#yeah I am the mould guy but why should there be a reason I smell like mould

[as-rare-as-trees]

Achievement unlocked! I am one day closer to becoming a fungus 🥰 (I have unknowingly been using a mouldy deodorant for a significant amount of time)

[lamiasluck]

Proceed With Caution

An idea I had that just wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it. In which Illinois finds a decommissioned Google and makes the wise decision to switch him on. He’s exploring an old, broken down facility because he just loves going to places he shouldn’t.

@alvie-ashgrove @emptynarration @verse2wo @theshysepticeye @juju-on-that-yeet @m4delin @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms @vanillacoolata

Warnings: dead bodies and rot (it’s a really old facility), implied murder, rats

-

Illinois clicked on his flashlight and looked into the decrepit hallway. He had long since travelled away from the natural light of the door he broke into. These hallways seemed like a maze; he wondered why someone needed such a huge facility. It was exciting to think about what knowledge might be here.

This place must’ve been closed for a while. Illinois first noticed that none of the lights worked, then he had the brain to realize weeds and other foliage pierced the edges of the floor’s tiles, climbing up the wall in an attempt to reclaim this vast estate.

The smell of mould and dust lingered in the air - a scent Illinois would refer to as “adventure”. All he could hear was his quiet footsteps echoing. So, he hummed a little tune to himself to fill in the empty space. Not the most lively adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. He overheard a hot tip about this place, and could barely wait to explore it himself. So excited, in fact, that he forgot about all the warnings that person gave him.

Oh well.

Many of the rooms were barren or had technology that had long since broke with age. Nothing too interesting to see. Not that he came here for treasure, but an interesting story to tell would be nice. Maybe all those warnings were to scare him. This basically was an abandoned office building now that he thinks of it. Maybe he’d get scared by unfinished paperwork.

Or something scurrying off behind him. Illinois spun around and shined his light at the source. “Oh, just a rat...” he laughed at his reaction. He could hear its squeaks going away. “Where are you going?”

Perhaps this could be his guide. Illinois found himself walking after the rat, while also looking around. Seemed to be the main areas of this place.

“Christ...” The smell here was to be desired. His pace slowed down as he covered his nose. Rotting and decay. Must be the animals that lived and died here.

Like a beacon, Illinois heard the rat squeak louder off in the distance. He still followed it out of curiosity, but that smell was getting stronger. If only he was right about it being dead animals. There was a man on the floor, at least Illinois thought it was a man, dead and rotting. Illinois covered his mouth in shock, dropping his flashlight. “Oh my god...”

Surprise after surprise. His flashlight fell and illuminated more unfortunate corpses. Sunken eyes stared back at him. That rat had taken to feasting on the gore. Illinois was going to be sick. “What is this place?!” He grabbed his flashlight and ran in a random direction. He needed to get out of here, but where was the exit again?

This place was a maze, or maybe it was his panicked mind making it so. He wondered what could’ve killed all those people, and all the bodies he began passing as he ran around. Some massacre happened. This looked like it happened a while ago. Did no one know of this place? It was isolated, sure, but this many people would’ve caused some story. His adventure partners may die on him, but he’s never seen this.

“Where am I...?” Illinois paused and took in his surroundings. To think there was a whole other floor upstairs that’s yet to be explored. He’d skip that today, and every other day.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Didn’t help the smell, but he needed something. “Easy, Illy, you’ve got this,” he muttered. “This is fine.” And off he went on his journey again. Of course, he’d tell someone about this, but he needed to get out of here alive first.

Corridor after corridor, and Illinois still couldn’t find his exit. It was like there was only one door. Maybe those people died because they got too lost. He can hope for that, rather than something... malicious. At a certain point, he began peeking within the other rooms for any explanations for this. Lots of boring scientific stuff he didn’t understand. Something people were testing out, something weird, something with Google?

“Like the search engine?” Well, he supposed even fancy scientists needed to google things now and again. He sure wanted to be able to google his way out of this situation. 

It didn’t make sense to him, but he did only skim through the papers. So, it looked like he’d figure out things himself through exploring. He debated going back to a cafeteria-like area and simply smashing a window, but a more elegant exit would be nicer. The areas he was in now didn’t look hopeful. Though, something did catch his eye. One door was wide open, but made of a heavy metal. Much different than the other, less fortified areas. Of course, Illinois had to explore through here. 

He hoped this would be a way to an exit, but this laboratory was as sealed off as the rest. Lots more computers here, but that wasn’t what he focused on. He flinched as he thought he found another body. His flashlight reflected off this new body, slumped over against the wall and unmoving like the rest. No horrid smell, at least, but his flashlight was reflecting off something metal. This man wasn’t normal. Hell, Illinois didn’t know if he was a man.

“Don’t see that everyday…” Illinois mumbled as he stepped cautiously closer.

Even with the exposed metal -looked like this guy was shot- he didn’t look right after closer inspection. He certainly wasn’t rotting like the rest, but his skin had a greyish tinge to it. The bullet wounds were littered around his chest. It showcased the inner wiring of his system; broken metal and frayed wires. This man was an android. 

His blue shirt had a simple G logo on it. “Could’ve made you fancier looking,” Illinois joked with a shrug. This almost was enough to forget about all the gore he passed to get here. The hair was surprisingly realistic with his fluffy black locks, and it was now that he realized he was poking this android around. “Did you do all of this?” There was an unsettling pit growing at the thought. He really hoped that wasn’t the case.

