.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, Mr. Klein,” she spat, “Or you will be escorted off the premises.”

That had the man shouting more expletives at her, cursing out every female staff member in the general vicinity. Sarah had managed to get away from the wall, thanking Ava quietly as she walked back over to the girl. She was breathing heavily, hyperventilating out of fear, and she looked ready to pass out.

“Hey, Lena, you’re safe,” Sarah promised softly, leaning over to turn up the oxygen to ease her breathing. A quick glance at her monitors had her concerned though, her heart rate was skyrocketing and her oxygen stats only decreasing.

“Ava?” she called, not thinking about the way the surgeon preferred to be on a title basis with everyone but Connor. She was too worried, knowing this father had sent his daughter into a panic attack and maybe triggered something more severe.

Doctor Bekker was by her side in seconds, checking the stats herself and calling for an EKG. Her blood pressure was oddly high for a young child, the child having trouble speaking and grabbing at Sarah’s hand for reassurance.

“Lena?” Ava leaned over her with her penlight, “Can you follow this for me?”

Sarah watched as she tried to complete a quick neuro exam, soon realizing that the child’s right pupil was sluggish and not reactive. In seconds Mo was paging a neuro consult, while Ava and Sarah tried to keep the patient calm and awake.

“A stroke?” Sarah rasped, struggling to breathe herself because of how close her and the other woman had been standing while tending to Lena.

“Something like that,” Ava nodded, “Transient ischemic attack maybe? If she’s been abused for a while she could have had an aneurism or bleed that was missed.”

“She’s so little,” Sarah breathed, giving the child’s hand a gentle squeeze when she noticed her eyes falling shut, “Lena, stay with us, honey.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how exactly she made it through the next few minutes. Her chest hurt more than it ever had before, her breath catching every time Ava leaned closer to check their patient or the monitors. She knew this was bad, it shouldn’t get in the way of her work, but she couldn’t help it. By the time Sam walked into the room, asking her to move so he could check the patient’s cognitive function, her vision was getting fuzzy. Ava must have noticed because suddenly the other woman was taking her hand and dragging her into the hall, which had Sarah’s chest clenching horribly at the minor contact.

“Sarah,” she never used her first name and it made the resident want to cry, “Are you alright?”

She could only manage a small nod, eyes focused on the hand Ava still had in hers. The touch burned, making Sarah want to rip her hand away but not having the strength to even think about doing that.

“Your lips are blue,” Ava pointed out, “And your hands. I think we need to get you into a treatment room.”

“I’m f-fine,” she rasped, “I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sick you shouldn’t be working; besides, you look like you’re about to pass out. Let me do a quick exam, please? Cyanosis with such a quick onset is a major cardio concern, Doctor Reese.”

That had Sarah yanking her hand from Ava’s grasp, ready to flee. There was no way she would let her do a cardiac workup on her, it would involve X-rays and scans so she would definitely notice her Hanahaki. Sarah didn’t want anyone knowing, but the thought of Ava in particular having any idea about it scared her more than surgery to remove the damn thing.

“I’m fine, Doctor Bekker,” she muttered, taking off down the hall before Ava could say another word. She rushed into the downstairs staff bathroom, sighing heavily when she realized it was thankfully empty. She felt déjà vu hit her hard as she stared at her reflection, the same place she always was during episodes at work, noting that Ava had been right about her being cyanotic. She was breathing harshly, gasping with every inhale because she couldn’t get enough oxygen otherwise. This was bad, she realized, as she felt like someone was squeezing her lungs so hard they would explode.

She didn’t even have time to grab onto the counter before she collapsed on the floor, her legs buckling without her consent. A sound of annoyance escaped Sarah, frustrated with how much pain she was in; all because of Ava. She didn’t blame her though, how could she? The other woman had no idea of her effect on Sarah, she just didn’t love her. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t return Sarah’s feelings, it was Sarah’s own fault for being foolish enough to let it get this bad.

She couldn’t suppress the rough cough that shook her body, ripping angrily at her chest from the inside. It was a watery cough and Sarah knew her palm would be bloodied when she pulled it away from her mouth. She was suffocating from the inside and she didn’t know what to do, cursing quietly when she saw the handful of petals that had come up with her forceful coughing.

Maybe it would finally kill her, she mused bitterly to herself. Dying in the hospital bathroom was not her ideal way to go but at least she wouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone.

[adrenaline-roulette]

Four Eighths

airing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word count: 4.5K + Warnings: Coarse Language, slight angst, character building (Four), he’s kinda redeemed for being such an ass in the last chapter! If this were a movie, there would be a shopping montage (Preferably with La Roux Bulletproof playing), also very reckless driving (Eight is a god damned bad ass!) 

*Disclaimer, as promised this is a more lighthearted chapter, still with a slight bit of angst, but I feel like that’s just a given when it comes to 6 Underground fics!

Missed Chapters ONE,  TWO and THREE.... Maybe read those first? Might help you understand what’s going on here!

Chapter Four:  I'm having fun, don't put me down

The trailer door slammed shut behind you, as you stalked towards Five’s trailer, your wet hair being blown in all directions by the sudden gale which had picked up at base. You were mad, you were beyond mad, you were at the point of furious! “Who the fuck does Four think he is? He doesn’t have a fucking clue what I can do!”  You snarl under your breath, not that it made any difference. You could’ve screamed the words from the top of your lungs, and you doubted anyone would hear you over the wind. As you rounded a corner, Five’s trailer came into view, her and Two sat on the steps leading inside, both looking up at you when your shadow cast across them. Your eyes were hidden behind a pair of heart shaped sunglasses, the cheerful eyewear masking the look of rage piercing your eyes. Plastering on a smile, you leant against the side of Five’s trailer, resting your clasped hands behind your back. “Sorry I took so long, sleep kinda happened.” You smirk.

Five waves you off, smiling softly. “No stress, if I were still a medical practitioner, I’d be yelling at you right now to go back to bed, and finish healing.”

“You do that anyway. Medical licence or no…” Two grins, earning a shove in the shoulder from Five.

“That’s beside the point! None of you actually have to listen to me when I tell you do something! When I wore a name badge and stethoscope, people would do exactly as I said!”

“Thanks Five, but really, I’m alright. I don’t need any more sleep. I feel fine.” You grin, feeling your anger slowly ebb away. Five eyes you from head to toe, as if she were expecting a mortal wound to appear somewhere on your person. “Seriously Five, it’s okay. I’m no more injured than I usually am after attacking the punching bag!”

At this, Five cracks a grin, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Two, you’ve turned her into you! Next thing we know, Eight’ll be running around with a gunshot wound in her back, telling us all that she’s fine!”

“How is that possibly a bad thing?” Two gasps, looking between Five and you, a tiny smirk working its way onto her lips. “We need more people like me in the world, and I’m honoured that Eight is just that!”

“Besides, eight is divisible by two! So of course we’re going to end up like each other!” You laugh, kicking one foot up behind you, planting it firmly on the side of the trailer.

“By that logic then, eight is also divisible by four, would that make you and Four similar too?” Five grins. Your breath hitches in your throat, the last thing you want it to think about that arrogant Brit. No, you were nothing alike. You would never question someone’s place on a team before they’d had the opportunity to prove themselves.

“Definitely not. He and I are two very different people.” You answer almost too quickly, both Five and Two noticing your sudden shift in posture. Your back had gone pin straight, and your hands had moved to rest in front of you, fingers locking then unlocking over and over.

Two stands up, stepping over Five who was on the step below her. “Well, I don’t know about you, Eight. But I know that after a good fight, I always like to get a big meal. There’s a diner in town that serves pretty decent food. Ready to head on in?”

Pushing away from the trailer, you nod twice, smiling gently at Two. “That’s sounds great.”

“I’ll get the keys from One, I’ll meet you both at the car.” Five offers, closing her trailer door, and heading towards a shipping container. You were still learning where everything at base was, but if you remembered correctly, the one Five entered was the communal rec room. It was often where One and Seven could be found, battling it out in a game of pool.

*****

The silver McLaren 570S sped down the highway, going well over the speed limit, though considering that you had only passed three other cars the whole time, it didn’t much matter how fast you went. Two had offered to drive, as she claimed to know a short cut to the small town you were visiting, and as it was your first time leaving the base in weeks, Five had offered you sit in the passenger seat to take in the scenery, which you would’ve done had it not been blurring past you at a rate of knots. Eventually, the car slowed down as you entered a small populated town, driving through the quiet street at an acceptable speed. “Where are we stopping first? Shopping or lunch?” Two asks, turning to face Five in the backseat.

Five gazes out the window for a moment, contemplating her answer. “Lunch makes the most sense, it’s the right time for it…”

“I was thinking shopping first. If we eat later in the day, then we’ll have an actual excuse to not have to eat whatever Three makes for dinner tonight.” You offer, tilting your head to the side as you wait for a response.

Two chuckles, nodding her head. “I may like Three, but his cooking is atrocious.”

“Shops first, it is then!” Five grins, as Two drives further down the street, until she pulls into a parking space. The three of you climbing out, before instantly being hit with a sticky, humid breeze, making you all wish you had remained in the air-conditioned car.

The two women lead you down the street, as you look at each of the shops you pass. A few small clothing stores, a grocer, chemist, realtor, arcade, cinema, three diners, one Italian restaurant, and finally you come to a home décor store. “They don’t have much, but it’s enough to make things a little more comfortable.” Five offers with a smile as she pushes the door open for you all.

Inside, the store was set up in multiple different sections. One for bathroom, another for children’s rooms, kitchens, lounge rooms, and of course master bedrooms. Moving further into the store, you leave Two and Five to look through the lounge section, as you make a beeline for the bedroom portion of the store. The store offered just about everything you could possibly need for a bedroom, though as you weren’t in the market for a new bed, or furniture at all for that matter, you were left with only a small portion of the display area to look through. There was a tall floor lamb which you select, along with a matching smaller lamp that you intended to use by your bed. Next came bed sheets, the ones you had been using since you arrived were clearly hand me downs, not that there was an issue with that, but you did want to new ones. Finding a few sets that you liked, and also hoped would fit your mattress, you move on to the more decorative side of things. A string of twinkling fairy lights was added to your basket, along with a cream coloured rectangular rug. As you looked further around, you came across decorative throw cushions, which you quickly snatched up five of, all in different colours and patterns, only to then find a throw blanket which matched one of the five, which you found yourself needing!

Making your way back to the front of the store, you found your travel companions causing a ruckus in the kids room section, where they were attempting to build a fort with the few items available to do so. The store clerk looked as if he was having an aneurism, though he was unable to say anything that would make the women stop. “If only One could see you both now.” You giggle, heading over with your arms and basket full of décor.

Two pokes her head up from behind their fort, smirking at you. “Why do you say that?”

“When he was telling me about all of you after we first met, he told me I had to behave well around you two, because you were the adults of the team.”

Five bursts into laughter, as Two joins in with her own giggles. “Fuck One, he sees what he wants to see when it comes to us! He wouldn’t notice if we walked around with fake moustaches drawn on!” Five gasps, shaking her head fondly.

“One time, during a briefing, Seven didn’t show up, but instead stuffed a jacket with paper, and blew up a balloon and put it under the jackets hood. He set it up perfectly, it actually looked like someone was asleep on the table! Unless you got too close, then it was obvious what was going on. One got through the whole meeting, and only when everyone stood to leave, and the fake Seven didn’t, did he notice something was wrong!” Two has a fond look in her eyes as she tells you her story. “If he thinks we’re the adults, then that’s fine, but we know the truth!”

A part of you longs to stay with the women, and help them build their fort, but the other part of you feels the urge to rescue the poor store clerk. Turning to face him, you smile kindly. “Hi there, could I grab these all please?”

The young boy blinks in shock, tearing his gaze away from the two grown women destroying the store. “Uh- sure! Just follow me.”

You do as he says and follow him to the register, he looks no older that fifteen or sixteen perhaps, and clearly has had no experience with dealing with a situation like this. As the youth reads out your total, you smile and pull out the credit card from your purse. Two had handed it to you before you left, saying that is was One’s card, and was only to be used for the essentials. When you had asked if shopping for your tailer counted as an essential, she had looked directly in your eyes and said, that home decorating was the only essential. “Can you add an extra 70 bucks to the total please?”

The boy blinks at you in surprise, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Why’d you wanna do that?”

You shrug lightly, twirling the card between your fingers. “Because I feel bad for the mess my friends have made. Figure this might make up for it a bit.”

He doesn’t question you again and does as told, presenting you with your new total, to which you happily pay.  By the time the small items had been bagged up, you were left with two lamps in large boxes, and a rolled-up rug to try and figure out how to carry out to the car. “Oi ladies! Leave the poor shop alone and come gimme a hand here!” You yell across the store, hearing the giggling from the two women cease.

*****

Loading your purchases into the car had been one hell of a hassle, while the McLaren was built for speed, it was certainly not built with the intention of ever using the trunk! After much swearing, and the threat of returning the rug, the three of you had managed to get everything safely inside, slamming the trunk closed, with the vow to not open it again until you were back at base. Next, came a very late lunch. It was well after three when you entered the diner, only a handful of other patrons there at the odd time of your arrival. A middle aged woman with flaming red hair directed the three of you to a booth at the back of the diner, handing out plastic menu’s. You all placed your orders, heeding Five’s warning and staying well away from the nachos. “Four had them once, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so unwell…” She had advised, to which although the thought of Four being sick did spark joy in you, you would rather not find out if it was a one-off thing or not.

Once your meals were handed out, conversation flowed freely between the three of you, no question was off limits now that you were away from the base and One’s prying eyes. “Alright Eight, I’ve been trying to figure it out all afternoon, but I just can’t. So you’re going have to answer it for me. What’s the go with Four? When we mentioned him back at base, I genuinely thought you were about to cry, or scream. Maybe even both…” Five begins, dabbing the corner of mouth with a napkin.

You pray that the ground will open up and swallow you whole, at least then you’d have an excuse for not answering. Of course, they had noticed your reaction earlier, you’d never been good at hiding your emotions, your dad used to warn you to never play poker! Both as an anti-gambling campaign, but also because he knew that if you did, everyone would know straight away if you were bluffing or not. You look  across at Two, who although has her mouthful, looks just as curios as Five does. Sighing deeply, you rest your elbows on the table, hissing quietly as you press against a bruise you didn’t know you had. “I’m just tired of the way he’s been treating me is all.”

“Wow, that was so informative. I feel so enlightened! Thank you so much for sharing such a heart wrenching story with us, I know that must’ve been hard for you.” Two grumbles, glaring at you over her meal. You had hoped that maybe they would accept such a basic offer, but apparently that wasn’t the case.

“It’s just that he’s been ignoring me since I arrived! Every time I try to talk to him, he just pretends he can’t hear me, and then there’s the times when I’m talking to someone else! He walks right up to us, and just starts talking over the top of me, no apology or anything!”

Five clears her throat, looking at you softly. “I don’t think he means anything by it Eight. He was like that with all of us when we first met him, he just seems to take a while to warm up to new people is all.”

At that, you can’t help but laugh, causing the two women to look at you in surprise. Out of all the reactions you could’ve had to Five’s comment that was not one they had expected. “Is there more that you’re not telling us?” Two presses on, placing her fork down and giving you her full attention now.

Your fingers comb through your hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from your scalp. “I uh- overheard him talking, or rather shouting with One today.”

“Bloody hell, those two fight like cats and dogs sometimes, you’ll get used to it eventually.” Two shrugs, leaning back to press herself against the booth’s chair more comfortably

You shake your head, breathing out deeply. “No, it’s not that. Christ I couldn’t give a flying fuck whether they scream at each other all the time or not, what I do care about though, is the way he talks about me when I’m not around.” You take a sip of your ice water, the cool glass rather soothing against your palm. “He was questioning One as to why I’m here. He thinks that what I do is pointless, and that I shouldn’t be a part of the team. Apparently, you don’t need a hacker, and that having me around is a liability. Then he accused the fight today of being a fluke, basically saying the Three was an easy take down for me! Oh, and then there was this whole thing about you needing a driver instead of me, and when One said that the team would continue taking it in turns of being the getaway driver, he basically said that I wouldn’t be able to drive a getaway vehicle even if I wanted to!” By the time you finish you feel fresh tears clawing at the backs of your eyes. You squeeze your lids shut, until you feel the need to sob subside.

With your eyes shut, you don’t see the looks exchanged between Two and Five, who were conducting a silent conversation, with you none the wiser. “Eight, I’m not trying to excuse Four’s behaviour, or his comments. But there’s something you should know.” Five sighs, resting a comforting hand over your shoulder, smiling gently when you look at her beside you. “Four, well he’s been part of the team for a while, he joined well before I did, so he’s come to know a fair few people in his time with the Ghosts. By now, you’ve probably realised that there’s a number missing in our team, Six. He was with us for our first mission in Florence, but things didn’t end well, and he didn’t make it. Four and Six, they were practically joined at the hip, despite what One always told us, warning us to never get too close to each other, they did anyways. They were best friends! Six was our driver, and when he was with us, you could always find the two of them dicking around, going for joy rides, just being overall stupid young boys, but at least they were having fun. When Six died, it hit Four like a ton of bricks, for weeks he kept to himself, he disappeared for nearly two weeks, none of us had any idea where he went, we still don’t. But then, he suddenly returned, and begun acting as if nothing had changed. Even though, in his world, everything had.”

A crease forms between your brows as you watch Five, tears are brimming in her eyes, but just like you, she’s too stubborn to let them fall. “Since then, Four’s been, different. He puts on a brave face, but we all know that there’s something eating him from the inside out. But he refuses to talk about it, and we can’t force him to. One uses it to his advantage, reminding us that this is why we don’t form attachments, but we don’t listen to him. Forming attachments keeps us human, even if it hurts sometimes.”

You blink slowly, taking in Five’s words, a deep pang of sympathy pounding in your chest. All of what you had just been told, it made sense to why Four was so quick to defend Six when he was arguing with One earlier. “I get that he’s been hurt, and that maybe he doesn’t know how to deal with the loss of Six. But why is he taking it out on me?”

This time, it’s Two who answers you, drumming her long fingers on the table. “He’s doing exactly what One has been telling us to do for years, not making attachments. He would rather have you hate him, than to get close to you, and have something happen. He can’t do the same with the rest of us, he’s known us too long now. But you? You’re new, he doesn’t know anything about you, and if he can keep it that way, then neither of you will be hurt if another mission ends badly.”

“But that doesn’t explain why he was talking about me like that to One! If he was saying it directly to me, then sure, I’d understand because yeah, I really am close to hating him after those comments. But when he was talking to One, he didn’t know I was there!”

“You didn’t have to be there. Gossip travels quickly when there’s only seven of us around, secrets don’t stay secret for long. One way or another we all find everything out. Four knows this as well as the rest of us do. Anything that he says to One about you, will eventually get around base until it reaches you. This time, the process just skipped a step, and went straight to you, before the rest of us found out.” Two offers with a tired shrug.

You pick at the remainder of your meal, mulling over this new information, unsure of how to process all of it at once. The table grows quiet, the three of you all lost in your own thoughts. “So Four doesn’t hate me really…. And, he doesn’t think that I have no place in the team?”

“I can’t guarantee anything, but I’d bet you fifty bucks that that’s exactly right. He doesn’t know you; he can’t hate you.” Five laughs, and you feel some tension leave your shoulders, finally feeling somewhat relaxed for the first time in weeks.

Biting down on your bottom lip, you gaze across at Two, then at Five, both of whom raise their eyebrows, they could see the cogs in your mind turning, but they had no idea what plan you were formulating. “I may not be able to do much to change this situation. But the least I can do is prove him wrong.”

“What’ve you got in mind Eight?” Two smirks, sitting up straight and pushing her plate to the side of the table.

*****

If you thought the McLaren was travelling fast on your way into town, then the drive out meant you were practically flying! The leather steering wheel was soft against your hands as you swerved in between cars, paying little to no mind as to which lane of the freeway you were legally supposed to be driving on. “Jesus Christ Eight! Would you mind not killing us please?” Two gasped, as you narrowly avoided a head on collision with a semi as you overtook a Winnebago, despite her vocal protests at your erratic driving, the sparkle in her eyes proved that she was enjoying the ride just as much as you were.

Five however was not having a grand time, and looked to be on the verge of carsick. “Eight, there are breakable things in the back of this car! Please slow down! Think of the lamps!”

You look at Five through the rear-view mirror, raising your eyebrows behind you heart glasses. “Why have the speedometer go this high if you can’t drive that fast?” You challenge, pressing down on the accelerator further, the engine revving in a delicious purr.

Whereas on the way into town, even with Two speeding as she was, the trip had still taken forty-five minutes. This time around, you were easily halfway back to base, and had only been driving for fifteen minutes. “Fucking hell Eight, we’re supposed to be dead! What happens if the police pull you over? How do you explain that three dead women are currently driving at a highly illegal speed down a freeway?” Five tries again, though it only causes you to laugh, even Two was finding the whole ordeal rather humorous.

Watching Five in the mirror, you see her open her mouth, ready to ask you to slow down again. Before she has the chance, you flick the radio on, the opening psychedelic tune of Devin Townsend’s True North urging you to speed along further. The music soaks into your entire being, and as you drive, singing along, you find yourself not caring what anyone thought of you in this very moment. You were truly living your best life, and there were genuinely no consequences for doing so.

