#why do you think they were bred and born for it? huh? for THEIR benefit? for THEIR enjoyment?

[greennightspider]

One Look was all it Took

Author’s Note: A sequel/sister-fic to Hold Me, however there are changes in character design because I wanted to branch out, change it up a little bit. Meet Rae-Lynn (Rae for short).

Summary: Eric and his Dauntless acquaintance have a mutually beneficial sleeping arrangement. But what happens when one of them trips up on the status quo?

Eric Coulter x Rae-Lynn

The arrangement between Rae-Lynn and Eric was, in a phrase, mutually beneficial. After that one night of spooning, Eric came back. Again. And again. And again. And then like clockwork Eric would turn up without a word, climb into bed and drag Rae into his embrace before drifting off to sleep.

While to those on the outside it would’ve seemed strange, Rae and Eric had had each other’s backs since they were steel eyed, venom dipped initiates, both of them giving everything they had to prove that they were Dauntless bred, if not Dauntless born. Eric wasn’t sentimental by any and all means, Rae was the same, except a tad friendlier. Keeping people at arms length and understanding that about each other was why they worked so well in the first place. They used each other to hone their skills, taking turns to be the blade against the grain. And they both convinced themselves that this was another one of those times. Another exercise.

Even though would never admit deep down they were starved of intimacy. They, whose walls were too high to let anybody else in but each other. Not all the way of course, just far enough between tangled limbs and touching toes. Enough to get a good night’s sleep over.

Nothing happened of course. With the coming winter and the heating in most of the Dauntless apartments not the best, everyone had to make do with what they could. You could say it was a ‘friends with non-sexual benefits’ relationship. Most times Rae was the little spoon, but on the rare occasions Eric would let her snuggle up and hold his head to her chest. Though not without a crass joke slipping through from time to time.

Of course, part of having Eric as a bedmate also meant Rae would have to pay with her fridge, freezer and pantry, and being his gym partner at bizarre hours. But Rae had always liked training. It cleared her head, took her mind off the day. And as a bonus, sleep wasn’t coming easy to her anyways.

Turns out, having a shredded, shirtless cuddle buddly nestling into you almost every night can become pretty hard to ignore when you’re a straight, single, female. Who was now becoming a very horny. And unfulfilled. Straight. Single. Female.

Rae had tried to work most of her pent up frustration out in the gym, long runs around the compound, physically strenuous missions, but it didn’t help when 9 times out of 10 the guy you were hot and bothered for was your training partner.

And sure enough, one day her frustrations made her careless.

“Rae-LYNN!!!”

The voice sunk into Rae’s boots like cement, and she flinched, knowing she was about to get a mouthful. No one else in the Dauntless hallway batted an eyelid, wordlessly everyone quickly sauntered off, not wanting to get caught in the Dauntless Leaders’ crossfire. Lucky for them, Eric only had one person in his sights. Rae turned around slowly, brushing the wisps of hair that fell from her braid only for them to return post-haste. Head down, teeth clenched, she knew what was coming to her .

“What the fuck was that huh?? You trying to get killed?” An enraged Eric stalked right up to Rae-Lynn in a fury.

Rae bit her lip and flared her nostrils. “Look it was just supposed to be a scout mission.”

Rae could almost feel Eric’s muscles tense underneath his cobalt jacket. “Yeah, a scout mission in factionless territory known for rebel groupings, where you guys ALMOST got compromised. You had little to no weapons on you!”

“But they didn’t catch us and we all came back fine, I’m fine!” Rae snapped back, the last remarks not totally directed at Eric.

Incensed by her stubbornness Eric grabbed her wrist and dragged Rae into a secluded doorway, slamming her into the wall. Rae’s breathing quickened, and she tried to keep it as even as possible meeting those icy blue eyes with her own hazel brown. Eric’s fury only grew at her obstinate gaze, and so he growled in her ear with a deep voice. “Rae, next time you have any ideas like that you better think of me, and what I’ll do to your ass when you get back. Do you hear me?”

Eric waited for a moment and took Rae’s drawn out silence as her submission. Calming himself down he went to pull back, but when he caught Rae’s face in a side glance, it was the very opposite of what he was expecting.

Rae’s long eyelashes fluttered through the small wisps of raven hair that fell from her low braid. Her naturally plum coloured lips were parted, her eyes glazed over, cheeks aflush. Rae-Lynn looked almost… turned on? We’ll not almost. Just full blown turned on.

Eric only saw it out of the corner of his eye, and when he had pulled back in front of her the look was gone, replaced by a stone-cold demeanour.

“Understood.” Rae stated almost robotically, flexing her tanned, toned arms in her dark grey singlet with a twist of her neck. She tried to slink away, but suddenly Eric slammed his hand into the wall in front her, making her jump, back flushed against the wall once again.

“Hold on. What was that?”

“What was what.” Rae tried to weave her way around the Dauntless captain but to no avail, Eric was blocking her at every turn.

“That look just now.”

“What look.” Rae’s heart started beating rapidly and her face became agitated.

“Don’t fucking play with me Rae.” One thing Eric hated was people who danced around the issue like ballerinas, which in this case was both physically and verbally, both of them weaving side to side like snakes.