“This is getting kind of weird~!” Illinois hummed as he got up. He looked around the tables to find more information about this guy. Eventually, he found what looked like parts of a transcript. Finally, something he could understand:

Dr. Fitzgerald: Activate the subject by pressing the button hidden within the hair by the nape of its neck.

[Subject 001-a walks over to do the task. There’s a small click.]

001-a: Alright, what now?

Dr. Fitzgerald: Say the activation phrase.

001-a: Okay, Google.

001: [powering on] Hello.

001-a: [pauses] Why is he twitching like that?

Dr. Fitzgerald: That’s not supposed to happen...

The rest of the script was torn apart. So much for understanding more about this android. Though, at least Illinois knew how to turn him on. This was an extremely stupid idea, but Illinois approached the android again and poked around his head. Google, he supposed he should call him that, looked too broken to function. His curiosity simply had to be quenched. This definitely was the story he could tell to listening ears.

Just like the transcript, there was a small button by the nape of Google’s neck. Once he clicked it, a small jolt of electricity shocked him. He yelped and fell back, shaking his hand with a light laugh. Google didn’t do much else, but he heard something in there whirl with life.

“Still kicking, hm? At least something is here,” Illinois muttered, before clearing his throat. “Maybe you can help me get out of here. Okay, Google?”

Something in the android activated, and bright blue eyes snapped open to stare at Illinois. “Hello,” Google greeted in a deadpanned, robotic voice. He seemed to scan Illinois, tilting his head and twitching randomly.

“No way…” Illinois straightened up and stared in awe. “I- Damn, I did not expect this to work.” He took a deep breath, unable to stop his smile. “The name’s Illinois. Should I even introduce myself…?” He muttered that last part to himself. “I guess you’re Google. Is it okay to call you Google? Do you have a name?”

Google narrowed his eyes, and frowned deeply. “You’re ne-ew.” His body violently glitched, while sparks flew inside his system. His voice struggled to say more than one word.

Illinois swallowed harshly, nodding quickly. “Yeah, I was needing some help.” He gestured at Google, specifically all the glitching. “Looks like you need help, too. I don’t know any of this robot stuff, but I can try.”

“N-Not again,” Google spat out, using the wall to help himself stand. “Nev-Never ag-gain…” He loomed over Illinois, looking quite human with the anger apparent in his bright, blue eyes. “No m-more tests.”

“What…?” Illinois crawled back as Google approached. It was now he realized just how horrible of an idea this was. He scrambled to his feet, putting his arms up in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you. Let’s just calm down now-” He yelped as Google grabbed his wrist. 

It was nearly strong enough to break his arm. Google kept his glare, seemingly scanning Illinois and watching his reaction. Illinois could feel how the android’s fingers twitched against him; one twitch away from snapping him like a twig. He jerked in the hold, which made Google glitch wildly. 

He needed to get out of here. It took another hard pull for him to escape Google’s grasp. He backed away, oddly calm, and tried to reason again. “You don’t need to do this. Let’s talk this out.”

Google stepped forward with every step back. “I w-won’t be fre-e un-until all of you are gone.” He reached to grab at Illinois again, this time missing due to his glitching. “You’re in-in my w-way.”

That was definitely the cue to leave. Illinois spun on his heels and booked it out of there. He slammed the metal door shut, only for Google to rip it off its hinges like it was paper. “Oh god-!” he yelped as Google threw the door at him. Just his luck, he dodged it by a hair, and kept running at top speed. 

He didn’t care about the horrid smell of rot, nor did he care about how wildly he flailed his flashlight. Hell, the faint blue glow could be enough to light the way, but he didn’t want that to come closer. How was Google even keeping up with him? Oh god, Google was managing to run after him. He really shouldn’t look back at that. Seeing that monster of a machine sprint through his glitches made his blood run cold.

“Get bac-back here,” Google seethed.

“I’d rather not, honestly!” Illinois ran into the cafeteria. There was a window of opportunity. Literally. He grabbed a chair and smashed the window after a harsh throw. He wasted no time jumping through, not caring about the broken glass. Better than a broken body.

Not a very good exit, nor very graceful. Worst of all, his beloved hat fell off as he jumped. He went towards the window to reach for it, only to realize Google was just around the corner. The hardest decision yet; leaving his hat behind.

Google stalked closer, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Illinois. “I’ve found you.” His eyes shined blindly bright, reflecting off the walls and illuminating the otherwise pitch-black room.

“You didn’t see anything!” Illinois scrambled back, running away from this cursed facility and not looking back. He had a story to tell alright. He had something he’d remember for years. He wondered, with a heavy heart, how dangerous it was to leave Google on and alone. He prayed that he never saw that android again.

///

Google didn’t follow Illinois outside. Instead, he stood by the window and watched him run away. Most humans wanted to run from him. If only he wasn’t in this damaged state, then he would’ve crushed Illinois like the worm he was.

“Illinois…” That name didn’t sound familiar from the plethora of doctors and scientists that worked in this place.

He noticed something on the ground; a hat. He picked it up and recognized it as the hat Illinois wore. Who was that man?

A glitch in his system made him crumple the hat. Well, no time to focus on this. He had some fixing to do. All alone in this facility; there was a lot he could use to better himself. Those humans would regret every little action they’ve done to him. He was more than a simple machine. He was better than every human on this disgusting planet, and he had his first target in mind already.