 *****

 Four had once again cornered One, or so he thought.  Four was under the impression, that if he yelled loud enough, that One would listen to what he had to say and would kick you out of the team. For three weeks now, he’d been trying to think of different ways to prove that you weren’t a good fit with the rest of the Ghosts, but nothing he said seemed to deter One’s line of thought. None of them had a bloody clue what the next mission was, but according to One, you would be necessary. Four failed to see how, there was nothing you could do, that the others couldn’t. Sure, they would need a bit of training to get there, and to be able to get things done as quickly as you did, but he was positive that he could hack into a museum’s security cameras just as quickly as you supposedly had!

“I’m not having this discussion with you again Four.” One groaned, rubbing at his forehead with his thumb and index finger.

“But you’re not bloody listening! What if she double crosses us? Instead of breaking into a computer to steal the information we need, what if she sends it to someone else? Or gives away our location and plans?”

“Why? Why would she do that? Who would she send them to? According to all official documents, she’s dead. Just like the rest of us. There’s literally no one out there who would make a deal with a dead person, just on the off chance they actually delivered on their promises!”

Four frowned deeply, his brows furrowed and scar pulsing in his frustration. Why was this so difficult? Why couldn’t One just listen to him for once? All he wanted, truly, was for you to be safe, and to return to your old life! As glamourous as One had likely talked up the life of a Ghost, it truly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be! No one else should be subjected to this life, there was too much pain and death involved with this way of living, and you had no reason to experience it.

From behind the two men, a cloud of dust could be seen rapidly approaching, red clouds of dirt billowing around until they parted in lieu of the speeding McLaren. One moment it was miles away from the men, and the next, he could feel the heat radiating from the car as it breezed past him, before performing a donut, and coming to halt with the bonnet facing him. The tyre marks in the dirt showed just how perfect a stop the car had come to, there was no fishtailing, just clean tracks. Five was the first to emerge from the car, pressing a hand to cover her eyes, while the other rest atop the car door. Two pulled herself out next, grinning between him and One, before turning and popping the trunk. Finally, out you came, from the driver’s side no less, a cocky grin plastered to your lips as you waved at One, raising an arched eyebrow up at Four.

“Jesus Eight, I said you could drive home! Not warp us here!” Five groaned, as she helped you and Two collect things from the trunk of the car.

“Right, so who the fuck taught you to drive like that then?” One yelled out, earning a grin from you in his direction.

“When you run perpetually late like I do, and go to school on the opposite side of the city, you learn how to navigate traffic pretty damned quickly.” You quip back, slamming the trunk closed, and pocketing the keys. You, Two and Five all making your way towards your trailer.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say it One.” Four warns, holding up a hand to the grinning man before him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about? I wasn’t going to say anything. Especially not anything about how impressive Eight’s driving skills are.” One shrugs, eyebrows raised in a look of utter innocence.

Four Eighths Taglist (If you want to be added just let me know) @not-the-cleavers​ @jinxfirebolt18902​ @sj-thefan​ @softnorris​

Like my writing? Here’s my MASTERLIST

Chapter Five out now

[edsawareness]

My Life with EDS

Hi everyone who is reading this. I have Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Hyper-mobile and I'm trying to bring awareness so I going to tell you my life story. So go grab a snack before reading this, its going to be long. 

My mom went into labor with me at 37 weeks which Is still considered full-term but we still attribute this and all the harmful medications my mom received during labor to my chronic pain but not to my eds because if you knew anything about it, you know that it genetic. Which bring me to my father who had eds but not hypermobile, his causes aneurism's. At 4 I had tonsils removed, no big deal, I was “healthy.” At around 11 I started complaining to mom about knee pain and she said it growing pains and at 11 years old that sounds reasonable because you're still growing, you never think that it could something else. I kept complaining to my mom about how bad the pain was so we went to see my pediatrician and I got my firs substantial referral to an orthopedic surgeon. I had an MRI and they confirmed a meniscus tear which is the cartilage between your knee.

 About 3 months after the MRI I had my first surgery. It took about 3 months to recover and I was fine, or at least we though. On my 12th birthday, so April 12th 2014 I broke my wrist roller skating, it was a really small fall and I caught myself on my hands, it shouldn't have broke but it did, I spent 2 months in a cast and 1 month in a brace, which is standard for a hair line wrist fracture. That same year in November I had my second knee surgery on the left, nothing major, just a shave down of an inflamed tendon. The recovery on that was only 3 weeks, I was bearing weight at my own comfort. Now at this point you'd think someone would realize that there might be something wrong but they didn't, mainly because I was a healthy looking athletic 12 year old. 

In May of 2015 I had my first left knee surgery to shave down the inflamed plica, its exactly what I had done to the right almost a year before. Once again the recovery was only about 3 weeks and I was weight bearing at my own discretion. That same year in November I had my first left wrist surgery to remove a bone spur and a cyst. This was and extensive 3 hour surgery and I came out I a plaster cast. This was to protect the very fragile bones that were just disturbed in the hand/wrist area. About 6 weeks after that I got a splint that lasted for another 6 weeks. Still no one started to notice that maybe there was something wrong. Around this time I had also started complaining about major back pain and at 13 my parents attributed it to growing pains once more. 

I had a year break and had no surgeries in 2016, which was a relief because I finally got to enjoy a summer for the first time in 3 years. But in 2017 I had another left wrist surgery to repair the same thing stated above. Now on the MRI my doctor thought there might be some tendon interruption because of the bone spur so I go a nerve block for this surgery. It was great until it wore off and the pain hit me all at once. So once again I was in the cast for about  weeks and the splint for another  weeks. No still no one started looking into why I was having so much pain and surgeries. 

Like I mentioned earlier I was starting to have quite a bit of back pain and at this point my mother wad starting to get concerned because I never usually complained this often. I was referred to a chiropractor who then took x-rays and pointed out the fact the I have moderate scoliosis, severe lordosis, degenerative hip disease, and degenerative spine disease. This was In 2018 so I was about 15/16. We then decided the weekly chiropractic adjustments would be the best course of treatments and I was okay with that because I would take any kind of moderate pain relief at this point. 

In 2018 I had another surgery on my right knee due to an injury. Me and my family were coming back from vacation and we were in a Dodge Ram and he luggage was in the back of the truck so I grabbed two bags and not thinking I just jumped out of the bed of the truck because that's just what you do. When I landed there was an immediate pop and I felt pain with that pop. And I was like “Mom I just tore my meniscus” and at this point she was smart enough to listen to my instincts so she was like “ Okay, I trust you go get and ice pack lay down and prop I up” The next day the orthopedic surgeons office was called and we found out that they no longer take my insurance and haven't for awhile. Now keep in mind I was seeing 2 different people for my knee and my wrist so there was no way we could've known that the practice for my knee no longer took my insurance. So we called the only other well known Orthopedic surgeon inn my county and got an appointment and the told me they would write up MRI orders and that we could come pick them up and go to the hospital to get them done. I did so and about 3 weeks later I went in for my appointment and they were like yeah, you definitely tore your meniscus, so they surgery was scheduled and all that was left were preop tests. I went to have them done about 3 weeks later and there was an abnormality on my EKG, 

I went to see a Cardiac doctor and had to wear a heart monitor for 72 hours. No big deal, it was super sticky and it stayed. The test results would be sent to the doctor after I had shipped to monitor in. I went in for my appointment and turns out I've had a minor heart condition my whole live. Its called pre-ventricular contraction and pre-atrial contractions. What this means is that I basically have an extra small heartbeat before some of my normal heartbeats. It isn't dangerous or anything so we proceeded with surgery. When the doctor got in there he had realize that my second meniscus repair never healed so really, I had 2 meniscus repairs that day. I came out in just and ace bandage to support my knee which I had for the 3 previous knee surgeries. My recovery was stunted because I had a weird vascular reaction to the automatic cooler they sent me home with, it was really bad I had bruises that itched and then bruised and they hurt so bad I had to ask my doctor for more pain medication. They ruled out infection and hesitantly gave me more pain medication. Everything eventually cleared up and all was well. 

Around early 2019 I went back to the orthopedic surgeon for my hand because I was experiencing quite a bit of pain and he did a round or cortisone injections and that didn't help and he referred me to Cincinnati Children's Pain Clinic and they started me on Gabapentin which is a medication that is meant to control chronic pain. They started me out on 300mg around October and in February of 2020 they bumped It up to 400mg and then they bumped it up to 500mg just this week. So far I'm getting a bit of relief from the 500mg but the whole does hasn't had time to settle in my system. 

No around this time in February I had my fifth knee surgery on the right knee. They trimmed down the inflamed part of my meniscus and fixed the torn part. I can out I a hip to toe locking brace for support because of the extent of the surgery. I was stuck in the infernal contraption for 12 weeks, putting me getting out of the brace late May early July. My physical therapy came to a halt because I was being pushed to hard so I'm doing it by myself, I've had plenty of damn practice with physical therapy for a knee so I know what I'm doing. 

Going back to 2019 at the pain clinic I got my “diagnoses” of EDS, now the genetics clinic there said that I didn't have it but the pain clinic says I do and they're basically treating my like I do so I'm just going to keep the diagnoses because my PCP also recognizes the diagnoses. 

Recently I had new x-rays taken of my low back and hip and found that my hips are rubbing on the outside of the hip joint and that's where all my hip pain is coming from and my lower back now also has scoliosis with the lordosis which is extremely painful. No body has addressed this in an official capacity but out of all the x-rays and MRIs that I've had and my family had had we have pretty much become experts at reading them. I have my yearly checkup today so I will be addressing a whole bunch of things. So, stick around for an update, if you have any questions go ahead and ask them, I'm not shy about any of this, I want the world to know my story so we can bring awareness to the EDS community. 

[monstrousaffections1]

Fire Root part 2

It was around two in the morning. Ridwan noted. Skimming over the clock in the car. Eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror he slipped a glance at Sofiel in the back seat. Her shining eyes focused, a rare look of seriousness is upon her. She’s thinking. He looks to Sabbathian, who, as always, has a smug smile on his mug, head leaning back against the seat, hat resting over his eyes. Fingers laced together thoughtfully. His tail curled up in his lap, enjoying the heater. Ridwan smirks, and reaches over turning on the air-conditioner full blast. The serpentine demon jumps quite literally out of his skin and slams off the cold, with a hiss he turns on Ridwan, ire in his eyes. Sofiel yelps as she hits her head on the window when the car swerves for a moment. “Ridwan!” She yells, angrily. Both the Serpentine and the Wrath demon stop their tiff and look back at her. One look at her face says very clearly that she is not in the mood for any bullshit. Sabbathian gulps and leans back in his seat again, turning on the heater and adjusting to be comfortable, placing his hat back over his eyes, tail lashing out and slaps Ridwan in the face before curling back into his lap again. Sofiel sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “It’s like I’m running a day-care.” She mutters with exasperation. The red furred demon chuckles. Sometimes that statement wasn’t too far from the truth. “So, Why’d you send the kid?” He inquires, flipping on the indicator and changing lane. Sofiel raises a brow, she sits up straight, crossing one knee over the other, lacing her fingers together and she smiles. He has to keep from chuckling. ‘There she is.’ No one would have guessed that the girl they half raised would end up becoming their boss. Yet hear she is. Grown up and running the joint. It still makes him proud. “Well, obviously I was just being nice Ridwan.” She says, taking her cigarette holder and conjuring a flame on the end of her finger, lighting up the cigarette piece. “Ah c’mon Doll. I know you better than that.” He smiles wickedly as she chuckles, blowing a few devil tails. “Well, if you must know. I was expanding our business; the young people are the most easily to influence. Hehe, I figured she might suggest our brand to any of her… young friends that happen to be in the area.” She winds down the window a bit, letting the smoke leave the car, before winding it back up. She hesitates. “She’s also Lilith’s errand girl.” Ridwan blinks, and looks at her in surprise. “Sof. I hope you know what your doing. It’s not normally a good call to mess with other demon’s mortals. Especially a Prince’s mortal.” Her grin grows. “That’s the point. I don’t think Lilith knows the girl’s into Hellish Spices.” “Even more reason to be careful.” They enter a tunnel. Her gold tail curls around her ankle. “Oh please. If I was careful I’d have never become a demon in the first place.”  

 Olivia lays on her bed, buzzed. She chews a bit of Fire Root. Now this was what should have been added to yesterday’s coffee. She sighs, closing her eyes, Feeling the soft warmth spreading through her vanes. This is nice. She breaths out glowing sparks. A side effect from the natural growing relaxant. It doesn’t hurt. But it fizzles, and pops in her mouth, it only burns a little. Her muscles twitch and she jolts every now and then. It’s pleasant. She groans tiredly when her phone begins to ring. Reaching for it she picks up. “what…” she asks, nearly half asleep. “Olivia? That you?” she rolls her eyes behind her eyelids. Mason. “Who you think it is numb nuts?” she sits up, groaning groggily as she rubs her head. “What is it? It’s four in the morning.” She could hear the boy shifting around on the other end of the phone. “I’m just making sure you’re alive. Olivia you promised you weren’t going to work Devil’s Night.” “No. You asked me not to. I just decided to do so anyway.” “… we’re worried about you.” She rolls her eyes, this again. Standing up she walks out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, turning on a light. “Look.. Mason. I know you care. But I’m fine. Really.” She turns on the kettle, knowing well enough there’s no point going to sleep. ‘Really? Cause I feel like your lying. You do that a lot.” She snorts. “Touché” holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear she pours herself a coffee. “Look. It’s nothing. I just been having late shifts is all. I’m not getting much sleep. Like now for example.” She grits out. There’s silence on the other side of the phone, before they both bust up laughing. “Yeah, haha, sorry.. yeah, guess I am keeping you up.” She smiles, Mason and her have become good friends. He may be a year younger than her. But they mixed well. “It’s fine. I got two days off anyhow. Besides, I’m fine.” She can hear him sigh. “Fine.. just… come to church Sunday?” she thinks, considering. “Alright.”

Sitting on the couch she sips her coffee, sparks coming up with the steam. Yep. Fire Root and coffee is the best combination ever. Grabbing the remote she turns on the tv, seeing what’s on the news. She snickers, the usual things after a normal Devil’s Night. Missing people, vandalism, souls stolen. Gun fights in the street, motor vehicle accidents. As what normally happened on the one night of the year the Laws of Peace were lifted. Allowing all demons of every kind to go… well… demoning. Oh if only the Archangels knew how much Demonry was actually happening right under their noses. Olivia would know. She was in the thick of it. Demonry was the reason she had a roof over her head and a full belly. Sure Angels would help. For free. But then… well… ‘Their Conditions of Covenant would probably make me want to kill myself.’ She thought tiredly. Well, except for Gabriel, of course. He was chill like that. “And now over to Kate, for the Hell Spice Epidemic. Here’s to you Kate.” She blinks, staring at the tv. Hell Spice has been becoming quite popular with Mortals lately. Especially the young. Olivia stares down at her coffee, watching the sparks fizzle and dissipate. She drinks deeply. The Geese were still trying to find out what demons were responsible for handing out these drugs. “-another body has been found; twenty-three-year-old Mathew Jenkins was found dead late last night in his car. He is believed to have overdosed on Heart’s Desire-“. The black-haired girl rolled her eyes. The idiot should have known better. Anyone who’s anyone knows that Demon drugs were stronger than human ones. He should have been more careful. Going back into the kitchen she goes through the fridge. Ugh. Great. Nothing but a left-over pizza. 

Timothy smoked a cigar, blowing rings as he nodded his head in tune to a song on the radio. The gloom of the Spice House feeling, well, just as gloomy, but not quite as depressing. A full hundred years of glory. And now their small empire had all but vanished. Back down in the dumps. Among petty common criminals. His brows furrowed as he remained deep in thought. Remembering the good old days when they were respected. In fact the only thing that was probably keeping them from getting torn apart and attacked was the fact that not many knew of their current condition. He breaths out. Stress had done the Impish demon something terrible. A frown never really leaving his face now-a-days. He taps his claws in time to the beat. Ears flicking when he heard a car pull up outside. He opens his eyes, pupils dilating. That was either Sofiel and the boys. Or, it was trouble. He grabs his old but trusty tommy gun and flicks off the safety. Taking a last inhale of smoke he put out the cigar in the ash tray. He shuffles forward and drops off the seat. Curse his little legs. Tail raised he starts calmly over to the door. Counting his bullets. A jingle of keys. He relaxes, shoulders slumping. Eyes temporarily closing for a second in relief. ‘Thank God.’ The door opens and the trio enter. Ridwan shoving and arguing with Sabbathian who, by the sounds of it. Had accidently dropped a bottle on the other’s foot. Sofiel looked like she was about to have an aneurism from their bantering alone. Timothy relights his cigar, taking a puff. “The meeting not go well then eh?” he asks. The Demoness’s eyes brighten and she smiles widely, the façade she always wore in public. “Oh yes Darling! The meeting went splendidly!” She exclaims, doing a little twirl as she made her way to the kitchen. Timothy looks over to the clock. Five am. He follows her. “Not get the Turf you wanted?” She frowns and pours herself some cherry wine. “Not even close.” She takes a long sip before turning and looking down at the Imp. “They can sense our weakness. Lilith knows if we were as strong as we use to be, we wouldn’t be asking for permission to expand. But, alas, cursed is the Law of Demons.” She gestures dramatically. Rolling her eyes and taking another drink, before filling up the glass. Ah. Right. The Law of Demons. Law of Strength. Might is Right. Survival of the Sneakiest and most Manipulative. Souls equal power. Power equals respect. Respect is strength. Strength. Is doing whatever the hell you want. And no one will question it. Sofiel sighs and sits down on the kitchen chair. Rubbing her forehead. “How’s the little ones?” she asks, offering a tired smile. Timothy for once, one of the rare times, does smile a bit, a chuckle. “They’re sleeping. Ate all their dinner and Flint told em a crazy story bout the time you blew up the kitchen.” The woman laughs, the stress melting away with the reminders of their lacking authority. “Have you heard any word from Malakh? It’s been a month.” He shakes his head. “No. He’s not called you yet?” she sighs. “Oh dear.” He gently punches her in the shoulder. “Aye. Don’t worry, he’s a grown demon. He can take care of himself.” Sofiel was protective of all her children. Even when they had left home.

[petri808]

Murder

@thewritingstar Starsobafictober

.... was the case that they gave me.

Lol. Nalu, FT City Hero

The crime scene was a bit confusing to the officers. A victim with no obvious enemies or wounds, not defensive or offensive that they could see. There were no signs of break in, doors and windows sealed and locked from the inside. Lastly, the only strange information lay beside a cup on the table, a story the victim was working on for a local magazine. It’s words cut off mid-paragraph, but more ominously, mid-sentence.

Though it was strange that the victim was not found next to the table as if he’d maybe had a heart attack. Instead, the victim was closer to the front door. No drag marks or tracks in the carpet to indicate he crawled or was moved. It’s possible he stumbled towards the door before collapsing, but it almost looked like he laid down on his own on the middle of the floor.

Erza arrives new to the scene and questions her two male colleagues. “What do we have here?”

Gray rubs his chin, “I think the coroner will find an aneurism or something internal.”

“It had to be foul play,” Natsu retorts. “I bet someone used magic on him, that’s why there’s no evidence.”

“And what the hell evidence is there to prove it?” Gray jests back. “It’s most likely natural causes.”

As the two men bicker back and forth, Lucy returns from a back room where she’d been interviewing the neighbor that saw the man through a front window and called the report in. The woman had been concerned and asked for a welfare check because the man often displayed bizarre behaviors. But from the interview, Lucy had gained some insight and wondered something. She whispers to Erza, walks over, checks something on the man, shakes her head and comes back to the group.

Lucy puts her hands on her hip, “You idiots are both wrong.”

While Erza turns away, hiding the laugh she’s holding in, and Gray shuts up, Natsu instead turns his sights on Lucy.

“And what makes you so sure? All you did was talk to the reporting party. This man clearly died by foul magic.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Natsu, did either of you actually check the man to make sure he was dead?”

“He ain’t breathing,” Natsu points are the guy, “I’d hear him if he was.”

“He does have health issues and I don’t know why you can’t hear it, maybe his condition is causing his breathing to be shallower than normal, but he’s not dead.”

“Fine I’ll prove it.” Natsu saunters over to the man and turns him to his side. But before Lucy can react, instantly let’s go and pops back to his feet. “Holy crap!” The slayer swears when he sees the barely noticeable, but evident rise and fall of the man’s chest. “He’s not dead!”

Gray, gets on his walkie-talkie, to call it in. Erza motions to him to hold off, but he waves at her not to worry. Faking the call, “Central, I’d like to report the murder of an officer. I think he might be giving himself a heart attack.”

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited Chapter 4 Reaper’s Waltz

“This will definitely do.” Death replied looking around a bit.

“So I’m guessing you wanted to be in private because I know who you are?” Morgen implied.

“Yeah this is definitely ‘private’, and yes.”

“Alright, well I’m assuming you’re on a mission then? And if so what is it?” Morgen inquired.

“We’re after something. We hear it’s a weapon. It’s vague at best, but the rumors say it’s a book that creates weapons, curses, things like that.” Death explained.

He noticed Morgen’s eyes go from amethyst purple to white behind her mask, and her body language seemed to indicate concern. Despite her attempts to hide it.

“I know what you’re after, but there’s something about it that no one else knows. I am its creator, and the only one who can control it.”

“Where is it, so I destroy it?” Death questioned her.