Rae-Lynn tried desperately to hold onto her denial, cursing herself for her carelessness. “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Eric flared his nose in annoyance. Rae wouldn’t even meet his eyes, something she would do whenever she was lying. Mostly because Rae knew she couldn’t lie to Eric face to face. Call it friendship. Call it a nostalgic touch of home. But she couldn’t. Not to him.

Rae just gritted her teeth, waiting for Eric’s next move. Waiting for the next bark, the next challenge. The next roar. But Eric said nothing. Did nothing. The silence between them was palpable.

Eventually Eric huffed, sliding his hand off the wall and stepping back. “Fine then.”

Rae-Lynn looked at him in surprise as she watched the Dauntless leader retreat. He looked unbothered, calm.

“If you say it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” Eric shrugged his shoulders casually. And if Rae had been thinking clearly, she would have realized it was too casual. Eric never ‘retreated’ without having something twice as big up his sleeve for his next move.

But Rae, who rushed out of that alcove as and blended into the hallway crowd quick as she could, unaware of the eyes following her, she was just glad she made it out of there in one piece.

Later that night.

Rae-Lynn sighed as she opened the door to her apartment. It was late, she had gone to the furtherest training dome from her apartment just to make sure she wouldn’t bump into Eric after that fiasco, but then cursed herself when she had to lug her heavy gym bag all the way home in the middle of the night.

She dumped her bag on the kitchen floor with a groan and closed the door, but before she could get to the lights Rae heard a cough in the darkness. Her eyes widened and she spun around, making out a figure leaning back on the wall. But before Rae could think the figure was on her in a second, pressing her between the counter and their hips, arms stretched out on either side, flexing in a way she knew only one person did when they were pissed.

“So you going to tell me about what I saw or are you going to keep acting dumb.”

The deep voice reverberated through Rae’s body, and Rae didn’t know if she was thankful or regretful that she had given Eric a key. At this distance it was hard for her to think about anything other than Eric’s scent, the rock-hard arms on either side of her and the eyes that seemed to pierce through her even in the dark.

Rae gulped, using old rhythm tactics to control her breathing. She knew the stakes. She knew if she admitted anything it might wreck their friendship. And Eric was important to her. She wasn’t going to let herself jeopardize what they had for a fuckin wet dream fantasy.

Rae-Lynn gulped, and slowly closed her eyes. “Must’ve been a trick of the light Eric.”

Eric grunted in her ear, as his head levitated above her shoulder. She could hear his fingers clench on the kitchen bench behind her. He swayed into her, not bringing his head up until finally, he backed away, walking backwards towards the door. Rae’s eyes had finally adjusted to the light and she could see his nostrils flaring, and the way he cracked his neck.

“You’re gonna admit it one way or another.” He snarled, and pointed squarely at her, and Rae heard the challenge in his voice as he wrenched her door open. He slammed the door shut, leaving Rae to try and catch her breath.

That night Rae tossed and turned in her sheets, wondering what the fuck Eric’s words had in store for her.

[garamonder]

Said and Done

Peter pays Pepper and Morgan a visit for the first time since the funeral. Set just before Far From Home.

.

“Of course, Peter,” she'd said over the phone, “we'd love to see you.”

Peter had to give her the benefit of the doubt and hope she meant it. He couldn't blame her if she didn't. He hadn't seen Ms. Potts since the funeral. Even then they had spoken only briefly, Peter almost afraid to look at Morgan as he mumbled his condolences, shoving down his own misery and forcing himself to smile at the four-year-old. Her big eyes stared back, unsure of this stranger who'd shown up to her father's memorial. He must have appeared an adult to her.

Ms. Potts seemed to know Peter better than he would have expected, having never actually interacted with her before that day. But she'd also had a five-year head start on getting to know him. Peter kind of wondered at that until Ms. Potts told him that Tony had often talked about Peter to her.

For some reason it surprised him. Maybe because he'd spent more time dead than as Mr. Stark's 'intern' and Tony was not such a stranger to tragedy that Peter would've assumed he'd take up the lion's share of Mr. Stark's grief.

Then again, he'd recognized the look on Tony's face when Peter began to stagger toward him on Titan. It was the same instant, deep dread Peter was sure he'd worn himself at the sight of police lights flashing red and blue one night, and the horrified crowd gathered near a car he recognized as Uncle Ben's.

Peter was used to being the one standing graveside. He felt robbed, of course. But it was nothing next to losing a husband and father.

Peter hadn't explained his reason for visiting Ms. Potts and Morgan. Holding his cell and nervously fiddling with some machinery on his desk, he'd called with the intention of explaining everything then, but once he began to try he remembered who he was talking to and got glue in his throat. He only got so far as saying there was something he thought Mr. Stark would want Morgan to have.

Truthfully, he'd stopped himself clarifying because he'd been afraid Ms. Potts would refuse. Everyone dealt with their grief differently. What might seem a ghastly reminder to a widow would mean something entirely different to a four-year-old.

So here he was again, at the house in the woods. May had to work so Peter took a bus, forgetting to wear his earbuds while gazing at the city turning into trees, and easily covered the remaining distance. Happy could probably have driven him but Peter didn't really want to explain this to anyone else, no matter how sympathetic the ear.