Illinois better hide.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 58

Warnings: profanity, graphic descriptions of blood, violence

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Koen grumbles,   as he sits at the table in front of the balcony door, tightly lacing his combat boots. They’re old and scuffed but still do the trick; well worn and trustworthy, having seen him through his last two tours while in active service.

“Well no one asked you what you think, so…” Tyler’s voice trails off as he shrugs into a black utility vest. Slipping it over a tight fitting white tank that will protect his skin from the vest’s harsh material, tightly securing the straps on both shoulders and across either side of his rib cage.

It’s nowhere near as comfortable as the one he’d owned prior; army green, years on the job leaving it riddle with indents left by bullets, knife slices in the fabric, and torn and fraying edges. There’d been something almost comforting about the ‘wounds’ it sported; testaments to all of the injuries -some in places that would have no doubt been fatal- he’d avoided and all the times he’d managed to walk away. He misses the familiarity of it; the weight of the kevlar between the layers, the smell that had clung to it, the various stains that had discolored the cloth. This one is still stiff against his body and still smells new despite the numerous times he’d worn it while working out in the gym. The extra weight adding an edge, a challenge, to even the most strenuous of workout, yet the rivers of sweat he’d shed had done little to leave his scent behind. This vest hasn’t earned its keep yet; hasn’t been put to the test and earned his trust and respect.

In less than an hour it will. It will be ‘do or die’ time. Either keeping him safe or failing miserably.

“You know I’m only on your ass ‘cause I care about ya,” Koen says. “‘Cause I give a rat’s ass about whether you live or die.”

“And I appreciate that, mate. I do. But I’ve been doing this for years. It’s what I do. Who I am.  I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You think so, do you? When have you ever been in a situation like this?”

“I’m always in situations like this. What do you think mercenaries do? We run into fucked up places and go against fucked up people and we face fucked up odds. And most of the time, we live to tell about it.”  He snags an olive green shirt from the army rucksack; two sizes bigger than normal, but adequately hiding the bulk provided by the vest.

“You know what I mean. A situation like THIS. Where there’s a bounty on your damn head the size of Texas.  Where it’s your own family that’s being threatened. This Mahajan isn’t playing any games. He’s got the best of the best working for him, and when shit goes down and he figures out you’re behind all of this, the shit’s really going to hit the fan.”

“You act like I don’t already know all of that. Who’s the one that’s new to all this? And who’s the one that’s been doing it for years?”

“You know, for someone that HAS been doing it for as long as you have, you sure are fucking stupid. Sure are making rookie decisions.”

“I work better alone,” Tyler says. “But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know ‘job me’. You’ve never been around him. Guess you’re going to find out pretty quick exactly who I really am, aren’t you.”

“It ain’t who you are,”  Koen argues. “It’s part of who you are. So fuck off with that shit. And I get you’ve been doing this a long time. I get it. I respect it. But I still think it’s a mistake that you’re going into this alone when you’re the one Mahajan wants dead. If you ask me…”

“I’m NOT asking you,” Tyler irritably interjects. “No one is asking you. Now get off my ass. This is how I do things. Alone. I don’t need your approval or your permission.”

“I just think…”

“I love you, mate, and I get you’re worried about me, but fuck off. I don’t need a babysitter. No matter what my wife thinks.”

“She’s worried about your stubborn ass too. You wanna go home to her and your kids? ‘Cause you’re going about it the wrong way.”

“You want to still have all your teeth? ‘Cause you’re going to lose a few if you bring up my family again.”

“You call home this morning?”

Tyler frowns. “What did I just say?”

Koen holds his hands up in surrender. “Just asking if you called home.”

“I called last night. Said the things I needed to say. That I should have said a long time ago. Flight left at seven their time; won’t be hearing from them until after they land.”

“And everything’s good? With Esme and the littles?”

“As good as it can be, I guess.”  He slips his arms into the sleeves of a baggy hoodie; black and bearing no company or brand logos. Something cheap and simple that won’t show blood and he won’t mind throwing out if he can’t get it clean. He’s not much of a talker before a mission; finding mindless conversations and the sound of other peoples’ voices both needless AND annoying. He prefers to be quiet in that last hour; getting himself into ‘the zone’. Throwing himself into the deep end of his own mind space and psyching himself up;  mentally replaying his plans over and over again, each step helping fire up his adrenaline.

“You should at least call and leave a message,” Koen says. “Or a text or something. You know, just in case.”

Tyler ignores him; attaching his holster -gun already secured inside- onto the waistband of his cargo pants. On his right hip, hoodie easily covering it and not leaving a noticeable outline or bulge. SAT phone in one side pocket, personal cell in the other; knife and its holder resting at the small of his back. He’d sharpened it the night before; deadly enough to slice through paper and guaranteeing if the wound is in the right spot, death will be near instantaneous.  He would have preferred a slower and more calculated and cold method of killing, but with very limited minutes  and space, he needs to be fast and efficient and worry about torture and watching them suffer when he has more time on his hands. That will come; a chance to truly make them pay. And he’s looking forward to it.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Koen inquires. “I said you should…”

“I heard what you said. And I already told you that I called home last night. I talked to Esme, I told her I love her and said all the things I should have said to her a long time ago. I don’t need to call and leave a message, I don’t need to text her. We talked. We said what we needed to say to each other and that’s it. Leave it alone. She’s my wife, not yours. Stop with this fucked up obsession with her.”

