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queenie-ofthe-void · 1 month ago

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Steddie soulmate drabble (shared pain) || 3.9k words || rating: E || tags: homophobic slurs, period-typical homophobia, physical and emotional distress, panic attacks, Canon-divergent soulmate AU, Eddie Munson Whump, Steve Harrington Whump, one brief sex scene (so so brief) between Steve and the girl he brought to the basketball game in S4

Eddie experienced his first soul pain at twelve years old. Younger than most, but not worryingly so. The concern was the intensity of the pain. His momma held him tight, shushed him as he cried about how he feels all alone, doing her best to reassure him that loneliness wasn’t his and that she would never hit him. She held the frozen bag of peas to the blossom of red on his soft, round cheek and rocked him until he fell asleep in her arms.

The pains continued, giving him headaches on and off for years. He always wondered what his Half was going through for Eddie to have this much soul pain before puberty, but he grew used to it, stashing tiny vials of aspirin in his backpack or jacket pocket. The intensity was never as bad as the first time, eventually decreasing to a dull ache when they cropped up. His momma told him stories about people who could temper their pain to spare their other half, a difficult feat for even adult souls who’d spent years bound together. It was more likely the pain for his other half was dulling over time. He hoped it was true, but couldn’t push away the uneasiness he felt lying in bed each night and knowing the feeling wasn’t his.

Eddie was fourteen the first time he felt his own pain connect to his Half. Daddy called him a fag and locked him in his room for the weekend with nothing but the snacks and water bottle in his backpack. Unlike a sharp slap or the break of a bone, the pain of hunger was slow to build. Eddie still felt the tell-tale pop in the back of his mind as his stomach cramped. Unexpectedly, he also felt something almost akin to surprise riding the coattails of the pain. When the surprise faded into a distant comfort, he couldn’t object. Eddie knew this wasn’t normal, and decided from then on out to keep his soul pains a secret.

After his momma died, and his daddy grew drunk and violent, Eddie couldn’t stop his pain from connecting like he knew his Half could. Even after he’d moved in with Wayne, everything from the smallest shove to hushed slurs passed through the invisible bond, and even though pain connections can’t be controlled, most people only sent their most intense pains. It felt like he sent everything. Any little thing that set him off, the signature crack followed by soft comfort settled in his mind.

The only consolation was that he felt less and less of his Half’s pain. Eddie wished that’d meant his Half was happy, with no pain to speak of. Between the dullness of the sensations when he happened to notice, and the immediate comforting response he received at his own suffering, he doubted that was it.

At sixteen Eddie had started looking into what it meant to experience some sort of response after connections, but couldn’t find anything in the low budget collection of soulmate information at Hawkins’ Public Library. Most likely on the banned book list, he figures, since that’s something kids are supposed to learn at home.

Eddie couldn’t help wondering if the stories about Empaths were real. Rare, with absolutely nothing to do with pairings, it’s rumored Empaths experience the emotions of anyone physically close to them, but more importantly, are able to control the intensity of their own emotions and pain as how it’s experienced through their bond. Eddie’s couldn’t find anything about actually sending feelings through the bond as some kind of response. But like with his Daddy, he knows what happens after asking too many questions, so he keeps it to himself.

Eddie’s almost eighteen when there’s an intense, piercing crack behind his eyes. He’d been on his way back from the picnic table out behind school when the sudden pain had him curled up on the forest floor completely out of breath. It took him a few moments to get his bearings back, but he managed to walk to the van and get home.

Wayne made him soup that night, let him put whatever he wanted on TV as long as he held the bag of peas over his bruised eye. At least it was light in color, barely noticeable, and would most likely fade by morning. However it was only a few hours later when shot off like a bullet from the couch, falling to the carpet on his hands and knees. He could hear Wayne saying something to him, could feel the gentle circling of his uncle’s hand on his back. None of it mattered.

Eddie was filled with adrenaline. He’d never had a panic attack before, but his heart pounded as his breaths came in short spurts, the pungent fear squeezing his stomach. His hands vibrated and he clutched the carpet in a white knuckle grip to stave the phantom sensation. After what felt like hours, entirely wrung-out, Wayne let him have two shots of whiskey before climbing into bed.

It was quiet for another year. Unless, of course, he counted his own soul pains that crossed over, which he tried not to. Eddie’s emotions felt more in control of him than the other way around. Pressed into lockers, a scuffle at the picnic table with Hagan, being roughly kissed and then immediately knocked to the ground by Hargrove. It all connected. He tried to temper it, to be strong like his Half, but he always failed. Eddie was a coward, too scared to handle his pain alone. Like clockwork, the warm reassurance of love was quick to follow.

It was November 1984 the first time Eddie thought he was going to die. The panic set in, but unlike a year ago, it didn’t go away. He paced the living room, violently wiping tears from his face because even though the pain wasn’t his, the distress was so palpable he broke into cold sweats. Eddie did everything he could to think of to stave off the adrenaline– jumping jacks, whipping his hands around like a mad-man, screaming his voice hoarse.

Uncle Wayne suggested exercise, reminding him most athletes’ Half’s were people with an abnormal intensity of emotions and chronic pain, since it helps them process the constant stream of excess energy. So for the first time in Eddie Munson’s life, he went for a run.

They started out at a jog, but it wasn’t enough. It felt worse than curling into himself on the ground like a pillbug. The only relief he felt was at a dead sprint, able to focus on the burn of his underutilized muscles. They ran until the adrenaline trickled from his system, and as always, was followed with love and comfort.

Halfway through their third lap around the park, an intense dread hit Eddie so abruptly he fell to his knees and vomited. They’d just made it back inside when Eddie’s vision went white. He came to only a few moments later, as Wayne hauled him across the kitchen and dropped him onto his bed. He held his mouth closed tighter than a vise, keeping every sob and groan deep inside himself to stop it from exploding out of him. Worried he wouldn’t be able to stop sobbing once he started. Wayne watched in horror as purple bloomed across Eddie’s face in real time, like a dye spreading under the skin. He placed a cold, wet cloth over his nephew’s eyes.

Early into the morning, once the crying stopped, the migraine leveled out, he followed his uncle out onto the front porch to share a joint. The swelling in both eyes went away after two days, and he went back to school as usual.

He noticed Harrington looked pretty fucked up, definitely worse than Hargrove. A panicked, fleeting part of Eddie’s brain worried Hargrove could be his Half, but he knew better. There’s always at least some amount of chemistry and attraction between soulmates, and all he needed was the one, ill-fated kiss to remind him his Half was still out there. Kudos to The King’s Half, however. If The Hair himself wasn’t at the hospital, then his Half surely would be. With a face like that, he can only imagine the pain Harrington’s soulmate had to manage during that fight.

It’s the fourth of July, and it’d been almost eight months since the last time he experienced this level of pain. Not his own, of course. No it never seemed to be his own when he’s left gasping for air, nails clenched into Wayne’s hand in the back of an ambulance they can’t afford.

He felt the bruises explode across his face, on his sides, behind his eyes. A sharp stab of pain in his neck lit up every nerve in his body. The howl ripped from him was grotesque, animalistic. His back arched up from the bed, thrashing his limbs into the metal bars of the stretcher until the medics did their best to restrain him. A pinch on the back of his hand. The world started to slow until he was wrapped in heavy darkness.

Four days later there were still yellow, mottled stains on the sides of his ribcage and dark bags under his eyes. A routine of Tylenol during the day and painkillers from his own stash at night helped. Every night, Eddie layed in bed and silently cried. Their pain mixed now and the thought haunted him as much as it comforted. He only wished he could help his Half the same way they always soothed him.

The guilt of his failure to help ate away at him, so it connects. Of course Eddie couldn’t control his emotions enough to spare the person who’s actually hurting, injured with no pain meds to help them, if Eddie had to guess. To top it all off, the cherry on the shit cake was that there's still the warm comfort at the back of his mind. His Half was living in excruciating pain, yet used what little energy they had left to help him with his.

Eventually, Eddie had asked Wayne about different types of connections between Halfs. Not surprisingly he knew a bit more about it than the library, and didn’t hit him for it like his Daddy.

“Each Half is meant to balance out the whole. Most people live somewhere near the middle, mild pain and mild emotional distress.” Eddie nodded, rapt with attention as Wayne continued. “But there’s always gonna be people at the fringes, the extremes. Like how I told ya about athletes usually being paired to trauma survivors. Why d’ya think you’re always so damn depressed after your incidents?” When Eddie had mentioned the soothing presence, Wayne had replied, “yep, sounds like an Empath,” like it was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Wait,” Eddie interrupted, “so the only reason I’m so emotional is because my half is an Empath? Or is it because they get hurt all the time. And if I'm so emotional, does that mean they're athletic?” Questions flooded his mind before Wayne cut him off.

“Could be because you were so young for your first connection. Could be because the severity of their pain made you feel it more. Or, maybe you were born that way, made that way for each other– destiny and all that.”

The pain lessened. The comfort remained. And Eddie felt the whisper of love each morning he woke up and every night before he fell asleep.

~~~ ~~~

Hands underneath Brenda’s shirt, her tongue moving across his bottom lip, anticipation glistens across Steve’s open chest as he grinds down into her. She moans into the kiss and runs her finger tips over his shoulders, grazing her nails down his back. Goosebumps erupt over his skin. He’s panting into her open mouth when his thrusts turn erratic, desperate and rushed. Her legs wrap around him, she crosses her ankles to pull him in closer and a moan crawls from the depths of his chest. His abs clench, hurtling towards his climax when he’s interrupted by the signature pop of a soul pain behind his eyes.

A cold sweat travels down his spine, adrenaline punching him in the gut. Horror claws Steve’s throat, he can’t seem to catch his breath as he hurriedly pulls out of her and falls to the floor. She’s saying something he can’t make out through the screaming urge to leave, run, hide. With enough faculties to grab his clothes on the way out, he dashes into the night where the chilled March air cools his sweat soaked skin. Distress clouds his mind on the drive home, so he pushes comfort, pleading with them to relax, breathe. The pain fades, but only slightly.

The next day, Steve parks outside of a boat house. He doesn’t know Eddie Munson well, outside of the table top tirades and the glowing accolades from Dustin, Lucas, and Mike. They’ve never been friendly, even sometimes slightly antagonistic when Munson’s not satisfied with ranting about the government and decides he needs an actual face to point the finger at. No one better than The King, apparently.

Steve played the role of snotty royalty to appease his shitty friends, but Eddie’s rants were contagious and always left Steve buzzing and manic. Of course Steve had thought about it before. Let himself wonder if his Half was some nice, pretty suburban girl, or if his Half was actually a crazed super senior he had absolutely nothing in common with. It was easier to consider the residual energy just a side effect of being an Empath, and not because he could actually feel Eddie’s emotions in his own subconscious.

Robin told him about a Zine where she’d read it was possible for Empaths to absorb emotions from people in the same physical space as him, but they would have to be very close by and the emotions much stronger than normal. Which, in Steve’s mind, explained Munson to a tee. The guy always made sure to wander across the jock’s table, where his emotions were highest, typically with annoyance and disdain. Did Eddie’s eyes linger a bit longer on Steve than Tommy or the other athletes? Maybe. Maybe not. Steve did his best not to think about it too much.

Right now, with the tip of a broken bottle grazing his neck, he’s failing miserably at not thinking about it. Panic seeps out of every pore in his body. Adrenaline chokes him like it had the night before, but this time it’s from both himself and his Half. It’s too much. Steve can’t focus, can’t hear anything Dustin’s saying. There’s a sharp poke, then a trail of wet on his neck, and Eddie gasps. His grip loosened just enough for Steve to tilt his head away, readjusting his hold on Eddie’s sleeve, where his fingers accidentally brush against cold, pale skin.

The panic gives way to euphoria. Steve breaks out into a fit of giggles, and morphs into hysterical laughter. He sounds completely unhinged, now doubled-over and furiously wiping his misted eyes with his free hand. Because his other hand has clamped itself around Eddie’s small wrist. The fizzing sensation like tiny bubbles flows from where they’re joined. The tingles climb his arm, root into his chest, and sprout in the back of his mind.

Steve’s overcome with the hiccups. Robin’s rubbing small circles into his back and he works towards matching his breaths to her counts. It’s enough to pull his focus back to reality.

He is Steve Harrington. He’s in Reefer Rick’s boat house with Robin, Dustin, and Max. The Upside-Down is probably back. Something wet drips down his neck. The dock is rough beneath his knees, even through the denim. His back aches where it hit the wall. And Eddie Munson is his Half.

Eddie is crying. Steve registers the shock, the guilt, the despair at the back of his mind. Eddie’s guilt– iit’s always guilt. It dulls his own joy, but just a little.

Tentatively, Steve pushes comfort. To his delight, Eddie gasps again. His big, dark eyes lock onto his, and Steve can’t help but smile. He knows now isn’t the time to talk, that there’s so much more happening to Eddie than just finding his soulmate in a rundown boathouse on the edge of town. But they’ve come so far, been through so much that Steve decides they can spare a moment, just for them.

He cups the back of his hand behind Eddie’s neck before releasing his wrist, unwilling to lose contact, and guides his Half into his lap. The guilt spikes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t want to be here, with him, on some level. But Eddie crawls between his legs, pushes his face into Steve’s neck and inhales. The crush of Steve’s grip calms him, and panic eventually subsides. It’s quiet. Steve looks to find Robin corralling the kids towards the door. She throws him a thumbs up as she closes it behind her.

He pushes to her too, and he feels her relax in return.

Eddie mumbles something, but it’s muffled into his neck. Steve leans back as he scruffs his Half’s hair, pulling him away just far enough to make eye contact. The poor boy still hasn’t stopped crying. Steve’s still pushing, pushing love into him.

“I’m sorry. Steve, I’m so sorry,” Eddie sobs. Steve watches as Eddie rubs his dripping nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket, the snot smearing with the drag instead of absorbing into it. Steve uses his own free arm to wipe Eddie’s nose for him which earns him a pinched expression and a small, awkward chuckle. “That was disgusting.”

Steve smiles. “I’ve seen worse.”

Eddie’s eyes dart away, and guilt spikes again. Steve gently swipes his thumb under his eyes to catch the stray tears. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in there.” He taps on the back of Eddie’s head.

“You– you’ve been through so much. Like, so much awful shit, Steve, and I don’t even know. I just–” Eddie pauses, scrubs his hands over his face until Steve pulls one away, slowly guides it toward the side of his own neck–skin to skin– places the tip of Eddie’s thumb in the cradle of his jaw. Momentarily entranced, Steve squeezes the back of Eddie’s neck again to regain his focus.

“You just, what, Eddie? You’re going to be ok, just tell me.” He pushes. Eddie shudders, the effect intensified with proximity.

“See! That, exactly that. You always comfort me when I need it. When my dad kicked me out, anytime Wayne and I argued, every time I got shoved into someone’s locker. You were always there, just wrapping me up in love. Which is such fucking shit.” Eddie’s cold huff of laughter is wet and self-deprecating and Steve hates it. Doesn’t have to feel it in the back of his skull to know Eddie’s full of misery. “All I could ever give you back was shit. Just anger, frustration, depression and fucking teenage angst. I tried so hard to hold it back, like I knew you could. I tried so fucking hard, Steve, to send you anything good, like you always did for me. And all you got was my bullshit.”

Steve’s own eyes water as Eddie dissolves back into a fit of sobs. He tucks his Half’s head back into his neck as he rocks them back and forth. Struggling with his own thoughts, Steve chooses each word slowly and carefully. “Eddie, I felt everything. Your happy moments might not have been as strong as your bad, but they were still there. Like how I know Hellfire plays Friday nights, and I always thought I felt great on Friday nights because I finally got a break from the kids. Or how my best games were always after you’d do your little cafeteria table speeches, because it filled me with so much energy I would practically vibrate. Every single day, I’d feel little pops of bubbles that could only be you. You were always the best part of my bad days, Eddie.”

He feels raw, laid bare and exhausted as Eddie looks up to stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “You knew? You knew it was me the whole time?” His voice croaks, and Steve makes a mental note to get him some water when they leave.

Smiling, he grazes Eddie’s sweat and snot and tear-soaked bangs off his forehead. “I had a hunch. I just–”

“Just what?” The swell of heat behind Steve’s eyes pinpoints Eddie’s anger, rejection, and more guilt. Always guilt. “You were just hoping you could go as long as possible without mentioning it. Hoping maybe you were wrong, and your soulmate wasn’t the satan-worshiping, drug dealing Freak of Hawkins?”

With one hand still woven into the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck, Steve uses his other hand to cover Eddie’s mouth, and he’s thrilled to discover his hands almost completely wrap around his head. He pushes hard again. Eddie squints, glaring at him over the ridge of Steve’s pinky finger, but Steve still feels him relax, so he counts it as a win.

“I didn’t want to drag you into my bullshit.” The pinprick sensation of curiosity heightens and he answers before Eddie can even ask. “You know exactly what bullshit. That’s why I’m the one who should be sorry. Fuck I can’t– I can’t imagine how all of that must’ve been for you. How painful it was, especially when you didn’t know what was happening, or why. You were forced to bear through all of my shit and just hope it would end.”

Eddie gently pried Steve’s hand from his mouth and eyed him warily before using Steve’s own sleeve to wipe at the boy’s tears. “Steve, what happened to you?”

Steve sniffles before he places a feather-light kiss to Eddie’s brow, reveling in a champagne pops of love and awe. “I’m sorry, baby, but probably the same thing that’s happening to you right now.”

A heavy silence settles between them. Steve feels a separate, more distant curl of anxiety in the back of his mind and knows they’re running out of time. Robin can only keep the kids distracted for so long. Steve pushes more comfort at her, receiving her expected impatience in return.

“Come on,” Steve says, rising to his feet and he reaches down to help Eddie up as well. “You can tell us what happened, and we’ll fill you in on the rest.” He takes Eddie’s hand as they walk towards the boathouse door. No use in forcing him to sleep here when Steve’s house is always empty.

“What about us?” Eddie’s voice is timid, but still hopeful.

(Continue for one-sentence hurt/no comfort)

Steve smiles, squeezing his Half’s hand before softly kissing his knuckles, cool metal rings grazing his chin. “After this is over, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

~~~

The pain is Eddie’s, sharp and piercing in places that bleed the most. It’s agony and it’s death, but he only feels a surge of love as he falls to darkness.

#not only can they feel each others' pain but they actually get each others injuries #couldn't help it with that last sentence and i'm not sorry about it #also i'm pretty proud that i kept it down to one sentence. i could've wrung that scene dry with how much angst I could suck out of it #i'm sick (again! wtf i feel like i was just sick)#steddie soulmate au #steddie fic #soulmate au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic #steve's an empath #queeniewritesstories

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saffusthings · 2 months ago

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You Know You're My Saving Grace

oscar piastri x personal assistant!reader

summary: the one where he comes when she calls. word count: 17.6k (i'm so sorry) warnings: descriptions and talks of abuse, trauma, disassociation, shock, other abuse aftermath, please don't read if any of this stuff is not the vibe, whump, poorly editing writing a/n: this is my first time doing something like this, so comments/feedback would be much appreciated! and let me if anyone wants a part two, bc i'm kinda getting the vibes for a multi-part fic lol

The sound of his ringtone feels louder and louder until finally, Oscar realizes it’s not just in his dream. Blearily, he blinks awake, before reaching across the bed to pick up his phone to check who the hell decided it was a good idea to call him in the middle of the night.

“…Hello?” he asks, voice heavy with sleep. Oscar is a man who knows the value of good sleep - he can’t imagine who’d be calling him at this hour.

He squints, vision bleary from his state of half-wakefulness. Huh? If the car had an issue or if he had a meeting, couldn’t she just wait until morning to brief him?

“Hello? A- Are you there?” she asks, voice hushed.

“Yeah, I’m here. What is it?” Oscar says with a yawn, now more awake, and propped up on his elbow in the bed. He reaches around, turning the bedside lamp on.

“I’m really sorry to disturb you but-”

Her hushed voice is interrupted by the sound of shouting in the background. When the booming voice finally stops, it’s punctuated with the sound of something shattering.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Oscar says quickly, his tone no longer groggy as his mind begins to put the pieces together.

“Are you alright? Where are you right now?” Oscar asks firmly.

“Shit- I’m sorry, but-” And something else shatters. Suddenly her voice becomes a lot more hushed and a lot more hurried.

“Are you safe right now?” He sits up fully in bed now. He gets out of the bed and heads over to the window, looking down at the sidewalk below to check to see if her car’s here by any chance. No such luck.

“Can you come pick me up? It’s kind of an emergency.”

“Okay, take deep breaths. In and out,” he says, trying to keep her as calm as possible. “Now, where are you?” He haphazardly shoves his head into the first shirt he finds, before slipping into his shoes and swiping up his keys. Once he has the address, he’s quick to run from his apartment to his parked car.

“I’m on my way, so don’t hang up on me, okay?”

“Y- Yes, yeah.”

“Good,” Oscar replies, making sure to keep his voice steady, acting as the levelheaded one. “I’ll keep you talking until I get there, okay?”

“I- I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

“I need you to stay on the line for me so that I can hear you and keep you safe,” Oscar instructs her, peeling out of the parking lot and speeding through the empty streets.

“I- I’m okay,” she tries in a delayed attempt to reassure him. She’s his assistant, after all - she’s the one meant to be helping him. Though she’s only a year younger than him, she always strives to fulfill her role well, and tries to give her 110%.

Oscar lets out a sigh as he keeps driving. “…Just, stay with me, okay? I should be there in a few minutes.”

There’s some more yelling going on in the background, and it seems marginally closer now. Her throat feels so tight that she doesn’t even register her boss’s voice through the phone.

Oscar immediately calls out her name, his tone sounding a bit more sharp as he raises his voice a bit. He needs her to focus on his voice.

“Hey, talk to me, are you there?”

“Y- Yes.” Her voice shakes when she speaks.

“Now I need you to do something for me, can you do that?”

“I need you to get yourself into a room, any room, and lock the door, okay?” Oscar says, searching for her address amongst the row of houses lining the block. Different homes line the quiet suburban street, darkened windows and porch lights indicative of their sleeping residents.

“I’m in the corner of my bedroom,” she informs him. “I can’t lock the door or-”

“Okay, that’s fine. Now I want you to just stay there, don’t move and stay on the line, I’m almost there, okay?” he reassures. Why won’t this car go any fucking faster?

Finally, he slides into the parking right outside the house. He gets out of his car, and heads up the driveway and to the front door.

“Be careful-” she warns, and that’s all he hears before he hears a shout, and then the line goes dead.

“No, no, no, no,” Oscar mutters to himself, his heart rate increasing and his pace quickens as he runs up to the front door. He tries the door handle, before realizing it’s locked. Without thinking, he steps back, before ramming his body against the door in an attempt to force it open. It budges, but only slightly. It does however seem to attract attention, as the yelling emanating from inside seems to come to a halt.

Oscar steps back again, taking in a deep breath. Years of physical conditioning and resistance training means he’s strong enough to break the door down, but he’d probably wake the whole neighborhood up if he does. So, not efficient.

He quickly scans the windows on the first floor, before he spots a small window on the side of the house. Though it's hard to tell in the dark, its position raises his hopes that maybe luck will be on his side. Without wasting another second, he walks over to the window and tries to push it open. It slides open silently, and Oscar quickly pulls himself up and into the house.

He keeps his movements quiet and careful, eyes scanning the house that’s engulfed in darkness.

It’s then that he’s met with the realization that there’s not one, but two shouting voices - but none of them seem to be the familiar voice of his assistant.

Where the hell is she?

Oscar’s heart begins beating even louder. They don’t know he’s here, but he can still hear shouting from upstairs. Keeping his footsteps light, Oscar slowly heads up the stairs, stopping to listen for anything before proceeding further.

He hears the sound of something thump against the wall with force.

Oscar winces as he hears it again, feeling his adrenaline spike. Exhales leave his lips in the form of carefully controlled puffs as he forces his heartbeat under control. Worst-case scenarios flash in his mind, and then he’s quickly taking the stairs two steps at a time as he makes his way to the upstairs hallway.

Halfway up the stairs, she pauses to listen, he finally hears the sound of twin pairs of footsteps retreating. As he cautiously walks through the hallway, the shouting gradually gets louder as he begins to approach its source. He finally comes to a stop in front of a door, which has faint light spilling from underneath it. Risking being discovered by an unfamiliar face, he whispers, “Hey, you in there?” He reaches for the door handle and tries to push it open.

He sighs in relief as the door opens, as his eyes quickly adjust to the dark. Scanning the room, his gaze finally falls on her, still sitting in the corner. The shadows only reveal her silhouette, but he knows it’s her. Oscar quickly walks into the room, over to her, and crouches down to her level.

There’s a shattered lamp nearby, pieces scattered on the floor. She’s sitting in the corner, curled into herself, her head tucked in.

He sits down right in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentle and soft. “It’s me. I’m here now.”

She’s trembling when he approaches. Barely concealed cuts and bruises litter her body - deep purple blooms and angry white scratches peeking out from beneath sleeves and her collar and the rest of her exposed skin. He looks closer to see whether the mark around her wrist is really the print of a hand, but the sleeve of her shirt conceals the rest of it, leaving him uncertain.

His eyes roam over her now visible injuries. The sight alone is almost enough to make him forget where they are, but reality persists. He squeezes her knee gently.

Startled at the touch, she jerks her head up with wide, wild eyes.

He came.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, trying to get her to focus on him. “Look at me. I’m here now,” he says, his tone gentle. He carefully moves his hand to cradle her face, tilting it up as his eyes search hers.

“Hey.” Her voice comes out shakier than Oscar is used to.

The sight of her is jarring - the shivering woman crouched before him looks nothing like the coworker he saw mere hours ago. His eyes move over her face again, taking in every little detail, his eyes lingering on the cut near the corner of her lip for a millisecond longer than usual.

“Can you stand?” She nods rapidly, even as her legs shake.

“Alright, come on,” he says, now standing up and holding a hand out for her to take. As soon as her fingers touch his, he feels like all sorts of red alerts go off in his head - she’s cold.

He can easily pull her to her feet with just a light tug, as he helps her up from the corner she was huddling in. He keeps a gentle grip on her as he looks her over again. Now that she’s in a standing position, he notices how her shoulders slump forward, as if she’s instinctively doing whatever she can to make herself smaller. He can only assume it’s because she’s trying to make herself less visible, as if she’s scared of being seen. Or worse.

“Can you walk?” he asks again, gently.

Seeing her boss, seeing Oscar here - feels surreal.

He notices how she’s still refusing to look him in the eye, as if on instinct. Instead, her eyes are focused anywhere but on his face.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, lifting a hand to gently grip her chin and turn her face to his. Suddenly brought back to some semblance of focus, she quickly nods. It feels easier than words at the moment.

Now that her eyes are on him, he takes advantage, as he attempts to assess her state. Her eyes are wide, and he can see the slightest shaking in her hands.

“You’re freezing,” is the first thing he says, noticing how cold her skin feels against his palms.

“They’ll come back,” she rambles hurriedly. “They’ll come back and they’ll-“

He can hear the rising panic in her voice, as he tries to think of a way to calm her down.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers firmly, his hand moving to her arm, giving it a slight squeeze to get her to listen to him. “They’re not gonna come back. I’m here, okay?”

The sound of distantly approaching footsteps interrupts him, accompanied by hushed voices. Oscar’s eyes widen in alarm, as every part of him goes rigid. Those must be the people she was referring to earlier, and he’ll be damned if they come back here. His hands instinctively move to her back now, as he pushes her behind him. He shakes his head as he moves so that he’s blocking her completely from their view. His mind works quickly, as he tries to think of a way out of here.