He looked around. This place must have felt like an escape after the Snap. A born-and-bred city kid, Peter never lost a kind of marvel at unfenced green spaces. Gravel crunched under his sneakers. He'd always liked the sound of gravel.

Peter kind of had trouble picturing the flashy billionaire abandoning the penthouse view for a forest. But anyone who'd known Tony longer might have said the same if asked to envision him with a wife and daughter after all the supermodels who'd cycled through his life in an endless parade back out the door.

Ms. Potts walked out on the porch to meet him, dressed in a casual sweater and long pants. She looked around for the car that had brought him and Peter realized he hadn't said how he was getting there.

“I took the bus,” he said lamely.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, “you didn't need to do that. We could've come to the city.”

“No, it's fine. I don't mind,” Peter told her.

Mindlessly he'd stopped at the foot of the porch. Ms. Potts came forward and hugged him warmly. “How are you?” she asked.

“Okay,” he said, adjusting the strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Um—you?”

“Okay,” she repeated, with a small smile and a shrug. “Sad. Making Morgan a lot of cheeseburgers.”

Despite himself Peter gave her a faint grin. He'd had occasion to witness Tony's fondness for them.

“Happy says you're going on a school trip soon,” said Ms. Potts, turning to invite him inside. “To Europe. Wow.”

“I don't think it's going to be that fancy,” Peter said. He'd looked up the hostels on the itinerary, and after seeing the foreboding Yelp reviews had updated his booster shots accordingly.

“Oh, but it's Europe,” Ms. Potts said fondly.

“Have you been?”

“Uh huh. I dragged Tony to the Louvre and he complained the whole time. I told him he needed to appreciate art outside of heavy metal album covers.”

Peter grinned again. He suspected she was trying to lighten the mood. “We're supposed to see Paris.”

“You'll have to find a cute girl to give a rose,” she teased.

He was hoping to do better than a rose. Besides, the cute girl preferred black dahlias.

Dishes sat in a drying rack. Though of fine quality, everything in the house exuded homey comfort. It was a funny mix of old-fashioned furnishings with evidence of high-tech gadgetry spotting bookshelves and side tables. If Peter ever retired, maybe he'd like a place like this. Provided it had good wifi. And a lab. And pizza within deliverable distance.

As though she'd read his mind, Ms. Potts said, “Pizza's in the oven. We're a little out of the delivery range. You like the works, right?”

Another one of the tiny things Mr. Stark must have remembered and told her. Peter Parker had liked pizza. He always got the works.

(Actually, what Tony had said to Pepper was: “I once watched Parker demolish a giant pizza in one sitting. Before wolfing down a bouquet of churros for dessert. It was like watching an anaconda devour a goat.”)

Touched, Peter said: “Yeah, but you didn't have to go to any trouble, Ms. Potts—”

“Pepper, please,” she corrected him. “And it's no trouble. Eat first?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Maybe it was better for Morgan to get her bearings around him anyway, before he started asking her odd questions.

The table was set already. When was the last time she'd set the table for three? Yikes, don't think about that. Peter was a little nervy being the only guest now, no strangers to act as a buffer between him and Mr. Stark's widow. He leaned his backpack carefully against a recliner.

“Morgan!” Pepper called down a hall. “Pizza!”

Moments later a bright-eyed girl emerged from the hall, carrying an action figure with her. “Morgan, this is Peter,” her mom told her, brushing aside a strand of fine dark hair from the girl's forehead. “You met him a few months ago.”

She remembered. “You're a friend of my dad's,” she declared with certainty.

Peter nodded. “That's right.”

He was glad she remembered, because it boded well for what he'd ask her soon.

Dinner ended up being a lot less awkward than he'd feared. Pepper had a knack for guiding the conversation without forcing small talk, and before he knew it Peter was chatting away almost comfortably. Morgan divided her attention between the guest, her pizza and her action figure, which she rearranged in different poses throughout the meal. Tony Stark was, conversationally speaking, the elephant in the room, and they skirted mention of him in their discussion with the delicacy of probing around a flesh wound.

Peter helped Pepper clear the dishes, wiping them off with a flowery towel. Once the drying rack was full again, Pepper sat on the couch with an arm around Morgan and watched Peter dig restlessly through his backpack.

Finally he withdrew a funny-looking contraption that comprised of a set of glasses, on which perched a recording device wired to a hard drive. The glasses were tiny, designed for a child. The device was a somewhat hodge-podge Frankenstein of tech cobbled from Mr. Stark's files with some additions of Peter's own.

“So, um,” he started, suddenly nervous again, “I borrowed from some of Mr. Stark's B.A.R.F. software. You know he's got it so it doesn't need an implanted chip anymore? It works on a proximity basis now. So when someone wears the glasses, it'll, like, recognize the user and act as a kind of Bluetooth for their brain.”

Pepper nodded, following along. Half-sunk into the cushy pillows, Morgan was gazing at the pink, child-sized glasses, which Peter had bought cheap in Flushing.

Peter turned the small headset around in his hands. “I thought Morgan could use it.”

Surprised, Pepper said: “Morgan? Why?” At the mention of her name, the little girl peered at Peter curiously.