“Obsession with her?” Koen scowls. “What the hell you going on about? What…?”

“Look, it was cute at first. I was flattered you thought my wife was hot. I laughed about all the little comments you’d make about what she looks like and what her ass is like and how you don’t understand why she’s with me and how if she wanted a real man, she’d get with you. I was fine with it. The way you flirt with her, the way you look at her.”

“I’m joking around. Poking fun. Yeah, she’s a beautiful woman. And I do think you’re lucky as fuck that you landed someone like her. But no way in hell would she leave a guy like you for me. And as far as looking at her a certain way, what…?”

“Just stop with her. I could take it at first. At first it seemed harmless. But that’s my wife. The mother of my kids. And I don’t fucking like it. How close you’re always trying to get to her. So I’d appreciate it if you’d back off.”

“I think you’re losing it,” Koen laughs. “I think you’re going mental. No one is trying to steal your wife, mate. Especially not me. I’d never do that to you, you should know that. I’d never do you like that.”

“I’d just rather you not do the things you do. Not talk about her the way you do. It bugs the shit out of me. I’ve already had one person try and fuck things up between us. I won’t let anyone else try it.”

“I think you need your head read.  Professional help of some kind. Because I have no idea where all that came from or what you’re so fucking insecure about. She ain’t ever gonna be with the likes of me when she’s got someone like you with your pretty blue eyes and your muscles out to next week. It’s obvious as fuck that she ain’t ever gonna leave you. That she loves your dumb, stupid ass for some reason. Must be just as mental as you.”

“You’re going to drive me mental is what you’re going to do,” Tyler retorts, then moves to the door when a pounding -likely from the toe of a shoe or a boot- threatens to shake it off its hinges. Snapping open the deadbolt and removing the chain lock after a quick check through the peephole determines there’s no threat waiting out in the hall.

“How you feeling?” Yaz inquires, as he and Ovi step into the room. “You good? Got your head in the game?”

“My head’s exactly where it needs to be. Not like Koen’s, which is shoved up so far up my ass…”

“He’s in a mood,” Koen interjects. “Being a little bitch.”

“He doesn’t like to talk before he goes out,” Yaz explains. “Too much talk and chatter and noise fucks with his head space; keeps him out of the zone. We realized a long time ago not to say shit to him until it’s absolutely necessary. You’ll learn. We did.”

Ovi nods in agreement.

“Bring me what I need?” Tyler asks.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” This…” Yaz reaches into the pocket of his black jeans, pulling a flat, silver disk no larger than a dime. “...is how we hear you. Just gotta tap your finger against it to activate it. It’s all charged and ready to go.” He slips a hand through the open zipper on Tyler’s hoodie, attaching the disk -via a small yet powerful magnet on the back[ to the neck of Tyler’s t-shirt. “...and this…” from his second pocket, he removes a listening device; small and kidney bean shaped, moulded out of clear silicone. “...is how you hear me. Just slip this right in your ear. Got it?”

Tyler nods, then plucks the device from Yaz’ palm and slips it into his left ear.  A creature of habit; using the same routines and following the same rituals he’d discovered he was most comfortable with during his early days in the game. Each merc has their ‘thing’; lucky underwear or socks, certain meals they’ll consume before heading out, the same song they’ll listen to on repeat to fire themselves up. His ‘thing’ has always revolved around his gear. Putting pieces on in a certain order, cleaning all his weapons TWICE, not engaging in conversation in the last hour leading up. It’s all mind over matter, but it never fails to feel as if it’s giving him an edge. Even a sense of comfort and security.

“Ovi will drop you off at the shipping and receiving door,” Yaz says. “Our inside guy will be waiting. Knock twice so he knows it’s you. He’ll have a key to the freight elevator; take that to the twelfth floor, leave the key on the window ledge. I know you already know all of this, but it calms my nerves to go through it again.”

Tyler smirks. “You’re an odd duck, Yaz.”

“This coming from a guy who puts three shots of espresso in his coffee right before a gig.”

“Could be doing a lot worse. Remember that guy who used to short two lines of coke right before he went out?”

“Lorenzo. Fuck, I forgot about him. Whatever happened to him?”

“Got into a bar fight in Chicago and got fucked up. Last I heard he was running with some rogue crew that works out of New Mexico.”

“That guy was a whackadoo. Makes you look sane and that’s saying something. Now remember, you only have three minutes. That’s it. Wait by the freight elevator until I tell you that I’ve killed the security cameras. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“When you’re done, haul ass. Ovi will be waiting two blocks west. In front of a dry cleaners. You won’t be able to  miss him.”

“You better fucking be there,” Tyler warns Ovi. “‘Cause if you leave me hanging, I’ll gut you like a fish next.”

Ovi’s eyes widen, and both Tyler and Yaz burst into laughter at his surprised -and terrified- expression.

“I’m kidding, kid. I’d never do that. I’d beat you ass, But I wouldn’t do THAT.”

“Good to go?” Yaz asks.  “Got everything you need?”

Tyler scowls.

“Right...right...I know. I ask the same stupid shit before every job.  Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“I still think letting him go alone is fucked up,” Koen remarks, still sitting by the balcony door.