“Be quiet,” he tells her, his voice hushed. “I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?”

She nods silently.

Oscar then starts going over all the potential exits in his head - the windows, stairway, the front door. He knows that the window is too small, and the front door would have them walking right into them.

That only left the stairs. Shit.

He turns around partially so that he’s facing her again, his eyes flickering over her quickly to check for any new injuries.

“You’re able to run?” he confirms, his voice hushed to keep it from being overheard. She nods rapidly in agreement, desperate to do anything to make the dream of getting out of here come true.

That’s good enough for him, as he gently grabs her wrist and pulls her behind him. Frankly, the man has no idea what he’ll do if she’s not able to keep up, but he sneaks over to the bedroom door, quietly opening it so that he can peek out.

She listens for a moment. “They’re downstairs. In the room right under this one.”

A small plan starts coming up in his mind, as his expression morphs into something more serious.

“Okay,” he starts, as he takes a glance back at the stairs. “When I say ‘go’, I want you to run down the stairs. Go, and don’t stop. I’ll be behind you, okay?”

When she shoots him a wary look, he’s quick to project that collected, self-assured image that he’s well known for.

“Just trust me.”

He can hear the footsteps in the room down below moving around, as the voices get slightly clearer, meaning they’re getting closer to the stairs.

She swallows hard. It does nothing to quiet the loud hammering of her heart in her chest. He sees the look in her eyes, and he can clearly tell how terrified she is. It’s up to him to gently push her in the direction of the door.

“It’ll be okay - trust me,” he says softly, hoping it's enough to reassure her for this moment as he readies himself at the bedroom door.

He can hear the voices more distinctly now, and his pulse spikes up anxiously. He’s got to do this right, otherwise they’ll never have another chance. For a moment, everything falls silent, and the only thing either of them can hear is their own heartbeats as it threatens to beat out of their very chests. They wait there, poised to leave, their breaths held.

“Okay, go,” he says firmly, as he practically throws her out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.

He’s out right behind her, running down the hallway. He can already hear the voices in the room below turning to confusion as they hear footsteps. It’s in that moment that he realizes that he’s still gripping her wrist, and he mentally berates himself that that’s the only thing he can do.

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as they bolt down the rest of the stairs. She can feel her legs and her heart is hammering in her chest and she’s not sure she’s ever been so afraid in her life. But Oscar Piastri is here, and he acts like he knows what he’s doing, and so she does the scary thing and follows his lead.

Despite how hard they’re running, it still feels like they’re not moving fast enough, as he can hear the sound of the door down below swinging open. His grip on her wrist tightens as he practically yanks her to the front door, throwing it open with his free hand. Desperation fueling his every move, he pushes her out and follows right behind her, fighting every urge to look back.

He’s never been more thankful to see the sleek metal of his car as he practically pulls her over to it. Throwing the passenger door open, he gently shoves her into the passenger seat and shuts the door behind her. Instincts override all else as hops into the driver’s side of the car, starting his engine.

Everything’s in flashes - Oscar’s grip yanking her along, the hard pavement beneath her feet, the night wind whipping in her hair, the rapid thumping of her frenzied heart.

He can barely focus on anything besides getting the hell away from that house, as he pulls the car out, driving as carefully as he can without drawing attention to them. Now that they’re seated, she finally takes a few shaky breaths, trying to allow her brain a moment of reprieve so that it can catch up.

He glances over at her. In the artificial lighting of the car. There’s a beat of silence throughout the car, no noise other than the sound of the engine, until he speaks up,

“You okay?”

She nods dazedly. His eyes move back to the road as he grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his eyes not leaving the road. He takes another left turn.

“Yeah,” she breathes. Her voice still doesn’t sound like her usual self when she speaks, but Oscar is glad that she’s at least saying something.

Having a moment to breath turns out to be both a blessing and a curse as her thoughts begin to run haywire. God, why did she bring him into this whole mess? She had tried calling the McLaren front desk but no one answered, and so Oscar’s was really the only other option whose number she knew by heart.

He takes another glance at her, noting her fidgety hands, and his tone softens again as finally catches his breath.

“Can I see your hands?”

“M- My hands?” She looks up at him with wide eyes.

His eyes linger on her face for another second, taking in the wide-eyed, somewhat startled expression.

“Yeah, your hands,” he clarifies, his tone a bit more gentle. “Lemme see ‘em, yeah?”

She nods once in quick agreement, but is so out of it that she forgets to actually give him her hands. He reaches over, gently taking one of her hands in his much larger ones. He runs his thumb over her fingers and knuckles, taking a closer look at her hands now. They’re shaking violently in his grip, though that’s probably from the adrenaline and panic rushing through her body right now. His face falls the moment his eyes land on several of her knuckles. Some are badly bruised, and some more have small scrapes and cuts on them. He’s actually surprised that there’s no blood.

He gently runs his thumb over the scraped knuckles, his fingers slightly curling around her hand.

“Ouch,” she says, voice sounding more faraway than it should. “I think that hurts.”

“Yeah, I’d say it hurts,” he responds gently, still continuing to gently run his thumb over the scraped knuckles on her hands. It then that he spots a nasty bruise on the back of her hand, which is in stark contrast to the surrounding skin.

His eyes narrow when he sees the obvious shape of a handprint.

Coming to the same realization, she steals her hand away, tucking it back into its sleeve. Since when is the car so cold? He glances over at her, but her eyes are averted from him, looking out the window.

There’s an unsettling feeling in his chest when she tucks her hand into her sleeve, as if she’s trying to hide it, and he knows why.

She holds her hands tightly together, as if desperately trying to warm them. Or to stop them from shaking. It’s unclear which of those it is.

Perhaps it’s both.

Oscar lets out a quiet sigh of relief when they arrive at his street, but he’s still focused on her.

He takes one hand off the wheel.

“Hey - listen to me, alright? We’re here now, and it’s gonna be okay,” he says as he tries to park the car. “That’s all you need to focus on, okay?”

“My heart…” she trails off. “It’s beating really fast.”

Instead, he responds with a soft, “Yeah, I know. I know. You’ll be okay, though, alright?”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, alright?” he says, his other hand still on her shoulder.

“We’re gonna get out of the car, and I’m gonna take you upstairs, and we’ll get you all settled, yeah? And we’ll get some ice and stuff on those hands of yours, and we’ll just take it easy, yeah?”

Directions help thought. The way he talks her through it… it gives her things to focus on, details to center her attention toward. She nods, looking up at him.

“Let’s go,” he offers gently.

She nods, allowing him to guide her. It feels a little bit like a lighthouse in a storm - your sole light, sole direction in the midst of the chaos and turmoil of everything else. She looks up dazedly at her lighthouse as he pulls her gently out of the car.

Her lighthouse happens to have kind brown eyes.

He manages to unlock the door and push it open, and he holds it open for her to enter in before him. “Don’t go anywhere yet, alright? We gotta get some ice and antiseptic on those hands of yours first.”

“It’s nice,” she comments softly, looking around. She's been here before, of course - bringing him files he forgot late at night, waking him up when he overslept for a meeting, delivering his trainer-approved meals for the week so he can stock up his fridge.

But never like this. She’s only ever been here as his personal assistant, not like… this.

Surveying the room, she notices things she hadn’t had the time to notice before. His apartment is more just plain simple then it is minimalist, but there’s still the odd touches here and there to make the place more personable. Throw blankets folded haphazardly on couches, potted plants stacked into a bookshelf by the window, a stereotypical wall of photos - there’s bits of Oscar’s touch scattered across the space. The air itself smells like dishwasher steam and some warm candle she can’t discern the name of.

He smiles, gently squeezing her wrist, tugging her to make her follow him to the bathroom. The light flicks on as they walk into the bathroom together, and he immediately steers her over to the small sink.

Shades of charcoal contrast with white porcelain, making up the picture of the bathroom. There’s a hand towel hanging embroidered with a little whale on it, and a ‘rustic’ looking soap dispenser that turns out to be plastic upon closer inspection. As she notices the cool overhead lights, she feels warm hands guide her to stand in front of the sink, before gently letting go of her wrist so he can reach over to pull out the first-aid kit that’s likely been sitting there since his mother snuck it into his things.

“Keep your hands up underneath the faucet,” he instructs, opening the box and quickly finding the antiseptic before turning his attention back to her. She audibly grimaces at the feeling of the freezing water seeping into her skin. The water pressure falls against her bruises and washes into the small cuts littered about her hands as well.

“Shit-” she winces.

He gently wraps a hand around her wrist again, tilting her hand from side to side to get the water flowing over all the scraped and cut parts of her hand.

She immediately goes to pull her hands away from the stream of water, but his grip around her wrist doesn’t let her pull back by much.

“It’s too much, please, s’too much-“

The movement that she makes to pull away has his grip on her hand tightening slightly to keep her still, not letting her jerk her hand away like her instincts want her to.

“Hey, hey, no,” he says, his tone still soft and gentle. “I know it hurts, but I gotta do this, alright?”

His hand continues to hold hers in place, the water continuing to run over her cuts and scrapes. She whimpers in pain, still fighting him to pull her hand away. The unwanted tightening of his grip also reminds her of the events of tonight - a person’s hold on her that won’t go away even when she tries.

Immediately, her body responds by trying to pull back even more.

His eyes widen when she suddenly jerks back to pull her wrist back hard, as if she’s trying to fight him away. Instinctively, his other hand goes to gently grip the underside of her forearm, in an attempt to get her to stay still.

“Hey - hey, we’ve gotta stay still, alright?”

“Let go of me,” she thrashes, trying to peel his hand off her. “Get your hands off me!”

Her struggle has his concerned expression growing more and more worried. He’s trying to calm her down, he really is, but the cuts need to be cleaned, so he has no choice but to tighten his grip on her.

“You need to stay still,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as she continues to struggle. “I need to get your hands cleaned and antiseptic on them, alright? You’re making this more difficult-”

“Stop!” she practically shrieks, voice hoarse. She scrambles away from him, prying his fingers off her in her panic and backing against the wall of the bathroom like a frightened animal. “Don’t touch me!“

When she finally manages to jerk her hands out of his grasp and back up against the wall, he can practically feel a pit form in his stomach. He immediately holds his hands up, as if in surrender, but still takes a step towards her.

“Stop! Stop!” she cries. “P- Please, please don’t do this.”

Caught off guard, his eyes widen and he holds his hands up again, simultaneously taking small, careful steps towards her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells her, keeping his voice soft and gentle, but firm enough that it’d incline her to believe him.

She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs gasping in quick bursts of air. Her chest is heaving wildly as she struggles to just breathe and her eyes are wild as they dart around the room, refusing to focus on anything.

When Oscar looks at her - wild eyes, flushed skin, and frantic breathing - it’s difficult for him to not go over to her to hug her, to comfort her in some way, but he’s afraid of spooking her even further than she already is.

“Hey,” he says again, trying to get her attention again. “Hey, look at me, okay?”

He waits for her eyes to shift towards him, which takes longer than he’d like it to, but he can’t push her. Her panic is high and he has to take this carefully and gently.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Alright? I swear. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, alright? You’re safe.”

Her eyes flicker towards him again, and he takes another step towards her, only for her to jerk away again and press more firmly against the wall. Her irises reflect an even greater degree of panic now, and the pit in his stomach deepens.

“Hey,” he says again, a bit more firm this time. “Hey, look at me. I need you to trust me, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He takes another step towards her again, trying to keep his stature as non threatening as possible, while keeping his tone firm, but gentle.

He wants to reach out and pull her into a hug. He wants to wrap his arms around her and soothe her, and promise her that he’ll keep her safe. But she’s pressed so hard against the wall like she’s trying to fuse with it, that he doesn’t want to risk sending her into a panic attack by touching her.

“Alright,” he murmurs, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance further. “I’m gonna try something, alright?”

He waits for her to respond, but all she does is look at him, wide eyed. He takes that as permission enough to continue, and slowly reaches out, gently gripping her wrists.

She clenches her eyes shut, trying to fight her breathing into control. He tries not to use his full grip on her as he gently takes hold of her wrists, but the way she turns her head away, as if she’s bracing herself for something, as if she’s scared he’s going to hurt her, makes that tightness in his stomach worsen.

She nods, a tad slower this time. Her heart is still thudding against her rib cage, but warm, honey-brown eyes meet hers.

He takes a deep breath, the kind that’s meant to release some of that live wire feeling from his muscles, his thumbs still soothingly stroking the inside of her hands as he speaks. “I’m not going to hurt you, alright?” he says again, his tone quiet, but firm. “I need to get your hands cleaned. D’you trust me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m gonna bring you to the sink, alright?” he asks quietly, continuing to state his actions aloud in advance. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just need to clean your hands because there’s blood all over them. You trust me?”

After a moment of her eyes flitting across his face, she gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Despite the firm grip around her wrists, she focuses on remembering that this is Oscar.

Oscar Piastri.

The same Oscar that ran late to meetings because he kept stopping to pet street cats while they were in Jeddah.

That Oscar.

Careful not to let go of her or make any sudden movements, he slowly starts to tug her towards the row of sinks, taking baby steps so as to not startle her again.

He takes careful note of how she responds when he phrases it as a question - like she’s somewhat included in the decision-making process, that it’s not just being done to her. He can see that maybe some of the tension in her body has left her and she’s not as taut as she had been against the wall, but something in his gut tells him they’re far from being out of the woods yet, and he needs to proceed carefully.

“We’re here,” he says quietly, as they reach the sink. He turns on the water, making sure it’s warm, but not too hot, before he looks towards her again.

She’s still breathing pretty heavily, but her panicked eyes have cleared somewhat, as if she’s not quite as panicked as she was before.

“We gotta get your hands cleaned up, alright?” he says again, as he turns to look back at her. “Will you let me clean your hands?”

Slowly, her face turns towards him, her eyes still a bit out of focus. He swallows hard. “Hey,” he says, his tone gentle and quiet. “I’m gonna touch your hand now, alright?”

She moves her head in a single nod, and it’s all he needs, and he slowly eases one of her wrists from his grip. He gently, slowly, carefully turns one of her hands so that her palm is facing up, so he can start cleaning the blood off of it.

“W- Will…?” she tries to ask, but her voice comes out shaky and hoarse.

“Will it hurt?” he asks, finishing her question for her. At her slow nod, he gently shakes his head no, as he continues to hold her wrist with one hand, and starts softly wiping the blood away from her injured hand using a clean bit of tissue with the other.

“No, I’m being very careful,” he assures her, his tone soothing. “I’m very gentle, I won’t hurt you, yeah?”

She watches carefully as he works. He’s surprisingly careful and gentle, taking care to pay attention to each and every part. The lighting of the bathroom paints him as a portrait, his eyebrows scrunched, his lips pressed together in concentration. Smooth fingers delicately dance across the skin of her hands, wiping them with feather light touches.

He can feel her gaze on him as he works at gently wiping the blood off her hands, keeping his pace slow and steady. Each movement is careful and precise, and he does his best not to hurt her more than she probably already is as he cleans the blood and dirt off her skin. He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to distract her, but every so often, his gaze sneaks up to glance at her face anyway.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into the late hours of the night, sat atop the surface of his bathroom sink. “For coming tonight.” Oscar had never even considered a universe where he didn’t. Of course he’d be there. “Of course, anytime," he tells her. “But you know you don’t have to thank me.”

She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t understand, she doesn’t know that she’s so much more than just his assistant, and that he cares more about her than just as the person who brings him his coffee and files his paperwork.

He mutters under his breath, his hand holding her chin. “You’re not just my assistant, alright? You’re so much more than that, you’ve always been more than that to me.”

Her brows furrow, trying to understand. “I mean, I’d like to think we’ve become friendly over the past two years-“

Friendly. Friendly. It’s so much more than that.

“Friendly,” he laughs, practically mocking the word. “That’s not even close to what I mean, and I don’t think you’re stupid enough to not know that.”

“Unless you’re trying to call me stupid, I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re saying.”

“You’re not stupid,” he sighs. “I’m trying to tell you that I care about you much more than just my assistant. How do you not get that?”

There’s a beat of silence where she tries to process the words, turning them over in her mind as she analyzes them. When she speaks, her voice is quiet, her tone polite. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Kind to say? Kind?

It feels dismissive, like she doesn’t quite believe him. But the truth is - he’s not being kind, he’s trying to tell her the goddamn truth, and she doesn’t believe him.

Her eyes scan his face, looking for any indication that he isn’t being truthful. She knows his tells by now - almost two years of paying attention to him when he lies to get out of an interview or when he fibs about how late he’ll be to the meeting. She knows these habits of his, his little quirks.

She knows him.

He nods, his eyes holding her gaze.

The fog of night settles around them like a haze, silent and ever present. Looking at his face, pale skin reflecting moonlight and irises dark with exhaustion, he appears like a dream. When he’s stood before her like this, after everything that unfolded tonight, time seems to transcend reality.

“Thank you,” she whispers, throwing her arms around him. She almost doesn’t care that her dislocated shoulder is screaming in pain - she adjusts it marginally to make it a bit more comfortable. She hugs him in gratitude, eyes closed so the tears of relief don’t slip out.

He freezes as soon as her arms go around him, stunned, but his body quickly catches up to his mind. His arms wrap around her immediately, like it’s an instinct. One of his hands slides gently up her back to rest against the back of her head, holding her to him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he manages to gasp out, his words choked, as he tightens his grip on her.

When she goes to pull away, it’s almost like he’s acting on autopilot, like his body is just moving on its own, without regard for reason. He gently grasps her arm again, his fingers wrapping lightly around her wrist, and he gently pulls her back towards him, his other hand resting gently but firmly against her hip.

Oh.

He has her against his chest again, her smaller frame held against his, and his brain registers just how good this feels, how right it feels - having her in his arms like this.

If she could just get her heart, that has randomly decided to beat out of her chest, to calm down, then maybe she’d be able to speak. She’s breathing fast, her heart beating a mile a minute against his chest.

Then, he does the stupidest thing in the whole world when she starts to speak, something he’s been silently wanting to do for months now. He bends down, ignoring her starting words, ignoring absolutely everything but the fact that he wants to do this, and finally closes the rest of the gap between them. His lips press against hers, silencing the rest of the words she’d been saying.

She’s stunned. Her brain is somehow working both too fast and not at all at the same time. What the fuck just happened?

She freezes in place, completely still.

He freezes as soon as he breaks the kiss, realizing in a flash that he just kissed her. His assistant.

He kissed her. He had kissed the woman who basically helped run his entire life for the last two years, the woman who probably had no idea how he feels about her, and still thinks they’re just boss and assistant. Perhaps not his best work.

His brain scrambles, trying to come up with some sort of an explanation, anything to justify what he just did.

Immediately, he’s desperate to hear her voice, to prove to him somehow that he hasn’t just ruined everything. He needs her to say something that will indicate that things won’t be horribly, terribly awkward between them after this.

She tries her hardest to come up with something to say – she really does. But she keeps coming up empty. So instead, she follows the next impulse her brain comes up with: she pulls him closer by the shirt and kisses him.

Oh. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting that.

For a single beat, he’s frozen, stunned, like his mind can’t really comprehend what’s happening. Then, all at once, his whole body reacts. He responds in record time, calloused hands cradling both sides of her face as he kisses her back. He kisses her with fervor, with a passion that he’d been holding back for months, ever since he realized that he had feelings for her. The kiss is desperate, as if he’s afraid he’s going to never be able to kiss her again, as if this is his one and only chance at having her like this, in his arms, against his body.

She pulls away out of her body’s need for oxygen. Stupid oxygen.

When she does pull away, she looks up at him, tentative, hesitant – she both needs to and is scared to see how he will react.

He groans as she pulls away from him, and his lips automatically try to follow hers as she moves, as if he’s unwilling to let her move away from him, as if he needs her to always be this close to him. When she finally does move away from him, his arms automatically loosen their grip around her, though his hands stay on her. He looks down at her, his breathing coming in short pants, and he can’t help the look of awe that appears on his face.

She ends up being the first to speak. “That was-“

His brain automatically tries to finish her sentence for her - he’s spent so long with her, working with her, that it’s almost second nature to him now, to try and finish her sentences when she can’t find the words.

“A mistake?” he supplies, his tone suddenly hesitant as he watches her. Part of him knows that it’s true, that this shouldn’t have happened, that he shouldn’t have kissed her.

Another part of him doesn’t give a damn.

“Oh.” Truthfully, that wasn’t what she was going to say. In fact, if it were up to her, there was a high likelihood that she would have said it was nice. Really nice.

She had never kissed anyone before, but if every kiss was just as spectacular for everyone as this one was for her, then she could certainly see the appeal. That certainly doesn’t seem to be the case for Oscar, however.

Subconsciously, she pulls back, away from him.

“No,” he says, his hands immediately moving to grab her again, to stop her from pulling away. He gently tightens his grip on her, wrapping his arms around her, and pulls her back against his body.

“It’s just that-“ he starts again, trying to find the right words, “You’re, well, you’re my assistant. You work for me.”

“Yeah,” she breathes half-heartedly. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Oscar can hear the resignation in her voice, the disappointment. He hates that he put it there, but he can’t help the feeling of relief that washes through him as he realizes just how okay she is with the fact that he’s her boss.

“I’m just saying that it’s-“

His brain scrambles for the words again, his mind trying to think of some sort of excuse, some sort of reason why she, his assistant, is here in his arms, why he’s holding her against him.

“It’s alright,” she says, trying to steady her voice as she slinks out of his arms. “I understand, it was a mistake for you.“

“No, it wasn’t a mistake!” he protests, his tone sounding more insistent than he’d intended it to. He mentally smacks himself - he’s the one who started telling her that it was a mistake, why in hell is he sounding so mad now that she’s agreeing with him?

He reaches out, wrapping a large, strong hand around her wrist.

“I’m trying to explain myself and I’m doing a shit job at it, aren’t I?” he says, his voice half amused and half frustrated.

“Yeah,” she laughs lightly, breaking some of the awkward tension. “Yeah, you kinda are.”

Some of the tension between them does ease - her laughter is a good sign, he thinks. She’s relaxed enough to laugh with him, and so he can breathe a little easier.

“It’s just-“ he starts, trying to think of the best way to try and explain. He can’t say I’ve had feelings for you for months because he’s not sure she feels the same way.

She watches him fumble over his words for a minute, first trying this sentence then that. After a moment, some deity has mercy on him, and she decides to help him out a little.

Her hand, gentle, barely there - goes to rest on his shoulder. She’d squeeze his shoulder reassuringly if everything wasn’t broken or bruised right now. Instead, she settles for rubbing it gently up and down against his arm.

“Breathe. Tell me what’s going on in your head,” she offers gently, her kind eyes looking up at his.

She’s the only one who knows him like this, he thinks. The only person in the world who would know when and how to give him a moment to collect his thoughts, knows how he prefers green tea or energy drinks instead of coffee, knows what his tells are.

He looks at her and finds the same kind face that become an integral part of his life and function over the last two years. Sure, it looks a bit different, with the cut on her lip and the bruise peeking out of her hairline - but the face is the same one that’s been unbearably patient with him on hard days but also kept his ego in check on the good days.

God, the timing may be awful, but… it’s her.

Her hand, small and gentle, rests gently on his shoulder, rubbing it up and down to help soothe him and calm his mind, and it works.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he gathers his thoughts - he has to tell her something, something that’ll let her know that what just happened was more than just some sort of a “mistake”, that there was something behind it.

“Talk to me,” she prompts him quietly.

He takes another deep breath, opening his eyes to look down at her. Her hand is still on his shoulder and he lets the feel of it ground him. He hesitates for a beat - he isn’t sure how she’ll react to what he has to say - but he has to say something, and so he decides to just speak and not think.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says, making sure to keep his tone firm, like what he’s saying is absolute fact.

“Okay,” she acknowledges, tone carefully neutral. There’s a pause there, a moment for him to think. A small, kind smile appears on her face, trying to reassure him. She can clearly see there’s something else he’s trying to say - he’s just having trouble finding the words.

“C’mon, you know the drill. Talk to me, even if it’s messy. And then…” she takes a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “And then we can figure it out from there.”

It’s what they always do - whenever he’s excited about an idea or rambling about a theory or trying to figure something out, this is what they do. She lets him ramble to her about it, no matter how disorganized or chaotic or downright crazy he feels he sounds. And then, they parse through the craziness together. It’s gotten to the point where people around the paddock joke that she’s the one who can understand what he’s saying when he’s like this - Lando will often drag Oscar over to her office before a meeting to have his ideas “translated from yapanese” for the team to understand.

He looks down at her, at that kind, familiar smile of hers, and he feels something in his chest relax and loosen. He knows how this works, how they work, and he lets himself fall into the familiar rhythm of it all, even if this is different than every other time they’ve discussed ideas or ranted about something - this is foreign territory, and that makes this all the more scary.

He takes another deep breath, looking down at her, and he just… speaks.

“That thing that just happened,” he starts, his voice still firm and insistent, even though his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He looks down at her, and he makes sure that she’s not just hearing his words, but also listening to them.

“It wasn’t a mistake. It was…“

He hesitates again, struggling to find the best words to explain why he did what he did.

“It was…?” she tries to prompt. However, she’d be lying if she said her heart wasn’t also frozen in anticipation.

“…A confession.”

He says the word with such finality, as if now that the word has been spoken, it’s the absolute truth - as if it can’t be denied.

“A… confession?”

Her question makes him falter - he can’t quite read her tone, can’t figure out what that question means.

She can’t be that stupid, he thinks - she’s smart, one of the smartest people he knows - there’s no way she’d be that confused by the concept of someone confessing to someone else, so he can only assume that she’s asking him why he’s confessing.

Instead, what she does say comes completely out of left field for him.

“Look, it’s been a long night, and…” she trails off. It seems it’s her turn to search for the right words now. “And I get it. People do weird things when emotions or adrenaline is running high. I get it, I do.”

There’s a pause before she continues, finally settling on what it is she’s trying to say. “So I’d understand if that’s what this is. Was. Is. Whatever.”

His brain stalls when she speaks.

No, he thinks, no. That’s not what this is, this isn’t just some sort of “adrenaline rush”, this has been building up between them for at least a few months now, if not longer.

He stares at her, frozen as he tries to figure out what to say - how does he convince her that this is more than just a stupid thing caused by adrenaline?

“I- I’m giving you that out, I guess,” she finally says. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

God, why the hell does it feel like her heart has suddenly forgotten how to do its job, beating irregularly instead?

She’s giving him an out - she’s saying that if he wants to just sweep this whole thing under some rug, she’ll believe him. She’ll believe him if he says it was just a moment of “weakness” or “high emotions”. That maybe that’s all it really was.

God above, that’s the last thing he wants - he’s spent the last month trying to keep his hands to himself, trying to keep his feelings in check…

“Hey,” she calls softly. Her voice sounds a lot less scared, a lot less uncertain than she feels. “I need you to talk to me, yeah?”

He looks down at her - her tone is still gentle and reassuring, telling him that she’s open to listen to him, that she wants to listen to what he has to say. It takes a lot for her to speak this clearly and calmly, especially given everything that’s happened, he imagines.

He reaches up and gently wraps his fingers around her wrist again - he needs to touch her, needs to feel her, needs to know that this is actually happening, that this isn’t some weird fever dream. She winces as his fingers wrap perfectly around the hand shaped bruise that’s already developing around her wrist. She tries to bite back the grimace before it slips out, but it’s still there. He instantly notices her wince, her grimace barely suppressed, and his hold loosens on her wrist almost instantly.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes scanning over the bruise that’s already forming around her wrist, anger flaring through him as he looks at the angry, dark mark. He gently prods at the bruise, testing to see just how bad it is.