“Have you heard of childhood amnesia?” Peter asked Ms. Potts. “You know how you just...forget stuff from when you were really little? Maybe there's flashes here and there, but it's hard to hold on to much.”

As if prompted, Pepper's eyes flicked to the side in an unconscious effort to recall early memories. She nodded again thoughtfully.

Peter went on, relaxing a little: “As we get older it's hard to retain memories from early childhood. Some stuff will stick out but the little things, the day-to-day stuff, gets lost. There's a lot of debate about how it happens, whether it's”—animatedly, he started waving a hand around— “developing cognitive behavior or because the GABA neurotransmitter acts as a gatekeeper for early memory retrieval—” He stopped as Pepper's eyes began to glaze over and started over with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Anyway, it happens.”

He held up the gadgetry. “Morgan's actually at a really good age for memory retrieval. She's old enough to form autobiographical memories and young enough that they haven't been rewritten yet. Even better, she's able to process memory without emotion acting like, I don't know, rose-colored glasses. It's kind of hard to separate long-term memory from emotion, and that can almost change, um, your whole recollection of something.”

“Okay,” said Pepper, who was probably used to Tony babbling at her about this. “Tony mentioned some of these things during the early stages of B.A.R.F.”

Morgan giggled at the word 'barf.'

Smiling at her, Pepper added: “He said even though the system hijacks the brain, what it pulls back out might not actually be what happened—it's just our impressions. Even the holograms in his demonstration at MIT had to be padded out retroactively by computer modeling. I'm pretty sure he tried to make his younger self a little taller in the demo.”

Peter stifled a grin. “Well, maybe I would too.”

Pepper's eyes fell on the glasses. “What do you want Morgan to remember?” she said quietly. Maybe she knew the answer already.

“Her dad,” said Peter.

Faltering before the sudden silence, Peter fumbled for the hard drive and kept talking. “I uh, I've got this hooked up to a drive. Instead of projecting a hologram, the memories she consciously processes will be recorded on this. So you can, um—play it back. Like a movie, I guess.”

Pepper stared at him with an expression he couldn't decipher. Morgan abandoned her action figure to gaze up at her mother, alert to the change in demeanor.

Would Pepper tell him no? Thanks, but I don't really know if that's the healthy way for a child to process her father's death. It's the thought that counts. We appreciate you visiting, and please have a wonderful time in Europe.

A little desperately, Peter said: “It's hard to know now what memories Morgan's going to hang on to. Pictures and YouTube clips are good but they aren't really a substitute.”

He was speaking from experience, of course, but he didn't mention that.

“I thought maybe she could try it out. And if it works OK, you can spend a few weeks adding memories to the drive. The code is kind of complicated so I'll have to convert the files myself.”

When he looked up he saw Pepper blinking quickly. There was a long moment.

She turned to the little girl. “What do you say, Morgan? Wanna make a photo album of Daddy?”

“OK,” Morgan replied, still a little uncertain but it seemed to be the answer expected of her.

Peter blew his breath out. “OK,” he repeated, relieved. “Here, um—why don't you try these on?”

He passed the glasses to Pepper, who, gingerly considering the delicate tech barnacled to the frames, perched them on Morgan's nose. Perhaps knowing it drew from Tony's tech, and wasn't totally derived from a high-schooler's notebook scribbling, gave her confidence. “Stylish,” she told her daughter. Morgan preened.

Meanwhile Peter withdrew a laptop from his bag and opened it, setting it aside on the coffee table and attaching a cord to the hard drive wired to the pink spectacles. He'd already pulled up the software he'd use for conversion. He rubbed his hands together, suddenly energized as he always was when beginning a lab experiment. “Let's give it a test. So um, Morgan, what's your favorite animal?”

“A hippogriff,” she said promptly.

Pepper mouthed silently, “Don't tell her.”

“Oh—good choice. OK, can you picture a hippogriff? The last time you, um, saw one? You can close your eyes if it helps.”

Obediently Morgan squeezed her eyes shut. “Concentrate and think about all the different parts of the animal,” said Peter, scooting his laptop closer. “Like, what color is it? How big is it? You can answer by thinking about it.”

Morgan thought for a few moments. “OK,” she announced when presumably a hippogriff filled her vision.

Peter watched his screen as live data collected on the drive and took shape. It did not process like a movie file so much as a rendered model writ in code. She evidently had a very good recollection of what she thought hippogriffs looked like. When the stream tapered off he said: “Okay, pause your brain.” Morgan giggled.

Pepper watched Peter as he tapped away at his computer. “I honestly think Tony lost the ability to type,” she informed him. “It'd been so long since he actually needed a keyboard.”

Peter snorted. Tony must have thought it very confining, typing out one line when his brain was leaping ten lines ahead already.

“Let's take a took,” he said once he'd converted the file. “They take a while to render totally so it's low res for now.”

He took a miniature hologram projector Tony had once tossed him and hooked it to the laptop, which now resembled a nerve cluster with so many cords branching out. Then he pressed a series of buttons and a second later the slightly shimmering image of a hippogriff spun slowly above the device. Morgan had surpassed expectations: not only was the image of the creature clear (and a near-perfect replica of the one from Harry Potter) but she'd even envisioned its environment in the form of a forested clearing.