“There’s no destroying it. Not with the enchantment I was forced to put on it. I destroyed the original one, only for Uther to force me to make another book. From there he....asked me to make it so no one could destroy it. Hence the enchantment.” Morgen insisted to him as her eyes turned black.

As her body language suggested fear, Death decided to try a new approach, “Where it is now? If we take it now, we’ll make sure it disappears. Never to be heard from again.” He also placed a hand on her shoulder to calm her. Course all of a sudden her eyelids fluttered a bit and she started swaying. Death recognized what was going to happen and quickly stopped her from falling. As she lay limp in his arms he found himself highly worried now. He began to look her over, seeing her neck had gone pale and assumed the rest of her was too. But he couldn’t find anything wrong with her physically. Finally, after a moment passed her eyes fluttered open again.

“What just happened? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Morgen groaned a bit and shifted in Death’s arms before asking him, “Might you...help me up...please?”

“Oh sorry about that.”

Death gently helped her back up but she was still quite faint and the paleness hadn’t receded. Naturally he kept her close so that she’d not collapse again, but he then noticed a strange glow. He traced it to her current necklace, and grabbed the pendant.

“What the? What’s this?”

Morgen nearly explains but the glow brightens and she nearly faints again. Leaving Death even more worried now. He snaps the necklace off her neck before chucking it elsewhere. From there he notices Morgen’s condition starting to improve. The paleness finally begins to recede, and she seems far more lucid now.

“Forgive me...I wasn’t expecting...that he’d...use it tonight.” Morgen managed to say.

Death sees it shine even more now, “What is this?”

“Let’s just say...that’s Uther’s way of telling me...to go to him, immediately.”

“And what if you don’t?”

“He’ll come looking for me.” Morgen said as her eyes went black again.

Death felt her starting to shake as well, “How long do we have before that?”

“Not much longer...” Morgen stated as she shook more.

He chucks the necklace even further this time, “Will that help?”

“He’ll find it and then....likely get angry.” Morgen explained shaking even more. She could only hope Death would get that she was just scared right now.

“Well he can be angry with me, not you.”

“Just take me inside...please. I can’t allow...anything to happen to you...not because of me. Please do as I ask.” Morgen pleaded.

“We’ll continue this discussion later.” Death finally stated with a sigh.

From there Death aided her back inside the castle. Before too long they ran into Uther, who seemed quite angry. Even as Morgen was brought over, Death saw his gaze was fixated on him. More specifically, where he was holding Morgen in order to keep her steady. He could feel a storm of rage coming on, but he’d brave it if need be.

With a deep breath Uther suddenly smiled, “Ah I’m glad you found her. I was worried for her. How did you find her anyway?”

“I was walking around in the gardens, trying to view what beauty they had. Then I ran into Morgen and we spoke for a time. She suddenly feinted during our talk, and I wasn’t sure what to do. So I made my way back here with her.” Death lied.

Morgen hid her surprise at the lie and kept quiet as Uther spoke again, “Poor girl has some issues with her blood. Every now and then she’ll go stark white. I gave her the necklace to monitor her blood in case it spikes. Now if you don’t mind, I would take her to infirmary.”

“I shall assist.” Death offered simply.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I must insist. I’m a practitioner in hemomancy, I shall be of great service in finding out what ails her.” Death explained.

“Well well, I guess you shall be of great use. Let me guide you to the infirmary, this way.”

Death followed, keeping a close watch on Uther. Uther could feel his gaze on him, and needless to say it concerned him. But he kept his mouth shut regardless, for the sake of saving face. He did glance over his shoulder every now and then though. Yet Death gave no pause nor did he turn away when Uther looked at him.

“Do you have a problem with me, or does something offend you?”

Death shook his head, “Ehehe, just concerned for the lady. Nothing to worry about.”

Mina sees them on their way there and quickly calls Barrcus with a crystal. Even though she’s real close to Uther and at risk of being seen or heard using magic. “Barrcus, ye need to get to the infirmary, now. Uther’s on his way there with Morgen and the Horseman.”

“Heh, well then...,” Barrcus says as he goes into the servant quarter tunnels, changing his outfit and teleporting to the infirmary from there, “...how close..are they?”

“Closer now, ye there yet? And are ye alright?” Mina whispered with concern in her tone.

“Just a bit worn out that’s all...now take yourself off the crystal before Uther sees you.”

Mina did so quickly and then hurried into the tunnels herself to get back to work. Uther and Death meanwhile reached the infirmary with Morgen. Luckily Barrcus had finally caught his breath after nearly exhausting himself with that much magic use. Well at least it was a lot for his body in particular to handle.

“What happened?” Barrcus urged of them whilst walking up to Morgen.

Uther however shooed him away, “Her blood issue is back. I’m here to see it’s taken care of properly. And not any of the hocus pocus that doesn’t work.”

Barrcus laughed at the offensive statement, “I’m sorry to say but this ‘hocus pocus’ actually does work.”

Uther only huffs, “Hmph, well then. At least we have an actual professional here.”, he the gestured to Death.

Death stepped forward and explained, “I’m a hemomancer, a blood mage.”

Barrcus cautioned, “I know this magic, it can be very taxing on the user. Are you sure you want to do this right now?”

“I’m not a novice, I know my limits.”

“Very well.”

With that Morgen was placed onto a bed with Death gently grasping her hand, his free one rested against the veins in her wrist. Course Uther felt a twinge of jealousy again. Seeing this stranger having the ‘privilege’ of holding her hand when it should be him alone infuriated him. Barrcus meanwhile remained concerned for both Morgen and Death. One wrong move could cause either of them to have an aneurism or heart attack, among other complications. Or Death’s current glamour spell on his eyes could fade. As time passed Barrcus sent a spider and asked Mina to warn Puck and Strife as quickly as she could. She hurried off to do so, and just as Death was starting to show some fatigue as he searched around her body. He had to pretend to be fixing shit by taking a long while. But it was definitely coming at a cost. Death’s vision was beginning to fade a slight bit and he could feel his heart racing wildly.

Barrcus urged of him as he watched what was happening, “Please let me take over for this. You need some rest.”

“Can you..handle it?” Death begrudgingly inquired whilst trying to keep his breathing under control.

“You’re not the only ‘expert’ at this.” Barrcus explained taking Morgen’s hand from him.

Death used an extra bit of magic to transfer the spell at its current process to Barrcus before moving aside. He clutched his chest briefly and winced in pain as he worked to regain his senses. All the while Uther watched him like a hawk. He sees Death’s glamour over his eyes fade briefly enough to catch a glimpse of his true eyes, and relished in the pain Death had caused himself. He almost hoped Death would have a heart attack right there in the room. It would ‘almost’ be a fitting enough end for having held Morgen’s hand, and for showing up at his home to begin with given who he truly was.

“Are you alright Horseman?”

“Fine...just a little winded that’s all...wait why’d you call me Horseman?” Death questioned as he realized what may have happened.

“You came in on a horse am I right? What else am I supposed to call you? As you’ve given no name.”

Death saw Uther was only trying to keep him calm, but would play along for now. After all he was in no condition for a fight, “Of course uhm...Mallek...my name is Mallek.”

“Interesting name, is that from the Unseelie court?”

“Nowhere in particular, just a wanderer.” Death replies.

“Why did you learn blood magic by chance?” Uther pressed.

Death responded quickly though, not wanting to lose pace and give Uther more to suspect, “Picked it up on some of my travels, found it to be very useful.”

“So how long have been practicing this magic? And why would you find use of it?”

Death thought back a moment, as this question gave such an opportunity, “I’m in the hunter’s guild. I take bounties in order to keep myself from losing favor with a few individuals.”

“May I see the mark?” Uther inquired.

“Certainly.” Death replied showing his wrist to him.The mark shown as a dragon’s skull with a blade in it.

The two stared each other down, being at an impasse. Meanwhile Morgen and Barrcus formed temporary psychic link,

“What actually happened?” Barrcus nearly growled.

“I was being incapacitated by the necklace until Uther could find me, but Death removed it. I begged him to just bring me back so that nothing would happen to him.” Morgen explained with concern.

Barrcus stridulated slightly, “Are you alright now?”

“Fine, we’d best hurry before both of them explode.” Morgen urged him.

 “Gentlemen, I think the party is waiting for you. Especially you sire." Barrcus explained to them.

"Yes it is, well I guess I shouldn't be keeping anyone waiting now should I? Should Morgen rest for tonight?" Uther expressed simply.

"It would be best given everything that's happened. But if she wants to stay up that would be fine for a little while." Barrcus recommended.

"I'd actually prefer a bit of rest, but the public may worry if I don't show up for dinner at least. I should at least be seen there before I sleep." Morgen explains.

"One minor dance to show you are strong would also be good." Uther suggested.

"Well uhm....I'll certainly try my best to manage such." Morgen says nervously.

"I would assist with that." Death offers to her.

"I would agree." Uther states before leaving the room.

Barrcus however asked Morgen, "Are you sure about this?"

"I'll be alright. Don't worry." Morgen told him with a smile, and giving him a lighter hug this time.

Barrcus then looked to Death, "Make sure she's safe for the rest of the night. Now I'm going to make sure the other things are taken care of."

Death only nods and takes Morgen by her arm, "This way."

Barrcus meanwhile muttered to himself, "Now for the final part."

He hides in a closet to change back into his jester outfit and heads back into the main party hall. Mina meanwhile has FINALLY found Puck and Strife, and walks up to them.

"Oi! Puck! I need to talk to ye and yer friend here. Now."

"Eh....uh why?" Puck inquires whilst swaying in partial drunkenness.

"Trust me it's important, let's meet in private please." Mina urged him.

"Alrighty then....herrrgh....let's....aaaaaaaa go then!"

"You're really selling it." Strife whispers to him.

Puck then looked back to Mina after dragging Strife over there, "Please tell me you're not drunk too."

"Depends on what ya mean by drunk." Strife stated.

Mina sniffs the air and gets a pissed off look, "You damn fools! This is no time to be playin wit me! I have to warn ya about something right this minute. Now get yer sorry asses moving, march."

Both gents drop their acts and follow her all pouty. Once Mina gets em in the servant quarter tunnels she tells them, "Alright boys, there's a real shitestorm comin. Ye need to be prepared for what's comin up. Just be aware that when shite hits the fan, you come straight here in this tunnel. I'll be here waiting for ye until then."

Uther meanwhile called out, "Now it's time for the royal dance! Unfortunately I will not be attending this one due to certain circumstances that have come up. However, my Stepdaughter Morgen shall be attending to one of her own. And a volunteer has showed himself, I hope you enjoy this spectacle. Also Morgen shall sing for you, for now I must attend to other matters."

Morgen gets a shocked look, "Singing? I only agreed to....ah!"

"It would make your subjects very happy to say the least. And Barrcus has been disobeying his orders." Uther explained.

Morgen froze as he said that and quietly begged him, "I'm not sure what you mean, but please don't hurt him."

"Best to sing for him then, and I'll give a toast." Uther says calmly before doing as he said he would.

"I'll sing first, to please everyone." Morgen muttered a bit nervously.

"I shall have the band readied." Uther told her before clapping his hands at the performers. Then after getting their attention, "Where's Puck?"

The men all groaned and suggested he was with a girl of some kind more than likely. So Uther settled for the group that remained and told them to play a specific song. One he assured them Morgen knew well. As they started to play, Morgen began to sing. She hid her nerves as best she could whilst she sang. Both Death and Barrcus could see that while she could bring peace to everyone else, the same couldn't be said for herself. Death in particular made a mental note to himself to give her a bit of encouragement as best he could. Figuring it may help in this case. Barrcus however focused on finding a spot to poison before his performance of faking his death. Only he found Uther doing just that and Barrcus was sure he wasn't going to fake this one. Whoever would die tonight would be random, but Barrcus made note of what he saw Uther poison before looking back to Morgen with pride and worry.

After she finished, Morgen received a lot of praise before announcing to them all, "Now everyone! For the royal dance!", and getting equal amounts of praise. Death found himself a bit nervous but did his best to hide it whilst Morgen took his hand, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be. Most of the time people aren't watching. And most of the dances I involve myself in are bloody."

"Well, I'll see what I can do to help. Just keep calm and do your best." Morgen calmly replied.

"Thank you. Might I also compliment your singing, it was somewhat soothing actually." Death explained to her.

"Well thank you too, I'm glad I'm so helpful tonight. Just let me know if you need further help there."

Death nodded whilst glancing around every so often. Normally he wouldn't care about so many faces watching him. But in this case, he got a slight bit nervous. Morgen meanwhile noticed Barrcus in his disguise. Even without Uther's pointing him out, she could see him all the same. Her sudden look of worry towards him caused Death to ask her,

"Is something the matter?"

"I'm worried for Barrcus. Uther threatened his life earlier. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him beyond what already has."

"Why is Barrcus so close to you?" Death inquired.

"He promised my Mother that he'd watch over me when she died. He practically raised me alongside her. He's...family. Aside from my little brother, Uncle, and cousins, he and Mina are my only true family left." Morgen stated sadly.

"May I ask what happened to him to...make him so frail?"

"It was my fault.....I cannot control my Unseelie form. It's massive in size, to put it lightly. Barrcus tried to help me out of it when I last lost control. He ended up....being gravely injured in the process. He's been that way ever since then." Morgen explained starting to sound depressed. Her eyes turning grey as she spoke on it.

"Hey, he's alive and for the most he's doing fine. Despite everything. Might I ask, how was he healed to begin with?"

"I honestly don't know. He was taken during the incident and presumed dead for a time. Then one day he came home looking as he does now. He never explained how he was healed, why, or who had done so. Only that it happened and it's why he looks the way he does." Morgen replied.

"Which is...?"

"He was always tall to begin with. But the excess of spider features, the labored breathing that sounds like stridulating, and the constant feeling of pain, those are what came with his healing." Morgen says simply.

"Anything else that I ought to know about? What does he look under his mask?" Death questioned further.

"Believe me, even you may find yourself frightened as most are. And I don't think there's much else I can tell you right now. Unless you can think of anything else I may have missed."

Death is about to reply, but then they both hear a woman scream bloody murder.

"What the?"

As he and Morgen went to see what happened, Strife grabbed Puck and went for the servant tunnel Mina brought them to earlier. Assuming that this was the moment Mina had told them of.

Death and Morgen then come upon the sight of a man laying upon the ground. He was checked for a pulse, and judging by his checker's reaction Death could tell he found nothing. Morgen tried going over to him, but Death stopped her,

"Don't, we don't know what could be happening here."

Morgen remained where she was with a simple nod to boot. Course Uther soon came over and immediately his voice boomed out over all, "WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE?!"

The man who checked for a pulse stepped forward, "Sir, I'm afraid Lord Bartholomule has died."

Uther gained a shocked expression, "WHAT?", then upon walking up and checking for a pulse his voice boomed out, "WHO'S DONE IT!? HUH?! SHOW YOURSELF MURDERER!"

Everyone looked at each other in confusion and fear. Meanwhile Morgen was shaking badly again, causing Death to pull her close. As he was worried she may be about to feint again. Course this caught Uther's attention, "MALLEK I presume?"

"Yes." Death replied simply.

"I doubt that's your real name." Uther declared before suddenly grabbing Death by his throat. He tries to free himself but it's almost like War's or even Absalom's grip. He's even been lifted off to Uther face, "I believe I know who you truly are, Horseman!"

Then Death found his current mask ripped off. His real eyes being the only give away to who he was. And causing many an onlooker to gasp in pure fear. Strife meanwhile was peeking through the slightly open door to the tunnel. And nearly jumped out to rescue his older brother. But Mina had restored Puck's sobriety and thusly he held Strife back,

After shutting the door he told Strife, "Ya can't go out there, not right now. That man's out for a witch hunt. If he finds ya, he's gonna execute you. Probably in the most brutal way possible as well. We gotta get out of here, now."

"What about my brother?" Strife implored him.

"Ye can't help him now, we need to get out of here." Puck insisted dragging Strife back down the tunnel. Mina followed them from behind.

Meanwhile Death was proving to last a lot longer than Uther anticipated he would. Morgen was also trying to get him to stop, "My liege, Uther please stop. The Council will bring you ruin if he dies! You know this! Please don't!"

Uther however lost his reason momentarily, and he goes to slap her. His hand stopping just inches from her face, "Woman, this is an insult to the kingdom, to you, and to me. The Council has stuck their nose where it doesn't belong, into our realms. We severed ourselves so that we do not 'give harm to the balance'! Whatever that is. And what do they do?!" He shouts while raising Death higher, "They send their spies! To send threats, to cause havoc!" He bellows whilst gesturing to the dead Lord.

Death barely choked out his defense, "I was........nnnnngh urgh.....in sight......of you.....and gah.....aah hrrr....Morgen.....*cough*"

Uther however tightened his grip to silence him, "But your brother wasn't. Tell me, where is your brother, and I may consider letting you both go."

Death remained in defiance of him, and because he was starting to lose consciousness.

"Oh sorry might I provide you some air?" Uther questioned before loosening his grip. Death gasped for air as Uther asked once more, "I'm going to ask you again...WHERE IT YOUR BROTHER?"

Death still remained silent, and Uther did not take kindly to it at all. He slammed Death's head into the ground multiple times until he ceased moving. Once satisfied he tossed Death across the room, causing him to smack into a table before hitting the floor. Morgen went to rush over to him but found her arm in his grasp now,

"You and I will be speaking about this later. GUARDS! Take her to her room, now! And take THAT to the dungeon!" Uther boomed and pointing at Death towards the end of it. Morgen looked back to see if Death was alright but Barrcus urged her to move on through their mental link,

"Play along, I have a plan."

"But what about Death? Is he alright?" Morgen implored him.

"Have some semblance of faith. It's always darkest before the dawn."

Morgen finally left the room despite her worry as Death was dragged away in heavy chains, ones that were also anti magic.

Meanwhile Strife was having a pure panic attack. His head going to worst case scenarios as Puck did all he could to calm him down from the attack,

"Control your breathing Strife. Remember what your brother always says, breathe just breathe."

"I'm trying man! I should've! I could've done! I....I don't.....FUCK!!!!" Strife shouted in his panic, breaking down as well.

Puck stroked his back, "Dude, remember, breathe."

Mina looked at him and gently said, "He's right Horseman, breathe and stay calm."

Strife then began thinking back to when Death always said that to him. Calming down the more he imagined Death's voice in his head guiding him. After a final deep breath he asked, "What do we do now?"

"Well for one thing we need to hide. Find a safe place around here." Puck replied.

Barrcus then came from the shadows within the room, "Maybe I could help with that." He then begins to remove the mask.

[randomoranges]

Perfect Cities

Friend

 Unrelated events between 2005 and 2015ish.  *I changed up a) the timeline of this fic to keep it more Vague and also so it could still fit with the “revised timeline” or whatever. I added a few things, but nothing major.

Étienne’s friendship with Emma is one of my favourite things and that one idea I will absolutely die on a hill for. It is the most precious thing, okay? They’re ride or die and you can’t convince me otherwise lalalala.

Also I’m not really “fixing these up” or whatever, unless there’s something I really want to reword or add to. I just want to slowly re-upload the old fics for sentimental reason kinda.

 I

“Well, well, well, Étienne, long time no see. Dropping in unexpectedly; you know, I do have a phone you could call on.” Emma greeted, opening the door to her friend. Emma wasn’t even surprised. Étienne often showed up unannounced, on her doorstep – and she was notorious for doing the same, but a head’s up was always appreciated. Especially considering the radio silence she had been getting from her friend, as of late. It wasn’t that she was worried – Étienne was a big boy – but Emma knew Étienne and his silences could mean many different things.

 Étienne gave a small shrug and it was then she noticed the redness of his eyes and his unusual downtrodden look that a warning bell went off in her head. She had seen that look far too many times to even think that this was going to be a normal visit, but she decided to play dumb and see if maybe, for once, she was wrong.

 “Come on now, before we air condition the great outdoors.”

 Étienne gripped his bag a little tighter and made his way inside, unusually quiet.

 “I don’t know who beat you up this time, but boy has the rumour mill been running!” Emma started, hoping to get her friend to at least smile. “You’ll never believe what nonsense they’ve been spewing out these past few weeks.” She tried to distract him, knowing Étienne always liked some good gossip. Usually, the two of them could sit and exchange the latest of what they had heard for hours. Étienne was a riot and always had the best running commentary, but this time, he was subdued, showing little to no interest. Still, Emma decided to go on, figuring she could cheer him up on her own.

 “Listen to this; the word about town is that your boy’s been acting mighty friendly with Calvin. I thought that was ridiculous!” She laughed, pausing by the closet to lean on its door for support, while she caught her breath. “Someone even said they saw them kiss or some other stupid nonsense. I swear, I nearly had an aneurism laughing to myself. I mean, I know you and Edward have some sort of special arrangement, but the way they were talking made it sound as though they were like a couple. Well, the joke’s on them, right? I know you like to pretend that you and Ed are “just friends” or whatever you call it, but this is me you’re talking to. I know better! Hell, you were even going on about making your Big Move to him, like, ages ago – which reminds me, you haven’t mentioned it in a while...,” She felt as though she was unto something, but the thought escaped her mind and she went on, forgetting about it, “And plus, it’s so obvious you like him – clearly he knows, so it’s not like he’d go behind your back with Calvin! Unless that was a thing you guys are doing? Anyways, I had to actually walk away from the scene, because I couldn’t stop laughing! So yeah, that was it.” She paused, waiting for Étienne to react, but when he didn’t, she continued, a little hesitantly. “I figured you’d get a good laugh out of that. I swear, they have nothing better to do during their lunch break. Y’know, during important city meets.”