“It- Shit- It’s okay, I should’ve been more careful.”

His jaw clenches when she winces again when he pushes against the bruise, and all he wants to do is go find her parents and beat the ever-loving crap out of them for having the audacity to put their hands on her like this.

He’s careful when his fingers brush over the bruise, his touch light as his fingers ghost over the injury.

“…You were saying something?”

Damn.

She’s so damn calm at the moment, and it’s making this all the more difficult for him. It would be easier if she was crying or yelling, because he knows how to handle those outbursts, but damn, she’s so put together right now.

His gaze softens as he looks down at her, his hand moving from her wrist to cup her face.

“You have to know,” he says softly, his voice steady, “that wasn’t a mistake.”

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her eyes look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

He knows that he should probably take a step back, give her some space as he tries to find the right words to help her understand, but he just can’t make himself do it. He keeps his hand on her face, thumb gently stroking over her cheek.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he repeats again, his voice still soft and firm. “It wasn’t an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t a-“

He almost says he didn’t mean to do it, but the words feel like a lie. And he’s tired of lying.

“I- I’ve wanted to do it longer than I can remember,” he admits, his voice quiet. “And I don’t know if that makes me a horrible person or not, but that’s the truth.”

He watches her face, searching for a reaction, trying to figure out how she’s processing all of this. He hates the fact that she’s so stoic, so neutral - it’s not her. She’s expressive and animated and she’s always letting him know what she’s thinking.

She leans a little bit closer to him. Her eyes flit upwards, meeting his, before looking back down again, to where they’re both standing just inches apart from each other. They’re now standing so close to each other that she can feel his warm breath mingle with her own.

Then, she kisses him.

He’s frozen when he feels her breath ghost over his lips.

He’s not expecting her to kiss him, not after everything he’s just said. He’s expecting, if anything, for her to step back, to tell him to give her a minute to cool down. But, when her lips brush against his, it takes him a few seconds to register what’s happening. Once his brain does catch up, his reaction is immediate. His hand gently grabs her face, pulling her back in as he kisses her back.

The initial kiss this time is awkward, hesitant, clumsy. It has all the trademarks of someone who hasn’t really done this before. But it works nonetheless.

Her soft lips brush against his – once, twice. Right after is when she finally puts her poor heart out of its misery, and tilts her face ever so slightly so she can press her lips against his, her eyes falling closed.

The feeling of her lips against his is like electricity - he feels goosebumps erupt on his skin, and he lets out a low sound from the back of his throat as he responds to the kiss. He gently cups her face, tilting her face up more, wanting more - needing more contact, needing to feel her and taste her.

She can taste him. He tastes like saliva and jaffa cakes and that little bit of toothpaste from when he probably brushed before bed. It’s so uniquely him that she fears she could get high on it.

The sound she makes when he deepens the kiss a little, his tongue slipping into her mouth, is a muffled thing, almost a whine. His brain is struggling to process everything that’s happening - it almost feels like he’s drowning in her, slowly drowning in everything that’s her. When they finally pull apart for air, their gazes are immediately drawn to one another.

His hand lingers on her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip - he can’t help the way his eyes are glued to her face. He tries to sort through the thoughts in his head, but most of his brain is just completely shut down right now, trying to process the fact that she kissed him.

She was the one that kissed him - she initiated, she made the first move.

“That was…” she trails off, breathless. Something akin to molecules of light dance in chest thrumming in her veins and tickling her fingertips.

He nods slowly, his lips curving into a small smile before he lets out a soft huff. “I didn’t expect you to make the first move," he admits, his voice quiet. “I actually thought you’d be mad as hell.”

“I kissed you back before too,” she reminds him.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, his smile widening.

His gaze is still focused on her face, and his thumb brushes over her jawline in a soft, soothing gesture.

“That you did,” he agrees softly. “Why?”

“Honestly?” she asks.

“Honestly,” he affirms, his smile still on his face, his gaze still on her. He gently grabs her chin to ensure that she’s looking at him as he waits for her response - and so he can look at her.

“Because when you kissed me I was caught off guard, and so I just froze like an idiot,” she rambles. She takes a deep breath, trying to be a bit more calm and collected. “Because it felt like the right thing to do. And honestly?” she pauses. “Because it felt really, really nice.”

The confession makes his smile widen into a grin.

“Oh did it now?” he asks, his voice quiet. His tone is teasing, almost sly as his hand moves from her chin to her neck, his hand wrapping gently around it.

“It felt nice?” he repeats, his thumb gently stroking over her pulse point.

She hums thoughtfully. “Enough that I did it again.”

“You did,” he says, his grin never leaving his face.

He takes a step closer, his hand on her neck gently pulling her closer, his body now pressed against hers. “I think you need more experience though,” he murmurs, his voice quiet. “You should probably… practice. Frequently, if possible.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Her smile is small and weak, but it’s there.

“Oh absolutely,” he agrees. He loves the fact that he’s the one who’s making her smile when a minute ago, she was trying so damn hard to stop crying.

“I think it’ll help you… perfect your technique,” he says, his voice quiet as he moves his hand from her neck to her hair, playing with the strands of hair. She shuts him with another kiss - this time, her lips lock firmly against his, her hands splayed out flat against his chest.

This one takes his breath away.

His response to the kiss is immediate, nearly automatic. His hand in her hair moves to her waist, pulling her closer as her hands make contact with his chest. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat - almost a moan - as she kisses him, as she’s pressed up against him.

“…How’s that for technique?”

His brain takes a few seconds to turn itself back on - he’s practically stupid after that kiss - but he eventually manages to put together a response. He lets out a soft laugh, his hand moving from her waist to her hip, holding her close against him.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, his voice slightly rough. “That’s a good technique, yeah. But I think you might need a few more… practice rounds. To truly get a feel for it.”

“Oh? Sounds serious.”

“Very serious,” he says, his voice still hushed, his fingers now tracing soft lines up and down her hip. “It’s important to be well-practiced in this skill.”

His hand moves from her hip to wrap around her waist, grabbing her more intently, his hand spanning the entire width of her waist.

“And I don’t mind providing the… equipment you’ll need for more practice.”

“Hmm,” she hums, pretending to consider it. “I could be talked into that. Maybe over coffee…?”

His grip on her waist tightens - just briefly, just for a moment - at her words. His brain is struggling to put words together right now, and the idea of coffee with her doesn’t help. He’s trying to get his head to stop spinning, and the last thing he wants to do is say something stupid, but all he can think about is her - the feel of her, the taste of her lips.

“Yeah,” he manages, his voice still hushed. “Yeah, coffee. Coffee sounds nice.”

She gives him a small smile. It's faint, but at least it's there.

Standing close to him, she lets her bods lean in against him. Her head falls against his chest as the two stand there in his bathroom. Silence envelopes them, allowing her a moment to breathe. It's been a whirlwind of a night, with both highs and lows.

He lets her lean against him, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him, his other hand moving to gently cup the back of her head, his fingers gently stroking her hair.

He’s silent as well, his chin resting on her forehead as his hand strokes her hair. He’s not thinking, not really. He’s just existing, just… feeling the comfortable weight of her against him.

“Sit down on the counter, yeah?” he says, his voice still soft. “And take your shirt off, I need to see the damage.”

"No."

His hand that’s been gently stroking her hair stills at her response. “Why not?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to check you over.”

"I'm not taking my shirt off," her voice shakes. Oh, right.

He realizes the issue. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “But I’ll have to patch you up, and I can’t do that with your shirt on. Just your top half, yeah? I won’t look at anything else.”

"I..." her voice quivers, as she tries to think of a way out.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed or scared,” he says quietly. “It’s just me. There’s nothing I haven’t seen,” he assures her. “I just want to fix you up a bit. That’s it. I won’t look anywhere else.”

"It- It's not that..." she eventually stammers out.

“Then what is it?” he asks, his voice still soft and gentle. “You can tell me.”

"I, uhm, can't?" she says awkwardly so it almost sounds like a question.

“You… can’t?” he asks, a frown settling on his face as he tries to work out what she means. “What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?”

"My left shou-" she grimaces in anticipation of what she's about to tell him. Fuck this.

His frown deepens at her grimace - a sense of foreboding and worry sets in. “What’s wrong with your left shoulder?” he asks quietly, dread already building inside of him.

"My left shoulder," she tries again. "I can't, uh, move it much."

It's dislocated, she should tell him, but she can't seem to bring herself to say the words.

His heart nearly stops in his chest at her words. God, what have her parents done to her?

He tries to keep his voice calm and even when he responds, but it’s a struggle. “You can’t move your left shoulder at all?” he asks quietly.

"Just this-" she says, demonstrating by moving her arm about four, maybe five inches off her side. She winces when her shoulder screams in protest.

“Your shoulder is dislocated, yeah?” he asks, trying to keep the worry and dread out of his voice. “That’s why you can’t move it?”

"Yeah," she answers..

“How do you know it’s dislocated?” he asks quietly, his voice still steady.

“Not my first rodeo,” she says, an attempt at humor to break the tension. He desperately wants to ask who did it, what happened. He doesn’t want to press her for the details now, when she’s in enough pain as it is.

He’s silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best strategy to take her hoodie and shirt off.

“Alright,” he says eventually, his voice soft. “I’m going to take your hoodie off, yeah?”

Hesitantly, she nods.

He hesitates for a moment himself, worried that he’ll do more damage to her shoulder - but there’s no way around it.

He gently grabs the hem of her hoodie, and starts to carefully pull it over her head. A slight gasp escapes his throat as soon as her bare arms and collarbone are revealed.

“Ahh!” She bites her lip, trying to muffle the sound as white hot pain shoots up through her shoulder at being moved.

His hands release the hoodie and pull back the minute he hears her gasp, his jaw clenching to stop himself from swearing. His eyes roam over her collarbone and arm, taking in the deep bruises and angry red scratches.

She’s biting her lip so hard she’s worried it’ll split open again. Fuck, moving that shoulder hurts. She’s trying her best to contain it, but hot tears prick at her eyes.

Oscar’s gone concerningly still in front of her.

The moment the hoodie finally comes off and he’s left with the full view of her body, the breath gets stuck in his lungs. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t bruises and scratches and scars. God, the sight of it feels like a damn sucker punch to the chest.

He wants to say something, anything - but he’s so incredibly angry that words just don’t come. He’s paralyzed by anger for a moment, before he’s able to pull himself together - but the fury is still there. The sight of her bruised, cut and beaten body in front of him, her arms covered in scratches, her collarbone a mess of deep purple, and her lip split… it’s a rage he’s never really experienced in his life. He has to take a deep breath to keep himself composed.

Once it’s finally off, she lets go of the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Immediately, her gaze goes to Oscar’s face to note his reaction.

He does his best to keep his face neutral, although his expression still betrays a hint of anger and outrage. He doesn’t want her to know how much it all angers him - because, knowing her, she’d try to say it wasn’t as bad as it looks or that it’s not a big deal.

But to him it is. It’s the biggest deal in the world.

She sits before him now in just a bra and pants, and his eyes take the opportunity to scan over the upper half of her body. He takes note of each detail - the bruise beneath her hair line, her split lip, the one around her wrist.

Scanning lower he finds more. When he finally takes a look at her torso, he has to try and force himself not to visibly react.

It isn’t easy.

There’s a nasty bruise on one side of her collarbone, he briefly wonders how much force it actually takes to bruise a person’s collarbone. He sees the shoulder he’d reset for her - it looks sore still, but it seems to be doing marginally better.

But what his gaze lingers on is the parts he didn’t get to see before - the deep blue mark that blooms on the left side of her rib, the deep red scratches on her side and her forearm that were previously concealed by the hoodie.

He lets his eyes linger over each bruise or injury that he finds. Every single one of them makes him angry again - that somebody put their hands on her body, left their mark on her skin, hurt her.

She can feel her heart rate spike when he moves closer, but she does her best to stay perfectly still for him. Seeing the way she tenses up and her heart-rate increases, he knows that she’s scared.

This is why I hate your parents so much.

“Lean back on the counter,” he instructs, his voice still soft. “Let me look at your shoulder.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She pulls in a tight breath, like both inhaling and exhaling hurt too much with the pain shooting through her arm.

He’s completely focused on her - all he cares about right now is getting her shoulder back in the right place and getting her patched up. He watches as she struggles to breathe through the pain, and it hurts him. It hurts him that he can’t do anything to help her, that he can’t take the pain away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly, both for his benefit and hers. “Just lean back for me, yeah? Don’t worry about anything else. Just let me look.”

She leans back - gradually, as if it hurts her to move every centimeter. A shaky exhale finally escapes her once she’s leaned all the way back.

He takes a moment to survey her collarbone - it’s even more bruised up than he had originally thought. His eyes linger on one particular spot that looks an awful mix of pinks and deep purples, and he wants to rage until his vocal cords give out. But she needs him to be calm and logical right now, so he pushes down the anger as much as he can.

His eyes next move to her shoulder, and he grimaces slightly. The joint is visibly swollen, and it’s clearly out of place. A wave of nausea overtakes him as he thinks about how much pain she’ll be in when he moves it.

“I’m gonna have to move it into the right place,” he says quietly. “It’s going to hurt - but try and relax for me, yeah?”

Nodding, she takes a shaky breath. It’s then that she speaks up, voice strained.

“Could you… could you talk?”

He’s a little surprised by her request, but he understands why she wants it. Any sort of distraction will take her mind off the pain, so that’s exactly what he’ll do - he’ll talk. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes focused on her face. “What d’you want me to talk about, exactly?”

“Anything,” she mumbles. “Just… Just talk.”

He hates that he’s about to cause her even more pain, but he knows there’s no way around it. The longer they wait, the more it’ll hurt in the end.

One of his hands reaches out and cups her cheek, gently stroking her bruised skin. “I’m going to count from one to three, yeah?” he tells her, his voice still quiet. “And on three, I’m going to move your shoulder back into place. Ready?”

She nods.

“Okay, here we go,” he says, his voice still soothing.

He places his other hand on her upper arm to get a good grip.

“One,” he begins slowly, his eyes fixed on her. “Two…”

He notices the way she’s tensed up against the counter, bracing herself for the pain. “Relax,” he instructs quietly, his thumb rubbing her cheek. “Just listen to my voice. Don’t think about anything else. One more counting till three, and then it’ll be done. Deep breath. Ready?”

Once he’s satisfied that he’s given her enough time to mentally prepare, and now it’s time to finally deal with her shoulder.

“Just listen to my voice,” he tells her again, his hand still gently stroking her cheek. “Okay, one… two-“

She nods. She’s just begun to inhale, when-

Without any further warning, the muscles in his arm tense as pushes her shoulder back into place.

“Shit!”

He’s never heard her scream like that before. His heart clenches in his chest at the pain she’s in, the way she’s screaming, the way he’s caused her even more pain.

“I know, I know it hurts but it’s done now,” he says quickly, keeping his voice soft. “It’s over, okay? You’re okay. Just breathe.”

She chokes out a dry sob, until it finally devolves into short whimpers of pain. He hates this so much. He hates the fact that her shoulder is in so much pain, that she’s sobbing, that he had to be the cause of it.

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, trying to reassure her. “It’s over now. I know it hurts, but it’ll get better. I promise.”

She falls limp against him from the exertion, as the whimpers meld more into soft murmurs, her breath hitching as her body adjusts to the relocation of the joint.

As her body slumps against his, he brings his other arm around her, gently guiding her into his chest. He holds her against him, hoping that the physical contact will reassure her.

“You’re okay,” he repeats again, speaking into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe for me.”

She continues to whimper in pain, the soft whimpers being the only sound in the bathroom. Oscar feels as a few stray tears fall against the fabric of his shirt, wetting it.

His heart clenches in his chest at the feel of her tears. He can’t even begin to imagine how much pain she’s in.

“I know it hurts,” he repeats quietly, bringing one of his hands up to gently pet her hair. “I know it hurts, love. But it’s almost over, I promise. You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me, yeah?”

She gives him a weak nod. Feeling a bit more settled at that, she resumes leaning against him. Eyelids droop, heavy with exhaustion - it has been a long night.

He feels the way she’s gradually going limp in his arms. He understands that she’s been through enough tonight. “Let’s at least get you seated, yeah?” He suggests quietly. “You look tired. We need to get you taken care of and then you can rest, alright?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, nodding into his chest.

Her voice is soft when she speaks, like a cool balm. “I am sorry.”

He almost laughs at the absurdity of that statement.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“For throwing this all on you, I mean. I… I should’ve thought twice before putting all this on you – I know it’s a lot. I didn’t mean to bring you into this mess when I called you tonight, and that’s on me,” she explains.

How is she even worried about him right now? How? He almost wants to laugh, she’s so ridiculous. “Don’t you dare apologize,” he mutters, gently tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Don’t- I- God, you have absolutely no reason to apologize, alright? So just... stop.”

“You’re upset,” she replies, observant. “Maybe I’d even say angry, if I didn’t know you any better.

He tries to find an argument against her claims - he tries hard. He tries to deny it, at least a little bit, to make himself seem better somehow. But he can’t, and she’s too observant to let him slip one past her anyway. “Maybe angry is a generous assessment,” he admits, his jaw clenching again.

Her eyes are drawn to his face, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I’m pissed,” he finally responds, his voice still somewhat restrained. “God, I’m pissed. I’m angry. At them - at your parents.” His eyes dart to hers to check her reaction, to see if he’s crossed a line.

“You have no idea how angry I am, actually,” he continues, his frustration rising more and more by the second. “I am… furious. They laid a fuckin’ hand on you.”

She listens to him while she reaches out to gently clasp his hand in her own, bringing it closer to her, guiding him to rest his palm in the space between her fractured collarbone and where her bra covers her chest. His hand is placed directly over where her beating heart lies.

“Do you feel that?” she asks softly, looking up at him.

He nods wordlessly, his anger and frustration momentarily subsiding to give way to the feeling of her heart beating. Her pulse is thumping against his palm, her heart racing beneath the skin of her chest, and all he can do is watch her intently.

“I’m here,” she whispers, brushing a loose lock of hair back from his forehead. “I’m alive, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the moment she touches him. His shoulders sag as he lets out a breath, his hand gently rubbing the skin where her heart beats as if it would help soothe his temper.

“You’re not okay,” he replies quietly. “You’re... the opposite of okay, Y/N. I don’t know why you’re trying to pretend like you are.”

“I’m alive,” she counters gently. He wants to argue - he wants to tell her that being alive doesn’t mean being okay. He wants to insist that she’s not okay, to try and convince her that she’s been hurt, that she-

But he knows that it’s a pointless exercise. She clearly refuses to admit there’s a problem. Instead, he shakes his head in frustration before gently shifting his hand to graze her injured ribs.

“You’ve made your point, Oscar,” she concedes quietly, wincing at the contact - a very real reminder of the damage done.

He knows he’s won the argument, but he doesn’t quite feel victorious.

“So why are you still pretending like you’re okay?” he asks, shifting to sit on the bed next to her.

“I felt bad for making you worry. I feel relatively okay, I mean.” She pauses for a moment, and her voice gets quieter.

“When I called you tonight…” The way she suddenly drops her voice has his jaw clenching again.

“What about it?” he asks, trying to keep his voice patient. It’s like he wants to hear what she has to say but is also dreading the answer at the same time.

“When I called you tonight…” she says, trying desperately to make sure her voice doesn’t shake. “It was because I thought I was going to die.”

There. It’s out in the open now.

“I called the front desk at MTC first, and then my friends, but it’s the middle of the night, so naturally, they didn’t pick up. Yours is the only other number I know off by heart.” She exhales, letting out a soft chuckle. “I guess I’ve had to call you so much for work that dialing your number was muscle memory.”

She takes a deep shaky breath, before continuing. “So yes, I know things are bad. God, you don’t think I know that? Of course I do. But right now I find it hard to throw myself a pity party when I’m so fucking grateful to be alive, to have gotten out, to be here.” With you. To be here with you, she was going to say.

“So, there it is,” she mumbles. It’s there, out in the open for him to hear and dissect and know. The confession is a lot to take in, especially coming from her. She’s always so collected, so composed, so good at keeping a cool head. He takes a moment to try and process everything she’s just told him, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of it all.

“You-” he begins, still struggling to find the right words. How do you tell someone that you’re glad they’re not dead?

He eventually settles for reaching forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him gently for a careful hug.

“I..“ he begins, stumbling over his own words as he struggles to get his mind to form a coherent sentence. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m so goddamn glad you’re here,” he finally manages to say, resting his forehead against hers.

Foreheads touching, his face so close to hers… the moment is quiet and intimate. It makes her glad she’s alive, that she didn’t die before she could experience this with him, that she’s here with him now. Her eyes are closed but a few tears of relief slip past anyways. The feeling of her tears against his skin nearly breaks him in half, and it’s everything he can do to reign in his own emotions right now. Just hold it together for her. That’s all he has to do - just hold it together long enough for her.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers as her tears wet his skin. “You’re safe now. I’m... I’m here, and you’re safe.”

“God, I was so scared, Oscar,” she cries quietly, shaking against him. Her words and her sobs send a sharp stab of pain through his heart, his arms clenching a little more, holding her a little tighter.

“I know, I know,” he mutters, his own voice shaking as he fights to maintain his composure. He can’t break down when he needs to be strong for her. “But it’s okay. You’re here, and you’re okay, and you’re safe.”

It takes a few minutes of reassurance before he feels like her crying is slowing. Her body is still shuddering in his arms though, and he lets her cling to him, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. His hand finds its way to the back of her head and he runs his fingers through her hair, trying to provide any comfort he can.

Finally, once she settles, her sniffles tapering off into what resembles normal breathing, Oscar tilts her head up to look at him. He notes the exhaustion in her face, in her body. It’s been a long night, for both of them.

“You need sleep,” he mutters quietly, his hand still tangled in her hair.

“Can’t,” she mumbles, giving him a small, lazy smile. “My really hot nurse won’t let me rest until he’s patched me up or something.” He rolls his eyes affectionately at her, unable to help a smile rise to his lips at her comment.

“Very funny,” he mutters, shifting his hand around to rub her jaw gently between his fingers. “Let’s get you cleaned up, smartass.”

“Least m’your smartass,” she mumbles under her breath, before carefully sitting herself upright again so that he can finally finish patching her up.

“You think I’d let anyone else call me a hot nurse?” he retorts, pushing himself up and standing in front of her. He takes a moment to study her body – all of her body – in front of him, trying to take stock of the damage.

“Would you?” she asks curiously, her head tilted drowsily.

His eyes take in the way she looks; disheveled, he concludes. Her hair is completely ruffled, the skin of her stomach littered with scratch marks and bruises, and god, those dark blue marks on her chest and collarbones - he has to push down the anger that threatens to rise to the surface again.

“No,” he replies after a moment, his eyes roaming over her body again. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah?” she smiles softly, a glimmer of something sparkling in her eyes before she tilts her head back, closing them. He continues to work on her when he hears her mumbling.

“I think I like that.”

“Which part?” he asks, his voice soft as he wipes at a particularly bad-looking scratch. “Me not letting anyone else call me a hot nurse, or the fact that you’re the only one who does?” he teases a little as he continues to gently clean her.

She winces at the feeling of antiseptic against her cuts.

“Hmm, both,” she hums.

His heart leaps at her words, a little thrill of excitement rushing through his gut. He tries to hide the way his cheeks warm at that, busying his hands with cleaning a particularly ugly scratch on her collarbone. “And what if I also said you’re the only one I’d call my smartass?”

She audibly hisses at that one, her collarbone sensitive from the fracture. Trying to relax a bit, she focuses her mind back to his question. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, gently pressing another piece of gauze against the cut.

“I’ll be your smartass if you’ll be my dumbass,” she offers.

He actually laughs at that, a bright sound in the dark room. “I’m a dumbass, huh?” he asks, looking up from his work to smirk at her.

“My dumbass,” she corrects, “if this deal of ours works out.”

A small, happy smile rises to his lips at her words.

“Your dumbass,” he echoes, his heart fluttering again.

Your dumbass.

He could probably get used to that. He continues to work over her skin gently, carefully cleaning each bruise and scratch. “You know I don’t like sharing, right?” he says after a minute, breaking the silence with a hint of possessiveness in his tone. His face is twisted in careful concentration as he works, only pausing to smile or laugh or react to her comments.

She likes his smile, she decides. And perhaps his hair, too.

“Good,” she replies. “Me neither.”

“Goodnight” he says quietly, before slowly taking a step back and switching off the lights. He heads towards the door, quietly switching off a bedside lamp on the way out.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” he says, pausing by the door to throw a glance over his shoulder.

“…Osc?” she squeaks out, voice small. At the sight of Oscar about to go, leaving her on her own in this dark and foreign room - even if it is Oscar’s - has her heart beating a little harder in her chest. After everything that happened tonight, being left like this has something resembling fear melting her chest like hot wax.

This room is dark and foreign to her - she doesn’t have the layout memorized, or the exits, or hell, even the light switches. Which means that if she were to be in danger again–

“Yeah?” he prompts gently, his voice quiet in the dark.

“Do you…” she hesitates, before finally deciding to just do it. “…Could you stay?”

He pauses for a moment, the request taking him a little by surprise. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “Of course I can stay.”

The anticipatory tightness in her chest loosens a bit at that.

He walks around to the other side of the bed before slowly slipping under the covers next to her. He tries not to think about the feel of her body heat next to his, as he adjusts his position slightly to try and give her as much space as possible.

She lays there for an unknown amount of time, but sleep eludes her. For some unknown reason, despite having the longest night of her life and being exhausted beyond belief, her body feels as taught as a live wire.

Still, she tries to even her breathing as a sleeping person would, making an effort not to keep shifting around. There’s a high probability Oscar’s asleep, and she doesn’t want to disturb him.

Oscar is, in fact, not asleep.

He’s acutely aware of her body next to his, every little movement, twitch and twist of her body. She’s trying to stay as still as possible, and for a minute he wants to point out that she doesn’t have to, that she can make herself comfortable - but then she lets out a small sigh of frustration, and he decides to say something instead. “Can’t sleep?” he dares to whisper, breaking the silence.

She freezes at the sound of his voice. Shit.

“Yeah,” she admits, voice small. “You?”

He gives a small shake of his head, keeping his voice low like .

“Nah,” he says, his voice a little groggy, “I’m awake.”

For a long moment, silence falls between them again. He can literally feel how tense she is.

After a long moment passes, she asks, “Why?”

That actually gets a small snort out of him. “Could ask you the same question,” he retorts quietly, shifting slightly in the bed. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Unh unh,” she tuts in denial. “I asked first.”

He chuckles quietly at her response. “Can’t shut my brain off,” he finally relents, keeping his voice quiet as he tries to answer her question. The comfort of night embracing them like a favorite blanket has a way of loosening people’s tongues. “Too much thinking going on up there right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks again, his voice soft and gentle. “Can I ask you something?”

She hums drowsily, granting him permission.

He hesitates for a moment, trying to find the right words to phrase his question. “Why did you ask me to stay?” he finally asks, not sure whether he’ll get an honest answer from her or not.

“You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“I won’t think it’s stupid,” he reassures her quietly, shifting in the bed next to hers. “Just… tell me, alright? Please?”

She’s grateful she’s still turned away from him at this point.

“It just…” she trails off awkwardly, unsure how to explain. “I dunno. Just thinking about being here, on my own, after everything that happened at home…”

She shrugs. “Even thinking about it made me feel… kinda like antsy? I don’t know how to explain.” She huffs in frustration, trying and failing to find words that sound more coherent than whatever the hell this response has been so far.

“You… you make that go quiet.” She mumbles quietly. And then, even quieter: “You feel like… like safe, I guess.”

Oh.

He’s honestly a little stunned, at both her admission and her choice of words.