Morgan was delighted. “That came out of my head!”

Peter was familiar with the tech but he still marveled at its ability to draw out subconscious detail. Brains weren't a bank; they didn't store everything, but the software was very good at rounding out the model.

“That's awesome, Morgan. Now, let's try something a little harder. Can you turn your brain on again?”

Like an astronaut conducting a pre-launch checklist, she nodded, straight-faced.

Normally he'd run tests gradually building in complexity but this time he jumped ahead.

“This time, I uh, want you to think about something your dad's said to you. You don't have to say it out loud.” He shot a glance at Pepper, who merely gave him a small smile. “Think about when this was. Where were you? What were you wearing? What did he say, and how did he say it? Can you put it in order? What else was in the room? Go around the memory like you're looking everywhere in a room and memorizing it.”

He was half-afraid he was pelting her with too many questions. While her memory skills were developed enough for the device, it was a lot for a not-yet-five-year-old to juggle at once. But she didn't say anything, just sat with a face comically scrunched up from shutting her eyes so tightly.

Data began flooding through the drive. Peter sat and watched it materialize into characters on his screen. He waited patiently so his typing wouldn't disrupt her concentration.

While she sat and thought, Peter couldn't help letting his eyes wander around the living room, across family mementos.

It was just so different. Had Tony relocated here to escape the city? Following the Snap, it would have been full of shell-shocked mourners. When blows were so sudden sometimes the pain came belatedly, like a thunderclap following the lightning flash. The horror must have been worst the day after, when it became clear the disappearances were, in fact, deaths. Every day he would have encountered so many people he must have felt he'd failed.

What would I have done? Peter thought suddenly, startling himself.

Well, he'd failed people before too, and probably wasn't done yet.

Eventually the data slowed to a trickle. Peter cut it off after it'd leveled. “Brain off,” he said, and Morgan opened her eyes.

Pepper watched him work quietly. Peter felt tense again for a reason he couldn't explain. The data was much more complicated this time and required longer to convert to a viewable format. In the meantime, Morgan toyed with her action figure again, though her interest in it seemed feigned.

Finally Peter looked up. “Um—it's more 2D than anything,” he said, “for now. But I can project it. Just to show you.”

He picked up the hologram projector again and toyed with it. Light emanated from a lens and Peter looked up to see Tony Stark's face loom above.

Morgan watched with rapt attention. Her mother's hands were tightly entwined in her lap.

In the memory, Mr. Stark was putting Morgan to bed. It must have been very recently. For a four-year-old's recollection the image was quite sharp, though it was imperfect, vague in some areas, unrefined and lacked true three-dimensional modeling. The color was muted. You could see what he looked like and how his voice sounded. That was important; Peter had wanted her to retain that herself rather than having to round it out with computer modeling from archived data.

“I love you 3000,” Peter heard her childish voice say, tinny coming from the small speakers.

Tony seemed impressed. 3000 was a high grade, apparently. After telling her to go to bed or he'd sell all her toys, he went out and closed her door behind him.

As memories do, the hologram faded into an obscure, indistinct image and Peter shut it off wordlessly.

The room was hushed. Peter was startled to see tears falling down Pepper's cheeks. He felt uncomfortably like he'd witnessed something private. It seemed a little like eavesdropping.

“Play it again,” Morgan commanded him, and Peter dutifully played it back.

After they watched it again Peter said to Morgan, “You can keep those glasses.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. When you think of something you want to remember, you can put them on and think really hard about it, the way you did just now. Then I'll get the drive back and make it so you can watch them later.”

“Okay,” said Morgan. She might have started right away to try and think of other pennies to put in the memory bank. Still silent, Pepper nudged her. “Thank you,” she added, remembering her manners.

Peter smiled. “Sure.”

There was a danger to this kind of technology, of course. Peter was never really sure about the therapeutic benefits of B.A.R.F. He was never tempted to use it himself. When you couldn't actually go back and change anything, what was the point to reliving it and pretending otherwise? It almost seemed another way to kick yourself for roads not taken.

It was easy to get lost in the past, but a child was less susceptible. He knew Pepper would never use the technology to recreate her husband. Once they'd collected a garden of Morgan's memories, she'd give him the glasses.

For the first time he realized how late it'd gotten. The summer evening had grown dark. “Oh geez, I should go,” he said quickly after glancing at his watch. The last bus would be leaving before long, and he had two miles to swing before he reached the stop. He disconnected the laptop and hologram projector, leaving the glasses and the drive they were attached to.

Pepper stood up with him, carefully removing Morgan's glasses and setting them on a shelf until they were ready for round two. “I'll walk you out,” she told him. Something in her voice was restrained. “Say goodnight to Peter, hon,” she said over her shoulder. “Then it's bedtime.”

“G'nite,” said Morgan, wiggling her little fingers goodbye.

“'Night,” he said back.

As he glanced back on his way to the door he saw that Morgan had not yet picked up her action figure, but sat instead concentrating on something they could not see.