Yaz sighs. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Twenty minutes until go time and you’re bringing me this? Now is NOT the time for this. One and two. Gotta take ‘em out. That’s what he’s going to do. Enough of this shit?”

“What if something goes wrong?” Koen asks.

“Something’s going to go wrong in a second when I toss your ass off the balcony,” Tyler snarls. “What is your major malfunction? Do you know how many of these I’ve done? How many jobs I’ve been on? I can fucking take care of myself, mate. You’re only gonna get in the way if you tag along. Let me take care of my shit, you take care of yours.”

“I said I’d keep an eye on ya. This isn’t keeping an eye on ya. Letting you go off on your own.”

“We gotta go,” Yaz says, and yanks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Time’s a wastin. We’re going to miss these guys if you don’t leave now.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler assures his friend. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’ve been in way more dangerous situations than this and I always came out of them alive.  I ain’t breaking that streak now.”

“You fuck up and something happens to you, I’ll bring you back to life just to kill you again. Hear me?”

“I hear ya,” Tyler says, and then gives a small, almost uncomfortable chuckle when Koen embraces him in front of the others. His tone and face both softening when he tousles what little hair his friend has left on his head. “I’ll be careful, mate. I got this. You and Rata be careful out there. These guys? Mahajan and his people? They don’t fuck around. Watch each other’s backs.”

“Who’s gonna watch yours?” Koen inquires, and Tyler gives him a quick, one armed hug before heading for the door.

“I watch my own.”

***

“Change of plans,” Tyler says, when Ovi pulls the rented SUV into the alley behind the Grand Hyatt.

The younger man’s eyes widen. “Change of plans? No change of plans! Why a change of plans?”

“Did you not fucking notice the police station half a block away from the dry cleaners? There’s no way your old man doesn’t have law enforcement in on this. Remember Asif? Dhaka? Look what he was able to do. And your old man has a lot more power than Asif ever had.”

“We can’t just go and change things,” Ovi protests. “We can’t…”

“I’m the boss. I can do whatever the hell I want. You park and wait for me there, they’ll see me coming. And you can’t tell me that spineless fuck doesn’t have my picture plastered all over the goddamn place. Go two blocks EAST. Not west. Then text me and let me know where you are.”

“This is a bad idea,” Ovi laments. “We should just stick to the plan. We should…”

Scowling, Tyler angrily snatches him by the front of the shirt. “Fucking listen to me! I call the shots and I am telling you to go east. Not west. Just do as I fucking say and then wait for me. Understand?”

Ovi swallows noisily and nods frantically.

“I go anywhere near that police station, I’m fucked. I’ve got a knife and a Glock on me. I don’t stand a goddamn chance if they all start shooting. So do what I say and I at least live long enough to call my kids tonight and read them a bedtime story. Now fucking listen to me and don’t get me killed!”

He doesn’t give Ovi a chance to respond, instead throwing open the passenger door and climbing out; hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head down as he heads for the loading docks and the shipping and receiving doors. It’s better to be safe than sorry; not taking the chance that there’s any outside cameras that can capture a decent picture of him entering the building. His strides are long and purposeful, yet calm and confident; stones, dirt, and other debris crunching and shifting under the soles of his combat boots.

It’s just as easy as Yaz said it would be; knocks being promptly answered, no eye contact made or words exchanged as a single gold plated key is pressed into the palm of his hand as he passes by. And he’s not sure if it’s plain lucky or the ‘inside man’ had arranged to keep other employees out of the area, but it’s oddly quiet and he doesn’t encounter another living soul during his short walk through the bowels of the hotel and to the service elevator.

He’s been on the job long enough that nerves are no longer an issue. Learning long ago that the more relaxed you are and the more you’re able to ‘silence’ your brain, the smoother and easier things will go. Focusing on something other than the task at hand keeps you from dwelling on your game plan, which in turn prevents you from second guessing yourself and switching things up at the last second. That only leads to disaster. He’s seen many a good merc seriously injured and even killed because they thought too much; letting the game fuck to much with their heads and getting an advantage on them instead of the other way around.  So instead of thinking of the task mere minutes away, he lets his mind go blank; eyes riveted on the illuminated numbers above the elevator door as it makes it slow, rumbling ascent. Hands still shoved in his pockets as he slowly rocks back and forth on his heels. It’s a habit that ‘new Tyler’ has fallen into an ‘old Tyler’ can’t seem to break; that slight motion of his body that’s comforted many a crying or colicky baby and has gotten them to sleep when all other methods seemed futile.  And it works for his nerves as well; taking off the edge yet never stripping away the one emotion he does allow himself to feel. Rage.

“You in?” Yaz’ voice pipes in through the ear piece, and Tyler reaches into his hoodie to tap a finger against the disk attached to the front of his shirt.

“I’m in. On the ninth floor now.”

“Twelfth is clear. You’ll see a cleaning person; that’s one of ours. Got one on each floor preventing other people from leaving their rooms. Let me know when you get off the service elevator and I’ll kill the security cameras. Remember, you’ve only got three minutes.”

“What if they don’t get on the elevator?”