You make that go quiet.

You feel like safe.

After silence takes the place of any audible response from him, she painstakingly makes the effort to turn over so that she can face him in the dark.

“Is that… weird?” she asks nervously.

“No,” he rushes to reassure her, his voice quiet and a little strangled with emotion. “No, it’s not - I just…”

He trails off for a moment, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I just wasn’t expecting that to be your answer,” he admits hoarsely.

“Oh,” she replies dumbly.

He’s glad he’s lying in the dark right now.

She’s turned over to face him, and the thought that she’s laying a mere few inches away from him, with a bruised and battered body and telling him that he’s her comfort, is both the most amazing thing he’s ever heard and also so painful his chest physically aches.

He clenches a fist around the sheets.

“You want to know what I’m thinking?” he finally asks, taking the opportunity to shift the conversation away from her question.

“Always.”

“That if I ever met your parents,” he finally admits, his voice pained and his breath hot against her neck, “I’d probably break their goddamn jaws.”

She winces at his words. She turns away from him.

He immediately grimaces at her reaction, sitting up slightly in the bed as he sees her turn away from him. “No, don’t turn away,” he says quickly, his hand reaching out reflexively to grasp at her nearest arm.

He gives her arm a little shake. “Hey. Look at me,” he instructs, his voice low.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she replies coldly.

He falters for a moment, taken aback by the coldness in her voice. “And why’s that?” he questions, still reeling from her immediate retreat.

“Because I am tired,” she deadpans.

There’s a long moment of stunned silence as he processes her response, and then she hears his bed creaking faintly before his voice rings out in the dark.

“Come here,” he orders quietly.

“Why should I?”

“Because I said so,” he replies, his voice still quiet.

He shifts on the bed, moving closer to her. “Come here,” he says again, a hint of gentle firmness in his voice. Disguising it as stretching, she moves marginally closer to him. The second she shifts closer to him, he takes action, moving until he’s directly behind her. He scoots closer to her, his body curled protectively around hers, and wraps an arm around her torso.

“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better, right?”

She lets out a small huff. Just because being in his arms is surprisingly warm and comfortable and soothing doesn’t mean she’ll just forget what he said about her parents.

“It’s… fine,” she lies through her teeth. He needs to know that the matter isn’t resolved that easily.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it is,” he replies sarcastically, not falling for her half hearted attempt at indifference.

“I know -” he lets out a quiet huff, his arm tightening around her before he even speaks. “- sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to…”

“I- “

For once, he’s at a loss for words, his thoughts swirling around in his head.

He did mean the words. They were true for a reason, after all.

“Don’t -” he finally tells her. “- Don’t you dare feel sorry for them, you hear me? Just- just don’t, alright?” He shifts, moving his face away from her neck to speak. “You don’t need to feel guilty at all for the way they’ve treated you, and for the shit they’ve put you through,” he says fiercely.

She sighs exasperatedly, letting her eyes fall short for a moment.

He knows she’s not as receptive as he’d hoped, but he can’t stop himself from spitting out the next few words like a curse. “I don’t care that they’re ‘family’, or that they’re your parents - because they’re abusing you. They’re hurting you in the name of ‘tough love’ or whatever shitty reason parents think they have for treating their kid like that,” he all but growls out in the dark.

After a beat of silence, she asks quietly, “…Would you ever like to hear me say that about your own parents?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Once, twice, and maybe even three times, until finally, he manages to force out a response. “…That’s not the same,” he tries, and immediately wishes he had just kept his mouth shut. He sighs, swallowing hard before mumbling out a confession - “It’s just…“

He presses his face into her neck again, his breath coming in heavy, uneven puffs as he struggles to keep himself together. “They’re supposed to protect you, goddammit,” he grits out against her skin.

“Yeah,” she agrees softly.

“They’re supposed to care about you,” he all but mumbles into her skin, his fingers tracing circles mindlessly against her stomach as the angry words spill out.

“Okay.”

“It’s not ‘okay’,” he grits out.

He tightens his arm around her, shifting slightly until he’s got a thigh over her legs as if he’s holding her in place.

“You’re not the one who’s wrong here,” he adds, frustrated with the fact that she’s the one who’s bruised but he’s the one who’s getting choked up.

“Let it out,” she encourages softly, gently stroking her thumb across his cheekbone.

Goddamn it. Something about the way she says it, like she’d be willing to share the burden of the sky if that’s what he needs - it gets to him. He’s trying to be the strong one here, the one who’s supposed to be protecting her - not the one on the verge of a goddamn breakdown. But she’s just too damn sweet.

He lets out a quiet huff and buries his face in her neck again. “Okay,” she agrees. “Whatever you need.”

“Stop with the agreement thing,” he mumbles into her skin, his voice frustrated even though it’s lacking the edge from before and more filled with emotion.

He swallows hard, his hand tightening momentarily on her stomach. He’s angry at himself for so many reasons.

He’s angry that she got hurt and he can’t take away her pain. He’s angry that he’s got a goddamn lump in his throat right now because he can’t handle seeing her hurt. He’s angry that he’s the one getting emotional when she’s the one who’s supposed to be falling apart.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she coos softly, using her hand to gently guide his face out of the crook of her neck so she can actually look at him. “What is it? What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

Those eyes are really going to be the death of him. He swallows hard, shifting slightly so he’s facing her a little better.

“I’m not supposed to be the one falling apart right now,” he admits, his voice coming out quiet - so quiet that he almost hopes she misses it. “It’s not… it’s not going how its supposed to go.”

“Oh?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his fingers tapping uselessly against her stomach.

“It’s not going how it’s supposed to - you’re supposed to be the one falling apart, and I’m supposed to be the one picking up the pieces,” he mumbles out, his voice still quiet.

“But now I’m the one on the verge of losing it, and you’re being annoyingly sweet and supportive and nice and I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

“Okay,” she tells him, her voice all level and sure and reassuring. “Okay, that’s okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, and it’s taking everything in his power to not bury his face back into the crook of her neck because the feel of her skin against his might actually help.

“No-“ he shakes his head, his voice quiet again. “It’s not. It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be the one falling apart right now, but I’ve got… I’ve got this damn knot in my throat and I can’t tell if it’s anger or guilt or something else-“

“Breathe, Oscar. You gotta breathe for me, okay?” she says, gently rubbing her palm up and down his sternum in what she hopes is a soothing motion.

She doesn’t know that the gentle touch against his skin is a little too much right now, the feel of her palm across his bare skin and her voice in his ear and just the sight of her looking at him with that kind look in her eyes is making his head spin.

But he does as she says - tries to steady his breathing, letting it out in slow, even puffs as her palm moves up and down his chest. “There we go,” she says, giving him a drowsy smile. “Just like that, yeah? You’re doing so well f’me.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, clenching his jaw for a moment because of the way her words make something in him flutter. “That’s not helping,” he grits out, his voice coming out a little rough as he takes another slow, shaky breath.

“Alright,” she says, her hand stopping its movements. “Okay, I’ll back off.”

“No, no-“ He shakes his head quickly, his fingers grabbing her wrist to bring her hand back down against his chest.

“Just- Keep going,” he says, his voice coming out gruff and quiet. “Don’t- don’t stop that, just-“

He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a moment. She can probably tell he’s still a little shaky, but she listens to him as her palm tentatively starts moving over his chest again, and she lets out a soft exhale. He closes his eyes when he feels her hand on his chest, a slow exhale of breath leaving his lips involuntarily as her palm glides across his skin.

He lets go of her wrist and moves closer, his head dropping against her shoulder, and mumbling into her skin. “M’sorry. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “This is dumb. I’m freaking out over nothing.”

“Is that what you would tell me if the roles were reversed?”

“No,” he responds, almost immediately.

He would tell her that she had every right to feel what she felt, and he would pull her close and tell her that she should let him help carry the burden, and he would do anything to keep that sweet, broken look off her face.

“Then I need you to believe me when I say – I get it. I understand why you’re freaking out – anyone in your position would. You can’t be calm and collected 100% of the time, and no one expects you to. No one.”

Her hand traces broad strokes around his body - across his chest, over his shoulder, up to his cheekbone. She finds herself playing with the locks of hair that keep flopping onto his forehead.

He tries to steady his breathing as her hand continues to glide gently over his body, the touch of her fingers against his skin and the feel of her body so close to his is making his head spin all over again. He feels himself shiver as her fingers brush over his cheek and through his hair, leaning into the touch. “How are you always so goddamn patient with me,” he grumbles, lifting his head slightly to look at her.

She shrugs.

In the sacredness of whatever this bubble is that exists here and now, the words slip past her lips before she can even think of stopping them.

“It’s like breathing.”

She’s really going to be the death of him one day. The fact that she doesn’t even need to think about it just makes him want to pull her close even more and press messy, thankful kisses against her skin. He swallows back the urge instead, trying to regain some of his composure. He lifts his head, taking her in as she continues to gently trace her fingertips over his face.

“You’re thinking something,” she notes, fighting back a yawn.

Her words drag his attention back up to her face, and he can’t help a small, lopsided smile at the fact that she’s tired right now because of how well she knows him.

“Is it that obvious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe not to other people. But to me it is.” She gives him a small smile. “My whole life revolves around knowing you.”

He’s almost certain that he stops breathing for a moment, because her words are like a punch to the chest for multiple different reasons. Of course he knows how much of her work life centers around him, but it's the way she says it.

It means that she knows him better than anyone.

And, when paired with the fact that she’s half-naked - in his clothes, no less - and just inches away from him right now it just makes it even harder to control that flutter in his chest.

She brings him back to the present. “But I need you to talk to me,” she says, tentatively trying out the pet name again after he’d said no earlier. “Need you to tell me what you’re thinking so we can figure this out, yeah?

He pauses for a moment, then speaks, his voice low and coming out a little grumbly.

“If I tell you, you’re not going to like it.”

“Maybe. But keeping it in will only make it worse, won’t it?” she smiles sadly.

She waits for him to continue, her fingers slowly tracing the skin of his jaw. She can basically see the thoughts rushing through his head. He leans into the touch a little more than he means to, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to get the words out.

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out gruff as he swallows again. “It was so hard to stay calm, alright? I was trying so fuckin’ hard to stay calm, but Christ, you just…”

He takes a shaky breath. Before he can continue, she speaks.

“You did so well. You kept your cool, you were exactly what I needed when I called you to come get me tonight.”

“Oscar, you need to get it out of your system. I know you’re angry. Your allowed to be, as long as…” she pauses, taking a steadying breath. “Just… talk to me.”

He glances at her again, gauging how she’s reacting before he continues. He takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard.

“It’s just…” he repeats, his voice coming out barely a whisper now. “When I saw you… and all the… the marks, and the cuts, and the… the scratches-“

He breaks off abruptly, trying to regain control of his breathing. His fingers start tapping restlessly against her stomach again, trying to soothe himself.

“It just made me so… angry. And the fact that they left these goddamn marks on you- goddammit, you don’t understand how hard I had to resist just punching a wall right then and there.”

She nods in understanding, tucking herself a bit closer to him by leaning her forehead against his chest.

He lets out a shaky breath as she leans against his chest, his arms instantly wrapping around her, pulling her close - his grip isn’t hard enough to hurt her, but it’s tight enough that he has her completely pressed against his body. One hand comes up, reaching up to grab gently at her hair, guiding her even closer to him.

“I’m sorry I put you through that,” she mumbles, voice weary, against the fabric of his shirt.

He makes an instant noise of protest at the apology, shaking his head.

“No,” he says, almost sternly. “No, don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? None of it is your fault. ”

The emotions that have been curling in his gut like a hot coil fuel the stem of his words. “They’re idiots,” he continues, the word spoken fiercely. “They have no idea how goddamn lucky they are to have you as a daughter, and even less of an idea about what they’ve just done to you.”

His hand in her hair continues to brush through it, almost on autopilot, trying to soothe her and him. Oscar is surprised when instead of staying silent or outright refuting what he’s said, he finds her mumbling against his chest.

“I guess so.”

He glances down at her when he hears her speak up, a little surprised to actually hear that she agrees with him. He pauses, then continues combing through her hair - she hasn’t complained yet, so he doesn’t stop.

“You guess so?” he says, gently pushing her. “You guess so? You’re so goddamn good, you have any idea how many people would kill for someone like you?”

“It's not that big a deal,” she murmurs.

“It is,” he shoots back immediately, a fierce bite to his tone. “It is a big deal. Don’t- don’t do that, alright? Don’t try to brush it off and pretend like you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me - to anyone.”

“I’m your assistant,” she says with a small smile, as she tries to stifle a yawn. With each blink she sees less and less of Oscar’s silhouette in the dark of the room, her eyelids heavy with sleep as she’s trying her best to stay awake to listen to what he has to say.

Oscar’s jaw clenches at the sound of her holding back a yawn - she’s probably exhausted and in some kind of pain, and that’s not even considering the emotional trauma she’s just been through tonight - and yet here she is, still trying to stay awake.

He glances down, noticing her eyes keep drifting closed, and he lets out a huff. “You’re much more than my assistant,” he mutters. “More than I deserve.”

He looks down to see what she has to say in response.

Only to find her fast asleep, passed out from exhaustion.

The warm cocoon of Oscar’s arm, the steady lull of his heartbeat, and the rhythmic feeling of his fingers running through her hair was enough to help her loosen up enough to finally fall asleep, it seems.

He looks down at her with a little smile - even asleep, she still looks like a goddamn angel.

He’s not expecting to sleep any time soon, he’s had enough caffeine on top of the adrenaline still pumping for him to be completely wired. So instead he just holds her - her face pressed in between his chest and shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

Part 2

a/n: if you stayed this far, thank you so much! i'd love to hear what you thought of it :) and credit to @saradika-graphics for the lovely dividers!!

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri fanfic #formula 1 fic #saffu's works #this took me so long #i think ive read this too much #oscar my beloved #they're in love your honour #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri fluff #hurt/comfort #hurt/aftermath #tw: domestic violence #tw: abuse #tw: panic attack

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thealexandriaarchives · 7 months ago

Text

Dune Fandom, We Need to Be Hornier About Fluids

There's something wrong when we don't sexualize how much Feyd-Rautha canonically drools like a broken spigot the second he looks excited, and look, we all got distracted with the arranged marriages, the omegaverse, the gender swap fics, the Bene Gesserit Voice kink, the nonstop breeding kink fic, the 'in another life I would have been your wife' soulmate fics. I get it.

But if ever there was a fandom designed almost solely for the purpose of fetishizing the hell out of every variation of the Wet & Messy tags, along with the sacrilegious guilt inherent to Arrakis over wasting water? It's Dune.

Drool. Sweat. Cry. Piss. Cum. Bleed.

There are 1001 prompts from 'so filthy it's profane' to genuinely kind of heartwarming but I want it to get the intensive fanfiction attention.

How do we treat some of our most common forms of humiliation in a world where spitting on the floor in front of someone is a show of greatest respect? Is boot-polishing for someone as a submissive with your tongue an honor or a shameful act because it wastes the water? What are the ramifications of Bukkake on Arrakis?

Imagine someone who has internalized Fremen values and beliefs with an Omorashi kink. Maybe they don't even know they have one, they've used a stillsuit for so long, but suddenly they're exposed, and full, and all they can do is just close their eyes and chant to themselves 'Don't Let It Out' as a litany.

Awaken Dacryphilia kinksters. A literal miracle is documented in the book about the first time Lisan al'Gaib wept and gave water to dead. Villeneuve takes this and makes it into a perverted dream that Muad'Dib steals from the heart of a Southern tribal elder.

Not feeling the PWP stuff? That's fair, we're all still one or three really good fics away from being a little too into something.

How about Hurt/Comfort and Whump fics? I haven't seen any really good severe dehydration scenarios, we need a couple. Stillsuits & Stilltents fail, or are damaged in battle. The old 'drink of my flesh so you may live'. Let's get dirty with Dirty Water. Or honestly, it seems like you can survive at least temporarily with only one canister of it taken.

In general just so many opportunities for bloodplay. But if you wanna stay tamer with it (though Feyd-Rautha's pets at least are canon cannibals) how about the fact that a Crisknife drawn cannot be sheathed without being blooded. This was shown but not stated in the 2021 Dune, so drawing one must be a thoughtful and measured act as you slice your own palm and spill your own water if you put it away in peace.

I speak now with the voice of the Lisan al'Gaib the ghost of Frank Herbert on ZERO authority and call upon all the Dune fandom to get HORNIER about being WET.

#dune prompts #dune fandom #dune #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #dune fanfiction #dune fanart #feydpaul #feyd rautha #paul atreides #margot fenring #dune 2021 #dune movie #burn after scrolling #gifs by 5ummit #gifs by #gifs by screenbeans #duneposting

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whumpshaped · 1 year ago

Note

this is a disgustingly fluffy prompt so beware slfkdh

caretaker always calls whumpee a word in their (caretaker‘s) native language, which whumpee doesn’t understand. but since they are very self loathing they just assume it’s something negative, since caretaker has to spend so much time and energy caring for and „tolerating“ whumpee. one day whumpee gets too curious though and decides to look up the word, only to find out it’s a pet name and caretaker has been calling them something lovingly the entire time

(bonus points if you do it in your native language i love learning new cute pet names!!)

sorry to all hungarians i know seeing this will cause some whiplash

tw pet whump, past trauma, caretaker new master

‘Easy, szívem.’

‘Szívem, could you bring me some water?’

‘You don’t have to push yourself, szívem.’

Whumpee accepted the nickname as their own easily. Whumper had given them plenty, although never ones they couldn’t even understand; useless, stupid, mutt… who knew which one Caretaker was using on them?

They avoided asking about it for the longest time. They told themself they were prepared for the meaning, that they could handle whatever degrading thing their new master ‘friend’ threw at them, but in reality… They weren’t prepared at all. They didn’t want to know. They wanted to pretend it was something nice, a term of genuine endearment, dear, darling, honey… Something people said to each other with kindness.

But eventually, curiosity won out. Whumpee sneaked into the study one day, picking out one of the dictionaries from the shelf. They thought about using the computer, but they chickened out. It would’ve been a much more egregious crime than opening a book.

The issue was, they had no idea how to spell the word. They started at ‘S’, flipping through pages upon pages and finding nothing. See-vem. See-vem. None of the words looked right. They eventually crossed over into the next letter, ‘Sz’, unsure what sound that would even make. It was all so confusing… How did Caretaker even speak this?

“Can I help you?”

Whumpee flinched at the voice, slamming the dictionary shut immediately. “C-Caretaker– I– I wasn’t– I wasn’t doing anything! I was cleaning, and the book fell down, I was just trying to check whether it was intact–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” they said with a smile. “I’m not mad, szívem. But if you were looking for something specific in there, maybe I could help.”

“N-no, no, it’s… it’s nothing… I…” They took a deep breath, trying to ground themself. It was now or never, really. They wouldn’t get a better chance to ask. “Well… I, I was wondering about, um… The nickname, I guess. What you always call me.”

“Ah, of course. I’m sorry, I’ve never really explained it, have I? It’s just a term of endearment.” They pulled out their phone and typed something. “I’m pretty sure the dictionary only has the root word. Here.”

Whumpee took the phone gingerly, looking at the translation program. Original word, in Hungarian: szívem. Yeah, they would’ve never gotten that right. Translation, in English…

Their eyes widened in disbelief. Next to them, Caretaker chuckled. “What did you think it meant?” they asked cheerily, seemingly unaware of all the horrible options that had been swirling around in Whumpee’s head before.

“I… I don’t even know,” they breathed.

They definitely didn’t think it meant something as innocent as ‘my heart’.

#asks #whump #whump drabble #pet whump #past trauma #caretaker new master #recovery fic #comfort

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petit-etoile · 1 year ago

Note

Enemies to Lovers scenario with Astarion; The two are close enough to be friends, Tav accidentally calls him starlight, you decide how Astarion reacts to their little slip up.

ours are untidy souls

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 1,126 content warnings: no fighting but the aftermath, minor mentions of injuries but no-indepth descriptions other tags:canon compliant, canon-typical violence, introspection, character study, hurt/comfort, whump, pre-relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, be added to the taglist here

summary:

‘It is bitter,’ he says. ‘It will heal,’ you tell him. ‘It might hold a grudge,’ he says. ‘It will survive,’ you insist.

The Grymforge Guardian falls with little regard to its creator. Steam billows from the cool metal, and the Forge has broken pieces off of it that may never be repaired. You sag against the lever for but a moment to catch your breath. You wait for the ground to cool and the red-hot metal to return to a more natural color before tentatively touching your the toe of your boot to it. You decide it's cooled enough.

You race over to the second lever. Shadowheart is quick to make it to the center to check on Karlach who is lying next to the Guardian in a bundled heap, but you race to Astarion’s side and kneel next to him on the smoking platform. He’s resting against the other lever, head forward, and everywhere you touch is bruised and sweaty. You push his curls back from his forehead and cup his jaw so that he’s forced to look at you, and although the flickering of his eyelashes makes your stomach ache, he’s breathing and that’s good enough for you for now.

You push your hand against his shoulder and feel the heat leave his body to meld into yours. Astarion’s lungs fill with air in relief, and when he opens his eyes, he meets your gaze unevenly.

‘Don’t rush, starlight,’ you say cautiously. ‘Take it easy until Shadowheart can come to you.’

Astarion’s eyes soften and he closes them quickly to hide the betrayal. All around him lay the bodies of the imps he fought. Honestly, the team you put together handled it pretty well with little to no practice, navigating as one despite the strange levers and a gargantuan thing swinging at them. You thank the gods for giving you Karlach, because the thought of you potentially having to go head to head with the Guardian by yourself almost makes you wish the worm would finish eating your memories.

You take in all of Astarion’s wounds. Little bites and nail scratches, a bruise on his cheekbone, but mostly, the heat has made him malleable and exhausted in your hands. You take it upon yourself to heal some of the more minor injuries he has. He doesn’t seem to breathe as you pour a drop of your potion into a bite on his shoulder or a nasty burn on his thigh, but he does stop you before you can take a better look at his cheek.

‘I’m fine,’ he says shortly.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to tend to this?’ you ask.

You do touch his bruise then, and Astarion hisses at you like a wild beast. Before, you might have flinched away from his scary display but after these last few weeks, you know better. He’s scared of your kindness. He doesn’t know what to expect even though your hand is delicate. You press your thumb against a tender purple knot, and you can tell that it takes all of Astarion’s willpower to not snap at you.

‘Maybe I will let Shadowheart take care of this one,’ you say nervously. ‘It seems tender.’

Astarion’s jaw clenches. He thinks.

‘No,’ he says with finality. ‘I think — I think I would prefer it if you did it.’

You watch the pretty curve of his neck bobble when he swallows. He turns his chin towards you and refuses to look at you. He’s being brave. He’s being willing. Slowly, you touch the bruise again with shaking fingers.

In a move that reminds you all too much of Scratch and the Owlbear, Astarion leans his head into your touch. You’re captivated by the tremble in his eyelashes, the slope of his eyebrows as he fights a scowl, and the sad way he frowns. You feel his cheek for any sign of the unordinary, but there’s nothing but a bruise.

‘I don’t think a potion will help with this one, unfortunately,’ you whisper. ‘There’s nothing — There’s nothing wrong with it.’

‘It is bitter,’ he says.

‘It will heal,’ you tell him.

‘It might hold a grudge,’ he says.

‘It will survive,’ you insist.

Astarion says nothing. If the bruise is hurting him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. All he does is rest in your hands as if lifting his head on his own is too much effort. You allow him this touch. It’s the first time he’s allowed you to initiate anything even remotely affectionate. It makes your eyes water a little to think about it. You decide to say nothing lest it embarrasses him. You cherish this moment and slowly, you ease him into your arms more so that he’s leaning against your upper body, his ear at your heart.

Quietly, Astarion says, ‘Say it again.’

At first, you aren’t sure what it is that he wants. You want to tell him that he will heal, that he will survive, that he may not forgive or forget, but that he will overcome. Instead, you pet his hair as carefully as you can to avoid jostling him and press a tentative kiss to the top of his head. He burrows deeper into your arms and sighs like a weight has been lifted off his chest. In some ways, you think it has. You hold him as gently as you can.

‘You’re going to be fine, starlight,’ you say — and you’re partially shocked at how easily it rolls off the tip of your tongue. You’re almost certain that Astarion huffs at it, but he isn’t upset. No, it’s something entirely else.

You’re holding something delicate in your hands. Astarion would not be like this with anyone else but you. He trusts you, and honestly, the thought terrifies you. It’s not that you have to be careful. It’s not that you have to be cognizant. It’s that there is something so genuine about the bond he is offering you on his own terms. He is choosing to be vulnerable with you. It makes your throat close up.

You would cry if you weren’t so worried about everyone. Astarion eventually pulls away from the safety of your arms and appraises you himself. He smudges smoky residue away from underneath one of your eyes and takes a look at a nasty cut you received to your scalp, but all it takes is a little drop of the potion shared between you to get it to where it doesn’t need stitches. You two sit facing one another, your hands meekly in your lap, Astarion sagging forward as though his only desire is to find a bed. Eventually, he looks up at you and with faint exhaustion clouding the openness of his features, and chews on his bottom lip.

‘You can say it again,’ he says.

You smile for the first time in hours. ‘Alright, starlight.’

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #anonymous #* a thousand lives，and one #once again if you close both eyes this is the Prompt #i think i hit it pretty close but UHHH JUST IN CASE #I DID MY BEST

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buddierecs · 6 months ago

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aly's favourite fic's

this is a list of my all time favourites buddie fics :) it will be a mixture of ratings. please check the rating/tags!

let's hear it for the boy by hattalove (anything by this author is incredible!!!!) "in which eddie attends a self-empowerment group for gbtq men to supplement his therapy, and is empowered to: forgive himself, say "i'm gay" to his own reflection in the mirror, accidentally adopt an adult, make fried rice, and tell his straight best friend that he's in love with him. not necessarily in that order." word count: 56k rating: teen and up audiences important tags: self-discovery, coming out, friends to lovers, pining, gay disaster!eddie diaz.

leave the light on (i'll be coming home) - highly highly recommend this!!!!! by: HMSLusitania "an accident on a call leaves buck with custody of chris after eddie is... missing presumed. while they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite eddie's parents' best efforts -- a john doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home." word count: 44k rating: mature important tags: presumed dead, grief, mourning, angst, amnesia, getting together a leaf falls on loneliness by: iimpossible_things "buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “i’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. really, he doesn’t. the 118 has too many good, kind people for that. but every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to eddie or bobby or hen or chim, he hears eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.” —you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting— so each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence." word count: 11k rating: not rated important tags: angst, fluff, happy ending, orginal male character and i'm not good at winning fights anymore by: spaceprincessem "five times buck needs to feel eddie's heartbeat and the one time eddie needs to feel his" word count: 24k rating: teen and up audience important tags: 5+1 things, whump, protective!eddie diaz, getting together, soft boys in love, ptsd i know you're hurting (but so am i) by: justhockey "eddie understands better than maybe anyone else ever could, how it feels to have everything unravel in the palm of your hands. he knows frustration - he knows fury. he’s painfully familiar with that burning rage that crackles in the tips of your fingers, that makes your skin hot and chest tight, and makes you want to punch anyone that dares to even look at you. but that doesn’t give chim the right to lay a damn hand on buck" word count: 3.7k rating: not rated important tags: ptsd, feelings realisation, protective!eddie diaz, communication, 5x04 coda good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k rating: explicit important tags: friends with benefits (buckandravi), casual sex, childhood tramua, healing, feelings realisation, jealous!eddie diaz, ptsd, love confessions, anal sex

the best life is the truth (my best mask is my face) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels the buckleys are celebrating their 50th anniversary, and maddie and buck are both expected to come. to take the heat off maddie, buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. obviously, there's only one solution: bring eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. no problem, except for the, uh. "pretend" part." word count: 43k rating: explicit important tags: fake dating, idiots to lovers, there was only one bed, eventual smut

tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forver) by: withmeornotatall "eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia" word count: 43k rating: mature important tags: time loop, minor buck/natalia, heavy angst, eventual happy ending, weddings, love confessions winter prayer by: daisies_and_briars "when a work conflict prevents athena from accompanying bobby to minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, buck and may offer to go instead. over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and bobby faces his grief." word count: 18k rating: general audiences important tags: road trip, family bonding, grief, healing, angst, bobby being a dad to may and buck, may and buck are siblings

what a heart can do by: bvckandeddie "in which buck becomes the guardian of the daughter he never knew he had. together, they discover what happiness truly means to them." word count: 128k rating: teen and up important tags: girldad!buck, slow burn, friends to co-parents to lovers, oblivious!evan buckley, therapy, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort

#911 fandom #911 show #911 abc #buck x eddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #alyfavouritefics #hurt/comfort fics #hurt/comfort #eddie diaz centric fic #ao3 #ao3 link #ao3feed #evan buck buckley

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 9 months ago

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Can I request a Hunter x female Y/N comfort/whump paternal fic plz? <3

Btw I loved your Crosshair x Y/N fic <3

Knight in Rusty Armor

Hunter x Reader

Summary- After a bad run-in at a market, Hunter has to save you and Omega. You can't help but feel like a failure for not being able to protect Omega by yourself...