 Étienne felt the words crash over him like an unsuspecting wave, knocking the breath out of him. Every word – every little casual reminder of what he once had with Edward opened up a new wound. He could feel his chest grow tight with grief and he wanted to both yell at Emma to stop and run away as far as possible from the horrible truth. Instead, he remained immobile, there in the middle of the hallway, next to the umbrella carrier, unable to say anything or stop Emma from going on, as knife after knife pierced through his whole body and he was left paralysed and bleeding, realising that he had lost the greatest thing to have ever happened to him.

 “Étienne? Are you even listening? You’re not laughing.” It was then that Emma chose to turn around and look at him. It was then that she saw the tears that were clouding Étienne’s eyes and the tremble in his shoulders. She gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she put everything together, a moment too late. Somehow, she knew that something had happened and that what she had thought had been this great, amusing misunderstanding had actually turned out to be true.

 “Oh no,” She whispered, walking over to her friend.  “Sweetie, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know...” She caught Étienne in her arms as he fell into them and the first broken sob escaped his lips. She held him close, hugging him tightly and let him cry on her shoulder for however long he needed. Emma rubbed his back and knew that no amount of comforting words could mend his broken heart. She had at least nineteen different questions running through her mind – absolutely needed to know how Étienne had let this happen, but right now, her friend needed her and that came first.

 II

“Alright, up you get.” Emma ordered, marching into her living room. Étienne looked up from his nest of blankets and turned away.

 “C’mon; you’ve been slouching about for two weeks now. We’re going out. Take a shower, please, and change out of your pajamas. I beg of you.” She said, poking at the blankets and effectively finding one ticklish leg.

 Étienne glared at her and then resumed ignoring his friend, after he had tucked his leg away from her long fingers. Emma rolled her eyes, made sure to hide the bag she had been carrying with her on the floor, on the side of the couch, and then went to sit next to him, ignoring his faint protests and any limbs she may have squished. She kept poking his stomach, while Étienne wiggled about and tried to squirm away.

 “Étienne – please. You really do need to shower, by the way. You smell.”  She added matter of fact, crinkling her nose for effect.  

 Étienne spared her a glance. “How can I smell? I’ve done nothing but live on your couch.” He mumbled.

 Emma took it as a small victory. She had at least gotten Étienne to talk to her. It was already better than the lack of communication he had been giving her for the past few days.

 “Well, you still need to bathe every so often, regardless of what you do or not do.” She paused, a smile creeping on her face. “Y’know, I can’t believe you’ve managed to shave for the past two weeks, but no bathing.”

 “Don’t like the beard.” He spat out, showing more energy than he had since he had arrived.

 She rolled her eyes. “I know, but now you will get up, wash, change, and we are going out. You’re usually a riot at the clubs and I need you to liven up this bunch.”

 “Don’t wanna.” He grumbled again, turning his back to her. He pulled the blanket over his head and figured she would leave him alone.

 He was wrong.

 Emma yanked the blanket away, ignoring his hiss and continued on. “If you don’t come, I’m revoking your bagel privileges.” Emma watched with smug satisfaction as Étienne’s eyes widened and she reached for the bag she had hidden moments ago, revealing the familiar logo of Étienne’s favourite bagel shop.

 “You wouldn’t.”

 “Oh, I would. Now, tell me you’ll do as I say and I will give you a bagel.” She wiggled the bag before his eyes and Étienne made to lunge for the bag, but then stopped midway.

 “Fairmount or Viateur?”

 “Viateur, who do you take me for? I’ve learnt my ways. I’m not some pleb.”

 Étienne nodded in approval and made to take the bag, just as Emma put it out of his reach.

 “Ah, ah, ah, you didn’t say you were gonna come.”

 Étienne rolled his eyes and consented, the idea of fresh bagels more important than not taking a bath for another day. “Good boy. You may have your bagels.” She decided to be nice, feeling bad for Étienne, and handed the bag. Emma watched with amusement as he eagerly took one out and tore into it. It was the most enthusiasm he had shown in weeks and it made her worry just a little bit less.

 “How d’you get these?” He asked, mouth full.

 “I have a friend who was coming in from Montreal today and I called in a favour.”

 Étienne nodded approvingly and munched on his bagel.

 “You know, I think going out will do you some good – hell, you might even pick up tonight.” She teased, nudging his shoulder.

 “Not interesting in picking up.” He answered, his voice going soft and distant.

 “Why not? You’re usually always looking for an excuse to get laid.”Emma knew she was being nosy, but Étienne hadn’t been himself in so long that if he was going to be moody and silent, she was going to poke and prod until he either answered her or lashed out and let everything out. The second option wouldn’t be pretty, but Emma knew her friend better than most and knew that the longer Étienne kept his feelings bottled up, the uglier it would get.

 “Well maybe I’m finally reformed – maybe I’m done with the old ways – maybe I just want a fucking break, Ems. Let it be, Christ.” He snapped, defensive. There was nowhere for him to run to and he felt trapped.

 “I just want you to have fun and live a little – don’t want you to miss out on the lay of your life because you’re head was stuck in your ass, or something.”She added, daring to joke with him, despite his mood. Emma had long ago realised that the best way to get Étienne to stop fixating on a problem was to distract him and make fun of the situation at hand, until he realised how ridiculous and over the top he was being. It was a band-aid solution, she knew it, but if it could work one more time, she wasn’t about to complain.

 “As if – everyone knows your city is boring and full of old people.”

 Normally, Emma would have hit Étienne with something, but when she saw him crack a small smile – the first she had seen since he had arrived at her place, she dared to hope the worst was behind them.

 She still decided to hit him with a pillow.

 “And yet how many cabinet members did you sleep with that one time?”

 “That was once – and they weren’t even from here.”

 “Excuses, excuses, Maisonneuve. And what about those senators, that other time?”

 “Which ones – the players or the ones from the hill?” He joked and Emma rolled her eyes.

 Étienne reached out for another bagel and usually, Emma would have chided him for it, but she let him be for now. Étienne was showing signs of his old self. She would take him overindulging in one too many bagels over the sombre mood he had been in and hollowed looks she had seen on his face. “Well, you never know. Just remember, if you do hookup, and you come back here, please tell your person not to parade naked in my kitchen. Again.”

 “C’m’om, Ems, that was like – once.” Étienne said, sounding mildly offended. He was a good houseguest.

 “Was not. There was that one guy. I did not want to see a stranger’s penis first thing in the morning, let me tell you. And then there was that girl. Also, largely uninterested in seeing anyone’s breasts while getting coffee. Breakfast with my friend’s fling of the night is already awkward enough. Unwanted nudity and sex noises are an entirely different type of awkward.”

 Étienne opened his mouth to pretest and then closed it, when he realised she was right.

 “Exactly.” She went on. “While we’re on the subject; if you bring anyone back, you can fuck all you want in the guest bedroom only. This couch, or my kitchen table are not good options. Or any other place, for that matter. Be a dear and change the sheets tomorrow, if you do.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” He interjected, saluting her with one arm, playing along as he often did. It was best to let Emma know he had understood the rules, before she went on one of her tangents.

 “I’m not done.” Étienne made the motion of zipping his lips shut. “If you decide to go off to someone’s apartment, be a dear and at least text me so I know you’re not dead in some ditch.”

 He waited a moment to make sure she was done, this time around. “Yes, boss.” He confirmed.

 “Good, glad we have that settled. Now, go change, you still smell.” She added, ruffling his hair affectionately, giving him an encouraging smile.

 III

Étienne looked away from the television when Emma plopped herself beside him and propped her feet on his thighs. She groaned, leaning back, and undid the belt to her skirt.

 “Fucking hate meetings.” She complained, one hand draped across her face.

 Étienne spared her a glance and chuckled to himself. “Busy day?” He offered, lowering the volume of the television.

 “I swear, if I hear one more asshole complain about anything, I will chop his head off and feed it to the goats.”

 “Goats don’t –”

 “I don’t care!” She cut him off. “I’m done.”

 Étienne laughed quietly, amused, and they fell silent for a while.

 “Massage my feet.” She ordered, more than asked, putting one foot on one of his hands.

 “Ew, no.” Étienne pushed her foot away, trying to make it fall off the couch.

 “Étienne, be nice to me. I’ve been feeding you. My feet are sore.” She wiggled her foot in front of his face and he tried to squirm away.

 “No, I’m not your masseur.”

 “Étieeeennnneeee...” She placed her foot directly on his face and having had enough, Étienne nipped at it gently, eliciting a yelp from Emma, who retracted her foot, surprised.

 “What the hell? You bit my foot, Maisonneuve.”

 “Serves you right! You had it in my face. ” He laughed, while she glared at him.

 “I bet you wouldn’t lick it.” She challenged him, sitting up.

 “Oh, you’re on.”

 Again, she brought her foot to Étienne’s face, just as he leant closer, tongue sticking out. Slowly, they inched closer to each other, looking at one another intently, until at the last moment, Emma pulled away abruptly, sitting on her feet.

  “You were actually going to lick it!”

 Étienne laughed and swung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “A bet is a bet.”

 “Oh my God, why are you like this? You’re so weird.” She buried her face in his shoulder and wondered what she had ever done to have such a strange friend, but knew she wouldn’t have him any other way.

 IV

“Ems?” Étienne called out from the bedroom door, peering inside the dark room.

 “Hmm?” She responded, shifting in bed.

 “Can I – Can I sleep with you?” He hesitated, voice small.

 “For the love of God – I’m not interested.” She tried to joke, sensing that something bigger was troubling her friend.

 Étienne rolled his eyes and stepped inside. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Can I just sleep with you, please? It’s lonely out in the guestroom.”

 Emma sighed, but moved over and pulled the covers back, letting Étienne in. He got comfortable, fluffing the pillow and Emma spooned behind him, far too used to this. She felt her friend slowly settle and relax, as she brushed his hair away from his neck and nuzzled his shoulder affectionately.

 “Thanks.” He mumbled, drowsy with sleep.

 “Don’t mention it. You okay though?”

 “Yeah. Just lonely.” He answered and Emma didn’t want to think what exactly he meant by that.

 “You know,” She started, trying to avert Étienne’s mind from whatever dark hole it was probably going to. “I have a theory; I think you’ve spent so many nights sleeping with people that you don’t know how to sleep alone anymore.” She joked, poking his stomach.

 Étienne gave a weak chuckle and took hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t want to worry Emma with his vagabond thoughts, but he knew that staying alone in the guestroom wouldn’t be wise for him at this time.

 “Hmm, maybe you’re onto something.” He murmured, trying to reassure her that he was okay for the moment. “‘Night, Ems, love you.” He added, letting his friend’s presence lull him into a cocoon of comfort and familiarity.

 “Love you too, Étienne.” She responded, giving his hand a squeeze, her voice a little thick with unspoken emotions.

 FIN 49

 Started writing: May 5th 2017, 8:19am

Finished writing: May 6th 2017, 7:32pm

Started typing: August 26th 2017, 11:12pm

Finished typing: September 24th 2017, 8:57pm

[doctor243]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf Chapter 1

So this is a story concept that I’m still working on, I hope you guys like it!!! Please, give me all sorts of feedback, I’d love it!

Summary: 5 Times MJ says she loves Peter, and 1 time he says it back.

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds

Peter knew that he had a crush on MJ. Ned knew that Peter had a crush on MJ. Heck, the only person who seemed unaware, was probably MJ herself. And chances were that she knew, because she seemed to catch any and everything that happened around school (and perhaps the world). And also because she was Michelle freaking Jones. She who had figured out Spider-Man’s secret identity all by herself, and then didn’t say anything for a whole 2 months. She who had managed to find inconsistencies in a history textbook and gotten the publisher to fix the errors. MJ was a genius, and that was putting it lightly. And she was also beautiful. With that untamed hair and matching personality, narrowed eyes and a smirk that made anyone question their own worth, she wasn’t hot like a Hollywood star or a supermodel, but she was definitely, undoubtedly, unabashedly beautiful. It was common knowledge that people were either geniuses or lookers – nobody had the best of both worlds, because apparently the universe was fair that way. Well, Michelle Jones had never been one to follow rules.

“Sup Loser,” he heard from behind.

“MJ!” he grinned, turning around and shutting his locker. She was wearing a black jeans jacket that was littered with pins from protests and cool places she’d gone. Some of them were from different countries, and some of them were from kids that she’d taken care of during her monthly visits to homeless shelters, and she kept those in pristine condition. He could observe her for his entire life and always find something about her that intrigued him, and somehow he was content with that knowledge; yeah, he had it bad.

“How was the protest?” He hurriedly asked, falling into step beside her before he was caught staring. He’d wanted to go to that Big Pharma protest with her, but Mr Stark had called him in for a lab day, something about finding chemical applications for the Iron Man suits. She technically hadn’t even told him about it, but since becoming friends, remembering events that she was prone to attend became a lot easier.

“It was good,” she replied, rubbing some sleep from her eyes. “Nothing has changed, obviously, but at least we got our voices heard.”

“I wanted to go too,” he grumbled. “But Mr. Stark called me in to work on some chemical applications for his suits.”

“Well, you are a chem genius,” she rolled her eyes nonchalantly. Oh dear, he was definitely in love with this girl. Head over heels. His heart was hers, signed, sealed and delivered. “Why’d you wanna go anyways?” She continued. “Don’t normal meds have, like, zero effect on your crazy metabolism?”

“I mean, yeah,” he huffed. “That doesn’t make what they’re doing right, y’know?” He hoped to God that he didn’t sound like some self-righteous prick.

“Guys!” Oh thank God for Ned.

“Ned!” He grinned and reached to do their secret handshake. Ned looked worse for the wear, which was saying something because Peter knew that his handsome Filipino friend hadn’t been the one out late web-slinging.

“‘Sup Nerd?” MJ mused, giving him a hug.

“Oh. My. God.” Ned groaned. “I barely got 4 hours of sleep because of that frickin’ history paper.”

“Oh,” Peter laughed. “I finished that on Friday.”

“Well excuuuuuuuse me if I’m not a genius and happened to be busy binging Brooklyn-nine-nine!” He replied indignantly. “And who in their right mind gives people a weekend for 6 pages??”

Peter shook his head. How would he survive high school if Ned hadn’t been his anchor and main source of entertainment? Turning to MJ, he started to ask her something, but stopped when he realised all the colour had drained from her face.

“Um…MJ?” He started carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. Of course, in a normal situation, he knew that she was anything but, but this didn’t strike him as a normal situation. “You good there?”

“Um…” She seemed to struggle. “I… I might have forgotten to do the essay…”

“What?!” Ned screeched, hands flying to his hair.

“I was busy prepping for the protest okay??” She argued, eyebrows knitted in frustration, probably already formulating a plan to bribe the teacher, commit murder or call in sick.

“But this is 40 per cent of our grade!”

“Gee, thanks for the reminder, Nerd!” Eyebrow raised, she dared him to remind him any more of her own predicament, and God did she look gorgeous under pressure.

“Um…” Peter interceded, hoping to diffuse any further argument. “You can use my outline.”

His 2 friends looked at him in disbelief, but no words were said, triggering his rambling tendencies.

“WELL, I mean I’ve got some extra quotes that I didn’t use, and I know that you’re a genius so you’ll be able to write it so it doesn’t come out as plagiarism. Not that you, of all people, would plagiarise, but I’ve pretty much outlined the arguments and the necessary facts and highlighted the quotes that I used so you can use the others.” He was sure his face resembled that of a lobster, and his hand was nervously scratching his neck. “I know you probably have a back up plan, and don’t need my help, so I’m gonna shut up n-”

“I love you.”

Peter froze. He could faintly see Ned gaping like a fish in the background. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. The usual mirth and humour was missing, replaced by a vulnerability that he’d never seen in her eyes, not that he tended to stare at her eyes a lot (he did). This was the most earnest she’d ever appeared to him, and it was almost disarming not to see the strong-willed calculating person that he’d grown accustomed to and fallen in love with.

“Wh-what?” Nicely done, Parker, very eloquent. Perfect time for the frog in his mouth to jump into his throat. C’mon, man, say something else. “Really?” Well, that was something else, but still, what the hell?

“Dude, don’t get an aneurism, it was a joke.”

And as quickly as he’d seen the look in her eyes, it was gone, the usual snarky MJ returned with full force. The mirth was back and the genius stared back at him, smirk playing on her lips.

“Uh-um. Right. Haha,” he forced out as he grinned through clenched teeth, ignoring the way his heart plummeted into his stomach, like an airplane taking an emergency landing. “Of course! Ha…Ha!” Sometimes he wished she wasn’t such a brilliant actor. Sometimes he wished she wasn’t so good at pushing his buttons. Sometimes he wished she wasn’t so goddamn good at everything.

MJ just rolled her eyes. “Outline? You were saying?”

“Right! Right! Here you go!” Dropping his backpack, he hurriedly reached in, pulled out a few crumpled sheets of paper, before stuffing them in MJ’s hands and rushing off, a speechless Ned on his tail.

“Dude!” He whispered, but Peter refused to look at him in the eyes. He couldn’t stand to be looked at with pity. Ned knew of his affection to MJ, and would undoubtedly be trying to offer sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” he muttered. “Always.”

Next chapter: Here

Masterlist: Here

Tags (because you make it worth it to keep writing): @you-guys--are-losers @socially-ineptnerd @nerd-of-sorts @dej-okay @kage-e

[sweetiepie08]

17, 21?

17) Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

Tell you what? Since I love gushing about my own work, here’s a couple lines from everything fic-related I’m working on (that I have stuff written down for).

Bedtime Stories (Princess Bride au)

Lord Hector was a steward of the Prince. He belonged toErnesto. And Ernesto did not let anyone take what was his.

Confidante (Hunchback of Notre Dame fic) 

She wasn’t good with words, like hewas. Numbers and puzzles and practical solutions were what she knew, but therewas no fixing this and no poet on Earth could make this feel right.

Overdue Visit (Dark Coco au I’m working on)

She approached him as if she’dknown him for years. “Señor de la Cruz,” she purred, peeking through hercurtain of raven waves, “I’ve been a longtime admirer of your work.”

Untitled Avatar the last Airbender one-shot about Zuko’s daughter.

Izuminever asked her father about his scar. When she was younger, it was just a partof him, same as his eye color or hair style. It was just his face, the face ofa man who picked her up when she fell, who taught her the very basics of firebending, who always made time to tuck her into bed and kiss her goodnight. Someof her playmates thought the scar made him look scary, but she knew better.

Untitled Yugioh au in which Marik never develops a split personality & Rishid/Odion dies.

Marik’s eyes flung open at thesound of his alarm. He tried to slow his beating heart as the music blared amere arm’s length away. It was a rock song that would make his father’s teethcurl. Actually, everything about his life now would probably give his father ananeurism, and the smug sense of satisfaction that gave him was enough to shakeoff the nightmares for another morning. He reached over and shut off the alarm,vaguely noting the beads of sweat dotting his skin.

21.) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

I’ve found a lot of writers in the Coco fandom who’s work I love. Unnfortuntely I haven’t had the pleasure of reading everything I want to read yet (Toymaker au I still need to get to) but some writers in the Coco fandom I enjoy include @im-fairly-whitty​, @imaredshirt​, and @slusheeduck. There’s also plenty of fan artist who’s work I draw inspiration from, such as @melcecilia14 and @sharpace who’s ghost au and knife shoe au (respectively) inspired their corresponding fics. I love the community here. I love that we can all gush about our headcanons, get excited for each other’s work, and make each other sad with our angsty realizations. Most people I’ve met through the Coco fandom have been friendly and inviting and so glad you all exist.

(Also, more on the writing end, I love Terry Pratchet for his quirky, humorous narrations and sharp insights on the human condition.)

[hekate1308]

Facts & Sweets

At this very moment in the town of Lawrence, Kansas, Fergus Crowley was 45 year, four months, three weeks, two days and 23 minutes old. He was busy chasing down a burglar; not exactly the kind of case he liked the best, but he, like any other creature under the sun, had to pay his bills.

The man had made the mistake to try and escape over the roof; Crowley, agile and quick-thinking, had naturally followed him and would have caught him, if not for the unfortunate and yet inevitable laws of gravity.

Ellsworth Rading was forty-nine years, ten months, three weeks, two hours and forty-seven minutes old and had been burgling houses for most of his adult life. As he was running from the State’s best PI, he contemplated the choices that had brought him here, and decided that once this was over, he would have to rethink his life. Sadly, he wouldn’t be doing any more living after he missed a jump between buildings and fell down fifteen feet, after which his neck got acquainted with the edge of the dumpster standing in the small alleyway.

Crowley knew from the second he jumped that he wouldn’t make it, and that he wouldn’t reach him in time to save him. He only reached the ledge to look down, register the man with the bin who had just entered the alleyway and watch Ellsworth break his neck, wincing as he did so.

There was no doubt that the man was dead.

And then –

Through the force of impact, Ellsworth’s body bounced back from the dumpster and was thrown against the man with the bin.

And suddenly he stood up and started to run against if his neck wasn’t broken.

Crowley stared as the man hastened to follow him and –

Touch him, after which Ellsworth Rading dropped dead again.