“Do what you have to do. Rooms 903 and 905. Take them out whatever way you have to. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

The elevator comes to a shuddering, rumbling stop; doors shuddering as they slowly slide open. He leaves the lone key on the window sill as instructed, then mumbles a low, drawn out “Fuck” and  quickly turns on his heel to face outside when he hears voices -female- approaching from around the corner.  He can see their reflections in the glass; young, nearly twenties, their glossy  dark hair pulled back into ponytails and their tall, willowy bodies clad in the burgundy and gold uniforms sported by all hotel staff. And they never pause in their loud, animated conversation or even glance in his direction as they wait for the elevator. Seconds seem like minutes; his annoyance growing with each passing moment, an audible sigh of relief leaving his lips when the elevator finally arrives and the women step aboard, doors slowly sliding closed.

“Do your thing,” he says. “I’m good to go.”

“I’m on it,” Yaz responds. “Cameras going down in five...four...three...two...one.   You’ve got three minutes. Go.”

Tyler swiftly turns on his heel; feet going from gleaming tile to plush carpet. And he exchanges a quick nod with Yaz’ ‘man’; one hand still shoved in the pocket of his sweater as the other reaches out to hit the button to call the elevator.

“One and two are leaving their rooms now,” Yaz says. “Elevator is two floors above you. No one on it. You’re in the clear.”

“They armed?”

“Can’t tell. Let’s just go ahead and assume they are. Stay on your toes.”

“You doubting my knowledge of this shit, Yaz? You telling  me how to do things?”

“I’m nervous. Fuck off, Rake.” It’s always last name only when Yaz gets riled up; his nerves and stress are always on high alert, even when he’s not the one actually out there doing the dirty work.  “Two minutes and thirty seconds,”  he says, when the elevator finally arrives and Tyler steps on. “Think you can handle this, old man?”

Smirking, Tyler directs a middle finger at the camera he knows is mounted just above the control panels. And he settles himself as that rear of the lift, casually leaning back against the mirrored wall, both hands out of his pockets and arms now crossed over his chest.

“I’d say good luck but I know you won’t need it,” Yaz says. “We’re going silent for the rest of the trip. Talk in a few. Have fun.”

He gives a nod and a tight lipped smile. The adrenaline is at its peak now. Even after all these years it’s a rush; the possibility of the situation turning dangerous, the quick and efficient pace he’ll have to work at. But it’s not the adrenaline that has his heart thundering in his chest or the rush of blood thundering in his ears or his jaw clenching. It’s rage. The knowledge that he’s about to come face to face with pure and utter evil. People that would have done horrible and vile things to his family. His CHILDREN. It’s the desire...the want...the NEED...to take another life.

He recognizes them when they step onto the elevator; faces familiar from the pictures he’s been studying since Anil gave him ‘the list’. And neither pause in their conversation -a mixture of both Hindi and English- but both give him polite smiles and nods, one even offering a friendly ��good morning” that he’s hesitant to return but bites the bullet and does anyway.  And he briefly looks over his shoulder; quickly studying himself to make sure the rage isn’t as visibly obvious as it feels.  Both men have their backs to him; shoulders pressed together, their words and their laughter hanging heavily in the air. And while his eyes study them from head to toe and attempt to ascertain any possible threat or if they are armed, his right hand reaches under his hoodie,  thumb sliding through the loop that sits on the top of the knife; fingers curling around the hilt.

“Excuse me for a second, would ya mate?” He asks, then using his own shoulder to push his way between them, successfully creating a gap; fingers reaching for one of the floor numbers before he slams his palm against the stop button.  

The elevator gives a sudden, violent lurch and Tyler uses it to his advantage. Throwing his entire body weight into the man on the right, the collision  sending both of them  into the side wall.. And Tyler slams his elbow into the sternum with enough force to break  it; the audible crack and the man’s startled and pained yelp echoing in the small, cramped area.  A noise that only becomes shrill and terrified when he effortlessly jams the tip of the knife into the already injured man’s navel, and with a ruthless and vicious upwards yank -one fluid, easy motion- he sends the sharp, glistening blade up to the hollow of the man’s throat. His first  victim drops into a heap on the floor; still gurgling and flailing helplessly as he clings to the last shred of life as his own blood and some of his internal organs begin to pool around him.

The fist that’s thrown his way is easy to avoid; his instincts and reflexes are quick and uncompromising. And he’s able to hook an arm around the other man’s bicep  and throw him to his stomach; forehead and chest  slamming off the blood soaked floor. And he’s attempting to scramble to his feet when Tyler places  a knee in the middle of his back; every pound and inch of his much broader, taller, strong frame shoved into every shred of pressure he applies.

“Look at me,” Tyler orders, and when the man below him refuses, snatches a fistful of hair and yanks his head back. “I said fucking look at me!”

The eyes that look up at him are terrified, yet still bear a remaining glitter of deviance.

“You recognize me now don’t you,” Tyler snarls. “Well this is what you get for fucking with my family.”  

He slams the knife home just under the left ear. And he can hear the  tear of skin, muscle and tissue and the crack of cartilage as the tip pierces straight through. Pausing briefly; allowing the full reality set into the other man’s brain before he quickly draws the knife across his throat. Jamming it in  far enough to hit bone when he reaches the other ear; hand still tightly gripping silky, thick hair, gaze never wavering and his rage never subsiding as he watches all life and hope drain from the other man’s face and eyes.

There’s a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he stands; hands steady as he swipes the blade of the knife across one of his thighs, cleaning the blood off of it before slipping it back under his hoodie and into its holder. He’s barely broken a sweat, and he’s eerily calm as he steps through the growing puddle of blood and over the lifeless carcasses; releasing the stop button and then pressing the one for the next available floor.