A/N- Thank you so much for requesting! I'm not completely confident in my ability to write Hunter, but I tried my best!! Hope this is what you had in mind, XoXo.

Word Count- 2,118

You could feel his gaze on you from a mile away. It seemed that no matter the circumstance, Hunter was there.

While you were grateful for him, always- you couldn't help but feel like he didn't trust you. Well, maybe trust wasn't the right word. Nevertheless, he had to accompany you and Omega for a trip to the market.

Everyone had been flying for days and needed a place to resupply. Stretch their legs. You offered to take Omega to shop for some new clothes. She had rips in her shirt- ones that were barely held together by your sewing. So it seemed natural that you would take her, being the only other female on the ship.

Even before landing, you brought up the idea of you and Omega going to Hunter. You wanted to spend some time with her alone. One might have even said mother and daughter bonding...

He turned you down immediately. Rightfully so, as it was a foreign place. But you still wanted to compromise.

That's where you were now, looking through bounds of outfits. Varied from dresses, pants, jackets, and finally shirts. Hunter kept his distance. He did understand that Omega needed some 'girl time' with you, as Tech called it. He also understood that you two were the most important people to him, and he wanted to protect you at all cost.

When you and Omega stepped into an actual establishment for children's clothes, Hunter stood outside the door. Close enough that he could hear Omega laughing.

She picked through a rack, showing you the shirts she thought looked silly. The two of you got a couple odd looks, but neither of you cared.

A particular neon-green tube top grabbed her attention. She picked it up and joked that she wanted it.

"Yeah, very stealthy Omega." You said, playfully.

She giggled and put the shirt back. The two of you proceeded to go to the cashier with the 3 other shirts you found. Ones that fit her and were darker tones.

You immediately noticed that the owner of the store had a sour look on his face. This resulted in you putting on an cheery attitude, being extra kind.

"Ten credits." The yellow man stated, ignoring your pleasantries.

"T-ten?" You sputtered out, shocked. The tags on the clothes clearly stated 'one credit each.'

"Three for the clothes, and seven for the ones you insulted. Now an additional two for arguing with me." Since when was asking a question arguing.

Omega looked up at you, wondering what you would do next. You didn't have Ten credits on you, though you knew Hunter would let you tap into his personal stash if you asked. In this matter however, three shirts were not worth ten credits.

"Sir, i'm sorry about the comments. But we meant no harm. I can give you three credits for the shirts, as they are priced. No more." You reasoned with the man, knowing how bad Omega needed new clothes.

"You are not leaving this store until I get fifteen credits from you." He grumbled and reached for his blaster.

"Excuse me?" You were taken aback. Who did he think he was? Your own blaster was already raised.

"We don't have fifteen credits, and will be leaving now." You said, dropping the clothes. You were frustrated that the day had turned bad.

"Then she can work them off." He shoved his blaster to Omegas temple. Omega had left her energy bow back at the ship, and her borrowed blaster was on the side of her leg.

"We really don't have time for this, sir." You said before effectively disarming him. Your own blaster shot right past his shoulder, missing on purpose. It distracted him long enough for you to knock his blaster out of his own hand. Omega reached down to grab it- both guns now pointing at him.

It was as simple as it seemed, the guy was inexperienced. What the two of you didn't anticipate was Hunters call.

After rushing outside, the building was surrounded by men that looked like the store owner. Yellow with three horns on their ugly face.

What you would find out later was that the store owner had a bad temper, and went ahead to call for back-up. He was determined to make you all pay. Insanely petty if you could say so yourself.

Nevertheless, firing commenced. Again, it was easy. Even though they had numbers, they didn't possess the same skill as the three of you. Maybe that's why you got cocky?

Maybe that's why you found yourself with a blaster pointed at the back of your neck. The store owner! How did you forget him, you and Omega had rushed out without a second thought.

"This time, disarming me won't be so easy." You felt his breath on your ear, disgusting.

"Put the blaster down. Now." Hunter commanded. If you had your thoughts straight, it would have been really sexy.

"I don't think I will. I want 100 credits. For my time, and having to deal with these ratchet things you call humans!" The man insulted.

You smirked, "Not a wise decision." You remarked. Now it was personal- Hunter did not take insults to his girls lightly.

"Yeah, and what do you know? You're the one with a blaster poi-" He was interrupted by Hunter shooting him. Hunter wasn't as forgiving as you. The man fell, you didn't even look to see if he was alive.

With a puff Hunter started, "Let's get back."

"Are you okay!" Omega jumped to your side, calling your name.

Her voice sent a pang down from your spine to your stomach. She shouldn't be worried about you... She should feel safe and protected. All she saw was you getting risky and dumb. Now she thought she had to worry about you... You felt shame rush to your cheeks in a pink hue.

This Hunter took notice of, he was confused. There was nothing to be embarrassed about? At least he didn't think so.

The walk back to the ship was mostly silent, except for Hunter confirming we would try another market soon.

You kept your head up, now being over-cautious, hand hovering your blaster. That was until Hunter took your hand in his. He smiled at you. He could feel the tension off your body. He'd ask about it the second you got some alone time.

You looked at him and swallowed. You only felt more guilt. How was he so collected but ready to engage in combat at any moment. All of it just made you more insecure, what did you bring to the table?

Your thoughts were interrupted by Omega, pulling on Hunters free hand.

"Hunter! Can I pleeeeease get some!" She gestured to a bag of sweets for sale. A mix of fruity candy, lolli-pops, and chewing gum.

"I don't know Omega." He started, but after seeing her face fall he followed it with- "Okay, but you'll have to share it with Wrecker."

She jumped up, hugging onto his arm. "Thank you! You're the best dad ever!" She giddily said, snatching the credit he held out for her.

His face brightened up, it was his turn to wear a light pink hue. Omega didn't even seem to realize what she said, but you gripped Hunters hand tighter.

"Dad... I like it." You leaned onto him, resting a head on his shoulder. Your arm now fully wrapped around his.

"She probably didn't even mean to say it..." He doubted, not wanting to think anything that wasn't mutual.

"Don't sell yourself short, Hunter." You said, not looking up at him, but rubbing your cheek on the material of his shirt.

Omega bopped back over and the three of you headed back to the ship.

Sleep escaped you, tossing and turning. The thoughts of the market kept you awake. This was not normal. You had all been in crappy situations like that one, why did it affect you so much?

Having Hunter save you wasn't something you resented, it was quite attractive. Just this instance. You had been so careless... You could have put an end to it all, but forgot to immobilize the main threat. You huffed and puffed, trying to get out your frustrations.

You were so lost in thought, that when Hunter placed a concerned hand on your shoulder- you jumped. He pulled away instantly, thinking he might have hurt you in some way.

"W-what?" You asked, squinting up at him. It seemed that no one else was awake, Hunter being the only one on watch.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, sweets?" He asked, hearing his nickname for you was enough to calm you down. At least, enough to get up and settle in one of the cock-pit seats.

You took a deep breath and sat up. He steadied you, an arm wrapping under your armpit to hold you.

"Just can't sleep." He knew there was more to the story. That was a big part about why you loved him. He was more than attentive, and the most selfless lover you could ask for.

"Come sit with me." He suggested, pulling you up with him as he stood to his feet.

He still had a hand rested on the small of your back as he led the two of you to the cockpit,

"So, what happened at the market?" You looked down, shame flooded out of you. Seemingly for no reason. You opted to sit down before answering.

"I let Omega down... There's nothing else to it. It was obvious." You almost felt angry that he didn't see the situation as you did.

His face scrunched up, eyes burning at you. He blinked several times before replying- "What are you talking about?"

With a groan you spoke again, "I can't even protect her from an angry, stupid, vender! You had to save us!" Your voice cracked at the end.

"I thought you didn't mind wh-" You cut him off

"I don't, I just-" You grumbled, frustrated that you couldn't find the right words.

"It's okay, you didn't let anyone down. Everyone is safe, it was just a small mishap." He reasoned, hating that you felt anything less than perfect. If only you saw yourself as he saw you.

You took a quick breath, "One day it won't be a 'small mishap' and something might happen to Omega. I was careless! Now she knows I can't protect her. I'm supposed to be the person she can run to... She must be so disappointed."

You let your head fall into your hands. You rested there for a moment, that was until Hunter made his way in front of you. He gently grasped your hands in his.

He lifted one of your hands to rest on his cheek- the tattooed one. You moved your thumb across the black lines.

"Omega thinks the world of you... nothing will change that. Who knows what would have happened if I wasn't there. If I hadn't called you out, you would have been able to think on what to do with the owner, right?" He explained, trying to shift some of the blame to himself.

You nodded at his words. At this he brings his free hand to rest on your cheek, matching yours on his. His words made you feel some relief, but you couldn't deny how you still felt guilty. Guilty that Omega may have thought differently now.

"Thank you..." You sniffled out, his words making your eyes water.

You leaned in for a kiss, only to be interrupted by a rustling.

Omega. Her light voice called your name, just before jumping onto you and Hunter. He held her steady as she fell into your arms.

"Today was so fun... I'm not disappointed!" You gasped slightly at her words, "You heard all that?" You had a worried look on your face.

"You guys are my family. I'll always feel protected with you." She leans into your arms, head resting just under your shoulder.

"I don't care about the mean guy, I had the best day ever... Can we visit the next market we find as well?" She said, excited, looking up into your eyes.

How could you say no to her sweet face?

"I think Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Echo should come too. Maybe they will have as much fun as we did shopping!" You and Hunter both laughed at this.

"i'm not so sure shopping is Tech's thing." Hunter joked.

You laughed again, wiping off the last tear on your face. Your anxieties had finally died down.

Hours later, Hunter would find you both asleep in the pilots chair- Omega rested snugged in your arms. That is, with evidence of the last candy all over Omega.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I didn't have a strong vision for this one, but I told myself I had to finish it before starting another. I also went off of some Star Wars article saying that 1 Credit is equal to 5 USD. Sorry if I got that wrong! As always, I am open to constructive criticism!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

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frownyalfred · 7 months ago

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Okay but the angst of Bruce dying from soul bond not being full filled is delicious. Of course Clarke would Never allow Bruce to die, even if it cost him Lois over this, but if after Lois learns about the cheating and Clarkes chooses Lois, I don't think Bruce would tell Clarke.

I think Bruce would kind of assume it's his fault, and if he can't push through this, which in his mind is his own fault, well, he deserves it. Especially since his kids are mad at him, Dick and Jason are not talking to him. So as the effects grow worse, Bruce never says anything, dealing with it on his. At least, until his heart stops, and Clark suddenly feels Bruce's death like his hear withering and dying. He screams and collapses, in more pain he's ever been in. Maybe if he had been listening to Bruce's heart like he had done for years, had heard it stutter, he could have been fast enough to save Bruce. But he had choosen Lois, completely and totally, even knowing there would be consequences to separating from Bruce.

Alfred (and Dick) knew Bruce was going through it, and Alfred even knew about the soul bond aspect (no one else did) and that his health was failing because of it, but thought he would recover. The idea of Bruce dying from what was basically a broken heart was inconceivable to him. But his son body, despite feeling warm to the touch, is unnaturally still beneath his hands, having taken over CPR on Bruce so Dick could have a break, the ambulance 15 minutes out at best.

How could Clark live with himself after? How does Lois feel, realizing that the soulbond stuff was really really real, that her once friend is dead. And Clark, despite knowing this could happen (but didn't really, it was Bruce. Bruce was always the exception, always the outlier, and all the information they had said it only happened in about half the cases and Bruce couldn't- Bruce Can't be...) never believed, never thought this could happen.

How the guilt must kill every day. And imagine the league and family finding out. Dick, Jason and Alfred would never forgive Clark and Lois. Despite originally being on Lois' side. And Lois, I mean, would she stay or leave in that situation? She has to stay or Bruce died for nothing but she can't stay since Clark will never forgive her for her or himself for Bruce's death (even thought it's not her fault), nor will any one in the caped community see her or Clark the same.

So much angst and whump ♡♡♡

(Ps, as an apology for all this angst you totally write SuperBatLane fluffy smut) (This is a joke) (the apology bit, not the superbatlane stuff. You should definitely write some superbatlane)

Oh wow, that ask is a gut lunch. How about, if I finish the cheating superbat fic, I promise to write some superlanebat smut and call it all even? Everyone’s happy then?

#asks #anon #tw infidelity #tw death #tw character death #bruce wayne #batman #dc #myfic #theresurrectionist #superbat #clark kent #clois #Lois lane #superman

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loonybun · 2 months ago

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Surgical whump prompts!

(req by @i-eat-worlds)

warning some of these will not be medically accurate or possible without an immortal whumpee so ignore that 💖 also sort of more intense gore stuff/me going on several tangents about my favorite pieces of unethical medical history. specific warnings for lobotomies, manipulation, infection, and dismemberment.

- i’ve kind of loved the idea of implanting something silver underneath the skin of a creature that’s weak to it. Every movement causes it to shift and itch and burn even after the skin has healed over

- amputation :) one too many escape attempts? why not make that a little harder? nab a limb every time they try running off. Maybe just start with the fingers or toes and work your way up from there.

- you know what i see a surprising lack of in whump? lobotomies. seriously where are the lobotomies. the lobotomies with long term effects. the lobotomies which a magical regenerative or immortal whumpee could recover from but leaves them scarred for life. In case you’re unaware of what lobotomies actually do to the brain, they essentially shut off your ability to think for yourself. You may still be responsive and you can still follow instructions, but they have to be very specific and step-by-step. (specifically referencing transorbital. there are different kinds with different ranges of damage potential but the transorbital is the most well known. fun fact the guy who invented the transorbital lobotomy rode around in a car he called the lobotomobile. you can’t make this shit up.)

- my love for victorian medical practices is seeping in here but perform a surgery with dull and dirty tools! The crusted blood on the scalpel adds to the effect. Bonus points if it causes a nasty infection

- Circling back to lobotomy-adjacent stuff, have your whumper fuck around with removing non-essential parts of the brain. Get an H.M. situation where you remove their ability to move short-term memories to their long-term bank. Maybe remove the amygdala, too. Or parts of the cerebellum so that they’re all uncoordinated. Not sure just how effective that would be though since I’m pretty sure the cerebellum controls other stuff too.

- leather straps securing them to the table. must i say more.

- also seriously implant devices into them. explosives, a little thing that releases drugs, something that taps into their nerves, etc…

- organ harvesting. classic but hey. i’m a simple man.

- maybe the whumper is a respected surgeon. whumpee goes to whumper for help with a rare medical condition that could maybe be solved through surgery, and instead of immediately helping them whumper keeps them to document their condition, subjecting them to various treatments and vivisections in order to find some way to “help” them. whumpee case studies, folks!

- sorry this is absolutely me sneaking my personal favorite tropes into this post but please dismember your whumpees n put them back together ball jointed doll style. surprise you can’t move on your own anymore but you can still hold a pose! loser.

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hitlikehammers · 5 months ago

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Steve Harrington: The Boy Who Never Belonged Anywhere

🖤steddie🖤 — and yeah okay it does kinda start out w a little emotional whump (also please let me emphasize the TEMPORARY character death that MIGHT NOT EVEN BE REAL IN THE FIRST PLACE 👀)

To say Steve’s never felt like he belonged, like he ever really fit anywhere, would be inaccurate.

Because he’d have to know what it meant to fit somewhere at all, in order to know that he was failing at it, like, specifically.

Failure in general, though: that Steve is more than accustomed to. That is all his in fucking spades—and not for lack of trying for better. He watches the other kids at the piano recitals; he cannot perform sufficiently to escape his mother’s exasperation. He listens to his classmates, the ones from families his parents approve of, tries to learn their phrasings, their flippance, their disdain for things Steve doesn’t understand as deserving of the hate his parents show: still his father rages, still Steve weathers his disappointment as a rule. So he does try: less to fit, maybe, and more to blend. To be inoffensive. To maybe just…be forgotten. To fade into the backdrop.

Everything in his life, really, he does to this end: match them. Be like them. Be good but not too good. Don’t draw attention. Fit in, finally, if you’re lucky—someday.

Don’t aim to belong, lest you set yourself up for disappointment.

He knows enough of disappointment; he’s not interested in making any more.

So Steve swims where he stays in a lane, and he dribbles a ball in the confines of a court. Shoots it even, though he’s not always sure why it matters, but he chalks it up to the truth of ‘most things’: he doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t quite fit, and that’s probably explanation enough.

He sits at the table at lunch with the people from the families with names his parents don’t frown at. He makes his hair look like the actors in the magazines, the ones that enough people seem to like to merit a place on the cover, to earn the right to make money for a company because money is important—another thing Steve doesn’t wholly comprehend, but his father screams less when there is more money and screams a lot more when even a little bit of it is lost so Steve adds it to the list of things he’ll never understand because he doesn’t fit.

He dates, because that’s what everyone else does. It isn’t unpleasant. It’s more just a thing. He dates Nancy Wheeler because his father mentioned once that a prize hard won was a prize tripled in worth and Steve wants to do things that are worth something. Steve thinks maybe enough worth will mould him into the right shape. To fit.

He’s wrong, in the end.

But it ends up with him being confused instead, in gradual steps in the middle: he ends up being confused by wanting to protect.

He’s never really felt that urge before but it feels natural, and it feels stronger than other feelings do; than other ones have. Stronger than winning. Stronger than dating. Stronger than pleasure. Stronger than wanting.

He wonders—only briefly, but he does wonder—if this is what they mean when they talk about ‘fit’. If this is just another word for ‘belonging’. Like a…a cinnamonym. Or whatever it’s called.

It isn’t, he does ultimately realize, but it fills something in him anyway. It doesn’t make him fit everywhere, but it moulds him like Play-Doh, or silly putty, to fit…here. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not as he’d dreamed or hoped. Maybe not like he imagined from all the stories and movies and shit. But.

It’s a kind of fit. Protecting is a type of belonging, he thinks. Yeah

It’s good. It’s a good thing.

But it really does cement the simple fact that everything in Steve’s life—whether it landed him closer or farther away from the idea of belonging in any of it, of being able maybe to live itself at all: but everything he chooses, everything he tries, everything he does and makes of himself, brings into being as proof that he’s here?

Is only ever for anything and anyone but himself.

He considers the kids as anomalies, as proof against the rule: they provide no social clout—in reality they damage his standing with the people his parents deem worth courting for opinion. They fill up Steve’s chest, though, but: it’s protection, first and foremost. The belonging of keeping safe.

Then there’s Robin, and she’s the closest he’s even known to something that could be other, something that could be new. Sometimes it feels like her cells are made of the same ill-fitting star-stuff that Steve’s cursed with but no part of Robin is a curse, Robin Buckley is only a gift and that makes it confusing, so confusing—

He still needs to protect her, above nearly all things, but the way she doesn’t merely fill his chest but comes to live inside it? That is new. And maybe Steve still doesn’t fit, or belong, but: Robin fits under his ribs, and he belongs inside hers just the same and…that might not be what anyone wanted from him. But it’s something.

And yeah, maybe circumstance chooses it for him first, but: he holds on of his own volition. It’s his own whole-ass choice to never ever let her go.

So it’s something.

Though: after—not long, but still after, long enough after that Steve knows a little what he’s looking for, the full-feeling that makes his ribs like a breastplate, that…that he protects with all that he is but maybe for the first time, also protects him. Make an armor of his chest and holds him close, makes him laugh and feel light, and see colors he didn’t know existed; makes him feel weightless like the ground’s no longer beneath his feet.

It’s this…undeniable taste of what it means to belong, and he knows that for reasons he cannot point toward or give a name to. But he knows. This is belonging.

Belonging, inside the one and only thing in Steve’s whole life that he has ever chosen for himself: the beautiful man with eyes beyond nighttime, elusive and enchanting, selling him something that might take the edge off, the sting of still failing to fit.

When he finds, over days, and then weeks, is that fit is exactly the word for how he falls into Eddie Muson’s arms, how his dick disappears between Eddie Munson’s lips, how Eddie’s slicked-up cock slides between the cleft of Steve’s ass—close, close but not yet, baby, not yet, let’s savor the journey there; this.

This is what it means to belong, with absolutely no reasons pushing him toward it, toward them; in fact maybe more reasons pull him back, even, because Eddie Munson is the opposite of the family names his parents approve of, Eddie Munson is the opposite of maybe anything that anyoneapproves of, at least among the people who care about approving at all and that’s…that’s maybe the most amazing thing Steve’s ever learned and found, this freedom, this beauty, this man and the soul of him like champagne if it were soda pop, common maybe but only on the surface, hidden from view and so so sweet, so so rich in ways that really matter but bubbling always, a constant carbonated effervescence in Steve’s heart and his lungs and his bones and his veins, it is something—

It’s one of the best and most incredible somethings Steve could possibly imagine.

And Steve chose it all for himself. Steve clings to it, savors it just like he’s asked—loves inside it, all for himself.

He thinks he wants to offer his heart to Eddie. He’s already lost it, he’s pretty sure of that, but…he thinks there’s something in giving it, in finding a tiny break in the fullness of his ribs to reach inside and cradle it like an offering.

And then the universe, or whatever makes certain that his world, his life, is shaped not-to-fit as a rule: it reminds him.

Because Eddie sees a cheerleader snapped in half. And Eddie’s on the run, but not into Steve’s arms. And Eddie’s separated from him, for no good fucking reason when his soul’s hurting, aching for in; when his heart’s ready to be offered, Steve found the crack, he’s reached in and he’s reaching out with it cupped in his hands, just, just please—

And then Eddie’s gone. Eddie’s dead. And nothing belongs. Nothing fits. Moving’s not made for here. Breathing’s anathema.

Steve’s heart falls to the ground, untended. Insignificant.

And when it’s all said and done, Steve looks at the sky, knows that’s not where the cause of any of this lies if there’s a cause to it at all, but he blinks, and he cannot cry because he’s drowning in the tears on the inside but they don’t fit here either, so all he can do at all is blink and he lets go: of the wanting. Of the trying. Of the pushing to be anything but what he is, and was always meant to be. Will never be anything other than.

I get it. I see it. This world is not for me. I will never find my place. I tried, I asked for more and I lost. I understand.

I won’t make the same mistake again.

Secretly, though, where he drowns in his tears inside the breastplate of ribs still so full even if the protection’s turned rusted, leant into decay: secretly—

He cannot let go of Eddie Munson. He may be lost, and he may be as much the provenance of soil and dust, of the creatures there begging to consume without any care or concept of all that he meant; all that he means: Eddie may be no more than bound to the same fate as the heart Steve dropped to that same dirt, let it get ground into the earth to decay with his beloved, to be there with him always the only way that’s left, but—

Steve does not fit, will never belong, yet despite everything: he cannot let go of Eddie Munson.

He can’t yet comprehend that might be for a reason, let alone a reason that might just fit.

...part 2? 🧚‍♂️

For @vthx, who requested a fusion of 'Character-Has-Powers / Changelings' and A Dustland Fairytale—The Killers at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

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makerofmadness · 4 months ago

Text

itai itai no SICK SICK - a Cookie Run fanfic

(I spent like two months writing this whole thing lol. If you're wondering how long this is: I hit the text block limit [it's 1,000 in one post btw] and lagged out the post editor and my phone started heating up)

Warning for Heavy Angst & Whump, Hurt/Comfort, as in "a crap ton of hurt but eventually things get better"

Inspired by the song ベノム by Kairiki Bear (title comes from the lyrics)

Starring: Alchemist Cookie ft. Vampire Cookie and others

(Note: some implied Sparkvamp. Doesn't really go any further than the games themselves, though, so I didn't think it was worth tagging as ship but thought it was worth warning for)

TW: Alcoholism (or whatever Vampire is), (Self-Inflicted) Poisoning, Self-Harm (Via Poisoning), Suicidal Themes, (Cookiefied) Hematemesis

(Please tell me if more should be added to the TW, I will update accordingly)

Cover drawn by @driftwoodmfb (background by Nou/from the song's MV) and thanks to my friend @/sleep.starvedd from discord for the writing advice for one scene. And thanks to literally all my friends who read this before it was finished (@softichill @boom-fanfic-a-latta @organichotchoco and also @cosmoknightchaos who wasn't even in this fandom) couldn't have made it without ya.

(Story under the cut. Enjoy)

Grape juice.

She couldn't escape the smell of it within her home. Every day, every time she walked anywhere except for her room/lab, and especially any time she saw her own brother.

Alchemist Cookie's existence was less happy than it would've seemed from the outside, or than she really preferred to present it to others. And it all came down to one thing:

Vampire Cookie.

Embarrassing, was it not? How much he relied on her, his little sister, to keep him healthy, to keep the house tidy, to keep him together. He didn't ever take care of her, she wondered if he'd even notice if she were to ever fall sick and need taking care of, or if he'd just be happy to have that awful nagging away from him, as if she didn't nag with a purpose.

As if he'd even have a long enough attention span to look after her.

Ugh.

She shook the thought out of her head as she sat down at the table for dinner, alone. Vampire Cookie has gone out that night- he was always either at home or at Sparkling Cookie's juice bar, it was a struggle to get him to go anywhere else. She was half-considering calling Sparkling Cookie just to beg him to send her brother home, but she knew that would be unreasonable to ask of him like that.

Sparkling Cookie was nice. She liked Sparkling Cookie. He was kind to her; he showed her how to mix drinks once and she tried to apply that skill to her alchemy sometimes. She saw him too often. She somewhat resented him too. She would've resented him more if she hadn't met him.

It wasn't fun having to be called over so often, to pick her own brother up like that, to shoulder him home as he'd confusedly ramble about this and that, as he'd seem to have forgotten who she was...

It hurt. She felt sick just thinking about it.

It'd come back to him, it always did. He promised he always forgot everything from time to time like that, the times he'd forgotten his own name still scared her, but that he'd never really forget her.

She didn't believe it. One day he wouldn't see her every day, and then he wouldn't remember her when he sobered up. One day he'd be around and she wouldn't be. His lifespan would outlast hers. That was what little she really understood of his condition. And how she resented it.