The summer evening was pleasant out on the deck. A light breeze ruffled the tops of the trees. As a child Peter had found this sound ominous, but maybe it had meant something else to Tony and Pepper. He could hear an owl hooting.

They walked across the deck to the top of the stairs, where Pepper drifted to a stop. Peter stopped too.

“Um,” he said, words sounding flat in the dark air, “So in a few weeks I'll get the drive back—or you can send it, whatever you want—and I'll convert them to a better quality. I thought maybe I'd have to add some archival data to flesh it out, but her memory's pretty good and I might just leave it. It's not, you know, polished, but I think it's more authentic.”

Recorded memories were a distant second to the real deal, but repetition was instrumental to memory retention. If Morgan saw the recordings every once in a while, it'd bolster her real recall—he hoped.

Pepper nodded minutely. Her tears had gone and she seemed to study him a moment. Then, without speaking, she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

“This is a gift,” she whispered over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

After a long moment she drew back, keeping her hands on his shoulders like Aunt May sometimes did. “What made you think to do this?”

“Oh.” Peter shrugged. “Ah, it was just an idea I had. That's all.”

It wasn't, and Pepper knew that full well. He felt dumb; she had to know about the plane crash. Richard and Mary Parker had died when their son was no older than Morgan. Mr. Stark would have told her that too.

Pepper wore a bittersweet smile. Just then he knew she was wondering whether he remembered them at all. If she asked, he'd lie and say he did. Why upset her?

It was different with Uncle Ben. Peter could remember the things he'd said and done. In a way, they showed the way forward. So, too, would he remember Tony.

Sometimes Uncle Ben would fondly mention his late brother Richard. Once, when Peter was in fifth grade, Ben had asked if Peter remembered the way his dad would swing him side to side, making a seat from his hands and whirling his cackling son around. Amused by the story, Peter had said no. He never forgot the flash of disappointment that crossed his uncle's face before Ben's usual cheer reasserted itself.

He hadn't wanted that for Morgan, that was all.

“Come see us anytime,” Pepper said kindly. “And have fun in Europe. Make the most out of Paris. I know there's a girl.”

Peter laughed. “Will do.”

He went to Europe and came back. It was a hair-raising experience. He did give a girl a flower, even though it wasn't a rose and it was in London, not Paris.

“Hot dogs sound good?” said Pepper over the phone. Morgan had recorded several more memories, and they were ready for conversion. “I got some Nathan's from the store. Relish or no relish?”

“Relish, totally,” said Peter. “I'm civilized, aren't I?”

“Hawkeye's kid puts mayonnaise on his,” confided Pepper.

“Ugh.”

Hot dogs sounded great. He'd catch the bus upstate later, right after his date with MJ. He was going to take her swinging for the first time.

.

.

(I actually put ketchup on my hot dogs, I don’t like relish)

[gaiyok]

“Juno wasn’t always his name you know”

“Okay lie down. No not on my…whatever. Okay. Alright. So… you sure you want me to tell you this story? It’s really not as interesting as you seem to think it’s gonna be”

“Juno, my love, no amount of stalling if going to un-peak my interest. What did Ms. Wire mean when she said that ‘Juno’ isn’t your real name?”

“Of course it’s my goddamn name, I’ve got it in the system and everything. Sasha was exaggerating. Again.”

“I think you and I both know how easy getting a name into the central registration system is darling.”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess you’re right. I actually wouldn’t know though.”

“Juno… if you really don’t want to talk about this I won’t make you. We can always enjoy a more, athletic, pursuit instead if you like?”

“Tempting, but no. No. I’ll tell you. It’s not that. Just, I’ve never had to tell anyone before y'know? People either just knew or they didn’t.”

“We’ll take all the time you need. Your lap makes a particularly comfortable headrest and I’m not keen on moving anytime soon.”

“Okay. I guess it all started when we moved to Oldtown”

“Wait, you moved to Oldtown? From where? You always made it seem like you were born and bred in that horrible place.”

“Shhh! All the time I need remember? And yeah we did; Me, my Ma, and my brother Ben.”

“Your brother. The one your mother…?”

“…yeah. We’ll get to that”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just shut up so I can get this told will you?”

“…”

“Seriously?”

“…”

“Fine. So yeah, we moved to Oldtown when I was something like five or six. Ben was two years younger than me; but it felt like more.

Ma tried at first, at least I think she did, but Oldtown has a way of getting into you bones and hollowing you out if you’re not careful.

I ended up raising Ben and myself not long after the move either way.

He was such a good kid. Never complained when I burned the food because I couldn’t see the top of the stove properly. Never cried when Ma spent the bill money on uppers and we had to sleep together inside a pile of ratty blankets in three layers of clothes during winter.

Always had a smile and looked at me like the sun shone out my ass or something.

Just, he was such a good kid. Smart too, properly smart. I had some half baked idea that I would hide as much money as I could and enroll him in one of those classy schools in Halcyon when he got older. Make sure he got out of Oldtown early before it could get its hooks into him.”

“He sounds lovely”

“He was. Everybody loved him; even in Oldtown. By the time he was six he was reading Ma’s old textbooks that she’d dragged with us everywhere we moved. I think she kept them as some sort of reminder, it probably would have been better for her if she had tossed 'em. Or hell, sold them maybe to feed her damn kids.