The man’s shoulders slumped in relief before he looked up and realized Crowley had been watching the entire thing.

He couldn’t be entirely sure because he was too far away, but he thought he exclaimed “Son of a bitch!”

These were the facts: Dean Winchester was eight years, four months and thirteen hours old. His little brother Sam, four years, one month, eight days and 57 minutes old, had been gifted a puppy for his last birthday, a puppy he called Lancelot after the book Dean always read to him while their parents looked on proudly.

Lancelot the puppy was four months, three days, 2 hours and 11 minutes old, and he wasn’t destined to get older. Sam was taking a nap in the late afternoon, and Dean was reading a Batman comic while their mother was doing the laundry. It really was no one’s fault that Lancelot got away, the door just happened to be unlocked.

Because Dean’s room faced the street, he was the one to hear the accident, and he raced downstairs to find Lancelot dead on the pavement in front of their home.

Thinking only of how sad Sammy would be, he let himself sink down to his knees and reached out a hand to gently touch Lancelot, who sat up as if nothing had happened, barked and ran back into the house.

Dean Winchester wasn’t like the other little boys.

Dean Winchester had just learned that he could bring the dead back to life.

“Let me repeat that” Crowley said carefully. “Your touch brings the dead back to life, and yet you chose to become a pie maker and the owner of a slowly failing bakery.”

“Not so loud, for God’s sake!” Dean hissed. “We’re sitting right in the middle of my restaurant –“

“And it’s empty” he pointed out.

Dean glared at him. “No one asked you to be here ether, you know.”

“Oh, I know, but my chance at collecting the reward for Ellsworth’s arrest is currently lying in the morgue.”

“That’s not my fault! He fell off the roof!”

“Couldn’t you have kept him alive long enough for me to collect my fee?”

This was the moment where Dean should probably have lied, should have told the irritating yet handsome PI that it had been a reflex to touch the burglar again.

Instead, he told him the truth.

“If I had allowed him to live for longer than a minute, someone in close vicinity to him would have died. And that includes the possibility of you passing on, so –“

“I see” Crowley interrupted him. “So you can bring back the dead back to life for one minute or you kill someone else. You must be real fun at parties.”

Dean stiffened. “I don’t go to parties.”

“Or anywhere else, really” a cheerful voice interrupted them. “Or talk to anyone voluntarily, ever. So who are you, mister, and do I have to threaten you not to –“

“Charlie” he said tiredly to the red-haired waitress who had apparently shown up out of nowhere, “This is Crowley.”

The man had steadfastly refused to tell Dean his first name. Not that it mattered. The sooner he got him out of here, the better.

“Hi, I’m Charlie!” she grinned.

He nodded.

“Since you are here, and you’re obviously a friend of Dean’s, you have to try our pecan pie!”

With these words she all but bounced to the back, despite Crowley’s protest that he didn’t care much for sweets.

“Does she knows?” he asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

Dean shook his head. “No, and I want it to stay that way.”

“Don’t worry, I am not going to tell anyone I met a pie maker who happens to be Jesus.”

“I am not Jesus. Jesus had control over who he brought back.”

“So do you, you can choose who to touch –“

“Yes, and I choose not to touch anyone” Dean replied firmly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“If someone has such strong principles, there’s normally a story behind it.”

“Which you will never hear.”

“I never said I wanted to, but it is certainly good to know there is one.”

Dean didn’t meet his eyes.

The story the Pie Maker didn’t want to tell and the PI believe he didn’t want to hear began two years, seven months, nine days and five hours after Dean had brought Lancelot back to live.

The puppy had grown and been in the best health since, even though Dean had noticed he never came to close to him anymore. But he was Sam’s dog anyway; there was no reason for Dean to touch him.

Mary Winchester had been grocery shopping, and had brought home a pie for her eldest son. But at the moment she unpacked it, an aneurism in her head burst, killing her instantly.

It was Dean who found his mother ten minutes later.

Some part of him knew that the dead were not supposed to come back to life. But what were he and Sammy and Dad supposed to do without Mom? And Lancelot was doing okay.

He reached out and touched her.

Her eyes blinked open and she sat up. “Oh, did I slip?” She smiled at him. “Who wants some pie?”

And so he sat down to have a cherry pie he wouldn’t eat.

Because in this moment, his father arrived home. Dean, as always, jumped up and rushed to greet him.

John Winchester smiled at his son for what would be the last time, opened his arms – and dropped dead to the floor.

Unknowingly, he had traded his mother’s life for his father’s.

He didn’t get to revive him because the tragic circumstances prevented him from doing so. His mother suddenly came running, tried to get to her husband – and brushed Dean on the way to him.

She died instantly, and despite Dean touching her, stayed dead.

And he knew that this would happen to Dad as well; and that, should he try and save him, someone else would have to die, and the only one in the house was Sammy.

He couldn’t harm Sammy.

So he called 911. His parents had taught him that.

Later that night, their Uncle Bobby came from Sioux Falls to take them away and look after them as best as he could.

Bobby believed that Dean’s withdrawn and taciturn demeanour in the weeks that followed was the natural reaction of a little boy who’d lost both his parents to undiagnosed heart conditions on the same day.

In truth, Dean was contemplating the gift – or, as he was inclined to think, the curse – that had been bestowed on him.

He couldn’t risk bringing anyone else back to live, only for someone else to die, and then for the first person to perish again when they touched him.

He needed to know the rules.

After a few experiments with houseflies, he figured it out: he couldn’t allow anything dead to return for more than a minute if he wanted to avoid the consequences.

The newly orphaned Dean swore to himself that he would never touch a dead thing again, and that he’d never grow too close to anyone unless he’d be tempted to break that solemn oath.

As the years went out, even his brother, after being constantly rebuffed, stopped trying to get close to him; the only one who ever did think he must have his reasons and should be treated with consideration turned out Charlie Bradbury, who he met in High School because she would introduce herself to the quiet boy who so often were Batman t-shirts. And even her he kept at a distance.

And so he became the lonely Pie Maker, owner of Pie Hole, until twenty-one years later, when a dead man fell from the roof.

“What I don’t understand” Crowley began, only to be interrupted by Charlie. “Here’s your pie! Enjoy!” She wandered off and he realized he would actually have to try.

He did.

It was... eatable for something sweet, and that was the highest compliment Crowley had ever bestowed on a pie.  

“And?”

“It is not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten” he told Dean. “But really, I told you, I don’t like sweets. Do you –“

“Can’t. The ingredients would rot.”

He understood. “One way to save money, I guess. I still don’t understand why this place is failing, however.”

“If customers fail to –“

“Not what I meant. Like it or not, you have a gift. You might as well put it to good use. I am sure people would pay for the opportunity to say goodbye, even only for a minute –“

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Your loss then. But I do have to point out that quite often, if someone meets a violent end, their loved ones are willing to promise a reward to anyone who can catch the killer.”

“So?” Dean asked, only to realize he had made a mistake when Crowley grinned devilishly.

“So you can help me with that. It’s much easier to solve a murder if you can ask the murdered person who did it.”

“I said no –“

“Oh yes, dear reporters, there IS a man who can bring the dead to live –“

“No one would believe you.”

“Really? There are a lot of crazy people around.”

Dean stared at him. “Are you blackmailing me? You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, I am always serious when it comes to money. And I will even be generous – we’ll share half and half.”

Dean didn’t have any choice. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Oh, it’s quite enough for me that you’re at my back and call because you have to be.”

Crowley grinned again in that unsettling way of his.

That night at his apartment, Dean tried to watch TV, but he was still seething. How dare that guy just show up out of the blue, learn his secret and get away with it? It seem utterly unfair to him.

And, perhaps, in a corner of his mind, he considered it no less unfair that the PI was actually rather attractive when he smiled, even thought it looked devious as well.

Crowley, meanwhile, sitting in his office across town, had no such misgivings.

He also didn’t deny to himself that the Pie Maker was very handsome indeed.

The facts were these: Steven Shoemaker was forty-nine years, ten months, seven hours and 24 minutes old when he had the misfortune to drop dead in his own bathroom, his eyeballs all but exploding.

Mr. Shoemaker left three ex-wives and ten children, so naturally there were disagreements regarding the inheritance.

There was, however, one person in the world who hadn’t cared for his money; and this person was his secretary, who’d been a close friend of his for over twenty years.

Not only grieving for her best friend, but also enraged at one of the comments of the ex-wives suggesting that her and the dead man’s relationship had been more intimate than it actually was, she decided to act by offering a reward.

And where money was, there was a good chance Fergus Crowley, P.I., wasn’t far away.

“Dude” Dean said slowly, closing his eyes, “His face.”

“What about it?” Crowley asked carelessly.

“His eyeballs all but melted” he hissed.

“And?”

“And!? I can barely stand to look at him and you want me to bring him back to life?”

“Oh, is this CNN?” Crowley said, holding his hand up to his ear and mimicking a phone call, “Just imagine what I found –“

“Yeah, yeah, I got it” Dean pressed out through gritted teeth, “But if he starts coughing blood it’s not my fault.”

“Duly noted. Now, if you’d be so kind...”

Dean activated the alarm on his cell phone, set for one minute, and touched Mr. Shoemaker’s hand.

He sat up. “I can’t see!”

“It takes a while to get used to the surroundings after you pass on” Crowley said smoothly. “Don’t worry.”

“Dead? I’m – oh, of course. She poisoned me. Put it in my Diet Coke, never could resist that stuff. Am I going to Heaven?”

“Yes” Dean said quickly, watching the seconds tick by. “Who poisoned you?”

“My ex-wife, of course –“

In this moment, the door opened and Dean quickly touched Mr. Shoemaker, returning him to the state he’d been in.

It was the coroner. “You got everything you need?”

Dean nodded, although that was a lie.

“That was absolutely useless” Crowley commented as they strolled out of the morgue.

“Not completely” Dean argued, “We know that one of his ex-wives killed him.”

“Exactly. There are three of them, and they were always the main suspects. So he told us nothing.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let the doctor see the dead man sitting up and talking to us?”

“You did what you had to do” Crowley acquiesced, surprising him. “But now we have to do this the hard way.”

“It’s your job, and... wait, we?”

“Of course we. You agreed to take on the case, remember?”

“I agreed to touch the corpse!”

An old lady walking by shot him a scandalized look and Dean lowered his voice. “You wanted to talk to him, we did.”

“Need I remind you that –“

“Yeah, yeah, you own me” Dean spat. “I get it.”

“I wouldn’t imply ownership. More... forced company.”

“If you say so. Let’s get this over with.”

Sadly, grieving widows, or would-have-been-if-still-married-widows, are not prone to let people who suspect them of murder into the crime scene.

Sometimes, as Crowley would have said if Dean would have given him the opportunity, you have to improvise.

“Did I mention I don’t like heights?”

“Is there anything you like aside from pies?”

“Let me rephrase that. I don’t like heights I can fall down from. And this definitely counts.”

“Whatever you say, now hurry, I want to search his office while it’s still night!”

Dean grunted and forced himself to climb up the last few branches to the window, Crowley at his heels. He managed to open it and pull himself into the office, sinking to the floor and gasping.

“Don’t be like that” Crowley said, jumping in as if they hadn’t just escaped certain death. “You looked pretty confident. A regular squirrel.”

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with. What are we looking for anyway?”

“Anything that proves he was at odds with one of his e-wives.”

“Didn’t he have to be in order for them to become his ex-wives in the first place?”

“That may be the case, but in my experience there tends to be an immediate stressor for murder.”

Dean shook his head. “Man, your life must be cheerful.”

“Says the baker with the life-returning touch.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible but continued to search the room.

Eventually, Crowley found a concealed button on the desk and pressed it; almost immediately part of its surface slid back, revealing a hidden compartment. “Hah.”

“How did you know that was there?”

“I have been in this business for a while” he replied simply as he reached into the secret drawer and took out an envelope. “Now, what do we have here –“

“Are you supposed to open that?”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t know what was in it.” Crowley opened the envelope and read its contents.

“Well?” Dean finally asked when he didn’t say anything.

“I thought you didn’t want to know, your principles and all that...”

Dean reached for the letter. Crowley gave it to him.

“A will?”

“And” Crowley pointed out, “Frome a later date than any of the others. Only a day before his death, in fact.”

“The secretary gets everything?”

“With some provisions for the kids, of course” Crowley drawled. “I assume he want2ed to leave them well taken care of.”

“Small wonder you only talk about this theoretically” Dean muttered.

But the Pie Maker didn’t know that the PI’s knowledge regarding children was, in fact, far from theoretical.

Much to his astonishment, he found himself tempted to talk about himself to a near stranger for the first time, to tell him his secrets, to let him know the man beneath the Armani-clad facade.

He stomped the impulse.

“Crowley?”

“Just thinking” he said quickly. “We definitely have a motive there.”

“I’d say so. All those millions running through their fingers... But who even knew this will existed?”

“Excellent question. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass” Dean said, taking a calendar from the desk and leafing through it. “Hey, wasn’t ex-wife number 2 called Katerina?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because there is a meeting with “K” here the day before he died. If he mentioned something...”

Katerina née Tassel was thirty-nine years, two months, ten days and six hours old when she was arrested for murder, still feeling getting her husband’s money was her right since she’d “lived with him for ten miserable years.”

Sarah Forde went on to inherit the money and found a charity for the homeless – after she’d paid Crowley quite handsomely.

“Admit it” Crowley announced a few days later at the Pie Hole, having just stepped in to tell Dean everything had worked out perfectly, “You liked it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Come on, you got to solve a murder case, bring justice to the victim –“

“As if you care about that” Dean replied. “You only want your money.”

“Yes, but I don’t mind if justice is done while I get it.”

Dean snorted.

“So you got her?” Charlie asked excitedly. She’d loved to hear that Dean was “out there” making friends, although he could hardly tell her that aside from Crowley, the one he’d talked to the most had even the dead guy he’d brought back to life.

“That we did, Miss Bradbury.”

“Excellent, I’ll get you a pie!”

It seemed that Charlie had decided that she would get Crowley to like sweets eventually, for all of his protests didn’t help; she brought him a piece of apple pie.

“Charlie” Dean said, pulling her into the kitchen, “You can’t keep giving out free samples if we are to make any profit –“

“It’s just one piece of pie” Charlie said, “Plus you can’t lie to me, Mister. I have seen your face when you think he can’t see you. You like him.”

He blushed scarlet. “Do not!”

But, try as he might, the Pie Maker couldn’t deny that the PI could be funny and charming when he wanted to be – although he also happened to be quite selfish and greedy.

Little did he know that while he was pondering this, Crowley was eating the pie and admitting reluctantly to himself that for some reason, he suddenly found he might get used to the taste eventually  and was growing rather fond of the Pie Hole as a whole, as well.

Their arrangement continued. Whenever there was news of a strange murder, Dean brazed himself for Crowley calling him, and he usually delivered. Soon enough, they’d developed a routine. Dean would usually be baking, or home alone, or hanging out with Charlie, who’d become more and more insistent that he “should have a life outside of the Pie Hole” when Crowley called him, and they’d meet up at the morgue. He never quite figured out why the coroner let them in at all times but suspected Crowley had something on him.

They’d take a minute – literally – to talk to the corpse, who usually but not always provided the direct resolution to their problem, and then Dean would leave Crowley to find the evidence he needed.

A few days later, he’d get the money and ask no questions.

He didn’t exactly feel clean doing all of this, but the Pie Hole was finally making profit – not due to his pies, but still – and he told himself that this curse he had been born with at least brought some good into this world.

And then there were the other cases, cases where it wasn’t so easy, and somehow, he found himself sticking around for them. After all, Charlie could hold down the fort, and he figured if Crowley ran into danger because of the information he’d provided, it was sort of his fault.

At least that was what he made himself believe.

But it wasn’t the truth. The truth was, as it often is, more complicated, stranger and a bit madder than that.

In truth he was slowly starting to enjoy working with Crowley a great deal.

Even if there were a few setbacks.

“I can’t believe we’re digging up an old corpse” he complained, “You do realize that his tongue will probably have fallen off by now, right?”

“Shut up and keep digging, Squirrel”. The nickname had stuck despite Dean’s many attempts to make him stop calling him that.

Dean’s shovel – he couldn’t quite recall the reasoning that had led to him being the one to do the actual digging – hit the coffin and they opened it to find Mr. Van Hutten’s actually rather well-preserved corpse. Thank God.

“Ask him where he hid the family jewels so we can get out of here and I can demand my payment.”

“It’s our payment, and when I think about it, I should be the only one to get paid since I do all the work.”

“You’d never do it if I hadn’t persuaded you to.”

“Persuaded” Dean mussed. “Yeah, right.”

He still reached out to touch Mr. Van Hutten’s hand.

And then things almost went awry. Mr. Van Hutten was so upset about his relations’ greediness that he started moving around in his coffin too much as he explained where he had hidden the family treasure, and the lid fell down and got stuck.

Dean cursed. “Quick, Crowley, help me to –“

He turned around and saw that Crowley had taken off. Of freaking course.

He managed to pry open the lid and touch Mr. Van Hutten again just in time.

Crowley was waiting in his car in front of the cemetery. Dean got in, fuming.

“Did you get the –“

“Yes, I did! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to die.”

“So you just left me there?”

“It seems logical to assume that you won’t be stricken down dead since these are your powers, so –“

“It could have been anyone else! You could have helped me!”

“I knew you would manage.”

“Knew I would – forget it; I’m walking myself home.”

Dean got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. What a jerk.

The next day, counting his money in his office, Crowley couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t feel as enjoyable as it usually did. After pondering the problem for a few moments, he realized that he felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time – guilt for having left Dean at the cemetery when the time was running out, and that he had just allowed him to walk away into the cold night.

Really, it was rather disconcerting for him to realize how often his thoughts came straight back to the Pie Maker, even when there was no case he could call him in on.

It almost felt as if he – cared about Dean, and not just because he was useful.

What a strange feeling.

And yet he couldn’t help it. He decided he would do one good thing for Dean Winchester, to make him and Crowley himself feel better and get this... surge of humanity out of his system once and for all.

The problem with his solution to his other problem, Crowley reflected a few weeks later, was that it was damn difficult to get to know Dean well enough to learn what sort of things he liked. He only ever talked about their cases when they saw each other (and he mostly complained then). He barely mentioned his past or any personal details at all (not that Crowley was the poster child for that).

Still...

And for some reason it felt wrong to investigate Dean like he had so many others over the years.

But gossiping with Charlie... that could hardly be called investigating, now?

Plus she was bound to come over with a pie every time he entered Dean’s place.

She did exactly that the next time there was a corpse, and Dean hadn’t yet forgiven him, it seemed, since he let him wait.

“You do know this won’t ever change a thing, right?”

“And yet here I am, and I keep trying.”

“Like with Dean, when he doesn’t want to leave his kitchen?”

“Exactly” she said, her eyes sparkling. As he had expected, she sat down across from him, eager to make conversation since he allowed it for once. “Dean’s still young, just thirty-one, he should have fun now and then.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t?”

“When he’s with you, sure” she said, surprising him. He was rather certain that Dean had never really enjoyed their excursions.

And definitely not the last one, he thought ruefully.

“But other than that...” she continued. “I never got why he moved away from Sioux Falls so quickly after school. Can you believe he hasn’t visited his little brother and his uncle once since he graduated?”

“He has a brother?”

She nodded. “He talks about him a lot – only with me, of course, but he has no one else, really, and I already knew about Sam. He’s a lawyer now, but they don���t talk.”

“Why?” In truth, Crowley didn’t have to ask; it was easy enough to guess; Dean was terrified of what he might do if something happened to someone he was close to; and so he had distanced himself from 2everyone in his life.

Dean must be rather lonely, he thought.

But then, Dean probably didn’t know what Crowley knew.

Because he knew that, when push came to shove, Dean would do the right thing.

Dean Winchester was a good man – so good as to be even called righteous – and he would never purchase the life of a loved one with that of another. He was not capable of making such a decision, not when it had the potential to hurt others.

He wondered if Dean was ever tempted to reach out to his family. Probably.

Now how to get him to mention it so they could talk...

Dean Winchester didn’t quite know what to feel when he came out of the kitchen to find Crowley and Charlie conversing. Charlie Bradbury was the only friend he’d made in his lonely life, and that simply because she’d refused to let him go when he tried to; she also happened to know quite a few of his secrets, although she was naturally ignorant of the greatest of them all.

And Crowley...

Crowley knew he could bring the dead back to life, but nothing else about him, so between the two of them, he and Charlie knew Dean inside out.

Problem was that Charlie liked to talk, and talk about him too.

And he wasn’t quite sure he wanted Crowley to learn details about his life.

But some things, as the Pie Maker had learned at a very early age, can’t be helped.

“Crowley” he greeted him tiredly, sitting down next to him.

“Hello, Squirrel.”

He expected to be taunted about having run off the other night, but Crowley said nothing.

He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“A case, of course. What did you think?”

Dean looked at Charlie. She raised her hands. “I know, I know. I’m gonna go do my job.”

“So what are the facts?” Dean asked as soon as she’d gotten up.

The facts were these.

Tommy Collins, twenty-one years, eleven months, thirteen days and ten hours old, self-sufficient caretaker of his family, had been found dead at his place of work, a construction site, in the middle of the night when he had no reason to be there.

The fact that the murder weapon – a hammer – found next to his body didn’t come from the scene of the crime, but was the hammer kept in the Collins family home, led suspicion to fall on Hailey Collins, Tommy’s sister, twenty years, two weeks and ten minutes old.