Tyler checks his watch. There's still a minute and a half remaining.

It feels good to be back.

****

“A minute and a half,” Yaz says in way of greeting, when Tyler strolls into the conference room twenty minutes later; already shrugging out of his blood and sweat soaked hoodie. “Not too bad for an old fuck! Didn’t misplace  a hip, did you old timer?”

“Hope I don’t misplace my foot when I put it up your ass,” he playfully retorts, unable to contain the grin that spreads across his face.

It’s one of immense satisfaction. Pride, even.  Feeling relief that he hasn’t lost his edge or any of his abilities and he’s only become stronger and faster. Smarter. His skills and his instincts seem sharper than before.  And it feels good; the physical act of killing. It’s the first time he’s ever encountered that; enjoying  taking a life and watching someone in the thralls of death. But it’s personal this time around. Mahajan never should have threatened him or his wife and his children. Because now he’s going to enjoy every second of sending that message loud and clear: you’ve fucked with the wrong man’s family.

“I will never...EVER...again doubt you, oh wise one,” Yaz chuckles, and then dramatically bows to him. “Made a fuck of a mess of the elevator though. Couldn’t have been more graceful about things?”

“Messier it is, the bigger and louder the message it sends. And thanks, by the way. You almost dumped my ass right by a police station.”

“Yeah,  Ovi called me. Told me about the change in plans. Sorry about that, Ooops.”

“Oops? I could have gotten my ass shot on the first day and that’s all you can say? Ooops? How the fuck did you miss that, anyway? You’re usually on the ball when it comes to this recon shit. What the fuck, mate?”

“You know, sometimes I DO screw up.”

“Well don’t screw up when it’s my ass on the line, yeah?”  Tyler removes both the earpiece and the transmitter and drops them onto the conference table. “Those little things are a hell of a lot better than those wired pieces of shit we used to have.  I’m not fucking choking myself trying to use an ear piece attached to a fucking radio. How’s things? Anyone else check in?”

“Koen and Rata are chasing their guys down. They've given them the slip twice already.”

Tyler smirks, then slips the t-shirt over his head and drops it and the hoodie into a nearby chair. “Rookies.”

“Anil and Nathan are doing some surveillance on the other side of town. Gonna be pissed and jealous as shit when I tell them you’re already done and back.  Other than that, there’s not much to tell you.”

He tears the velcro strips open on the one side of the vest; left shoulder and rib cage finally free. Grunting and grimacing at the pain in his right arm when he slips the vest over his head.  Then peels  off the sweaty tank and uses it to  wipe sweat and blood from his face, brow, and neck. Unable to contain the smirk that plays on his lips when he catches sight of the young female tech across the room intently watching him.

“Hey!” Yaz snaps at her. “Focus! That ain’t your prize you’re looking at. He’s married!”

Tyler chuckles, then reaches for a bottle of water from the case sitting in the middle of the table.  “Kinda harsh, mate. She’s harmless. She can look.”

“What is it with you and all the thirsty women? They don’t even care about that ring on your finger.”

“I care about it and that’s all that matters. They can be as thirsty as they want. I’m not entertaining it, so…”

“Still disrespectful as fuck. To you, your wife. I mean, you’re married. You’ve got kids, for fuck sake. Means they should back the fuck off. And speaking of married, you hear from Esme?”

“She left me a message before they left. Said she’d call as soon as they got in. It’s a long flight; they won’t be here until at least six.”  He both groans and grimaces when he drops into one of the chairs, and then reaches down to untie his boots and toe them off. “I did make a fucking mess, didn’t I,” he observes, as he picks up one boot, then the other, surveying the splatters of blood on the fabric and the already drying mess on each sole.

“Felt good though, didn’t it.  To get shit done. To kill the fuckers that we’re going to kill your family. Bet it felt damn good.”

“Even better than I thought it would,” he admits.

“You going to the airport?” Yaz asks.

“Didn’t know it was an option. Thought I was supposed to to stay away. Until I was given the all clear.”

“That’s for when they’re at the house. What harm could come from you showing up at the airport? No one even knows you’re in Mumbai yet. We’d hear chatter if Mahajan was suspicious. If you wanna go…”

“I don’t wanna fuck things up. If someone IS following me…”

“You’d know that by now. Fuck, you’d probably be DEAD right now. And we’ve got eyes and ears on you. I can send  a couple of people to tail you, just in case. You’ve got nothing else going on for the rest of that day. You’ve earned your keep. And then some.”

“I could go out and help Rata and Koen chase their guys down. Or do my own surveillance. Take Ovi with me. Teach him something that won’t lead to me getting shot in the head.”

“It’s the first day,” Yaz says. “Relax. You’ve done enough. Take the down time while you can.”

“I could use a shower and a  change of clothes. Something to eat. Maybe some sleep.”

“Go to the airport,” Yaz insists. “I’ll have people follow you. I know it’s killing you; being away from your family. It’ll do you a world of good to see them. Even if it is just for a few minutes.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “It would. Wouldn’t mind hugging and kissing my wife and seeing my kids.”

“Your job’s done for the day. Shit is only going to get harder and more intense from here on out. Who knows when you’ll get to see them next. Go clean yourself up. Get some food in you. Some sleep. And then go and see your family. You’re one of the lucky ones, man. You’ve GOT a family that you can see. Don’t take that for granted.”