She didn't really understand her brother and how he operated. She worried for his health as he seemed to only consume grape juice some days, and seemed bored or averse of normal sustenance. She tried everything in her power to get anything good into his diet, despite his resistance.

"I don't need that stuff, sis," he'd always tell her, "all I need is grape juice. That's what keeps me going."

She couldn't help but worry for him. He never seemed to worsen despite his diet being built on what should've been unstable grounds- the opposite was the case, actually: he was considered quite the strong and ethereally handsome Cookie by most. He was popular, he had many treasures, and nothing ever seemed to get to him. Everything was well with his life. "Cheers to a wonderful life!" He'd say sometimes.

Was she an afterthought, or did he just not see her distress?

As a Cookie, he was many things: Carelessfree. Unaffected by her pain. An immortal being who would outlive her.

Who would take care of him after that?

She had only ever talked about this to him once. And he told her she was "too young to start thinking about mortality." She was still what would be considered too young for that. But how could she not? Life was at alchemy's center, and her brother was an immortal vampire who would definitely outlive her.

And yet here she was, still trying to make him eat his vegetables because it was 'good for him' or make him go to check-ups with Dr. Bones Cookie because he was too lazy to bother going out that far for something without a promise of juice. He didn't need any of this. She really did know it deep down. But she kept doing it anyway.

She would never dare say it, but maybe deep down she just wanted to pretend he was normal.

...Her brother probably would've crumbled from juice overdose by now if he had been normal.

From that poison he sustained himself on.

But the alternative would've been...

She picked at her plate, having lost her appetite suddenly. She much preferred devoting as much time and energy as possible to shutting herself away in her lab, away from her brother and the grape juice smell that came off of his very dough, and endlessly researching and experimenting until he found his way in somehow and made her stop pushing herself so hard. Her life's work had been researching Life Potions. Her Life's work had been to extend her own lifespan

She got up from the table, leaving her plate untouched. Perhaps Vampire Cookie would just eat it for her. She knew he wouldn't bother. He didn't typically bother with normal Cookie meals, when he did it was either to please her, to participate with a group, to look normal at events, or for the flavor. He wouldn't be eating a random salad by himself.

...she decided to go over to the phone and make a call. To a number she had to have memorized by now:

"...hello? Sparkling Cookie? Yes, it's Alchemist Cookie, I was just wondering if my brother is going to come home soon... ... ...A party, huh? Well... Whatever. Just- If you don't mind me asking, could you, uh... cut him off sooner rather than later tonight...? I'm just- you see, I might be busy tonight, so I'd prefer it if he could come home by himself tonight, safely... ... ...Thank you. I knew you'd understand. Have a nice night."

She put the phone back on the wall and began walking away, but felt... hollow.

Of course he'd have gone to a party without telling her anything. It wasn't as if she'd be worried sick if he came home late...

Maybe he'd come home sooner if he couldn't have more, though...

Whatever. It didn't matter. He always had more lying around, anyway. In the cellar, or in his room, or in the kitchen, or wherever he could store it. He'd even tried to use her vials, more than once...

And then he'd just lie around and do nothing with her. They never really spent time together, it felt. Sometimes they'd go out and do things, social events and the like, but she craved something personal. Meaningful.

For their entire existence, had they ever really just hung out? One time, she had done a favor for Cherry Cookie, and said cookie had talked all about her plans that day with her sister, Cherry Blossom Cookie. Those two had been planning to go on a picnic together that day. And hearing about those plans, all Alchemist Cookie had thought was: Why didn't MY sibling do that with me...?

She sat down on the couch- and looking at the furniture she started to feel ashamed for not being happy. While she had specifically made sure that their home looked normal enough, it very obviously showed through that they had... more than average to spend, with how nice everything looked, shining and sparkling even within the dim lighting of most rooms.

She didn't know where he got it all from.

He didn't have to work, and she was more interested in her passions, and her working options were limited at her age anyway. No one made any money, really-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and a voice shouting for her:

"ALCHEMIST COOKIE~!!"

Before she even had the opportunity to say a word or leave the room, a certain fanged Cookie slumped in. She could smell the grape juice saturating his dough. She suppressed a gag. That smell had gotten stronger than usual. She could even see a stain on his coat.

...she wasn't surprised.

"So- *hiccup* 'scuse me-" he plopped himself down next to her, while she just tried to stare off onto space. She had better things to occupy her mind with, things that her brother wasn't interested in in the slightest except for maybe that one time. She'd just escape into her mind while her body would stand in until he either had his fill of rambling to her about 'the wonders of taking breaks' or-

"Sparkling Cookie said you called him, eh...?"

Her jam ran cold. Even though he had no anger in his voice.

"..." she avoided looking at him, knowing that the best she could really say was the truth, "I-I just- you see... I was going to go work in my lab, but I... wasn't expecting you to be home this soon-"

"I mean, duh. No juice, no Vampire Cookie."

He didn't even stick around just to talk to his friends...?

"But, why's that the issue...?"

"..." Was he really that oblivious? "If you had too much, I would have to help you come home... but if I'm working, then I won't be at the phone, so I won't even know-"

"Oh, I see: You're worried about me, aren't ya?"

She was torn between two responses: 'Yes. All the time. Every day. And I don't know how much longer I can take it for.' And 'Worried that you'll try to come home yourself anyway and end up in some stupid or dangerous or stupidly dangerous situation, yes.'

Both went unsaid. Instead, just:

"Yes."

"Awww, you know what I always tell you, sis..."

Vampire Cookie leaned into his sister, affectionately wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer to him. The warmth and love of a familial embrace could no longer reach her.

"Don't worry about everything so much! It'd do you wonders to-"

"How can I not?? I never asked to have to look after my big brother, just because HE can't put down the STUPID JUICE GLASS-"

She immediately slapped her hand over her mouth. That wasn't supposed to come out.

"..."

"...I-I'm going to my lab."

She got up with her brother's arm giving away from her surprisingly easily, given that he was usually slightly stronger than average, and walked away without looking back.

She didn't even see the look on his face. But she could care less.

Alchemist Cookie just walked away, practically without thought, her legs carrying her all the way to the door to her lab. As she entered and shut it behind her, however, she suddenly lost her will to carry on.

...

Oh. Her eyes had sprung a leak. Embarrassing.

Alone, nothing and no one to grant her solace, something dark within her mind that had been brewing for a long time began to concoct an idea out of festered, fermented emotions:

If he was going to nourish himself on poison every day, she thought:

Two could play at that game.

It took about a week to gather the ingredients. In that time, somewhere deep down, she had been hoping that something would happen to change her mind. It was a decent amount of time, she thought, looking at the grand scheme of her pathetically short existence.

But nothing did. In fact, she only had her current thoughts affirmed.

Not by any change, but by a lack thereof: by stagnation.

By that stagnant grape juice her life had been drowned by.

She couldn't even really focus on or enjoy her work anymore because whenever she tried to get 'in the zone,' her thoughts would always go back to her brother.

One day, which she had spent almost entirely in her lab, her brother came home from the bar- not by himself, but being shouldered by his acquaintance Cinnamon Cookie- who interrupted her planning just to inform her that her brother was home. The nerve of that Cookie. (...she had to have gotten a call, right? She didn't leave her lab the whole day, so...)

"*sigh* How much did Vampire Cookie drink...?"

"...uh- N-nobody knows..."

"...ugh. Whatever."

No one ever kept track.

Days went by and her brother was none-the-wiser to what she was planning. Despite all the time he spent at home...

She had a hard time keeping him out of her room, though. She couldn't lock the door to her lab, so he'd always get in. But her reagent-gathering was sporadic and unplanned, she had nothing written down...

Then came the day she finally decided that she was ready.

This would be the perfect concoction. Acridly flavored. She was turning it into an experimental melting pot, a pot of completely random reagents. Not really. She was very much aiming for the most toxic ingredients she had as she grabbed them from around the room. With the test subject being herself.

By the end, once she'd had enough of tossing things in the pot, she watched the final color end up as a vivid pink. The mixture had bubbled and fizzed during the mixing process, but now it was... completely still.

Deathly still.

It was almost tranquil, the way it sat. She stared at it for a moment, before scooping some of it into an empty flask she had laying around.

She swished it around a little, staring blankly. Nothing changed about it.

Whatever this nocuous cocktail would do, it wouldn't be anything good for her...

She knew this would be it. This would show him. He'd finally understand. This would teach him a lesson.

She wanted to -------

She slowly took the flask up to her lips.

Bottoms up.

Immediately she felt it burn as it rushed down her throat.

It hurt. It tasted foul. She made sure to get down every last drop, swallowing a steady stream of death-

Something inside her told her to spit it out. But she was set, she refused to go back: She would show him.

Once she'd gulped it all down, she put the flask down on her work table. Already she could feel the effects: A stomachache was setting in, she felt incredibly nauseous and dizzy, a pain began to burn her chest from the inside, her eyes began to spill water and something buried within her once-logical mind was still yelling at her SPIT IT OUT-

But she couldn't. It was far too late for that.

There was no going back.

~~~

She staggered out of her room with an aching sensation filling every inch of her dough. Her head especially was beginning to throb with pain- but really, her entire body was in general agony.

Her head was spinning, to the point she was starting to see double, and this combined with the sudden shortness of her breath that she couldn't tell if it was just her panicking or if it had been yet another effect of her concoction made walking to the living room take...

She didn't know how long.

The numbers on the clock, she couldn't read them anymore. She couldn't recognize them. She couldn't process any of them.

Her head hurt even more trying to do so.

But she eventually found her way in, and, after further difficulty bumping into the furniture, finally managed to sit herself down.

She lay back on the sofa, but even cessation of action did nothing to make breathing an easier task. She could feel her heart beating in her head chest. It was speaking over her reason. Shouting over it.

'Why even bother sitting out here? You know he's not going to notice. Even if he does, he won't be concerned. Get to work; Be productive with your time at least...'

She shook any thought from her mind the moment her brother came into the room. She felt too weak to even spend the energy talking to him, she wasn't even sure if she would be able to get a coherent word out anyway, but surely he'd at least ask how she was doing. And then when she didn't answer, he'd look at her, and then he'd notice something was wrong-

But he just walked on by.

He said something, but she couldn't focus on the words. And it didn't change the fact that he just left the room anyway.

(Maybe it sounded like "Love ya, sis" but she couldn't tell. She wouldn't have believed it, anyway.)

That woefully familiar miasma of grape juice hit her senses, worsening that already overwhelming nausea of hers. Stronger than ever. Or was it the same as usual...? Everything just felt worse like this...

'...what a joke. He just walked right past you. He probably didn't even realize you're here. He probably forgot you again.'

The leaks were back, gushing, overflowing- and she didn't have the energy to fix them. Agonizing all alone, with this toxin eating away at her system...

If it didn't crumble her tonight, she'd try again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. And over and over again until he finally noticed that something was wrong...

She slept unrestfully that night, and even though the effects of the concoction had mostly subsided by the afternoon when she woke up, she still felt tired.

She planned her routine out from there: Every day, once she woke up (frustratingly, it was already difficult to keep to her usual schedule), she would immediately take a drink of the poison before she even went to eat breakfast. She'd then just let the day play out as she rapidly grew ill, and see if her brother ever asked about her health.

He didn't ask her. One day, two days, three days- she seldom spoke to him, as he'd be either in his room lazing around or indulging in the one thing he cared about in the world, or at Sparkling Cookie's- and she was just exuberant to see the look on his and Vampire Cookie's faces the inevitable day she'd come in to do her usual 'nag-and-drag' routine and at best not even have the physical strength to get her brother off the floor and at worst-

'You could crumble right in front of him and he wouldn't say a thing. He doesn't care about you. He's NEVER cared about you.'

She didn't care anymore. That night, though- her brother staggered home with his arm over another Cookie's shoulder again. This time, however, it was Sparkling Cookie himself who accompanied the drunken Cookie through the door.

She didn't know this until the two of them walked into the living room, where she was leaning over the left side of the couch trying not to pass out from exhaustion.

"Oh. Well, hello there, Alchemist Cookie!" Sparkling Cookie smiled at her with a warmth that she couldn't feel.

"He-ey, lil sis! *hic*" Vampire Cookie gave a loose, lazy wave. "How ya doin???"

Alchemist Cookie didn't want to speak to either of them. Tiredness was the bulk of the reason, she really hadn't vocalized much at all in the past few days since her experiment had begun, but really what could she have said to either of these Cookies?

Sparkling Cookie. The Cookie that ran the juice bar. The Cookie that called her on the phone at bare minimum three times per week just to pick her brother up from said juice bar. The Cookie who did nothing but serve that disgusting, baneful juice.

She really resented Sparkling Cookie.

And her brother...

Immediately flopped himself next to her, as close as possible, forcing her to take in that grossly prominent grape juice smell, as if it weren't hard enough to breathe already. And lovingly, he started clinging to her side by the arm, practically leaning all of his weight into her as if he hadn't been a heavy enough burden-

His body was as cold as always. She knew to expect that from him. She was always prepared to feel that. And normally the physical cold was easy to ignore thanks to the emotional warmth. But she just couldn't feel that anymore...

She was so, so cold.

"Alchemist Cookie? You're shivering... are you alright?" Sparkling Cookie looked at her carefully and with concern, coming closer to her. She couldn't get up. "You look... unwell..."

...

She tried to say something, but all she could get out were wheezing breaths and a hacking cough she couldn't cover up.

Sparkling Cookie put his hand to her forehead. She didn't have the energy to get it away.

"Hmmm... you're not burning up, but you sure look sick. And you sound sick, too..."

"Yeeeeaaaahhhh... ya look kinda funny..."

Her brother's face was practically pressed into hers as his spacey eyes made direct contact with hersand she hoped he would notice how they had dulled to lifelessness by now as she turned her head too, and even just that caused her a splitting headache that she did her best to ignore because she wasn't going to let Sparkling Cookie see that.

"...eh, doesn't look like much. Looks like Alchemist Cookie like always. *hiccup* You're fiiiiiiine~ It's whateeeeeeever~"

He didn't notice. He didn't care.

Sparkling Cookie sighed and pried Vampire Cookie from her, gently but still causing her pain yet again. Vampire Cookie just leaned to the other side of the couch, oblivious just as he always was.

"Don't be a buzzkill, Sparkling Cookie!! *hiccup* I was all nice and comfy right there... Can't a Cookie just give his lil sis a hug in peace?? What's this world come to... *sigh*"

The look on Sparkling Cookie's face seemed disappointed but unsurprised before his attention shifted back to Alchemist Cookie:

"Thank goodness it was a slow day at the bar tonight. There's no way Vampire Cookie would be able to take care of you like this..."

If he was implying what she thought he was implying, then she wished she could just get up and run away, but she knew the air would leave her faster than it could get to her.

She didn't want him hanging around her house. Her brother had enough access to grape juice already. She wasn't going to let him have the idea of bringing bar nights into their house. She already couldn't escape them normally.

She just barely scraped together enough energy to shake her head, weakly. She tried to get up, now that her brother was off of her and couldn't weigh her down.

The dizziness set in immediately as she could barely find balance in her feet, waving her arms around trying to find a support-

Sparkling Cookie's hands approached to help stabilize her, but she slapped them away before they could make contact. Purposefully.

"A-Alchemist Cookie, let me help you to your room, please. You're clearly too weak to stand on your own..."

As she tottered towards the wall to lean against it, she glared back at him and tried to mouth her answer:

I want you gone.

She knew he could lip-read decently enough. She knew the way she mouthed it was obvious enough.

She didn't care.

She saw his feelings on his face. In his eyes. The shock, confusion, worry. Hurt. She didn't feel bad. Not for the barkeep that drove her and her brother only further apart. Maybe a little, for the mixologist that'd always bring out some set of old alchemy textbooks from the back when she needed to hang around, that she'd practically had memorized from the amount of times she'd read them all front to back. She turned away before staggering over to the hallway.

"G'nighty night, sis~, don't *hic* don't let the... what's the sayin again? Whatever, sweet dreams..."

She turned in early that night. She didn't have anything better to do anyway. She couldn't do anything else like this. She couldn't do alchemy anymore. But she didn't care.

She was beginning to accept the struggle to sit up or even just to open her eyes in the morning, the way her vision would still be so blurry and unfocused even after putting her glasses on that she wasn't certain they were even on her face, the lingering aches and pains that hung over every moment...

"...Alchemist Cookie...? Alchemist Cookie!"

This wasn't part of the routine.

She had been sitting there at the edge of her bed for who-knows-how-long likely a minute before she realized a voice she knew all too well was inside her room.

Vampire Cookie.

She looked over to see him leaning with his back to the side of her cauldron pot, holding one of her vials.

She just barely mustered the words with airy breaths in-between: "Wh-what are... you doing... up... this ear...ly!?"

"Uhhh... first of all, it's 4 in the afternoon." He walked to her as she sulked in place without energy to move. "Second of all, Sparkling Cookie told me that last night, he noticed you were feeling... more than a little under-the-weather. So I came in here to check on you, and I saw... whatever that is."

He pointed over to the cauldron. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Well, I looked at it and thought that maybe you'd finally made more of that wonderful pink juice that you'd kept insisting was 'just an accident' and 'you didn't have the recipe for.' So, I couldn't help but have a little drink..."

Ah, yes, the 'Pink Juice Incident.' The one that had dyed most of the kingdom pink with love. She had been so confused that night when both her brother and Sparkling Cookie came and started thanking her profusely for "that delicious rosé juice" and "the boost in business for the day." That was the first time Sparkling Cookie had ever been over at their home. (And she wished the two of them could've been a little less... excessively romantic.)

...but her brother had been so sweet that night. When he wasn't rambling on and on about how debonair Sparkling Cookie looked in pink, he was giving her a pat on the head or saying about five times total "cheers to my brilliant sister and her alchemy!" despite no one else raising a glass with him, and she'd felt all warm and fuzzy on the inside...

It almost made her wish, in some deep selfish recess of her mind, that she could make it again. Just so he would praise her some more. She craved that validation.

...but she couldn't. And even if she could, she wouldn't. She couldn't poison him like that just for her own needs.

Wait...

He drank the poison...? He drank her concoction!?

The look on his face changed from pleasant reminiscence to light disgust.

"But that stuff tastes awful...! What did you even put in there?"

...of course he wouldn't be affected. Her potions never worked on him. Even when she wanted them to.The 'Pink Juice' affecting him was only a result of how haphazard that entire concoction had been.

She had once sought out to transmute her brother alchemically, to create some kind of potion that could eliminate that listless juice addiction of his. And yet none of them ever worked on anything but a normal Cookie.

There was that one time his personality seemingly inverted out of nowhere, where he started dressing and acting like her for a few days and even researching alchemy (...seemingly), that she never got an explanation for, until she came up with a potion to put him back to normal...

No. She knew her potions wouldn't have suddenly started working on him. She made all her concoctions with the reference of how to affect a normal Cookie, all the way down to composition. He wasn't normal. She had a whole pile of failed attempts at a working Flavor Reversal Potion by the end of her prior experiments in futility, after all. And she used them as the basis for the cure.

...in which case, she certainly couldn't have 'fixed him' by the end of it when he encroached on her field, so how did he return to normal...?

...

Had he really just been messing with her the whole time...?

She'd somewhat started to appreciate him more after that incident. At least, she realized her problem with him was less about him and more...

Whatever. She didn't care anymore. "No juice, no Vampire Cookie," in his own words.

She tried to get up to her feet- and immediately she envied her brother's ability to levitate as the pain shot up through her legs.

"OW!!"

"Alchemist Cookie??"

"You... you drank my... my poi- my potion...!?"

"Yeah. So?"

"...grrrr..." she didn't look at him, but felt a sudden burst of... not as much as strength as it was anger,and yet it still wasn't enough to give her hands the strength for fists, "why... why can't you... why can't you just control yourself for once!?"

It could hardly be called a shout, but she couldn't do that anymore.

But she could spit venom just fine.

"...sis, what do you-"

"It's always drink this, drink that...!! All for you, you, YOU...!!!" She pushed him to the side and dragged her legs over to her prized pot. Looking into it, it didn't seem to have had much taken out of it, and yet she still felt furious that he had taken what was hers. As she turned back around and made sure to make direct eye contact, further infuriated by the confusion that met her, she put on a sarcastic tone and gestured sloppily as she mimicked her brother's voice: "Can't you make some juice with your alchemy?' this and 'Can you stop bothering me about alchemy when I'm trying to enjoy my juice?" that *pant*... and then you have the gall, to come into my room, and try to just drink anything that wasn't meant for you... and when it's not that, you're looking through my research notes, to see if they have anything about juice... because THAT'S ALL YOU EVER CARE ABOUT-"

Unable to keep up with her own shouting, she suddenly entered a violent coughing fit. She couldn't breathe. Vampire Cookie looked a mix of horrified and... mortified.

She had to support herself on the side of the cauldron to prevent herself from keeling over, with how light-headed she was getting. She'd started spitting venom, but she felt as if she were going to start spitting jam.

As soon as she could get a breath back in, as she saw that fanged Cookie take just a few quivering steps toward her with a face of remorseful shock, she shot a glare in his direction and finally gasped out:

"Why, does everything, have to be, about you...!? You... about your juice... is that... all I'm good for, to you...? Making juice, for you...? Taking care, of you...?? Catering, to you...!?!"

"..." Her brother stood frozen by her cold words. "...A-Alchemist Cookie, you know that's not true, you're not-"

"It's always, juice for you, juice for you..." As she gazed fondly into the contents of the cauldron, her mouth formed a twisted, broken facade of a smile: "But this, is for ME... this... makes me... feel better..."

It was funny to her, almost. The purpose of this entire experiment had once been to make her brother see what he was doing to her himself. Nourishing himself on that poison of his every day.

That crimson venom dripping from his fangs as he bit into her life.

But she didn't care anymore. She wasn't doing this for him anymore.

She had long lost her original intent.

But really, her intentions now had always been there, lurking deep down within the darkest crevices of her mind. Just waiting to bubble to the surface.

Her routine poisonings had begun to feel almost comforting to her, in some form. Because at the very least, it was something she had control over. She could control her own degradation except she knew it was progressing at an uncontrolled rate. She was doing this to herself. No one else was. She took a sense of pride in that, a sense of power, a sense of control.

Control. She needed control. She couldn't control her own mortality, she couldn't control her brother and his behavior. This pernicious potion was the only way to control anything, she thought...

So what if her health was deteriorating? She had every right to make it deteriorate.

This wasn't right

"(Feel better...?) Is it... a cure or something...?"

The inquiry snapped her out of her blissful thought, but she didn't look at him. She just thought:

He was right about that one thing: That this was, to her, more nostrum than noxious in the grand scheme of things.

She'd prescribed it herself to her own heart, the one true remedy for its malaise: Her own personal, hand-crafted, home-brewed panacea.

This would make everything better.

And so, she answered accordingly:

"Yes..."

"(...well, guess I shouldn't be surprised about medicine tasting bad...) Sis... I-"

"Sh-Shut up..."

Her head snapped to look at him and it hurt so much to make such a sudden movement, and she ignored the guilt that had been shining in his eyes and glared as she panted out:

"Get out... of my room... I'm done, talking... and, give me back, my vial, now...! *gasp* And then get out...!!"

She held out her hand. She would've pointed to the door with the other if she could trust her legs to keep themselves standing on their own, without propping herself up still. Vampire Cookie looked at her dejectedly before making his way toward the door, handing her the vial as he walked past but otherwise not stopping to look back...

Until he was at the door.

Just before he left through it, just before he could give her privacy, he looked back at her and said:

"...Could... could you at least... air out the room a little...? I-I just noticed that it's a little... I don't know, mephitic in here...? And you know I'll be able to smell this from-"

"Out...!!

"(...I-I'm sorry...)"

He shut the door, leaving her alone to her own devices in her ill-lit, shadow-casted room where the curtains hadn't been touched in days. She sighed.

'Finally. Almost thought he'd never go away...'

Now there was nothing keeping her from her precious elixir of death life... so-to-speak.

She didn't want to miss a dose. She rationalized it in her head, one should never skip even just a day's dose of their medication, after all. It just wasn't healthy...

She was really becoming an addict of her own. Addicted to her own misery. Pushing away, hitting away even the very idea of relief. She didn't even do anything of worth anymore, passing through life devoid of passion, of her passion- once she had dreamed of making great discoveries, but now what knowledge could be held in a mind too tired to think...? She reminded herself so much of her brother: Drinking, doing nothing, and decaying in her room; Dozing off in dreamless sleep and waiting for her doom; Hardly ever leaving, barely living in this tomb.

What a miserable creature she was. Maybe she deserved this anyway.

Bottoms up.

Over the next few days, she'd stopped keeping at some point. Of how long it had been since she'd started her slow march toward the end experiment. The days were all congealing into a mass of constant fatigue languor, not helped by her now inconsistent sleep schedule... most of her schedule was 'sleep' now, really, or a state between sleep and awake that she couldn't tell the difference between anymore because she just couldn't do anything else and even thinking was becoming too much of an energy sink sometimes.

She didn't even really have the energy to make her meals anymore. Sometimes she was too queasy to stomach anything. Sometimes she struggled to leave her room in the first place. The times she had done so, when the hunger got too much to bear, she'd noticed that her brother had started waiting around the kitchen more. Sitting at the table sometimes, trying to coax her into joining. "Are you going to keep me waiting for lunch?" or "Don't you think a sandwich would be nice right about now...?" ...he wasn't very subtle.

...one time he got desperate enough to try cooking something. It wasn't very good, he really had no idea how to prepare a salad if burning it was ever a possibility and especially in the way he did it, but...

The only thing she could easily put down was that burning potion of hers. But she was finding the simple act of swallowing to become more and more difficult thanks to the sheer pain of everything in her body.

And it was just another late afternoon, who-knows-how-long after this had all began, after her heart had crumbled and fallen apart, and she was about to take her potion again. Up to her mouth, running down her throat...

But she had to spit it out halfway through because she couldn't swallow it.

"ACK!!"

Something was wrong. More wrong than ever before.

It hurt.

She'd never felt more SICK.

She started coughing, forcefully, oxygen making its escape. Her body was trying to expel something.There was something in her that needed to get out.

And it came out.

Onto the floor and her hands as she dropped her flask, causing it to shatter there with the mess of...

Strawberry jam.

Nausea, pain, vertigo- everything was making her head spin, the room was spinning all around her, her vision was doubling, tripling in an instant and she could hardly keep her balance on her feet, her head was growing light and yet it was still heavy with soreness, everything was in pain-

She fell over onto her back. The lights above her looked all the brighter and stung her eyes. She could hardly keep them open; she didn't want to. She was beginning to fade in and out of conscious, anyway. Her consciousness was beginning to fade in and out of being, anyway.

This was it. The culmination of her experiment: A date alone with death, with toxins flowing through her.

Her crumbled body would lie alone within her room, not to be found for days. Weeks. Months. YEARS.

...

She was full of fear.

Those leaky eyes of her wouldn't stop, not when this wasn't what she had really wanted, deep down in the crumbled pieces of her heart, though she had long stopped admitting it to herself.

The one thing she'd wanted, needed, was...

Something she'd never get to see herself have, if she were to crumble now.

But she had no way to control the outcome of this. She never had. That cocktail of death had been dooming her every day she drank it. There was no going back.

'This is goodbye...'

~~~

"...Al...mi...C..ki....?...

(Why did this have to be such a slow process...? Why hadn't she crumbled yet? Was there something keeping her alive, some force of will? Was that really powerful enough to keep her from the brink...?)

(...she didn't want to crumble, but she had gone too far to save herself. And no one else was there to save her. Now she was stuck in a slow atrophy from the inside-out.

She could feel her insides crumbling.