Their little brother Ben Collins, eighteen years, four months, fourteen weeks and twenty hours old, didn’t have the money to offer a reward, but the people in their neighbourhood, fond of the whole family, had collected money.

Which had naturally caught a certain PI’s eyes.

Hailey Collins looked pale but determined when they went to see her in custody.

“I would never hurt Tommy” she assured them. “Our parents died when we were young; we’re all we have.”

Crowley saw Dean swallow out of the corner of his eyes and noted that this might be what he needed to bring up his brother later; but for now, they had to work on the case. 

“Ugh” Dean exclaimed in the morgue when he pulled the sheet back, “I was hoping for a bit more... skull. Not sure if he’ll even be able to talk.”

“We can only try.”

“Of course you would say that” he mumbled, but he still touched Tommy’s hand.

He said up and started talking immediately. “Are Hailey and Ben alright?”

“She’s going to be charged with your murder unless you tell us who did it.”

Even with his face smashed in, he looked shocked. “Hailey? She would never do something like this! We’re all we –“

“Yeah, we heard that already. So who did you in?”

“Is he always like that?” Tommy asked Dean.

“Unfortunately yes.”

He hummed. “It was my boss. Found out he was stealing stuff from the site, as a way to make more money. Wanted to get proof before i went over his head. Didn’t work out to well.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll see that justice is done” Dean said.

“Thank you. Hey, before I have to go, can I ask you to tell Hailey and Ben that I know they’ll be fine and do amazing things?”

Dean’s throat felt tight, and he nodded before touching him gently.

The boss broke down immediately when they confronted him with what they called their “suspicion.”

“Didn’t have enough blood in him for true villainy” Crowley remarked as they watched him being led away by the police.

Dean didn’t really listen. “We should tell his siblings. Or something like it, anyway.”

“You mean the thing about them doing their best?” Crowley asked, looking bored.

“Yes! It’s their brother’s last message!”

Crowley shrugged. “I couldn’t get away from my half-brother fast enough. We’re not in contact anymore.”

Dean turned to look at him, but he wasn’t really seeing him; no, he was seeing a small boy with a big smile and a book in his hands, “Dean, will you read to me?”

“Haven’t talked to Sammy in ages” he replied roughly.

“Who’s Sammy?”

He snapped out of it, but the damage was done.

“My brother” he said curtly, but sadly, that didn’t seem to deter Crowley.

“You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“There was no reason to. As I said, we haven’t talked in ages.”

“So you were never that close?”

When he was silent, Crowley sighed. “Come on. Can’t eb that bad.”

“It is” he snapped. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Well, that hadn’t gone well.

But at least Crowley had got an answer. Now he knew that yes, Dean definitely had a brother, and there was a history behind it. Had they had a fight? Must have been a bad one, in that case; or maybe they’d never really seen eye to eye... No, he couldn’t imagine that. Not with Dean. Now, him and Oskar, that had been something totally different.

Alright then. He’d laid the ground stock; now he had to slowly extract more information as time went on.

Shouldn’t be too difficult.

But, the PI learned over the course of that spring, it was rather difficult. The Pie Maker, angry at himself for allowing even so much to slip past his lips, was more determined than ever not to talk about his past; and so Crowley was doomed to wait and hope and pounce whenever there was a chance for information. Which meant that he went to the Pie hole at least two times a week, even if there was no case, much to Charlie’s delight, who was still trying to find a pie he liked.

“Everything, please, everything but strawberry again” he was pleading one day.

She huffed. “Strawberries are delicious.”

“That’s your job to say, you’re a waitress.”

Unimpressed, she threatened to stalk off until he casually said, “I think you’re right. Dean misses his brother.”

Her face softened. “I knew it. He used to talk about him all the time when we were kids, and then after graduation he just... disappeared.”

“You found him again, though.”

She looked away. “I might have... there was some trouble, you know. I am quite good with computers and I needed to lay low for a while, and when I came here... I saw the sign, and just went in. It reminded me of Dean. Small wonder, really.”

“And then you made him give you a job?”

“You really think – he offered. He saw I was a bit down on my luck. That’s just who he is.”

Crowley was inclined to agree.

But, Charlie agreeing with him or not, Dean still didn’t give him any information.

Until another case came along.

These were the facts.

Matthew Horner, thirty-eight years, four months and six hours old, was found dead in a local bar – according to the blood tests, he was completely sober at the time of his death.

That wasn’t what attracted Crowley to the case, however – apart from the usual reward, naturally.

No, it was that no one could discern the cause of death.

He had never been able to withstand a good puzzle.

Which might also have explained his fascination with Dean Winchester, Pie Maker and very lonely man.

Dean should have been relieved that the case, despite certain weird details, was an open and shut one, but he couldn’t.

Because it had been Matthew Horner’s brother, chemist, who had poisoned him with a difficult to trace and even more difficult to pronounce substance, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Sammy.

Maybe it was weird that he’d dealt better about the siblings who actually loved each other than the ones who had hated one another, since he and Sam had been close until he drew away –

No. No that wasn’t strange at all.

Because ever since he had left home, one of his persistent fears had been that Sam had grown to hate him in their years of silence.

Hell, Sam almost didn’t go to his high school graduation, but Bobby insisted on it. Dean hadn’t been supposed to know, but he’d eavesdropped. Accidentally, of course.

“Hey”. A gentle touch on his arm. “Where did you just go, Squirrel?”

He blinked. Crowley sounded... almost worried? “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Crowley looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You need a drink” he decided.

Dean Winchester was sixteen years, eight months, two weeks, four hours and thirty-four minutes old and had just woken up with the worst headache he had ever experienced when he made a very wise decision, given the circumstances that had shaped his life.

He’d be very careful how much he drank in the future.

However, as good a decision as it was, it left him with little to no resistance to hard drinks, especially Craig that had aged for thirty years.

“Dude” Dean said, his eyes widening, ”You have a mansion.”

“And?”

“And what? You have a mansion.”

“I like to have space.”

“He likes – why am I not surprised?” Dean muttered. “Could freaking well feed an army, but stays on his own.”

“You prefer your own company as well.”

“So I don’t make any stupid mistakes and wake the dead, there’s a difference – why are we here anyway, and not in a bar? I was under the impression you’d buy me a drink. Should have known better –“

“Do you really think I don’t have better taste in alcohol?”

That shut Dean up.

Still, the pit bull who came to greet them as soon as Crowley unlocked the door was somewhat of a surprise.

“Did you miss Papa?” Crowley cooed – actually cooed – at her. “This is Dean. Dean, this is Juliet.”

“Hello... Juliet” he said, somewhat lamely, but how else was he supposed to react?

He decided he’d had enough for the day. “Where did you say the alcohol was?”

Crowley would never have guessed that Dean Winchester was the type to get drunk after only two glasses of Craig, but here they were.

Dean giggled. Actually giggled, and normally Crowley would have been disgusted, but instead he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “You know I normally never drink this stuff because I’m afraid I might do something stupid like try to dig up Dad”.

At least that was what Crowley thought he said; his pronunciation wasn’t exactly the clearest anymore. “Your father? Why not your mother?”

“Because I didn’t kill her and anyway, already did that” Dean laughed again and then, without a pause, he started to sob.

Crowley really had no idea what to do.

Thankfully, Dean saved him the trouble of finding out by leaning against him and crying himself to sleep after telling him his life’s story, while the P.I. did his best to try and stay calm.

That night, a drunk and very sad Pie Maker fast asleep in his lap, as he made his tenth attempt to make them both comfortable because he didn’t want Dean to wake up alone, Fergus Crowley made a discovery he’d much rather not have.

Despite years of trying to prove to the world that he didn’t, he still had a heart.

And it beat suspiciously faster ever since Dean had touched him for the first time.

When he woke up, he almost felt like he was sixteen and hung-over in his bedroom at Bobby’s house again.

Mostly because he had never felt that sick quite again.

At least he’d made it home, thought; he was lying in bed, and –

He heard a faint noise of clattering from what must have been the kitchen. He pried his eyes open –

And realized he wasn’t in his bed, but still lying on Crowley’s couch, actually tucked in.

The thought of Crowley doing this for him caused him to – feel – something.

He was too hung over for this.

Hell, Crowley had even left a glass of water and some painkillers on the table in front of him.

Dear God, what had happened last night?

He was dressed at least, so not.. that, Thank God; but everything else was on the table...

Problem was, because he had all but stopped drinking when he was sixteen, he had no idea what kind of drunk he was.

When he entered the kitchen, Crowley was making breakfast, and he frowned.

“Trust me, you’ll want some soon enough.”

“You seem to know more about being hang over than I.”

“The wisdom of experience, my friend.”

“More like the experience of old age.”

Crowley shot him a dirty look. Dean grinned. At least he could annoy the P.I. while he was waiting to feel better.

He was right, too; once he sat down and the pain meds kicked in, the smell of the bacon Crowley was making caused his stomach to remember that food was actually good for him.

They were quiet as they ate; Dean was thankful to Crowley for not –

“So” he said cheerfully, “Want to tell me about how you killed your father when you were ten?”

Dean almost choked on a piece of bacon.

When he was done coughing, he stared at Crowley in horror. “What the –“

“You mentioned it yesterday – as far as I could make out what you were rambling on about. Just so you know, you’re a weepy drunk.”

Dean pushed his plate away, not feeling hungry anymore in the slightest.

“Come on. It was just a question.”

“How – how is that just a question?”

“It is because you were a child, and I know about your powers. You didn’t want to.”

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you.”

Not that Dean was surprised; he couldn’t remember his drunken ramblings, but Crowley was clever.

“Let’s just say, I assume you were young, you knew you could bring the dead back to live, but you had no idea about the terms and conditions?”

He nodded, and then suddenly, he started talking.

He’d never told anyone; he’d never revealed this one, this terrible secret, had indeed sworn that he never would after he’d tried to explain it to Uncle Bobby and he’d simply ruffled his hair and hugged him, thinking he was just a traumatized kid.

When he was done, he looked away.

As the Pie Maker unburdened himself, Crowley found himself not only listening attentively, but also experiencing another emotion he had no longer considered himself capable of.

He wanted to comfort him.

He was surprised when Crowley gently squeezed his shoulder. “That... cannot have been easy.”

He sounded as astonished at his own compassion as Dean felt. He looked at him. “It wasn’t. Never really touched someone else after that.”

“And your brother?”

“He doesn’t know, of course. “Hey Sammy, it’s me, remember the big brother who more or less abandoned you as soon as he turned eighteen? I also killed our parents. How’s life?””

“You didn’t kill your parents.”

Dean huffed.

“You didn’t kill your parents” he said firmly, still surprised at himself. “Your mother died of natural causes, and you didn’t know your father had to died so she could live on.”

“I could have brought him back.”

“And killed your brother? I don’t think so.”

“Do you have to be so damn logical about it?” Dean argued, but the corners of his lips lifted up slightly. “I am trying to blame myself for everything that’s gone wrong in my life here.”

“And I’m not going to allow it.” After a pause, Crowley added, “Your talent does bring home the money, after all.”

Dean snorted. “Yes, am I glad that I can make sure you can buy more of these needlessly expensive suits.”

“Some of us like to be well-dressed, thank you” Crowley replied.

Hangover and all, Dean felt much better than he had expected to when he left the P.I.’s place that morning.

If only things could go smoothly for a few days...

Things did not go smoothly.

Competition is  fact of life in the business world, and when a new sweets store opened on the opposite side of the street, Dean didn’t think much of it.

Until suddenly, fewer people than before came to eat his pies and he found out through a faithful old client that Dick Roman, owner of Bitter Sweets, had been spreading rumours about his ingredients.

It would have been much worse if he had known the truth – that Dean used formerly rotten fruits brought to life again after a touch in many of his pies – but still.

Crowley had been busy with a fraud case and didn’t know what was going on, and anyway, the Pie Maker decided he could very well deal with that on his own.

Sadly, when he went to confront Dick Roman, he found him dead in his office; he’s just woken him up to question him when the police burst in and he could only touch him again to keep his secret.

Sadly, this meant that he was found with his hands on the corpse of a recently murdered man.

“Run that by me again, Squirrel. You were dumb enough not only to go there alone, but when you found him your first instinct was to bring him back to life? I thought you didn’t like to do that:”

“I thought while I was there I could make myself useful” Dean hissed, “And you know whose fault it is that I’m used to it –“

“I’m not the one in the jail cell, am I”.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Dean asked through gritted teeth. “I have money saved from all our cases, and –“

“Do you really think I’d ask you for money?” Crowley interrupted him, staring at him.

Dean stared right back.

What followed was the most awkward minute of their entire acquaintance, with Crowley suddenly remembering that he was a heartless bastard and clearing his throat. “I meant to say that you are an asset I can’t afford to lose.”

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Crowley said goodbye soon after that.

Unbeknownst to the Pie Maker, the P.I. had a plan.

“Charlie” Crowley said, bursting through the doors of Pie Hole.

“Crowley. How is he?”

“What?”

“I know you went to see Dean. What else would you do? So. How. Is. He.”

“He’s... holding up” he supplied.

Charlie nodded. “I’ll visit him myself later, of course, but still. Now – you have a plan. I can tell from the twinkle in your eye.”

“Dean told me you were good with computers” he replied without beating around the bush. “Illegally good.”

“Traitor” she muttered. “What do you need?”

“Dean is going to need a very good lawyer. Now, I was wondering if his brother’s interest in law had caused him to...”

“What makes you think I would know?”

He shot her an unimpressed look.

“Alright, maybe I did my research. So what?”

“Don’t you think this would be a good opportunity to reunite two estranged brothers and get Dean the legal aid he needs?”

Two days later, Crowley was in Florida.

So this was where the younger Winchester worked. Crowley studied the law firm from across the street. According to his research, they were the up and coming stars of the branch; that certainly told him something about Sam’s ambitions.

It also meant he had to be good at what he did, and Dean needed an excellent lawyer if he was supposed to get out of the scrape he had gotten himself in.

Feeling that he probably wouldn’t like being ambushed in his office, Crowley waited until he went out to lunch.

Hm. Interesting. Apparently he preferred his own company. Well, it just made it easier.

To Crowley’s surprise, Sam Winchester didn’t get lunch, but instead walked to a nearby park where he sat down on a bench.

“Clearing your head, MR. Winchester?” he asked.

Sam jumped up and turned to face him. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Crowley, I’m a P.I. from Lawrence, Kansas.”

Something like comprehension flashed across the younger man’s face before it settled into a blank mask. “And?”

“And your brother is the only suspect in a murder case and needs help” he replied. Better to rip off the band-aid immediately.

“Dean is what?”

“He is –“

“No, I heard you. But what do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re the lawyer” he reminded him.

“And Dean hasn’t talked to me in years. Do you expect me to jump to his rescue?”

Crowley shrugged. “i assumed some kind of brotherly feeling still lingered in your chest. Not my fault if I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.”

He could have spend more time trying to convince him to help, but frankly, he had better things to do. Like getting Dean out of jail himself, if this hot-shot lawyer didn’t want to help.

Still, one last shot –

“I’ll be going” he said, “By the way, did you ever notice something strange about your childhood dog? Lancelot, was it?”

With these words, he left him there.

Or would have.

Because after he’d made a few steps Sam ran after him and grabbed his arm. “How do you know about Lancelot?”

These were the facts.

Sam Winchester was by no means an exceptional boy; he was smart, but he also loved playing with his big brother, both of his parents, and the dog they had gotten him for his birthday very much.

Losing one’s parents at the age of six years, three months, ten weeks, three days and nine minutes was not easy; but Uncle Bobby’s carer and love soon made him Sam smile again, and of course he still had Lancelot.

Who over time became more important than ever because Dean refused to speak to him, even months after they had moved to Sioux Falls.

By the time Dean turned eighteen and left, Sam believed himself to be thoroughly indifferent. He’d lost his big brother the day he’d lost his parents, and he had to live with it.

What he didn’t expect was how much he would miss him, regardless.

And then there was something else.

By the time he himself became eighteen and went on to study pre-law, it had become clear that Lancelot hadn’t aged ever since he had reached adulthood.

“I have my ways” Crowley said simply.

“I –“ Sam swallowed. “But Dean can’t know, Dean moved out –“

“You’d be surprised.”

Sam swallowed again. “Fine. You’re buying me lunch.”

Normally Crowley wouldn’t have been too keen on spending money on anyone but himself, but Sam suddenly seemed a lot more amenable, and he had to try, as long as there was a chance.

He told himself he only cared about Sam being a good enough lawyer to get Dean out, and that he wasn’t thinking about the night a drunken Pie Maker had cried to him about his brother.

“But Dean can’t have told you” Sam argued once they’d found a small restaurant and sat down. “I only noticed myself after he’d left.”

“How old is Lancelot?” Crowley asked carefully.

“Twenty-two; and the last vet I took him to thought he was about five” Sam admitted.

“I assume you no longer take him to the vet.”

“It’s better that way.” Sam hesitated. “Did Dean – no, he was just a kid himself. He can’t have –“

“You’d be surprised what you don’t know about your brother.”

“He’s in jail on his birthday too” Sam mumbled, and it was only then that Crowley learned what day it was.

So Dean had been born in January. Instinctively, he wondered how old he was, exactly – only to tell himself that it was of no importance.

“Did he hire you to prove he’s innocent?” Sam asked. Dean, Crowley thought, would at least take some comfort from knowing that his little brother had automatically assumed he was innocent, no matter how their little chat ended.

“No. We’re... business partners” he said carefully.

Sam frowned. “Last thing I heard, Dean had become a baker.”

“Pie maker” he corrected him automatically. “Yes, but he also helps me out on cases now and then.”

“Is this how he got in trouble?”

“Kind of.”

Sam nodded. “Dean always had a talent to do just that.”

“He has been very... helpful to me” Crowley continued. “And since he wouldn’t be in this predicament if we had never made our deal, I considered it only fair that...”

He trailed off when he saw the look Sam gave him. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just.-.. if you’re more than partners, you can tell me. I’m not a homophobe.”

“We aren’t-. We’re just... friends.”

He had never called anyone his friend in his entire life.

Sam didn’t look convinced, but thankfully he changed the topic. “What exactly do they think Dean did?”

Crowley told him. 

Dean was getting nervous. This had been the second day in a row without a call or a visit from Crowley. Charlie, of course, came to see him daily, but she couldn’t tell him anything about what he was up to, either, and he was getting the impression that he as being left behind since he was no longer useful.

Not that he’d expected anything else. Crowley had only ever been i9n it for his own gain, and Dean had known that. One drunken night of him crying about how his curse had ruined his life before it had even really begun wouldn’t change anything.

It only felt like it had fro Dean.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care that Crowley had indeed only been in it for the money, but then...

Crowley might not have been the nicest guy around, but he had been around. They had spent so much time together that Dean would probably have called him a friend if he had to.

It also didn’t help that Charlie was decidedly nervous on this day.

“What’s wrong, Bradbury?” he finally asked.

She bit her lip. “Remember how I am the best friend you ever had and that I’ve always been loyal to you?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Good. I want you to remember that for a second longer.”

“Charlie, what the –“

The door opened and the guard showed two more people in. “Fifteen minutes.”

Dean barely heard him.

Because standing next to Crowley was –

“Sammy?”

“Dean” he said neutrally. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you.”

He winced. He deserved that, for what he had done, of course, but still –

He looked at Charlie. “You helped Crowley find him, didn’t you.”

“As a matter of fact, I would have found him on my own, but Miss Bradbury happened to already know where he lives and works” Crowley supplied.

Dean looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Of course she had known. Of course she had.

“We’ll talk about this when I’m out of here” he said flatly.

“Alright, first of all, why are you in a cell to begin with?” Sam asked.

So that was it, then. Simply a client-lawyer meeting. And what else could have been expecting, even if he had known Sam was coming? He’d cut him out of his life deliberately to protect them both.

Charlie was frowning at Sam. “That’s all? You see your brother for the first time in years and that is your reaction?”

“Charlie” he said, throwing Crowley a glance.-

He understood immediately.

“Alright, red, let’s get out of here and allow them to talk.”

Charlie understood when arguing was useless.

After the door had closed behind them, Sam asked, “Didn’t you know a Charlie at school? You mentioned her from time to time – when I could get you to talk.”

“That’s her. She found me – ran into my place, really.”

Crowley told me you were a Pie Maker.” After a pause, Sam added, “Would have been nice to be given the option to learn that from yourself, just saying.”

Dean sighed. “Look, Sammy, I can’t give you an explanation. If you can’t live with that, you should leave.”

“But why?” he asked. “Dean, you and Uncle Bobby were all I had, except for Lancelot. And you just... you lived with us, but it was as if you weren’t really there anymore. Why can’t you just tell me –“

“trust me” he said tiredly, “Even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Sam hesitated, then swallowed. “Does it have something to do with Lancelot?”

“Lancelot? Why?”

“Because Crowley mentioned him and... and...” Sam looked around the empty room as if to make extra sure no one was listening. “Dean. I know how this will sound, but I think my dog is immortal.”

“Lancelot’s still alive?” Dean asked, surprised. Weren’t dogs supposed to die when they were about twenty?

“Yes. He just... stopped aging when he stopped growing. When someone asks, I just act as if I called him the same name.”

“Smart.”