Whatever.

She didn’t like that Ben was so smart, too similar to her maybe. First time she caught him with one of those stupid books she kicked him so hard he knocked a hole in the drywall. I don’t know how he didn’t end up with more than bruised ribs, I really don’t.

I should have taken him away then, I should have left with him before she could hurt him again, but I was eight and he was six. I didn’t have anywhere to take him, didn’t have any way to make enough money to support us.

And I was still clinging to that stupid dream that I was gonna get Ben outta Oldtown.

So I hid the stupid books in our room and made sure Ma didn’t have the opportunity to look at Ben for too long. Used to lock him in our room with some food and juice if I couldn’t take him with me for some reason.

He didn’t like that. Didn’t understand that I wasn’t goin’ out to play without him, I was trying to scrape together some cash for food and bills and Ben’s school fund.

You know I saved almost four thousand creds in  four years? I worked every under the table job I could find. I even bribed a bank teller to open an account under my name to put the funds into. Make sure Ma couldn’t steal them like she did the cash I used to keep in our mattress for bills. ”

“That’s incredible Darling, but what jobs did you work as a six to ten year old that allowed you to make that kind of cash?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it okay!? I did what I did and now I don’t. That’s it.”

“Okay”

“Good. You gonna let me finish now?”

“Yes of course”

“So, fast forward a couple years. I’ve just turned eleven, Ben is turning nine. I’ve finally got enough saved to get him into a good school uptown.

I’ve gotta leave early to work that day, told Ben I would be back later to take him to see the new school.

He was so fucking excited.

I didn’t know he’d left the goddamn brochure I gave him at the breakfast table. I’d had to get him up with me at four to get him fed before I left.

That fucking brochure.

I came back at six that night. It was way later than I’d said I’d be out. I felt so bad that Ben had been left alone for so long. But we needed the cash I figured.

I came home-

God.

I came home and-”

“Shhh. Shhh Juno please you don’t have to do this. Just forget I asked okay. Please stop crying-”

“I’M NOT FUCKING CRYING OKAY! I’m not, fucking, shut up. Just. Let me finish”

“…okay”

“ I came home. I came home and the apartment was… clean. Just so clean.

No pill bottles on the ground, no empty glasses or plates. Hell I think even the rug had been cleaned.

I thought it wasn’t my house for a minute.

Then I saw Ma.

She was sitting on the couch. All cleaned up and dressed nice. It was weird.

Ben was-

I thought Ben was asleep on the armchair. She’d wrapped him in a blanket and it just looked like he’d fallen asleep reading. He had a textbook on his lap.

I didn’t know what to think? I guess a part of me hoped maybe she’s had some sort of crazy epiphany? That she’d seen the state we were in and decided to put us first for once. Be a proper mom.

I think you can guess I was wrong though.

She was smiling at me when I walked up to them. But it was the kind of smile you see on someone’s face before they push you out a window you know? Just relishing the anticipation of your screams.

She gave me this envelope.

Here you wanna see? No here, yeah it’s not gonna bite I swear.

She gave me the envelope and told me to open it. I was so confused when I saw what was inside. Asked her if it was some sorta joke, why the fuck did she change my name?

I thought maybe she was in some sort of trouble. Maybe we were all changing our names and going into hiding or something.

She just kind of - chuckled - at me. The kind of laugh that makes you feel two feet tall and dumb as a rock.

She told me she never actually submitted the paperwork to name me in the system. Said she figured today was a good day for new beginnings.

I asked her why she didn’t register my real name.

You know what she said?

'Do you know the story of the goddess Juno? Queen of an ancient earth pantheon. Clever, powerful, beautiful; but she an unfortunate habit of killing her children’

I asked what that had to do with me.

But I think by that point I had already started to put the pieces together.

I forgot to lock the door y'see.

Locked it every goddamn morning for four years but I forgot that morning.

And she found the brochure.”

“Ben wasn’t sleeping”

“No. She wrapped him that tight so I couldn’t see the way his neck bent the wrong way.

Not at first

Yeah. Juno had an unfortunate habit of killing her kids. And now so did I.

So I kept the fucking name and used the money to have Ben buried in Halcyon.

That big graveyard on the hill, you know the one? With the flowers and the trees and the fucking lake.

Yeah. The stone shaped like a bird.

I kept the name. It’s the only one I have okay?

It’s the best gift that bitch ever gave me

Reminds me to hold onto the people I love. Fight for them. Protect yo- them”

“In some cultures Juno was the goddess of mothers and children you know.”

“What? I pour my fucking heart out to you and you’re fact checking me?”

“No! No Juno, please, come lay down, don’t get up, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“… fine. Then what did you mean it by?”

“Just that Juno was also a protector once. A mother, a nurturer, a protector, even in warrior in some places.

Don’t let the her violence be the only thing that defines your name.”

“A warrior and a mother huh? I guess you learn new things every day”

“You certainly do. Now I suggest we study the benefits of 2pm naps on emotionally drained detectives. What do you think?”

“C'mere”

[mittensmorgul]

8.09: Sam sicced Mostly Okay Martin on Benny.\

The worst bit? Sam was more willing to trust Martin’s assessment than Dean’s. Yeah, he gave Dean the benefit of the doubt to go talk to Benny.