Jam and leftover poison still oozed from her mouth, dripping down her face- and within her mouth just tasted so odiously foul and yet she couldn't spit any of it out. Her eyes could hardly keep open. She was just about to let them close, finally, to plug up that incessant leakage, even if she feared she may never open them again...)

"ALCHEMIST COOKIE?!!"

(Wait...)

(There was a voice, and footsteps that, even with the ringing in her ears, were close enough to make out, and they sounded far too fast for any normal Cookie to be running at...

She knew a Cookie who wasn't normal.

"Alchemist Cookie!? ALCHEMIST COOKIE!!!! WAKE UP, PLEASE!!!!!!!"

She just barely opened her eyes again as the ringing cleared to find the face of a Cookie staring down at her, that had gotten down next to her on the floor, that, even though her vision was blurry, she could make out had crimson hair and deep purple eyes...

Vampire Cookie...?

"Alchemist Cookie!?!?! What on Earthbread happened to you...!?!"

(He... found her. He actually found her. That shouldn't have happened, and yet...)

"..." She was scared to even try speaking. It'd be a waste of what little breath she had, anyway. It wasn't as if he'd ever listen to her, right?

...could she even speak? Could she even breathe? Was she even still...

No. No, the agony was undeniable. It said everything without words. Even if her body had broken down, even if it wouldn't work as she wished, she was very much still in it.

"...N-nevermind, you can tell me later. J-just- just relax, okay?? Just stay... calm..."

He got up and ran away- and while she couldn't get up to watch him leave, she was already feeling no less than sheer despondency. It wasn't disappointment, no- that would imply she had expected better of him, that she had had any hope left in her that he wouldn't just tell her to 'chill out' like he always did and then abandon her there to break down in desolation-

She never heard the door close.

She was ready to let the darkness take over her field of view again. She didn't hear the footsteps returning...

But she heard the sound of wings flapping towards her.

Looking as far towards the door as she could in her position, with her blurring vision she could make out some small, round blob of red flying in through the door and stopping right beside her- and in a sudden 'poof' of smoke, what was left was the taller figure of her big brother.

He came back

"Help is on the way, sis...! We just have to... wait right here, not move... and I'll be right by your side, I promise..."

(...oh. She didn't have a phone in her room, did she...? He had... called for help...?)

He knelt down next to her and rested his hand on her forehead. Cold to the touch, as always. But something about it was... soothing, to the slightest extent. Maybe it was because of how much she had been burning up on the inside. Maybe it was just the feeling of care that she felt within those eyes that were finally looking at her with clarity.

(...just for once, she felt grateful she didn't have a lock on her door. That she hadn't been able to shut him out. Just this once. Otherwise, she would have...)

"...Alchemist Cookie... what even happened to you, sis...? D-did the medicine you make not work? (I should've known it wasn't working, why didn't I...) What kind of sickness do you even have??"

"..." She didn't know whether or not to tell him what she had really been doing at this point. Two parts of her were conflicting, fighting for dominance over her crumbled heart: One of them held her original intentions, the other held those that had been more latent. Neither of them really felt like 'her.'

"...you know what, I'll just... leave that to Dr. Bones Cookie to figure out. That's their problem, not yours. You probably... don't even know, do you...?"

She did know. She knew what she was sick with.

She knew what made her sick.

She would've been able to tell him right now, in perfect detail, if she could just speak, she thought.

(Wait... who did he say...? She had to have misheard that, he was way too lazy to go through that much trouble...)

"(...that look in your eyes...)" He sounded confused and... guilty. Since when did he feel guilty...? (...there was that one time...) "But..."

She couldn't tell if he was shocked or in shock, but whatever it was, it left him silent for a few seconds before he said, with an uncharacteristically perturbed voice:

"A-anyway, I'm just... lucky I could smell... all of this from my room, otherwise, uh... (Heh, maybe it's a good thing you didn't open the window when I asked you to, right...? Haha...)"

(Sometimes she forgot how good his senses were... when they weren't being fogged by his favorite intoxicant. Actually, maybe that was why she had forgotten: Because they were always too numbed to function to the fullest...)

...the one thing she could clearly see was the discomfort he was trying and failing to hide, trying to keep his eyes on her and away from the red, sticky, sweet substance spread on the floor...

Unfortunately, it was also on her- splattered on her dress and body, seeping into the undersides from where she had fallen into this red, disgusting mess, and there was still some left over around her mouth that she was unable to wipe off.

She knew her brother could sometimes get a little squeamish- it only ever showed, really, when he was 'low on juice,' though. He didn't have the capacity for any such feeling otherwise, she thought.

...he did tend to drink more after physical exertion, though...

She saw a mild burgundy glow coming from where she knew his eyes to be

"I'm... starting to wish I didn't take Sparkling Cookie's advice right about now..." His stomach growled like some kind of animal. What did he mean by that...? "Uh... (good thing I don't like jam as much as juice, otherwise I would've... n-no, no need to think about that...) Rushing around sure works up a thirst, huh? Let's just, hope they... get here, in time..."

("like jam")

(...the alternative...)

...

Seconds passed, maybe a minute, and the two of them just stayed together in silence. It felt like an eternity. What was taking so long...?

...

Alchemist Cookie's body was so ridden with toxin at this point, she didn't know if she even had enough time to wait for them. It was so unfair. Why did she have to change her mind? Why did she have to feel so conflicted? She didn't understand herself. She didn't understand anything.

...

"...V...Vam...pire... C-C-Coo...kie...?"

The words fought to escape her throat. Vampire Cookie immediately snapped to full focus:

"Wh-What is it, sis...??"

"...A...am, I... g...gon-gonna..."

She gasped for air as she tried to communicate. It was taking so much of her breath. She hadn't spoken in so long, too, that she wondered if her difficulty forming the words was because of her fatigued and deteriorating condition or if she just didn't know how to anymore, if that were even possible.

But with her brother's full concern attention, she choked out the final words as those annoying leaks in her eyes outflowed, for what she knew could be the final time they ever would:

"...crum...ble...?"

Why was she even asking him this?

Why was she even asking him this...?

..why did she want to hear what he had to say...? To a question that was surely unanswerable for him?

...

Was it just to see how he'd react...?

(...just to see if he'd react...?)

His eyes widened as soon as the words escaped her mouth.

"N-NO, NO!!! I-I mean, no!! Don't- That'll never happen, I won't let it...!" She could just make out the white of his fangs... as he was giving her some attempt at a comforting smile, even if she could tell despite the fading of her sight that it was faltering. "Don't even think about that, sis!! J-j-just- just relax, like I said, and everything will be fine... you hear me? You'll be fine, you'll be a-okay, please, I- I won't let anything happen to you, just... just hang in there, I... I..."

She felt a few drops of something slowly drip onto her face. That facsimile smile came to grief.

"...I-I don't know, if I can do anything... Please, just, hang on... I can't lose you, sis..."

He was...

He was crying.

His voice was breaking up as he desperately sobbed out his pleas: "D-don't make me lose you like this, sis, not like this, not this early... p-p-please, you have to hang on, just hang on... you- you know I really- you know I love you, y'know..."

I love you

Hearing those words, she finally felt a wave of peace wash over her, gently lighting up the darkness that had veiled her world of hurt all this time.

All this time, those were the words she had been crumbling to hear. The words she had wanted, needed to hear.

The words her body was currently breaking down over.

She was beginning to wonder if it really had to come to this just to hear them.

The exhaustion had finally worn down on her too far to persevere. Her muddied eyes so dull and lifeless were coming to a close.

"A-Alchemist Cookie!?!?!?! N-No, stay with me, STAY WITH ME!!!! ALCHEMIST COOKIE!!!!!"

Her hearing was fading away, and the last thing she heard was:

"...I need to go make another call, or three..."

"...when is she going to wake up?? IS she going to wake up!?!"

"S-slow down, slow down!! I'm doing everything I can!!"

Alchemist Cookie's eyes just barely cracked open. It was so... bright.

Was she...?

...she was lying in a bed, under the covers- she could recognize that feeling. She wasn't wearing her usual clothes, either- she couldn't feel those. And the smell of the room was very... antiseptic. And... like ice cream...?

She was still in pain, she was still sick, but it felt... less so than before.

(...she could hear a beeping sound...)

Her head felt lighter, but not light-headed. More so, as if a weight had been taken off...

Her hat was gone.

She was...

...finally beginning to see clearly...

It was so brightly lit, the entire room. Bright and clean, white and lighter blues all over the room...

After a few blinks, she began to make out her surroundings in more detail: There was a sink in one corner, a chair and a table in the other. Looking down without moving her head she saw she was... definitely in a bed, just as she'd felt. With calming blue covers pulled up to her waist.

...She was wearing some kind of pale blue outfit with darker dots. She couldn't feel much covering her arms beyond the shoulders.

Finally budging her head just slightly to the left, ignoring the aching that still followed her head's movement (yet it still somehow still felt less than how much it had hurt to move before), she saw her arm lying out to the side, and...

There was... an IV tube, hooked up to...

Some kind of... heart-shaped plastic bag...? A bag full of... red, on some kind of white and cyan-striped stand, hooked on by... bones?

She heard the beeping coming from next to the head of her bed, out of her field of view, but she could tell what it sounded like. (She wasn't sure if it sounded... right or not... She wouldn't be surprised.)

There was only one place this could be:

Dr. Bones Cookie's clinic... which was more like a fun-sized hospital, really. It was located at the opposite corner of the kingdom as her and her brother's home (Dr. Bones Cookie had expressed their wishes to have it built more toward the center of the kingdom when they moved in, but there wasn't any room.)

And looking to her right, she saw her brother and the doctor themself chatting away... closer to 'frantic bickering' than 'chatting.'

"C'mon, Doc, just tell me she's going to be okay, tell me she'll wake up-"

"H-hold on!! I'm a doctor, not a miracle-worker! And, to be frank, a miracle's the exact kind of thing we need right now..."

They looked down at their clipboard as her brother crossed his arms, seeming uncharacteristically on-edge. The doctor looked over in her direction, and...

"...Oh, my. Well, we officially have a miracle on our hands...!"

Vampire Cookie turned over towards her, locking eyes with her, and gasped.

Alchemist Cookie could immediately see her brother's dark eyes light up with emotion like a moonlit night sky through a window, despite the bags under his eyes that she never would have imagined him with (at least his eyes were their normal hue). His mouth grew into a smile so visibly brimming with... elation and relief. He didn't seem to be able to hold back:

"ALCHEMIST COOKIE!!!"

Vampire Cookie transformed in a poof and flew right at her, rattling the poor doctor's bones.

"C-CAREFUL!!" Dr. Bones Cookie cried. "Bats are known for spreading diseases, you know...!!"

Her brother ignored them and landed next to her head with maybe a little too much impact (but it didn't hurt more than she could ignore), immediately snuggling into her. That round, red juice bat with pointed ears and sleepy eyes- his body was as cool as ever, even in this form...

And yet it was just barely warm enough that she almost smiled. Almost.

"You're okay! You're actually okay....!"

"...I'm... here...?"

Dr. Bones Cookie grabbed her brother by the wing, lifting him up and away from her. Standing right next to the side of the bed, they held the bat up to their eye socket level, squinting at him with an annoyed look.

"Be careful!!" they warned.

"Well, sorry..." Vampire Cookie said sarcastically before poofing back into his usual form, which visibly startled the poor doctor. "But my dear sister almost crumbled..." he continued, and shrugged, "can't I celebrate that that didn't happen...?"

The doctor pointed at him with their pen and said: "A-as long as you don't touch her until I'm certain her condition is stable!! Do you even realize how brittle her dough was back there!? I'm surprised she didn't crumble before-"

"Okay, okay!! *sigh* I'll just, stand here, just... let me talk to her for a second, okay...?"

"..." They said nothing, but backed up slightly, nodded their head, and motioned as if to say go ahead before turning away to look at their clipboard papers. Probably something to do with her.

Alchemist Cookie looked at her brother, and he looked at her- eye to eye in complete reticence, and the uncertainty hanging in the air applied pressure, for someone to make the first move. She couldn't move her limbs, and her mouth tasted bittersweet. She just lay there, trying to communicate with her eyes to just go on and say it- whatever it was he had to say.

Her brother's expression became more somber as he finally shattered that tension looming between the two of them:

"Sis... why did you do it?"

"...?"

"Why did you..." the words came out of his mouth with an unsteady, shrinking tone: "poison... yourself?"

...it wasn't possible. He'd thought it was medicine. She'd told him it was medicine.

"...you... know...?"

"..."

The two of them just stared at each other, in seconds on end of uncomfortable eye contact and silence except in the midst of it she could hear Vampire Cookie mumble under his breath, something like "where did that spark in your eyes go...?" (and... she didn't know how to answer.)

"...Sparkling Cookie saw some... things around your room... put two and two together."

"...?" Sparkling Cookie had been there...? When??

Seeming to read her confusion, he went on:

"...I... called him, Herb Cookie and Mint Choco Cookie over when you passed out... I-I didn't know what else to do, they know more about that 'healing' stuff than I do..."

(...That was how she made it, wasn't it...?)

"...T-turns out, Sparkling Cookie couldn't really do anything for you since you were... not awake, you know. Can't give a drink to an unconscious Cookie and all..."

She was glad he didn't get to. The thought of it made her sick to her stomach...

(How was her stomach faring...?)

"So, he ended up, uh, looking around your room, 'cause we didn't, uh, kn-know what happened, and, uh... yeah."

He seemed... increasingly unsettled the more he recounted. She had a feeling she knew why.

"...He... said he recognized some of the things you had in there from what he read in some books. I think he meant the books he keeps checking out of the library for ya, 'cause he... said you absolutelywould have known, what those things would do to you, s-s-so..."

"..."

She didn't really know what to say to him. She hadn't planned for anyone to recognize her reagents and their uses... or lack thereof. She didn't have an excuse planned.

Vampire Cookie stared at her, contemplating, before he took a deep breath and said:

"...why did you do it? Why would you ever... do that, to yourself...? I just- I, I don't understand..."

She could see the tears beginning to pile up at the corners of his eyes, and it... still perplexed her, to some degree. As she readjusted to speaking, she blankly queried:

"You... care...?"

"...th-that shouldn't be a question..."

Alchemist Cookie looked away: "I... thought you didn't."

"...Wh-wh-what made you... what made you... think that...?"

(Her eyes looked back at him again. The look on his face... why did he seem so... upset?)

"..."

This was it, this was the moment she had been waiting for this entire time: The moment when she would look her brother dead in the eyes and finally divulge to him the disease that had been plaguing her mind, say the words, "you did."

"You did this to me."

...

But as much as it burned the back of her throat, the words just never came. And her head ached with the thoughts that she couldn't express.

She couldn't bring herself to say that.

She felt something burst in her eyes again. Embarrassing; there was no way to hide it this time.

Why did things always have to be so UNFIXABLE...?

"A-Alchemist Cookie, you're... y-you're crying..."

"I-I... I..." The words were so, so hard to form. Nothing felt right. Everything felt wrong. She felt so, sowrong. She couldn't take being wrong. But... her feelings had to come out. And they came out; she finally managed to spit it all out: "...I just... I couldn't... I couldn't take it anymore... I can't take it anymore..."

"...take... what...?"

She sniffled: "...you're always... it's always grape juice, it's all... it's everything to you, it's everywhere,every day, all the time, and I... I-I just feel like I'm nothing to you... I have to take care of you, when you get drunk and that's all the time... you can never take care of yourself or come home by yourself or do anything yourself... and you pass out and say weird things and you forget your own name and you forget my name a-and-"

Her voice was collapsing in on itself like a buckled floor, but she fought weary and bleary through the instability:

"A-a-and that's all I ever... all we ever do together is... because you're always so... intoxicated... it's like you forget about everything else... you forget about me... and you're always just..." She was breathing so hard that it hurt, "you never spend real time with me. It's always either at the bar o-or, or when you're at home you're still just drinking and drinking and..."

A heavy acid rain was drowning her voice and face. She didn't know if she was able to purge everything that had ravaged her on the inside, if she could get everything out in the right words, if her words would be right at all...

But... those feelings needed to get out.

She needed to get those feelings out.

It wasn't wrong just to feel, was it? When these feelings were designed to tell that something was wrong.

"I just... just... wanted, f-for you... to care about me... I-I couldn't take that, that... that I didn't matter as much, to you..."

"Alchemist Cookie..." he was trying to cover his face with his hands, she could see the glimmers of guilt in his tears, but he didn't look away from her. Contrarily, his stare became much more fixed as the words solemnly spilled from his heart mouth: "...you... you mean more to me than I can... I-I don't know what I'd do without you-"

"I know, s...someone has to ta-ake care of you... that's, the problem... I have to, but I can't... I can't take it..."

"Th-that's not what I... (crumbs, I didn't mean it like-)"

"I can't... I can't keep taking care of you... I'm sick of it... I'm sick of grape juice... I'm sick of seeing you drunk all the time... I'm sick of LIVING LIKE THIS...!" She coughed, but she could still breathe. She persisted: "I- I- I can't- I can't... I can't keep doing this... for the rest of my life... knowing that I'm going to crumble before you ever will eventually and then who will take care of you after that??" She took a deep breath. "I-I-I... I'm just a normal Cookie and you're not... Wh-why do we have to be so unequal...?Wh-why- why do I have to be to be so INADEQUATE...!?"

"D-don't say that, STOP!!!" He slapped his hands over his mouth immediately, his eyes widening and looking down at them. After seconds of evident processing, slowly returning to meet her gaze again, his next words were immediately at a lower volume and gentler tone: "...Please..." He almost reached one hand out at her before stopping himself, "Alchemist Cookie, you're my little sister, you shouldn't beworrying about... stuff like this, you shouldn't be thinking anything like this, you're... you're too young for that, you... you're..."

His hands went back up to his face again, this time burying himself enough to muffle his voice just slightly.

"You're too young to crumble... I don't- You have a whole life ahead of you, you have- you have so much time left, why would you... wh-why cut it short...?"

(...why was that his fixation...?)

"..." the waterworks still welled in her eyes, but her voice grew stabler yet also quieter, colder just like his hugs. But she couldn't move. "...I just... wanted things to change. I wanted to be happy."

"...you weren't happy..."

It wasn't a question.

Vampire Cookie folded his arms, eyes cast down, tears trickling and... contemplative.

"...I... didn't even realize... I-I mean, I guess I started to-"

(Started to...?)

She cut him off:

"Of course you didn't notice, with how happy you are all the time. You're really lucky, aren't you? Life's so good to you all the time... Everyone wants to be friends with you, you just have everything and you never have to work for it, you never have to care about your health because you're special... and you tell me I need to stop worrying about things, but I have to worry about you because you don't worry about anything, but I- I need to worry about you because you'll probably get into something stupid while you're drunk or just stop... stop taking care of yourself everywhere that matters and, I can't let you do that, I can't let you be alone when someone has to take you home and... and..."

She felt as if a world's worth of weight was upon her, a world of pain that she was forced to live in. Alone.

"I just don't understand, why you get to be so happy, when I don't..."

"...I'm not."

"...wh-what?"

"Alchemist Cookie, I... it's not like that, but..." as he stared into her eyes again, he sighed: "...I don't never worry about anything, I'll admit it. The truth is... I'm... always kinda worried... sorta... you know..."

He looked over to something out of her field of view- by the head of her bed. It was where she heard the beeping sound coming from.

"...you're always working yourself so hard, sis... too hard... you basically never relax, I have to remind you to sleep half the time. You think I don't get worried about you...?" He paused before continuing: "I... kinda always felt like something like this would happen someday- not the same thing, but... that you'd just give up taking care of yourself because you're so dedicated to your work. Or that one day I'd just come into your room and see that some experiment gone wrong did you in, and..."

(His breathing hitched...?)

"...I-I... I can't lose you like that..."

"..." Alchemist Cookie blinked away any remaining droplets. Still processing what she was hearing, her only words were: "You're going to lose me eventually..."

"...I- I know. I don't like to- I don't want to think about that... any of this... I-I've always tried to not think about it..."

"...is that why you drink juice all the time?"

He attempted to mumble something under his breath- but he was just loud enough and he was just close enough that she could just barely make it out:

"(I don't know. Maybe more than I need to, I guess...)"

"..."

...

As the saying went: "The first step is admitting you have a problem."

He started speaking clearly again, looking back to her yet another time- and he looked just a little more regretful than even before:

"...I know it's nothing like... what you've been going through, I'm not trying to compare that, I just... want you to know that I do care about you, sis, I just... gosh, when you yelled at me that one time- what was it, two weeks ago now?- I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know it was this much-"

"You mean... the time I yelled at you, in my room...?"

(...she felt just a small pang of guilt about the intensity of her ire in that moment...)

"Hmm? Oh, that was... that too I guess, but I mean earlier than that. Where was it again? Living room, I think...? Yeah, that! Probably two and a half weeks ago, I think..."

"...that was..."

...two and a half weeks ago...?

...she hadn't even been poisoning herself for that long, and things had escalated this far...?

How potent was that solution of hers...?

...

Despite the nagging of her own insatiable interest, she knew that, perhaps, this was a knowledge that was better of not known, to herself at the very least. For her own sake. She didn't want to stare into that abyss again.

...

Two and a half weeks ago. She had outpoured her anger two and a half weeks ago.

Two and a half weeks ago, her feelings had finally boiled over. She had gotten to concocting her plan to poison herself with that sick solution...

And for what? For what had all of this been?

Would this have really been the solution to all her problems?

...

If she hadn't survived to explain everything to Vampire Cookie, he wouldn't have realized a thing. He wouldn't have stopped drinking grape juice. He probably would've started drinking more of it just to cope with the loss...

...

Two and a half weeks ago.

Somehow, he had kept track of the time.

And he remembered. He remembered her outburst.

He remembered her.

...

While she was beginning to think back on those weeks, on everything she hadn't paid attention to before, her brother kept on talking:

"That was when you told me you didn't want to, uh, look after me..." he hugged his arms around himself and looked down to the side, embarrassment showing through the regretful smile he was trying to put up, "I, uh, didn't even really get it fully until I was talking to Sparkling Cookie one night, when I went out... and uh, he told me that he always calls you to take me home when I, can't do it myself... and I didn't even realize how often you had to do that, I thought it was just a few times, haha..." his laugh didn't really sound amused as he brought one hand up to his face, "...I didn't even... remember half of those times..."

"...yeah. I can guess."

"And I thought that was all that you meant. So, I told him to stop calling you, and-"

"You... got your friends to take you home, didn't you...?"

That night Cinnamon Cookie had carried her brother home, then the other time that Sparkling Cookie did the same... How could she have been so oblivious...?

"...I... didn't even realize you had done that... I even talked to them, but..." her eyes turned away from him, "I... guess I was just so focused on how you were still drinking grape juice, I didn't feel like anything was changing..."

"...I...is that why you did it, then...? Above everything else? Because I have to drink juice?"

"..."

She fell more silent than she would have expected to be at this question. She was imagining, over and over again in her head, the various reasons she could give for why she had done what she did- many of which had something to do with grape juice- and the exact ways to lay it out, to get the perfect emotional response, but...

No. None of it felt right, really. None of it was perfect.

Even now, with them spilling everything within their hearts to each other- none of it was perfect. She knew she had so much more to say, and he probably had more too, but the flow of conversation would carry them away before they could get it all across, when they weren't holding themselves back. How long would it take of conveying these ill-defined feelings in words, over and over again, until they finally understood each other? Would it be days? Weeks? Months? Years?

"...I-I don't know..."

Really, that was both true and untrue- she had a multitude of reasons, compounding upon each other to poison her mind- but...

None of her reasons were right. Nothing. The action she had taken in and of itself was just so wrong, there was no way she could justify it anymore. Why had she done that to herself!? It hadn't done any good in the end. Things had been changing for the better around her, Cookies had been caring for her well-being, and it was exactly because she had been so dedicated to her own self-destruction that she had not seen any of it...

(...she really needed to apologize to Sparkling Cookie, didn't she...?)

And to her brother...

She knew it would be foolish of her to tell him, "it's because you don't care."

Because she knew that was wrong.

She was seeing that on full display right now.

She had seen it the entire time.

But it was only now beginning to click.

"...you were... you were actually trying to care for me when I... started doing this, weren't you? When you checked in on me... and I yelled at you..."

"Oh. Yeah. Uh, when Sparkling Cookie told me you were... 'sick,' he pretty much... banned me from the juice bar, temporarily. And told me to cut back on the juice until you were better. And... I knew he was probably right by that. How was I supposed to take care of you if I couldn't even take care of myself?Uh... yeah. But I don't really know how to 'cut back,' so I kinda... went back and forth on too much and too little. Left me really thirsty a lot. Thought it'd be fine to try and look for a drink around your room that one time, but... (gosh, the stuff you said there was... I probably should've seen all of this coming...) I didn't want to..."

He seemed to grow more uncomfortable talking about this, scratching the back of his head nervously.

"I knew I wouldn't be able to resist. So, I just... decided to stay out of your room, after that. You know how I get when I'm... 'low on juice,' right...?"

(He hadn't kept trying to check up on her in her room after that, but she had noticed him hanging out around her more anyway, the few times she left the room. He had... tried to make sure she was nourishing herself...

...Those two and a half weeks, he really had been able to tell she was sick... No thanks to any toxicant, but the few times she'd communicated with other Cookies... and he had done what he could with what he was given, each time...

She really never had needed to dance so close with death, had she...?)

"..."

He always drank more after physical exertion.

But she could only really think of one time she had seen him get ravenous

The day he became abnormal.

Split wood on the floor

Spilled puddles of red

Desperation dripping with hunger

Violet consumed by burgundy

"...yes. I don't want to think about that..."

"...am I really that scary...? Well, I guess if Dr. Bones Cookie's a good metric to judge by, then... (heh...)"

Alchemist Cookie's eyes moved to the other Cookie in the room. She could see that Dr. Bones Cookie was trying to let the two have their moment and focus on whatever papers were on their clipboard, but couldn't do much to hide the anxiousness on their face looking back and forth between those and the siblings.

She knew that they'd always expressed their own concerns about Vampire Cookie and his condition, but they certainly seemed to know more about the type of Cookie he was, about his needs, about how he functioned in general... but Vampire Cookie would rarely ever show up for scheduled checkups. Alchemist Cookie always did for her own, and she... hadn't considered asking them about him.

...how had she missed something so obvious?

(...she'd been missing obvious things for the past two and a half weeks...)

"...Dr. Bones Cookie?"

"H-huh!?"

The doctor, startled at the mention of their name, almost dropped their clipboard but managed to catch it in the nick of time. Vampire Cookie tilted his head, but said nothing.

"G-Good Tingly-Bones! Is there something wrong???" the doctor asked as they checked through their papers, making sure they were still in order. (Alchemist Cookie was dreading when she would have to hear whatever those said...)

"No. I just... I know my brother has to drink juice to sustain himself, right...? But... is that really true? Is there really nothing else he can-"

They immediately sighed, as Vampire Cookie shifted uncomfortably in place but didn't say a word. They started to explain:

"Err, your brother is an... interesting Cookie. His dough contains around 10% strong grape juice- that would be strawberry jam in any other grown Cookie, but-"

"He's different. In a lot of ways. I know already."

She didn't intend for that to sound so bitter.

"...w-well," they continued, "they don't exactly put too much about vampires in medical literature, so what I do know is limited, but... normally they have to drink the jam of other desserts... but if his body's composition substitutes juice for jam, then-"

"My brother substitutes juice for jam as well..."

Vampires were jamsuckers- She'd heard about that. She'd never seen her brother personally do such a thing... except in a few scuffles, but that was just the way he fought dessert monsters and such- he didn't do such things recreationally, and never to another Cookie.