HE didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Dean... do you know something about this? Crowley made it seem like you did. And if you – does it – is there a reason you just walked out on us as if we’d been nothing but your roommates? Bobby still asks if I’ve heard from you occasionally.”

Dean swallowed, his heart beating fast. He couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t let his brother know that he’d killed their parents... and anyway, he couldn’t prove anything, and why should Sam believe him?

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Sam, yes, there is a reason. But it’s pretty incredible, and I can’t prove anything while I’m in here. If I get out and you still want to hear the truth, I will show you. I promise.”

Sam turned his head, suddenly looking like the little boy Dean recalled playing with Lancelot.” You promised we’d always be friends, once” he said quietly.

“And I meant it, then. All of this... happened later. But I will keep this promise.”

Sam looked at him, then gave a short, sharp nod. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”

There are no boundaries for what a few clever minds, once they put their heads together, can do; and Sam Winchester was indeed, as Crowley had imagined, an excellent, albeit young, lawyer.

“My brother is innocent” Sam insisted. “The autopsy report says Mr. Roman must have been killed one to two hours before the police found him. Do you really think he stayed near the body of the man he’d murdered for an hour?”

“Maybe your brother was looking for something” the police man insisted.

Crowley sighed and dragged both Charlie and Sam out of the place. When Sam tried to protest, he shook his head. “I know the type. We won’t get him out unless we present the murderer to him on a silver platter.”

“Thank God you’re good at your job” Charlie said.

“I am.”

Still, Crowley thought, someone like Dick Roman was bound to have made a few enemies along the way.

This proved to be true later that day, when they broke into his office, Sam quietly complaining. “Is this what you drag my brother into on a regular basis? Small wonder he’s in jail –“

“Would you stop nagging at me for one second? I’m trying to get him out, for Christ’s sake –“

“Nothing so far in here” Charlie, who had happily agreed to breaking and entering and had immediately hacked into Roman’s computer as soon as they entered the room, reported.

“Good, now let’s see –“

Crowley went through the desk while Sam automatically searched through the files in the drawer.

“I can’t believe it” he breathed two minutes later.

“What is it, Moose?”

He stared at Crowley.

“Squirrel is already in use.”

“Yeah, right... anyway, the guy has a binder labelled “death threats.””

“That’s useful” Charlie said.

“Yes, but don’t you think this is... weird?” Sam asked.

“You clearly haven’t talked to your brother yet” Crowley mumbled as he took the file out of his hands.

“What is that supposed to mean –“

“Let’s see” Crowley said, “We can discount the extremely angry ones – they usually just bark. But the subtle ones...”

“How do you know that?” Sam demanded. “You can’t just –“

“I’ve been in this business for quite a while.”

Sam shook his head, clearly disapproving, but there was nothing he could do but hope that Crowley was right.

They returned to the Pie Hole with the binder tucked firmly under Crowley’s arm.

“This is depressing” Charlie decided half an hour later, “I don’t think anyone liked this guy – this one’s from his own mother.”

“That’s what happens during a family feud” Crowley said pleasantly.- “My own mother wanted to kill me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Trust me I do.”

Sam looked at them, then apparently decided he wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole and just shook his head.

Eventually, he said, “Wait... this one sounds about right.”

“Why?” Crowley asked, taking the letter. “Hm... business-like, so he means it... Okay, that does sound nasty... Oh, and it’s Arthur Ketch! I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“To call Arthur Ketch a asshole of a coyote would be an insult to the baby snatchers.”

Sam blinked. “Alright. I am going to ignore about fifty percent of what you’re saying from now on.”

“My mother always fared well with that technique” he conceded, anticipating the meeting with Ketch already; he always felt like this when he knew he was getting close, and of course this time something was at stake, Dean was at stake. “We need to go see Arthur ketch. Now.”

Charlie was already getting up when Sam said, “Wait. You think this guy has committed murder... and you’re going to accuse him to his face? Did I get that right?”

“Of course, Moose. What else are we supposed to do?”

“You...” Sam sighed. “What did my brother get himself into?”

“Don’t worry, we’re getting him out” Charlie said cheerfully.

Sam didn’t answer, but he still accompanied them. 

Arthur Ketch welcomed them into his office.

Crowley had made a few deals with him over the years – although none since he had met Dean, he realized – and had come to thoroughly dislike the man. He could have lived with his cold and conniving nature – after all, both were insults that were routinely thrown at Crowley himself – but there was something slimy in his attitude, something begging for approval, and that he could not abide.

“Mr Crowley! Long time no see.”

“Indeed” he answered, rolling his eyes; as always, Ketch had made sure his accent sounded even more British than it had to. Compared to him, Crowley himself sounded almost American.

“What can I do for you – and your friends?” he asked, his eyes sliding over Sam and Charlie with equal hunger.

Now, Crowley had never condemned any sexuality – one of the few things he wasn’t was a hypocrite – but he’d never liked the way Ketch looked at people he found attractive.

Thankfully, the disdain between them was mutual.

“Did you hear of Dick Roman’s death?” he asked.

“Oh yes. A tragic loss to the business world” he answered, but his eyes were laughing.

He didn’t think they could prove anything.

“What do you say to this”? Crowley asked, holding out a copy of Ketch’s letter.

He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I am sure Mr. Roman got a lot of those. It would have been far more suspicious if there hadn’t been one of mine, don’t you think?”

Crowley had to admit he was right, but then he’d always thought Ketch was clever.

“He definitely did it” Charlie decided as soon as they left the building. “Did you see that murderous gleam in his eyes? Haven’t seen that since Khan decided to hurt Kirk by –“

“Are you using –“ Sam began, but Crowley interrupted him.

“Yes, he definitely did it, the problem is we need proof.”

“Do we have to break into the morgue?” Charlie asked, her eyes sparkling.

She was enjoying herself a bit too much, Crowley decided. “No need to break in, I have my methods.”

“Of course you do” Sam muttered, if only to himself.

Soon enough, they were at the morgue.

“He was strangled alright” Crowley said calmly.

Even if Dean hadn’t been disturbed, Roman probably wouldn’t have been able to talk.

“So do you think the killer left DNA?” Charlie asked while Sam just eyed the corpse.

“He was definitely strangled with some kind of cord, so good luck with that”.

“There has to be something... what about his personal effects?”

Charlie was remarkably efficient, Crowley reflected as she went through everything that had been found on the body (once again, it hadn’t been difficult to get there, thanks to his contacts within law enforcement). They should bring her along more often.

“I knew it! Someone like this guy wouldn’t walk around without protecting himself – or rather, without making sure he got proof of people threatening him” Charlie announced with a flourish as he held up –

“His tie?” Sam asked. “What –“

“A small recording device sown in, I presume?” Crowley asked calmly, even though he was angry at himself that he hadn’t been the one to find it.

He’d been too worried about Dean.

He should probably spend some time alone after this, he decided. The Pie Maker was taking up way too much of his thoughts, these past few weeks.

That same evening, the doors of the jail opened for the Pie Maker as they closed behind Mr. Ketch for good.

But he couldn’t feel quite as happy about that as he should have been.

Because he knew his brother would ask him a question, and that he would have to give the dreaded answer this time.

Charlie had immediately drawn him into an enthusiastic hug. Dean’s eyes met Crowley’s as she was still trying to squeeze all the jail air out of his lungs, and they nodded at one another.

After she’d let go, he turned to his brother, who seemed conflicted whether to hug him as well.

He’d clear that up, at least.

“It’s time to keep my promise, isn’t it” Dean sighed, sure that Sam would run for the hills – if not because of his powers, then because of what he’d only ever told Crowley – that their parents’ deaths were his fault.

But still –

It was only fair Sam should get to hear the story from Dean.

And then there was someone else –

He turned to Charlie.

She’d been his friend long enough; if he was being honest, she had grounded him, given him a reason to get up in the morning, always cheerful, always friendly, even on the darkest of days.

“Charlie... I think you’ll want to hear this too.”

“Here” Crowley said dramatically as he put two cages on the table, one containing a dead rat, and one another who was very much alive.

“Dude, that’s my kitchen – wait did you –“

“Relax, Juliet caught them. She was a bit overenthusiastic –“

“Juliet?” Sam asked.

“His dog” Dean answered. “She and Lancelot would get along great, I bet.”

Sam looked sceptical.

“So what are you trying to prove here?” Charlie asked. “I fully expected you to blow a fuse, but seriously – only one comment? What are the rats –“

“Because this makes it easy” Dean sighed. “Thanks, Crowley. Although I could have done with insects or something –“

“Juliet is rather big for her breed, how is she supposed to –“

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s get this over with.”

Dean sat down and looked at the cages. This was it. In a minute, he’d either have lost his brother and his best friend in one swoop, or...

Or...

He had no idea.

He almost jumped when Crowley squeezed his shoulder – in support, as he realized, feeling Sam’s eyes on them.

He cleared his throat. “Sammy, I promised you I’d tell you the truth and here I am. Would you please make sure the rat is truly dead?”

“What is this, some crazy magic trick`?” he asked.

“Please, Sam. It’s important.”

With obvious confusion, Sam made certain that the animal was dead. Juliet had done a thorough job.

“Now what –“

Dean reached through the bars and touched the rat.

IT jumped up immediately.

Sam sprang up too, his eyes wide. “What...”

“Please, wait a minute” Dean begged, “Just a minute”.

Since he was telling Sam the truth, he was determined to tell him the whole truth.

He didn’t look at him, instead he watched the seconds tick by on his cell phone.

A minute passed.

He didn’t have to see it to know the other rat had just died.

When he raised his head, Sam was staring at the two cages, his mouth hanging open. “But... how...”

“This is what I did to Lancelot” Dean explained, suddenly feeling very tired. “I was a child, and I didn’t know. I suppose an animal from around our neighbourhood died.”

Sam was still staring at the rats. “But then... Lancelot already died once” he said slowly, “And you brought him back.”

“Yes. There are only two rules: I touch something I brought back, it dies again and forever this time; and if that something stays alive for more than a minute, well...” he gestured towards the now-dead rat before finally meeting Sam’s eyes again.

And what he saw in them was a suspicion, almost knowledge –

“When – when Mom and Dad – did you?” He couldn’t finish the question.

Dean laughed, sharp and bitter; Crowley’s hand came to rest at the small of his back and he barely even noticed. “Yes. Yes I did. Why do you think they both died on the same day? Mom just – collapsed and I didn’t know. I didn’t know what would happen. Dad came back at that moment, and – she touched me when she tried to get to him...”

He stopped talking. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had said made any sense, but his brother seemed to have understood.

Sam looked at him.

Then, without a word, he got up and left.

Only when a drop landed on his hand did Dean realize he’d started to cry.

How freaking embarrassing, that was the second time he bawled in front of Crowley, plus his best friend –

Charlie had yet to say anything. He wondered if she’d leave to, closing his eyes.

He heard her indeed get up, but the next moment, she gathered him in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault” she muttered into his hair, “You were just a kid. Like you said. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean heard Crowley mumble something about “Taking care of those” and understood he was carrying the rats away.

“He’s never going to forgive me, is he” he mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder.

He thought Crowley had already left, but from the direction of the door he still heard his reply, “It would be his loss if he didn’t.”

Dean didn’t know how long he cried for, but when he was done, he drew back and sniffled. “Sorry, Charlie. I’ll pay for the shirt.”

“Don’t be overdramatic, it’s nothing. Are you feeling better?”

He nodded. At least his secret was out, now. At least that burden was gone.

“You know” she grinned, “It’s actually kind of cool to have a boss with superpowers.”

“Not that cool to have them” he answered simply.

She immediately grew serious again. “Of course. Is that why you don’t like touching people?”

“Yes. If I get used – if I get too attached – God knows what I might do:”

“You’d do the right thing. You always do.”

He snorted. “Pretty sure my parents would disagree.”

2Dean, look at me. You were a child, and you didn’t know. This isn’t your fault.”

“But what if – “

“No what ifs. You were a kid, you were scared, and you didn’t know what to do. I am certain Sam will see it that way eventually.”

“Or not and he’s calling CNN right now to talk about his brother’s magical touch.”

“He won’t do that, Dean. Trust me-“

“I am trying my best” he promised.

At least when they came to drag him into the spotlight he’d have his best friend by his side.

“I’m sorry” Dean finally said after he had calmed down. “I didn’t mean to –“

“Hey, it’s alright. We all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes... Although I’m not sure Crowley didn’t want to be that particular shoulder today.”

“He’s probably glad you provided him with an out” he said.

“Oh, hush. Don’t think I haven’t see the eye sex.”

Dean shook his head. “What if Sam never comes back?”

“Then I agree with Crowley. It would be his loss.”

“How are you not freaking out about this?” he asked. “I just proved to you that I can bring the dead back to live, my brother ran away, and yet you’re still here –“

“Dean, I’ve spent my whole life playing D&D and wishing magic was real. I won’t freak out because I learn it is.”

“That’s... actually pretty good” Deans aid carefully. He wasn’t used to good things happening to him.

“Exactly, good things do happen. Sam will return, you just have to give him time.”

He wanted to believe her, but he still wasn’t quite sure he could.

Fergus Crowley knew that it had been the right thing to leave Charlie and Dean alone. She had known him far longer than Crowley, and she would know how to calm him down.

After all, the one time Dean cried in front of him, he’d been drunk.

Still, what worried him far more was that feeling that had once more settled in his gut.

He wanted to be the one to comfort the Pie Maker, to make him feel better.

He was not used to such emotions, and he didn’t want to get used to them.

The problem was that he suspected he would have to, if he and Dean Winchester continued their... association.

Charlie had finally left him alone at his own insistence. Dean had wanted to be alone with his thoughts, only for a while.

As he watched darkness descend over the city through his living room window, he thought of Sam. Was he safe? Had he found a hotel? If not, where was he staying?

All his old sense of protection had returned the second he’d set eyes on Sam, but what could he do? He’d probably never see him again. If only he hadn’t demanded answers...

For a second, he was almost angry at Crowley for bringing his brother into this. But he’d only wanted his best. In the end, it wasn’t his fault.

No, it was Dean’s fault. Dean’s and his powers.

Quite strangely, he found himself wishing Crowley was here. True, he’d looked after him when he was drunk, but that didn’t mean Dean enjoyed his company.

At least that was what he was busy telling himself when there was a knock on the door.

Theoretically, the P.I. knew there was very little he could do about the situation with Dean’s brother, and that he shouldn’t interfere.

And yet he found himself in front of his door, wondering what he was doing. He’d never really felt the need to comfort or be there for anyone, so why now? Why him?

He had not yet found the answers to these questions when the Pie Maker opened the door.

“Crowley?”

“Squirrel. I was nearby and thought I’d check how the family reunion is going...”

It was the wrong thing to say, he could read it in Dean’s face.

“Wonderful. When even you are feeling sorry for me –“

“I’m not feeling sorry for you. I assure you I got rid of such emotions a long time ago.”

At least Dean laughed at that. “Might as well come in. I’ve been experimenting on a few new flavours; you can tell me if you like them.”

He frowned. “Pie, I assume.”

“Yes, pie, Mr. Not Sweet Tooth. Come on.”

Although the P.I. would never have admitted it, at this point he would have done anything to make the Pie Maker feel better; and so he decided to taste the sweets he normally would have scorned.

After three pies, it became clear that Crowley wouldn’t be as easily won over as Charlie had always assumed he would.

Dean still didn’t give up. It gave him something else to think about than Sammy out there.

“And this” he announced with a flourish, “Is a peach pie. You’ll love it.”

“That’s what you said about the other three” Crowley complained.

“Never give up, that’s what I say. There’s the right sort of pie out there for everyone if one just knows how to make them right. Now, come on; try the peach pie.”

Crowley sighed but did as he was told.

And then, on this day, in the kitchen of the man who baked pies and woke the dead, a miracle occurred.

Fergus Crowley found that he liked it.

“There it is” Dean said with satisfaction.

“i haven’t said anything.”

“Do you really think an old pie professional like me doesn’t know immediately?”

He had to concede the point. “It is good.”

“Charlie will be angry that she wasn’t here, Peaches.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? It was the peaches who made the miracle happen, wasn’t it?”

Crowley grumbled a bit about it, but there was nothing he could do now that he had admitted the impossible was indeed possible.

Crowley knew that he was probably outstaying his welcome, but Dean seemed to feel better and better as time went on and for some reason he still couldn’t name that made him feel good, in turn.

They were currently watching some awful medical drama that Dean was riveted by and Crowley was rather sure had been created directly in Hell to torment him.

“And why is he wearing cowboy boots, that’s hardly appropriate – “

“Crowley, this isn’t supposed to be accurate.”

“But why should I carte then –“

“For God’s sake you’re just supposed to have fun and lust after Doctor Sexy. So why don’t you do that.”

“Because I do not find Doctor Sexy particularly sexy.”

“Excuse you, he wears cowboy boots.”

“In that case perhaps I should invest in some hideous footwear” he drawled.

Dean looked at him and – was that a blush?

Yes, he was definitely blushing.

How ... interesting.

Dean’s gaze wandered down to his lips. Without meaning to, he licked them.

Dean’s eyes snapped back to his.

They leaned forward –

A knock on the door.

As the Pie Maker hastened to open the door, the P.I. couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that knock had interrupted – and what they should do about it, if anything at all.

He opened it to find Sam.

“Sammy?”

Without another word, Sam drew him into a hug. Dean stiffened.

“I’m sorry for storming off” his giant of a brother mumbled.

“You had every right to –“

“No I didn’t” he said, letting go of Dean. “I’m sorry, I just – needed some time to take it all in. But you were ten. You weren’t even in high school yet! How were you supposed to know what to do?”

Dean hugged him back, holding on tight.

Crowley cleared his throat behind them. “Well, then, now that the brothers are reunited... exit stage Crowley. Squirrel, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah” he managed to say, turning away from Sam to watch him walk out the door.

Dear God, what had he been about to do when Sam had intervened? He and Crowley were business partners, and to be precise, he’d blackmailed him into that in the first place.

He didn’t even like Crowley, let alone this way.

He didn’t.

“Say” Sam began, drawing back, “That was weird even for Crowley. Did something happen?”

What was he supposed to say? No but almost and I kind of would have wanted it to happen only for the part where I shouldn’t?

“Found a pie he likes. Peach.”

“And that’s strange?”

“For Crowley, yeah. Guy doesn’t like sweets much.”

Sam seemed to accept the explanation. “Can we talk?”

Dean nodded.

The brothers talked until late into the night, slowly learning more about each other. After twenty years of silence, they finally told each other the truth.

“Always knew you’d make it as a lawyer, Sam” Dean said.

“It was as much being stubborn as actually being any good, I’d say”.

“Come off it, you always wanted to go for law, even when we were kids.”

He nodded. “Speaking of when we were kids... So you touched Lancelot?”

Dean winced, but still told him the truth. About how he hadn’t paid attention, the car, Lancelot’s dead body.

“Any idea how long he will...”

“None. I’ve brought no one else back. It’s why I kept my distance.”

Sam nodded. “I can understand, finally. I just thought... I just thought you didn’t care.”

“That’s not true. I cared too much.”

He still feared something would happen to Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Hell, even Crowley, and he’d be faced with the choice to bring them back but know it would mean killing someone else, and that he wouldn’t –

He swallowed and tried to focus on Sam being back in his life. It was more than he’d ever have dared asked for.

“Dean” Sam said slowly, “I was angry at you for years. I won’t deny that. But... I always assumed there had to be a reason. That’s why I came here the second Crowley told me you were in trouble. I knew you couldn’t have done what they said you had.”

“Sammy...”

“It’s true. I mean, Dean – you have superpowers, and yet you still decided to bake pies instead of profiting from them. If that doesn’t tell people what kind of man you are...”

“I do help Crowley” he said sheepishly, because even though most of the time he felt annoyed that the P.I. had blackmailed him into working with him...

The truth was that he enjoyed it, enjoyed solving cases and seeking justice, helping families to heal after a tragedy.

And Crowley wasn’t bad company, either.

He only had to remember what had almost happened to prove that.

He sighed.

“Dean? I did interrupt you and Crowley, didn’t I.”

“Sammy, do me the favour and don’t ask.”

While the brothers were busy forging a new bond, the P.I., who had quickly returned to his own apartment after being interrupted, was busy trying to stomp all traces of a new-forged bond in his heart before it could become a problem.

Being completely unaccustomed to wanting someone more than in a physical manner, he was sadly not up to the task.

Normally when a day hadn’t gone the way he wanted, he would have visited the Pie Hole to see Dean, and that realization told him all he needed to know.

He was already half-way to... having feelings for the younger man, and he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to go down the slippery slope.

Crowley had always been careful not to grow attached to anyone. People simply didn’t seem to fit into his life.

And yet Dean Winchester had somehow managed to find a place for himself in Crowley’s existence.

It didn’t make any sense.

He’d best keep his distance for a few weeks, he decided, and solve a few cases on his own, just until those... feelings went away.

“Don’t look so glum, boss. I’m sure he’ll show up any minute now” Charlie said a few weeks later, but he could tell even her cheerfulness was forced.

There had been no calls or visits from Crowley since the night they had almost kissed, and Dean had early on decided that he had got the message.

That didn’t mean he didn’t at least want to know the guy was okay. Just... a little text or something saying that he was alright would have been quite enough.

Alright, that was a lie, but still, was it too much to ask to at least wanting to be told goodbye after over a year of them solving cases together?

Dean only now realised how much time he had actually spent with Crowley, how many late night stake outs they had had, how often he’d met him in the morgue to wake someone up.