DEAN: Wait – did you actually see Benny kill the guy or not? MARTIN: I saw enough. DEAN: Well, then, how can you be sure it was Benny if you didn't actually see him do it? MARTIN: B-b-because I saw Benny turn up the path, and then two seconds later, I trip over a body with its throat ripped. Look, man, you – you ever hear of Occam's Razor? “Keep it simple, stupid”? It's not that complicated. DEAN: There's a lot of holes, Martin. MARTIN: Holes? The only holes we should be looking at are in the vic's neck.

So Dean goes to talk to Benny while Sam talks Martin down off the Murder Benny Now bandwagon.

MARTIN: Hey, it's your brother. It's your call. How long are you gonna let him go on like this? It's staring him right in the face. SAM: [exhales sharply] Well, sometimes it's not easy to see things for what they are.

Except... DEAN WAS RIGHT ABOUT BENNY. He was innocent of these vampire attacks. He’d only been trying to make a life with his only descendant. 

(Inside Guidry’s cafe where he worked, not only is there a heaven-coded Schultz beer sign, but also a cross on the wall by the door... that little cafe was Benny’s idea of Heaven... and yet a bit of his past had come back to drag him away and tear it all down. Just like happened with Sam and Amelia, and just like happened with Dean and Cas in 8.08. This is why FACING YOUR PAST is an essential part of my s12 tag...)

(also at the cafe, they were out of pecan pie. Poor Dean.)

BENNY: Didn't want to take no for an answer. He's trying to roust me out, leaving dead bodies in my wake till I sign up. Two bodies in two days. No amateur is gonna kick me out of my hometown, Dean. Not this time. DEAN: Hometown? You grew up here? BENNY: [nods] Born and bred. With Andrea gone and you hunting again, seemed like the right time for a homecoming – you two being the only ones who keep all my ducks in a row. Went back to my old job at the café. I even found someone to hold myself accountable to. Best kind of someone, Dean. Family.

But Sam doubts that Dean is seeing this clearly, and believes Dean is compromised.

DEAN: Yes, I do – too well. In fact, every relationship I have ever had has gone to crap at some point. But the one thing I can say about Benny – he has never let me down. SAM: Huh. Well, good on you, Dean. Must feel great finally finding someone you can trust after all these years.

He didn’t exactly phrase his frustration in a way that made it easy for Sam to hear it... >.>

They really need to work on using their words. But Dean does make a prediction...

DEAN: You're not gonna find him. And if you do, I'm gonna tell you this. You'll be lucky to get out alive. And you – [he points to MARTIN] you go with him, you're a dead man – period.

Because Martin isn’t interested in listening to the truth. He’s already convinced of his conclusion and isn’t willing to listen to reality. When Dean gets free he calls to warn Benny, who agrees to bring Dean along on the hunt for the vampire who was actually doing the killing.

But Dean’s scared for Benny, because he knows that if Sam finds Benny first, Sam will kill him. (Or even Benny might hurt Sam... always a possibility, and Dean doesn’t want EITHER of them to hurt the other).

So Dean does what he has to do and sends Sam and fake text from Amelia asking for his help. That leaves Crazy Martin all alone with nothing to do but take care of things for himself.

Dean and Benny get the vamp responsible, but Martin’s beyond even caring whether Benny was guilty of these kills or not and believes he deserves to die just for what he is:

BENNY: My life here is over, isn't it? DEAN: Afraid so. Once word gets out... The machete swingers that'll come for you... You can't take them all. It's impossible. And even if you could... BENNY: We'd have a problem. DEAN: Guys like us, we don't get a home. We don't get family. BENNY: You got Sam.

Meanwhile Dean’s thinking he probably doesn’t have Sam anymore after what he’s done to get Sam out of the way for that hunt. Sam had been blaming Dean for losing the life he’d tried to build with Amelia, but really? It was far more complicated than that.

Meanwhile meanwhile... >.>

Martin lures Benny back to the cafe by threatening Elizabeth, an innocent human. Martin’s so driven to see Benny dead because of what he is, just filled with anger, calling Benny the monster. When Benny hasn’t killed anyone, and Martin used this innocent girl, terrifying her, and then offering to lay down his life to spare Elizabeth’s. Of course, things don’t go well for Martin. Just as Dean warned him.

When Sam calls Dean to confront him over the wild goose chase he sent him on to Amelia’s, only to be tormented by the happy life she’s got with her husband now, he learns that Benny killed Martin:

DEAN (on phone): He had it coming, Sam. I'll tell you what happened. SAM (on phone): I-I know what happened, Dean. DEAN (on phone): Okay, you want to listen to me or not? SAM hangs up.

Thing is, no. Sam really doesn’t know what happened. It wasn’t BENNY who got Martin killed, it was Sam not trusting Dean that got Martin killed.

The giant red El Sol sign Sam’s staring at in the bar pretty much seals the deal on that one.

But Dean also didn’t trust Sam enough to leave it alone, but he’s getting frustrated with the fact that no matter what he says to Sam, he’s getting absolutely no trust in return...