...But what she saw in movies and read and novels, heard about in horror stories, about Cookies like him, the things she tried to deny due to the occasional discrepancy and knowing her brother wasn't a monster...

How could she keep denying her brother's namesake at that point...?

Vampire Cookie turned his back to the other two, as if he didn't want any attention paid to him.

(...they were kinda talking about him as if he weren't right there in the room, weren't they...?)

Dr. Bones Cookie paid him no mind:

"That's my theory, at least. But make no bones about it, he certainly does have it in him to drink jam if he's desperate enough..." they shot a mildly disgruntled look in her brother's direction, "Never set up a jam transfusion with a starving vampire in the room, if I've learned anything..."

She could see shivers travel up her brother's back, and his face turned redder than its usual tinge- but the way it burned his cheeks was unfamiliar compared to the drunken flush she was accustomed to seeing him with. He whispered a "sorry" under his breath with his eyes pointed towards her. Dr. Bones Cookie's focus appeared to shift before Alchemist Cookie could bargain ask any further questions:

"Speaking of which: Vampire Cookie, I need to discuss a few things with you..."

Dr. Bones Cookie pulled Vampire Cookie to the side- or at least, they tried to. Vampire Cookie wasn't so easily moved.

"What things...?"

"Err, concerning the patient. I-I know this isn't my field of expertise, but I... I just have a few concerns, and, um..." the doctor glanced over at Alchemist Cookie for a moment, and then returned their attention to Vampire Cookie as they lowered their voice to a whisper that was still not low enough for her not to hear: "(have you thought about signing her up for counseling with Chamomile Cookie...??)"

"..."

Vampire Cookie seemed more compliant after that. The two stepped a bit further away- just far enough that as they talked to each other quietly, she couldn't hear a single word they were saying. Probably something about her that they didn't want her to hear just yet, she assumed...

(...counseling... they were going to put her into counseling...

Something about that knotted up her stomach further than it had already been twisted. Counseling was for Cookies who needed help, for Cookies who cried. Alchemist Cookie didn't need help, she didn't cry.

...

Oh, who was she even kidding at this point?

Gosh, she was really SICK, wasn't she...?)

...she was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Juice or jam.

...

Nothing could ever be perfect, could it? He seemed so deeply discomforted with just the sight of strawberry jam, and of course he'd be: Hungering for the lifeblood of another living being, that was... a disturbing idea, even to her. It wasn't even up for consideration.

Neither of them would be happy like that.

She didn't want him to be unhappy like that.

...in the back of her head, she did ponder what life would be like like that, if he drank jam instead of juice. But the reveries of her brother being more active, more aware, more... there were quickly broken by visions of him sucking the life out of other Cookies' necks like a scene right out of a horror movie.

She didn't think he would hurt her... maybe. Otherwise she probably wouldn't be alive right now.

(...once she thought about it, what she pictured of her brother acting ideally... wasn't even that different from the way he was acting right now, or... even how he acted normally... when he wasn't too drunk, at least...)

That grape juice aroma that had lingered around their lives, it was by no means a good thing. It would've been so much better if they could just be rid of it entirely. But they couldn't have that. Life would never be perfect. But for what they could do, for what they did have, it was just something they had to put up with.

'It could've been worse' was never the best thought to turn to- but even it had its uses...

...

It could've been worse.

He could've been so much worse

He could've been like those vampires from the movies and myths, cruel and uncaring and violent- some cold count, creeping around the darkness, hunting unsuspecting Cookies like a predator stalking its prey...

But for all his flaws, all his shortcomings, everything he could improve on, everything he should improve on...

He cared about her. Enough to try cutting back on juice by himself. Enough that he cared about her happiness even when he didn't know the full extent of her pain.

He came all the way out here to the hospital just to be by her side, when normally such a thing was too much work to him. He tried to respect her boundaries when he saw it was getting to her. He tried to cook for her, when he had never touched a stove, because she wouldn't eat...

She'd thought he wouldn't have cared if she were to crumble right before his eyes.

Those same eyes had dampened her crumbling face with a gentle rain of tears as he said "I love you..."

(He loved her enough that he was willing to put in the effort to make a change.

He didn't really know how to do it the best way, and maybe things could never go as far as she'd have dreamed of, but... maybe, they could work it out...)

"Alchemist Cookie?"

She had been lost in her thoughts for long enough that the other two had finished their conversation and walked back to the side of her bed. Dr. Bones Cookie was trying to address her while her brother was standing next to them... and while she couldn't read his expression, it didn't seem very joyous.

"...what is it?"

She could read their deliberation in the stuttering of false starts, of "well"s and "you see"s, as they struggled for words, nervous sweat running down, before they at last got a sentence going:

"(How do I say this...) S-so, from the jam test results and what your brother said was found in your room... Good Tingly-Bones, kid, you shouldn't even be alive right now!! H-How much of that mixture of yours did you drink!?"

She wasn't shocked by their disbelief- she'd felt about the same way, after all. But what surprised her, thinking about how to answer their question... was the answer she ended up giving:

"I-I... don't know... I think it was... I drank it every day, for... a week, and a half...?"

(Two and a half weeks didn't leave much up to interpretation. But it still just felt too short... but... no, no, things had really just deteriorated that quickly. And that was what confounded her so. And yet it all blurred together in her head and dragged on for so long...)

"...how much of it every day, exactly...?"

"...I-I wasn't keeping track, I just filled the vial in my room, I think..."

She could hardly fathom the lack of plan or reason in what she had no way of denying had been her own fully conscious actions. She wasn't even sure what to think of herself at this point.

Dr. Bones Cookie sighed, murmuring something about 'treatment' before speaking with a resigned voice: "I-I'll just... keep it brief: That concoction contained some of the most dangerously toxic substances known to Cookiekind... and those substances are all over your body right now. Most of them don't even have known antidotes...! I've given you what I could, but most of what I can do is treat the symptoms until this clears out of your body on its own... (hopefully). You'll be staying here until I'm certain you're in a good condition...!"

None of this was anything she didn't either already know or couldn't have figured out on her own. And yet, hearing the words said out loud, she felt the weight of her circumstances really sink in.

...but one thing stood out to her, regardless:

"...I-I can't go home...?"

"Your body can't fight this on its own. I-it's going Tibia LONG road to recovery, but with proper care... (well, let's just hope your condition stays stable, at least...)."

Alchemist Cookie frowned. Did they really have to try lightening the mood like that...?

"...Dr. Bones Cookie...? How long will it be...?"

"...my best guess right now is at least a month..."

(...that didn't sound like a concrete estimate...)

Vampire Cookie pulled his cape over his face.

"D-D-Doc said that..." he started with a lachrymose voice, "that no one can really do anything but hope for the best right now. Nothing else. We c...can't control what happens, s-so..."

He turned away and began walking towards the door sulkily.

"I should get going, visiting hours are over. I'm taking too much of their time anyways..."

It didn't even feel as if it had been that long. Were visiting hours that short? Or... how long had he been waiting for her to wake up...?

The sound of his footsteps as he trudged to the door made Alchemist Cookie feel... something that called her to ask, just to make sure:

"You'll come back tomorrow, right...?"

He stopped just before he could touch the handle, at first seeming completely frozen for a few seconds before he at last responded:

"...y-yeah, of course...! Just..." he looked back at her, "don't go anywhere! Okay?"

And with that, he opened the door and staggered out, letting it slam shut behind him.

The weeping was loud enough she could still hear it, unmoving for minutes until finally fading away.

And thus, Alchemist Cookie was left to intensive care.

Not exactly the intensive care unit, but she couldn't be picky like this.

"...Dr. Bones Cookie?" Alchemist Cookie said. "...when do you think I'll be able to move, or... touch things.... or do anything again?

"Hmm... well... you're able to communicate. That's a good start."

The recovery process over the next few days didn't have a lot to do, with her being stationary as Dr. Bones Cookie managed her condition and kept it from worsening. Even just the fact she hadn't been able to eat for those days was causing problems; Dr. Bones Cookie explained to her that had her brother not told them at the scene about her malnourished state, they would've immediately put her onto parenteral nutrition... which would've triggered refeeding syndrome. She had to be slowly and carefully replenished, gradually increasing back to normal amounts... via catheter in the arm. It wasn't even certain if the damage to her stomach could heal in full.

(She asked them to give it to her while she was asleep. She wanted to be able to move freely the moment she recovered)

Despite this lack of action, her second day of regained consciousness was... not what she would call boring, with a curiosity like hers. She was constantly asking questions about her condition, and when she wasn't doing that, she was thinking over it herself. After all, medicine was a key facet of alchemy.

Would she ever be able to do alchemy again? Was she still even Alchemist Cookie without that? She didn't have anything else that had defined her at this point. She didn't know what to think of herself.

As promised, Vampire Cookie came to visit, more punctual than she had ever seen him been in her life. He seemed a bit less 'out of it' than when he had left, from the moment he was allowed into the room. But he still seemed a little off, the way he was so obviously catching his breath, sweating, as if he had ran all the way there from their home.

...

That was it, wasn't it.

That wasn't it for the odd behavior, though- as soon as he could breathe, he immediately went on questioning her about how the doctor was treating her (well), how comfortable she was (as much as she could be), if she was doing any better (...)...

...he was more alert than usual, more agitated. It was apparent to her that he was still depriving himself, even though she was no longer in his care. He kept pulling his cape over his mouth whenever he wasn't speaking, and when he did speak, she couldn't help but notice that faltering tone of his voice. That barely noticeable reddish tinge tainting his eyes, threatening to consume

...he seemed hesitant to stand too close to her. Whenever even just a hand or a foot would cross some theoretical line, he'd pull it back immediately, as if he couldn't be near her.

...

That conversation she had had with Dr. Bones Cookie must have really gotten to him, hadn't it? Everything she had said that day in general, to the point he's ended up in a situation like this: denying himself the satiation that would give himself security here.

"I-I'm sorry if I'm a bit... antsy today, I just... i-it's just been really stressful with everything happening, I just-"

His stomach grumbled, shutting him up and putting a look of apprehension clear on his face. He backed a few steps away from her.

She rolled her eyes, just as a gesture to tell him that his fears were all in his mind: He wouldn't do anything to her; it simply wasn't in his nature.

She trusted him.

She wasn't used to doing that, now that she thought about it. But after what happened in her lab, she felt she could start.

...

The following days of slow recovery, each and every one, he would come in like this. Every single day, for every last minute allotted to visit, he would keep his distance from her, yet still question her as much as possible. She could tell this was eating him up, but she didn't really know how to address it. She didn't want him to be unhealthy.

"...just remember to feed yourself, silly," she said abruptly one day as he left.

"Huh? O-of course I will, I haven't been... d-don't worry about it, sis. It's your turn to relax, anyways."

"But-"

The door cut her off. She made a mental note to shift her research into vampirism the moment she could pick up a book again. Whenever that day would be. If that day would ever come. Every single night, as she was dragged down into sleep, her greatest fear was that she wouldn't rise the next day.

It was the very next day that she would finally regain the strength to move. She didn't try to sit up without the support of the bed- she wasn't sure she was quite ready for that yet- but she could finally lift her arms. Every movement ached, and it was clear her mobility still had a lot to improve on, but it was there.

After some discussion and a close examination of her dough, Dr. Bones Cookie finally supposed they could relent on the 'no touch'

She saved her energy for when her brother arrived, and the moment he sauntered in looking in much better shape than when she had last seen him. He seemed less tired, no signs that he had ran- probably started walking sooner, given he still arrived on time- and he immediately was much more comfortable standing close to her. His eyes were perfectly purple, too. Calling him out must have made him get himself together, she supposed.

It was almost jarring to see how much more relaxed his demeanor had become, however.

"Alchemist Cookie, hey! What's up? How's it been?"

...well, he was acting more like his usual self, at least. Casually leaning against the air, floating next to her with his arms behind his head- it was the grape juice smell that confirmed it to her, though: He really had listened to her this time.

She felt nihility creeping up on her. Even though she had been the one to tell him to do it, she still felt this bitter-tasting fear in her that now she had been stable for long enough, things would just go back to the way they had been before. That he would forget this had ever happened. That he'd stop caring again...

"I'm still stuck here. Not much has changed... except for this:"

After some struggle to muster up her energy, she lifted her arms up and held them out and open. And immediately, Vampire Cookie gasped:

"Wait... does this mean what I think it means...?"

He tossed a look at Dr. Bones Cookie, who, after a moment's pondering, seemed to realize what he was referencing and answered:

"W-well, I suppose so... but if you're going to do that again, then you at least need a SHOWER first for sanitation's sake-"

"I washed my hands, that's good enough for me!!"

"H-hey!!!"

Paranoid as they were well-meaning, the doctor tried to grab hold of his cape, but he had already poofed into his smaller form before they could stop him (and all they could do was sigh in resignation). And before Alchemist Cookie could react, she found herself hit square in the chest by the force of what could've easily been mistaken for a baseball if he hadn't been so soft.

She took the smaller juice bat into her hands gently, holding him out in front of her. The smile on his face was almost infectious...

"You look so stupid right now, you know."

She couldn't help it. It was such a big, dumb smile.

A big, dumb, warm and loving smile.

"You really..."

Her mouth twitched and her eyes softened. He really was that happy to see her get better. He really cared that much.

"You..."

She took him up closer to her face, and as he nuzzled against her cheek...

She smiled.

She hadn't had a true, happy smile on her face in so, so long.

She hadn't felt truly happy in so, so long.

She had forgotten what it had felt like, to feel secure in the world, that others loved her; to feel that love as it existed right next to her in all its warmth without obstruction or oblivion; to feel all warmth of emotion through the cold of the physical body. She felt that emptiness being filled.

He felt warm to her. She didn't mind if he was cold to the dough. The warmth and love of a familial embrace had finally reached her, and she felt happier than she could ever remember being in recent times. Maybe ever. She didn't know anymore, and she didn't need to; It didn't matter. She was just so happy to have this moment, to have her brother here with her, to be here right now and to experience this joy.

This love.

"...sis? You're crying all over me, y'know... are you alright?"

"Y-yeah, this is... *sniffles* I've never been better..."

She hugged him close to her chest, with all of her limited strength. As limp as her arms were... perhaps that was a good thing: She likely would've crushed him otherwise. She was squeezing him as if she'd never gotten a hug before, as if he hadn't given her one a million times over.

...he had. But this time, it just felt different. She wasn't being clung to obnoxiously by a tipsy Cookie; this was a genuine moment of reciprocal tenderness, where everything felt just right.

This was something personal. Meaningful.

"...well, I'm not complaining."

"I-I can't remember the last time I was this happy..."

She felt all warm and fuzzy inside...

She felt so happy to be alive.

"(...maybe Dr. Bones Cookie was right...)"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

(She had a feeling she knew what he meant... and maybe she didn't have to worry about it. It would spoil the moment, anyways.)

Her recovery seemed to go by a lot faster after this, with her gradually regaining strength in her limbs even if the pain remained. Her brother continued visiting everyday, and now she was the one asking him questions- making sure he was still taking care of his own needs (even if he looked like it already), that they would be hanging out as much as possible the moment she was out of there (she already had several activities planned out), and...

With his little juice bat self nestled in her hair, she asked:

"...why didn't you ever tell me you weren't happy?"

"...hmm?"

"I remember what you said, you know. You said you aren't really that happy."

"...well, why didn't you ever tell me you're never happy?"

"..."

"Besides-"

"I just didn't think you'd care, I guess."

"...Alchemist Cookie-"

"B-but, you always talk about how much you love your life, right...? How do you love your life if you aren't happy??"

"...you know, sis, there's always going to be stuff that makes you unhappy. And sometimes you can't do anything about it. But... I guess what I've learned is... not to think about it all the time. You just have to think about the stuff that makes you happy instead, y'know...? Like, say..."

She felt his wings pressed down on her head.

"My most precious treasure."

"...what would that be?"

She tilted her head, her eyes shifting upwards despite not making him more visible. He replied, shortly yet sweetly:

"My brilliant little sister who's the smartest Cookie on Earthbread."

"..."

She didn't feel as if she deserved to be called that. But... it felt good hearing someone say it.

Hearing him say it.

"Love ya, sis."

"...love you too."

For a moment, she didn't really feel sick anymore.

~~~

The poison was finally clearing out of her system; the battle was over, and she had been victorious. But alas, war was not without its casualties:

Dr. Bones Cookie had been quite apologetic, and very apparently frustrated about their own limitations the entire time, even if no one held it against them that they were essentially running an entire miniature hospital by themself. When Alchemist Cookie was finally discharged, she was essentially wheelchair-bound. She wasn't incapable of walking, but the pain and fatigue that it brought was too much to be reasonable, and she was far too at risk of stumbling, falling, getting hurt-

The amount of time it would take to recover her walking ability was uncertain. If she ever did, then the disuse of her legs would likely mean she'd need physical therapy to be able to use them again. But at this point, she was just happy to go home...

Even if she would still need some degree of taking care of. The doctor still recommended she spend most of the day resting at the very least. Her brother would have to take care of her, against all protests of hers. She had been taken care of for long enough.

She was certain it made him no better than what he had been.

But he seemed... just fine with this prospect...?

"What if I never get better...? What if you're stuck taking care of me for the rest of my life?"

"C'mon, sis, aren't you the one who goes on about giving stuff in return...? Honestly, you shouldn't have been giving it in the first place, but... hey, at least now you get to sit back and relax, right?"

"..."

"...come on, give yourself a break for once. You deserve it, you know."

...

Recovery really was going to be a long process...

But she had her brother, and he was actually going to put in the effort to moderate himself. And she had never been more happy to be in those grape juice-smelling rooms of their home again.

(The smell had just barely begun to fade...)

And there at home at last, they were surprised by her brother's friends- Sparkling Cookie had been trusted to watch the house for all the times her brother was out to see her, and with how Vampire Cookie had so excitedly relayed the news to him that she was coming home that day, he had invited Herb Cookie and Mint Choco Cookie over to welcome them home.

...the latter two were clearly more there for her brother, and she supposed she couldn't blame them as beyond the belated 'thank you's for keeping her alive until the ambulance had arrived, she didn't really have anything to say to them either. They just didn't really know each other that well.

...

But the former, sitting to the side and patiently listening to the rest, chiming in here and there- she wheeled right up to him and plainly stated:

"I'm sorry."

"...for what?" He tilted his head slightly.

"..." she took a deep breath, in and out: "you were just trying to help me, and I was... really mad at you. You didn't deserve... that."

"...oh. Oh. I see... It's alright, Alchemist Cookie. I'm just happy to see you've recovered from your... sickness..."

He looked deeply uncomfortable with just that one last word.

"...you don't have to sugarcoat it, you know. I know you're the one who found out."

"..." his smile fell: "I won't pry, but... just know," he said with a gentle tone as he pushed some of her hair away from her face, "you can always come talk to me if you need someone to listen."

"..."

She smiled.

"...thanks, Sparkling Cookie."

That very night when they had come home together, once everyone else had left and it was just her and her brother again, as she was still getting used to her new mode of movement, Alchemist Cookie found she had trouble getting through the door to her own room. She would be able to just barely reach the doorknob, but the true problem lay in that her door opened outwards... and she wasn't that good at maneuvering herself, thus she didn't know if she could find a way to get around the door hitting her when it opened. She didn't know how to keep it open as she entered, either.

...she ended up having to ask Vampire Cookie for help, already. Just to get the door for her.

(...maybe asking for help wasn't so bad after all...)

She realized immediately upon entering the room how much tidier it was compared to how she had left it, after she had messed it up creating her concoction and neglected to clean up after herself. But now, even that poison of hers had been scrubbed from the cauldron, and under the moonlight through the now open curtains she could see: Neither jam nor venom spat smeared the floor...

Good riddance, she thought.

(She'd have to thank Sparkling Cookie for this, most likely...)

Stains were left behind- forever to remind of that incident, never able to be scrubbed clean. But perhaps some things were best left unforgotten.

Once she was close enough to her bed, she was able to use her limited walking ability to get herself into it. Crumbs, that hurt really bad.

...and her brother came to tuck her in, even though she tried to reject it.

"This is humiliating...!"

"There's nothing humiliating about a little TLC, sis."

"It just feels so... It's like you're treating me like a kid."

"...Alchemist Cookie, you are a kid."

"..."

She'd never really thought about it before, but...

She was a kid. Yet she'd never really gotten to be one. Always at work in her lab, always worrying about things she couldn't control... and always taking care of an adult who wouldn't care for himself. That had been her life for so long. That had been her 'normal.'

She didn't know how to live without asphyxia. She had always wanted to breathe, but now that she could, she didn't really know what to do with herself. Everything she could do had long since faded to obscurity in her mind. All those hobbies of hers had grown dusty, forgotten...

But... she could work on it now. She could go out and make friends and read books and look at the stars and do anything she wanted. She could finally enjoy alchemy again.

She had made a mental note earlier, hadn't she...? To get to work on something?

...she could throw that aside for now. Right now wasn't the time for that.

...she could spend quality time with her brother and he wouldn't be too drunk to remember, maybe. A lot of the plans she had come up with for them would probably need modification, given her current indefinite condition, but she wouldn't let anything stop her from having this, now that she had it.

She knew she could've had it more smoothly, but there was no going back. Things could've been worse, anyways. Better not worrying about things out of her control.

She had bettering things to think about now.

That very second day she was home, after getting changed out of that hospital gown she had left on (getting dressed was difficult, but it was something she could do by herself, lying on her bed...)- which she would have to wash and return later- she had her first real meal in a long time, and he was the one who cooked it. He insisted on learning this on his own, on learning to do things for himself.

For her.

(He was adamant on washing that hospital gown too)

It tasted... not too bad, really. She could appreciate the effort this time. She put on her best smile, and happily ate away. Even if it wasn't the best.

Maybe someday it could be great.

Just watching her eat seemed to overwhelm her brother with so much emotion, that before she could even take her last bite she found him crying over her shoulder with nothing but pure joy.

"W-welcome back, sis...!"

It had been so long since she had been in another Cookie's embrace and really embraced it for herself; something about it just brought her own emotions out. And the two of them spent a good minute or two crying in that awkward position, him standing next to her sitting at the table by that mediocre meal still cooked with love, just grateful that they were both alive and had each other and that they could finally communicate.

And it was their unspoken promise to put communication above all, because that could've saved them so much hardship in the first place.

And they were never going to let anything like this happen ever again.

Over the course of the month, healing had its bumps in the road. Alchemist Cookie and Vampire Cookie were trying their hardest to get better, to make things better- and they were getting better, of course. But both of them would sometimes fall back into old habits: Vampire Cookie would occasionally fail to keep himself in check, and Alchemist Cookie's issues were a chronic mess. He'd sometimes fall to temptation and drink enough to forget, and in turn she would cry her eyes out and sometimes fall to her darker urges, and he would cry his own eyes out the moment he saw what he caused.

But they were both aware, willing to communicate, and ready to work on it all; For themselves, for each other, for family. They'd try to keep an eye on each other, to keep an eye on themselves- Vampire Cookie especially. And the day he was able to go out to the bar and come home by himself, without needing another Cookie to cut him off- the two of them couldn't have been happier.

Beginning about a week and a half after she came home, her sessions with Chamomile Cookie were... cathartic, in a sense. She had been hesitant to spill to some Cookie that she didn't know, but the soothing, floral aroma of the cabin was enough to put her mind at ease, and she was assured that she could talk about anything on her mind. Knowing she wasn't forced to wrench things out against her will, she just started talking about her day.

...and eventually, she started loosening up, started spilling her feelings out over a cup of tea, and she found that a burden had been lifted. Chamomile Cookie would listen to her; that Cookie wasn't that conversational, but she was a Cookie who Alchemist Cookie could confide in.

She was able to engage more socially with other Cookies again. Pretty much the moment her acquaintances had found out she had 'been sick' (of course, certain details were never to be disclosed) and saw the lingering effects, they were all over her, so to speak. Always well-meaning, but sometimes they were a bit much.

...she'd never really thought of herself as having many real friends. Maybe really any. She just didn't keep in touch enough. She loved having friends, but they always came and went. But seeing so many Cookies going out of their way to talk to her again made her think, perhaps the problem was just that she hadn't been able to see them.

Gingerbrave was ever the friend to all, of course- the moment he'd seen her rolling around the Cookie Kingdom, he had so many questions about what happened to her and if she was healthy and, really, she didn't want to answer most of them. Fortunately, he wouldn't keeping pressing after she asked him to stop.

He tried to make an effort to include her in any big events- even if he didn't know too much about how wheelchairs worked or how to accommodate for them. But she did notice some construction work being done on the library for a while, and by the end of it a ramp had been installed.

She just had a hunch on who ordered that, even if it never directly came up between them. But she had it in her head to repay him someday, whenever she could figure out something suitable.

She was happy to go to the library again. She used to spend so much time there, immersing herself in stacks of books from opening to closing while the the smell of paper would stimulate her hunger for knowledge...

She decided to try actually checking out the books she'd read this time, to read at home for a change. Things had gotten much brighter around the house anyway; she actually had enough lighting to read, now. She wasn't sure if it was just from opening the curtains or what, but...

One day, she ran into Sparkling Cookie, returning those old textbooks she had memorized over. It... made her laugh once she realized what he'd been doing. Even if she had to thank him again.

(When had she last laughed, again...?)

Once, and only once, she even had Wizard Cookie of all Cookies just walk up to her out of the blue and hand her a 'get well soon' card, muttering something into his scarf that she couldn't quite make out.

...she couldn't exactly call it a half-hearted effort considering he left an entire hand-written message, but...

'Dear Alchemist Cookie,'

He had written that above the card's printed-on 'Get Well Soon!' message. The rest continued below:

'I sincerely hope that you're in good health right now.

What happened to you? Did you get injured or something? Some kind of alchemical accident?

(P.S. if that's what happened, maybe try MAGIC next

Actually whatever happened, just get better, will you? It's so BORING without you around! I miss debating with you, honestly. (Don't tell anyone I said that or you're as good as crumbled)

Sincerely,

Wizard Cookie'

...it was so funny to her, she had to stifle a laugh when she read it. This was his best attempt, just to say that he cared...?

...he cared...

Even her bitter rival cared.

...Cookies cared about her. Cookies looked at her when she came by, smiled at her, listened to her speak about alchemy on end...

(And maybe they'd always done that. But she'd never looked for it until now.)

And if no one else had time for her some days, she could always come home and cozy up to her brother on the couch at night, and he'd wrap an arm or his cape around her while she read herself to sleep or ramble to him and he'd try to keep up. And he was so pleasantly cool, just enough to warm her heart.

And whatever the future would be, however much she'd recover in the months proceeding, she knew: It was better.

#cookie run #cookie run fanfic #alchemist cookie #vampire cookie #sparkling cookie #dr bones cookie #(no one else is prominent enough I think to really warrant a tag)#kairiki bear #venom kairiki bear #this fic is like. Due to the 'unconventional' nature of the subjects I don't even know if most trigger tags work because they #Aren't really. Specific enough. Like would this be triggering for most people as self-harm if it's by poisoning.#People don't really do that in real life or at least I haven't heard of anything like that being like a thing #But does the physical imagery matter as much compared to the psychology?#I genuinely don't know. This is why I have the huge TW list at the front. But I will put this here:#Ask to tag #tw poisoning #<- this is unambiguous I think like this is just straight-up Poison like. So it's the one tag I can add on knowing it's doing its job right #But like y'all tell me for the others if I should tag other things please but do not skip the TW before you read and please tell me #If anything should be added to it after reading I genuinely just. *slaps roof of fanfic* /ref if you know what I mean #grape siblings #<- i forgot to put this on and it's kinda awkward adding this after all of that but. This fic is all about these two pretty much.

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