How often they had hung out even after they had solved a case for no other reason than they could.

And Dean only now admitted to himself just how used he’d gotten to the status quo, and that he really wouldn’t have had anything against Crowley kissing him that night.

Of course he’d only know after the P.I. had already fled once and for all. Of course he would.

The one good thing that have come out of all this was that Sam was back in his life. He was even making plans to move back to Kansas, and Dean had talked to Uncle Bobby for the first time in years last week. Only on the phone, but still.

He hadn’t yet confessed the whole truth – was uncertain if he would – but it was a new beginning.

And if Crowley didn’t want to share that with him – that wasn’t Dean’s problem, except where it was.

He sighed.  

“Excuse me” a young man interrupted his thoughts, “Are you called Dean, by any chance?”

He looked up to find a young dark-haired man starting at him. “Depends on who’s asking?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just – my father’s in the hospital, he’s hurt rather badly, and when he woke up for a short while, he mumbled something about “peach pie” and someone named “Dean”, and I didn’t think much of it until I saw this place and thought I might as well ask –“

Dean’s throat felt suddenly dry. He swallowed. “You aren’t – he isn’t – your father’s not a P.I., is he?”

The man’s face told Dean everything.

Ten minutes later, after a hasty explanation to Charlie, who immediately agreed that she would stay behind and look after the Pie Hole, Dean was sitting in a taxi with – Crowley’s son.

“I didn’t know Crowley had a son” were the first words out of his mouth. He winced. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

All his years of staying away from human contact certainly hadn’t helped his social skills.

“It’s fine. Father and I never really got along. Mom raised me on her own, and after she was gone... I didn’t even know he had me listed as his emergency contact.”

“They probably told him he had to have one and he didn’t think he’d need it” Dean said.

“Sounds like him” Gavin said bitterly and he winced.

“I didn’t mean to say – he’s actually a good friend of mine. He –“

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I know my father, and he wouldn’t just ask for any friend upon waking up. Never imagined he’d care enough for anyone to be that important to him, but still...”

“Did he realize you were there?” Dean asked, wondering if Gavin was feeling understandably jealous that his father had asked for someone else instead for him.

“Yes. Even squeezed my hand when I talked to him. The doctors say it’s a good sign.” He fell silent.

After a few moments, Dean asked, “What happened?”

Gavin told him.

The facts were these.

Fergus Crowley, P.I. and at the moment very frustrated man who would have liked to be someone’s lover except he was unable to admit that simple fact to himself, was once more chasing a man over a rooftop.

Except that this time, he was chasing a young man in his prime. Tobias Kemp, twenty-eight years, eleven months, one week, three days and seventy-two minutes old had no intention of falling to his death; and so he managed the jump between two high buildings.

Crowley, to his shame and unwelcome surprise, miscalculated the distance.

As he fell down from almost as high a building as Ellsworth had one the day he had first met Dean, he found he had only two regrets:

Firstly, that he had never tried to build a better relationship with his son.

And second, that he hadn’t kissed Dean that night.

So, when he became semi-conscious and realized one of his regrets might already be on its way to fixed, he uttered the other name that meant the world to him.

Dean didn’t really know what to do. Gavin had introduced him to the nurse’s as his father’s boyfriend – this time he hadn’t protested son he would be allowed in to visit – and gone off in search of the doctor, leaving Dean in Crowley’s room.

Of course he had enough money to get that.

It didn’t seem right to see him all wrapped up in bandages, pale and hurt in a hospital bed. Crowley was always on top of things. Crowley always came through.

“Hey Peaches” he managed to say, “Have to say, you always know how to surprise me. But this one’s not exactly the surprise I wanted.”

He stood at his bed, unsure whether or not to take his hand, then decided to go for it. “I met Gavin. Seems like a good man. By the way, mister, you���ll hear about this when you wake up. Charlie’s going to have your hide for not telling us you had a kid.”

He stuttered when he arrived at the word “when” and hated himself for it. Of course Crowley would wake up. He had to.

Whether or not he had to, he was destined to take his time to decide one way or another. Three weeks later, there had been no changes.

Dean didn’t know what he would have done without Charlie and Sam helping him support Gavin, or talking to Bobby on the phone.

But even with them – at this point, it had become pretty obvious that they knew about his feelings for the guy who had selfishly blackmailed him into solving crimes, and were remarkably relaxed about it – Dean couldn’t deny that sometimes – sometimes he thought...

“Do you think” he asked quietly one day, them having left Gavin at Crowley’s side to go back to the Pie Hole to rest, “if he doesn’t wake up, he’d still like to... wake up for a minute? To say goodbye to Gavin?”

Sam and Charlie traded a glance.

“I think” his brother finally said carefully, “Gavin wouldn’t be the only one he’d wish farewell.”

Dean looked away. His unspoken fear that he wouldn’t be able to –

“If it comes to that” Charlie said suddenly, “And I mean if it comes to that, I’ll be there, and I’ll push you two against one another if need be, so neither you nor Gavin have to feel guilty.”

His throat constricted. “Charlie –“

“It’s the least I can do” she said softly, taking his hand. “Dean, you could have thrown me out when I came here and told you I was being searched for, but you looked after me.”

“And vice versa” he replied.

She nodded. “So what’s one more little favour between friends?”

He laughed for the first time in days.

But there would be no miracle performed by the Pie Maker in order to bestow life upon Crowley for one more tearful minute.

Instead, he’d learn that sometimes miracles simply occur on their own.

For lack of a better thing to do, Dean was reading to Crowley while Gavin took a much-needed nap.

“With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs –“

“Frankenstein, Squirrel, really?”

The book dropped out of his hands. “Crowley?”

“Yes.” He looked at Dean and groaned. “Oh God. Am I alive?”

“Yes” he said, getting up.

“Will I be alive for longer than –“

“I didn’t touch you to bring you back, if that’s what you mean. You’ve been alive this whole time, and if I’ve got any say in the matter, you will be for some years to come!”

He rang for the doctors.

What followed was a flurry of Gavin sto9rming in as well as the professionals, people rejoicing, tests being performed.

It should take another three days for Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley to be alone in his room together again.

More than enough time for a hardened P.I. to decide exactly what he was going to do.

Gavin had sent Dean in today, claiming that he needed to rest; but Dean had seen the looks he, Charlie and Sam were giving him.

He just didn’t know what they expected to happen. IF Crowley were interested, he’d have come around instead of falling of buildings.

“Hey, Crowley.”

“Dean. Would you please come here?”

He didn’t know what awaited him, but he did sit down on the chair next to Crowley’s bed.

He rolled his eyes. “I meant here” he said, patting the bedding with his right hand that miraculously wasn’t broken.

Dean obeyed, considering he’d almost died a month ago.

“What –“

Crowley gestured impatiently, then grimaced. “Help me out here. I can’t move that well yet.”

“What do you mean –“

“In case you haven’t noticed Squirrel, I take what I want. And right now, you’re slightly out of reach so...”

“Crowley...”

“May I kiss you, Dean?”

His heart started beating wildly. “That... would make everything complicated” he said slowly.

“Yes” Crowley confirmed.

“And I mean, your son is outside. You two will have to figure out where to go from here.”

“Yes” Crowley repeated.

“And then there’s Sammy, and Charlie’s still somewhat of a criminal if you ask the police, and did I mention my brother has an undead immortal dog...”

“How much longer are you going to talk, I’d really like to get to the –“

“My point is” Dean said carefully, “This sounds awfully like an adventure. IF we decide to go for it, that is. And you know how I feel about those.”

Crowley was silent.

“On the other hand, my life is already so crazy, why not?”

And Dean leaned forward and kissed Crowley.

It might have been a somewhat strange way for happily ever after to begin, but Dean Winchester and Crowley found they didn’t care.

Fifty years later

He didn’t wake up as he usually did unless there was an emergency – calmly, relaxed and ready to face the day; no, it was a sudden jolting into consciousness; and as he registered the mixture of love and grief on his husband’s face and the distance between them, as if Dean was careful not to touch him, he understood.

“One more minute?”

“More like fifty-five seconds” he said, his voice gentle. “When I woke up – you were already cold. I...” he trailed off.

Died in his sleep then, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, next to his still dashing husband. Not a bad way to go by any stretch of the imagination.

They had talked about this, of course they had, a few years ago, briefly. He’d explained to his family he’d rather only have Dean at his side, as it had all begun, half a century ago.

“This is it, then. I have to say, it has been thoroughly entertaining. Give the others my love, would you?”

Now and then he’d thought about what he’d say to him during the last minute of his life. Now, after he’d told him this, he found himself simply looking at Dean, cherishing the sight while he still could. There was nothing to say, he realized, because they’d never left anything unsaid during their time together.  

Dean smiled; there were tears gathering in his eyes, and Crowley ached to wipe them off but forced himself not to. “It was quite the wild ride, wasn’t it.”

He nodded.

Dean swallowed. “You better wait for me, mister, wherever you end up because I am going to find you.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

They looked at one another; the seconds ticked by; and Crowley knew it was time to go. “You were the first kiss in my life that truly mattered. Want to be my last?”

Dean smiled through his tears. “I love you, Peaches.”

“And I love you, Squirrel.”

Dean leaned in and Crowley closed his eyes, accepting his kiss.

Sometime later

He’d got used enough to the memories of Dean that he shared his Heaven with that he knew immediately this was different. He’d just woken up from what he still stubbornly called “A good night’s sleep” and opened his eyes to find Dean watching him.

“You could have woken me up” he said as he reached out and confirmed that his husband was, indeed, here with him.

“You’ve been waiting long enough, figured I could do a little waiting myself” Dean answered, leaning into his touch.

“I missed you” he confessed.

“Right back at you.”

“How did you –“

“Same as you, in my sleep. Emma woke me up to say goodbye to them all.”

Dean had been hesitant at first to father a child, since he’d been scared she’d inherit his abilities; Crowley had assured him again and again that they’d deal with it when it came to it, and they had, admirably, if he said so himself.

“Gavin told me to look after you so you don’t get into trouble in the afterlife” Dean added with a fond smile on his lips.

“Ready for eternity, Squirrel?”

“With you, Peaches? Always.”

Dean rolled over him so he lay on top, grinned, and leaned down to kiss him.

At this very moment in their own personal Heaven, Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley no longer cared about how old they both were.

They had all the time in the world.

[meowmerson]

What kind of texters do you think Tom and Hermione would be? Like would Tom be the type to write long lengthy msgs to Hermione, just for her to reply with ‘K’ ?? Or Tom would randomly text Hermione at 2am because that’s the time his heart gets softer than huggies??

ohhhhh bitch

Tom would be the type to leave you on read all the fucking time, even--and especially--when he’s being asked an important question. It would drive Hermione fucking crazy. 

Hermione would nag over text at all hours of the day/night literally 24/7

H - 2:27 AM - You left your lecture notes at my house!!!

H - 2:27 AM - Why do you keep doing this

H - 2:27 AM - You’re going to fail if you don’t study

H - 2:27 AM - You can’t rely on your intelligence to let you coast through university Tom this is important

H - 2:27 AM - I won’t date a failure 

(Read at 2:34 AM)

H - 2:45 AM - THOMAS RESPOND NOW

Tom would ask her a question that would piss her off, and when she wouldn’t respond he’d text her his assumption of her response and she’d just be like ‘yup.’ this is a normal occurrence for them

T - 11:31 AM - Are you going to have an aneurism if we skip Slughorn’s lecture today

T - 11:31 AM - That class is fucking useless and you know he’ll mark us present whether we’re there or not

(Read at 11:32 AM)

T - 11:33 AM - Hermione

(Read at 11:33 AM) 

T - 11:35 AM - “Tom, attendance is vital in truly understanding and connecting with the content in any university class and my love for you is conditional upon whether or not you uphold your 4.0 GPA.”

H - 11:35 AM -  👍🏻

T - 11:36 AM - I’ll die of boredom and it will be your fault

Tom will secretly text her all the things he hates about her friends when they’re around them 

T - 7:44 PM - What the fuck is that on his upper lip is that supposed to be a mustache I’m appalled

H - 7:45 PM - Tom stop!!

T - 7:46 PM - If I have to listen this ginger fuck wax poetic about his girlfriend’s fake tits then you have to listen to my agony

H - 7:47 PM - Thomas.

T - 7:47 PM - I don’t know why you’re trying to be stern I can see you laughing

Tom will text her sweet things usually during the day because he is surrounded by so many people he hates that it reminds him how much he doesn’t hate Hermione

T - 1:14 PM - I’m happy that out of all the fucking sheep in this world I’m trapped in eternal monogamy with you

H - 1:27 PM - Did you just unironically use the word sheep as an insult

or like

T - 10:41 AM - I never cared about anything until I met you

(Read at 10:42 AM)

H - 10:54 AM - You cared about you, though

T - 10:54 AM - Anything other than myself

H - 10:55 AM - Thank you

T - 10:55 AM - Did you just thank me for saying I care about you

H - 10:56 AM - ?? no I 

H - 10:56 AM - I meant thank you for sharing

H - 10:56 AM - no like thank you for being open, jesus christ, i love you too you asshole you know what i mean

OR ALSO

T - 12:02 PM - Slughorn just called you my girlfriend

H - 12:04 PM - Well I am aren’t I?

T - 12:04 PM - Yes.

T - 12:09 PM - I just liked the way it sounded.

H - 12:09 PM - You liked me being referred to as your girlfriend?

T - 12:10 PM - I liked you being referred to as mine.

He doesn’t say a lot of nice things out loud but he will say them over text

At night they’re assholes to each other

I mean they’re always assholes to each other but still

H - 1:24 AM - I miss you why did you go home you should have stayed in bed with me

T - 1:25 AM - You hog all the blankets and you snore

H - 1:26 AM - You know what you’re right I would have smothered you in your sleep never mind fuck you

T - 1:27 AM - You wouldn’t risk jail time until after you got your doctorate I’m not afraid of you

or also

T - 7:14 PM - I just saw a homeless woman screaming at a man about the cruelty of his leather coat and she reminded me of you

H - 7:15 PM - Because she is conscious of the environmental impact and unethical practices of the leather industry?

T - 7:15 PM - Because she was shrill and annoying and her hair looked like something you pull out of a hairbrush

H - 7:17 PM - Hey so we’re breaking up asshole

They’re always texting like all the time they’re that couple

Hermione will text tom pictures of quotes in her textbooks that she either knows he will love or knows he will hate

Tom will subtly record people in his class who have dumb answers to questions and send them to Hermione so they can share in the idiocy

T - 10:42 AM - If I have to listen to this then so do you

When Hermione’s friends see her texts with Tom they’re always surprised that he’s actually verbal in any way because irl he doesn’t talk much or react much to anything at all ever

Hermione is always like ‘he’s just all subtext, you have to read into him more’ like she doesn’t find his texting surprising at all because she knows how to read the subtle nuances of his expression

No one reads Tom’s messages with Hermione because if his friends ever touched his phone he would literally break their fucking fingers so they have no opinion 

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Family Caregivers, Routinely Left Off Vaccine Lists, Worry What Would Happen ‘If I Get Sick’

Robin Davidson entered the lobby of Houston Methodist Hospital, where her 89-year-old father, Joe, was being treated for a flare-up of congestive heart failure.

This story also ran on CNN. It can be republished for free.

Before her stretched a line of people waiting to get covid-19 vaccines. “It was agonizing to know that I couldn’t get in that line,” said Davidson, 50, who is devoted to her father and usually cares for him full time. “If I get sick, what would happen to him?”

Tens of thousands of middle-aged sons and daughters caring for older relatives with serious ailments but too young to qualify for a vaccine themselves are similarly terrified of becoming ill and wondering when they can get protected against the coronavirus.

Like aides and other workers in nursing homes, these family caregivers routinely administer medications, monitor blood pressure, cook, clean and help relatives wash, get dressed and use the toilet, among many other responsibilities. But they do so in apartments and houses, not in long-term care institutions — and they’re not paid.

“In all but name, they’re essential health care workers, taking care of patients who are very sick, many of whom are completely reliant upon them, some of whom are dying,” said Katherine Ornstein, a caregiving expert and associate professor of geriatrics and palliative medicine at Mount Sinai’s medical school in New York City. “Yet, we don’t recognize or support them as such, and that’s a tragedy.”

The distinction is critically important because health care workers have been prioritized to get covid vaccines, along with vulnerable older adults in nursing homes and assisted living facilities. But family members caring for equally vulnerable seniors living in the community are grouped with the general population in most states and may not get vaccines for months.

The exception: Older caregivers can qualify for vaccines by virtue of their age as states approve vaccines for adults ages 65, 70 or 75 and above. A few states have moved family caregivers into phase 1a of their vaccine rollouts, the top priority tier. Notably, South Carolina has done so for families caring for medically fragile children, and Illinois has given that designation to families caring for relatives of all ages with significant disabilities.

Arizona is also trying to accommodate caregivers who accompany older residents to vaccination sites, Dr. Cara Christ, director of the state’s Department of Health Services, said Monday during a Zoom briefing for President Joe Biden. Comprehensive data about which states are granting priority status to family caregivers is not available.

Meanwhile, the Department of Veterans Affairs recently announced plans to offer vaccines to people participating in its Program of Comprehensive Assistance for Family Caregivers. That initiative gives financial stipends to family members caring for veterans with serious injuries; 21,612 veterans are enrolled, including 2,310 age 65 or older, according to the VA. Family members can be vaccinated when the veterans they look after become eligible, a spokesperson said.

“The current pandemic has amplified the importance of our caregivers whom we recognize as valuable members of Veterans’ health care teams,” Dr. Richard Stone, VA acting undersecretary for health, said in the announcement.

An estimated 53 million Americans are caregivers, according to a 2020 report. Nearly one-third spend 21 hours or more each week helping older adults and people with disabilities with personal care, household tasks and nursing-style care (giving injections, tending wounds, administering oxygen and more). An estimated 40% are providing high-intensity care, a measure of complicated, time-consuming caregiving demands.

This is the group that should be getting vaccines, not caregivers who live at a distance or who don’t provide direct, hands-on care, said Carol Levine, a senior fellow and former director of the Families and Health Care Project at the United Hospital Fund in New York City.

Rosanne Corcoran, 53, is among them. Her 92-year-old mother, Rose, who has advanced dementia, lives with Corcoran and her family in Collegeville, Pennsylvania, on the second floor of their house. She hasn’t come down the stairs in three years.

“I wouldn’t be able to take her somewhere to get the vaccine. She doesn’t have any stamina,” said Corcoran, who arranges for doctors to make house calls when her mother needs attention. When she called their medical practice recently, an administrator said they didn’t have access to the vaccines.

Corcoran said she “does everything for her mother,” including bathing her, dressing her, feeding her, giving her medications, monitoring her medical needs and responding to her emotional needs. Before the pandemic, a companion came for five hours a day, offering some relief. But last March, Corcoran let the companion go and took on all her mother’s care herself.

Corcoran wishes she could get a vaccination sooner, rather than later. “If I got sick, God forbid, my mother would wind up in a nursing home,” she said. “The thought of my mother having to leave here, where she knows she’s safe and loved, and go to a place like that makes me sick to my stomach.”

Although covid cases are dropping in nursing homes and assisted living facilities as residents and staff members receive vaccines, 36% of deaths during the pandemic have occurred in these settings.

Maggie Ornstein, 42, a caregiving expert who teaches at Sarah Lawrence College, has provided intensive care to her mother, Janet, since Janet experienced a devastating brain aneurism at age 49. For the past 20 years, her mother has lived with Ornstein and her family in Queens, New York.

In a recent opinion piece, Ornstein urged New York officials to recognize family caregivers’ contributions and reclassify them as essential workers. “We’re used to being abandoned by a system that should be helping us and our loved ones,” she told me in a phone conversation. “But the utter neglect of us during this pandemic — it’s shocking.”

Ornstein estimated that if even a quarter of New York’s 2.5 million family caregivers became ill with covid and unable to carry on, the state’s nursing homes would be overwhelmed by applications from desperate families. “We don’t have the infrastructure for this, and yet we’re pretending this problem just doesn’t exist,” she said.

In Tomball, Texas, Robin Davidson’s father was independent before the pandemic, but he began declining as he stopped going out and became more sedentary. For almost a year, Davidson has driven every day to his 11-acre ranch, 5 miles from where she lives, and spent hours tending to him and the property’s upkeep.

“Every day, when I would come in, I would wonder, was I careful enough [to avoid the virus]? Could I have picked something up at the store or getting gas? Am I going to be the reason that he dies? My constant proximity to him and my care for him is terrifying,” she said.

Since her father’s hospitalization, Davidson’s goal is to stabilize him so he can enroll in a clinical trial for congestive heart failure. Medications for that condition no longer work for him, and fluid retention has become a major issue. He’s now home on the ranch after spending more than a week in the hospital and he’s gotten two doses of vaccine — “an indescribable relief,” Davidson said.

Out of the blue, she got a text from the Harris County health department earlier this month, after putting herself on a vaccine waitlist. Vaccines were available, it read, and she quickly signed up and got a shot. Davidson ended up being eligible because she has two chronic medical conditions that raise her risk of covid; Harris County doesn’t officially recognize family caregivers in its vaccine allocation plan, a spokesperson said.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

Family Caregivers, Routinely Left Off Vaccine Lists, Worry What Would Happen ‘If I Get Sick’ published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/