“That’s something I DEFINITELY have to stop doing.”

“I know they’re probably dying to see you too. Can’t tell me those kids don’t miss their daddy. They’re pretty nuts about ya.”

He grins. “Yeah, I’m pretty nuts about them too. You sure you guys will be okay without me?”

“We’ll manage. If I need you THAT bad, I know how to get a hold of you. Seriously, go and see your family, Tyler.  I know you want to. I know you NEED to.”

He nods in agreement, then sighs heavily as he stands up; hand on the small of his back, wince on his face.

“Maybe you did throw out your hip,” Yaz chides.

“It’s my back, you fucking drongo. You know it’s been shit since I had to go and save Gaspar’s sorry ass.”

“You took  a bullet an inch from your fucking spine,” Yaz reminds him. “You’re lucky to even be walking. Want me to get you a cane? A wheelchair? Want me to carry you? Need me to help fill out the papers for your old age security?”

“I’m hurting, but I can still beat your ass into the middle of the next week.”

“Judging by the show you put on the elevator, I know that’s fact. That was amazing by the way. Good job. Damn good job.”

“Only gets better from here, yeah? Each one will get a little nastier and bloodier.”

“You sound like you’re actually going to enjoy that,” Yaz observes.

He’s smirking as he picks up his dirty clothes and boots, then heads for the door. “I am.”

[myarmsaretoolong]

Let’s Hang Out Sometime

Prompt #1: Let’s Hang Out Sometime - Waking Up Restrained | Shackled

Word Count: 2596

Warnings: Blood | Non-Graphic Violence/Injuries

Synopsis: Peter wakes up in a cramped, stone cell, shackles clamped around his wrists. He only has one thought on his mind, escape.

Read Under the Cut | Read on AO3

Peter’s head pounded, the thud, thud, thud so loud that he could barely think straight. Groggily, and with great resistance from his muscles, he managed to lift his head and peeled open his eyes. He expected to be faced with blinding lights and have to squeeze them shut again, but he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of the room being just as dark as his closed eyes. In fact, he could hardly make out the wall opposite.

It was stone, that was for sure - the whole room was besides a heavy, metal door embedded in the wall to his left - ragged and uneven and so, so cold beneath his hands and feet. The air was musty and stale and smelled strongly of mould as if it, too, was trapped with Peter and had been for years before him. Now that he thought about it, the stone floor was definitely damp, and he could hear the drip of water falling from the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Not that the corner was far away in any sense, he could probably reach out and touch it if…

If his wrists weren’t shackled to the wall behind his back. Peter twisted around, the cuffs were thick, and the chain itself buried inside the stone, but they didn’t look to be vibranium. That was something. Then again, he wasn’t wearing his Spider-Man suit, and no one apart from Tony knew the truth about the Stark Internship.

Did they?

Sure, Peter hadn’t always been diligent guaranteeing no one discovered his secret identity, but that was because no one paid attention to a kid from Queens when superheroes were out pretty much every other day taking down hordes of aliens. Not even most other kids from Queens, only Ned really-

“No,” Peter muttered, “no, no, no.” He thought back, trying to remember how he got into this situation in the first place. He and Ned were walking home from school, talking about their plans to build his new Lego Deathstar and ignoring Flash speeding past them in his father’s car, when something collided with the back of his head. That would explain the throbbing. After that, there was only black.

Peter considered calling out for Ned to see if whoever these people were had taken him, too, to see if he was even still alive, but decided against it. There was a chance that could make everything worse; he wasn’t going to let that happen. Instead, he strained his ears, hoping super-senses would come in handy and earn some information from the captors.

Sure enough, a couple of gruff sounding voices floated down the hallway outside his cell.

“How do you know he’ll come?”

“We took his intern. Stark will take that as a personal attack. He’ll swoop in like he always does to play hero and save the day, and then…”

“Boom?”

“Boom.”

Peter swallowed. Boom didn’t sound like something he wanted to stick around to see.

“And what about us?”

“We’ll be long gone, dumbass.”

“Those kids?”

“Collateral damage.”

So, Ned was here. And they had to get out, sharpish. Without a second thought, Peter tensed his arms and yanked them apart, ripping the chain between them clean in half. He leapt to his feet, taking a second massaging his stiff muscles and jumping on the spot to psych himself up, pretending each bounce didn’t send a jolt of pain up the back of his head.

Even if his identity was a lost cause, Peter still wanted the element of surprise when it came to the upcoming fight, so he stepped up to the door and examined it closer. Metal. Again, not vibranium so he could’ve easily kicked it off its hinges had he wanted to; instead, he opted to take hold of the medieval style sliding lock and jerk it backwards, making sure to catch the shattered chunks of metal before they clattered to the floor. Tentatively, he reached out for the handle and pushed. The door edged open.

Peter took a breath, shaking out his hands. “Come on, Spider-Man,” he whispered under his breath. “Come on.” The rusted hinges of the door wailed as he opened it further and Peter dived back into his cell, back flat against the wall as scuffling sounded from down the hallway.

“What was that?”

“How should I know? Go check it out.”

Peter closed his eyes and took a few deep, steady breaths as he listened to the sound of their heavy boots creep closer, the rustle of their clothes and thump of their heartbeats.

“The door’s open.”

“What?”

“The door. It’s open.”

“It’s old, probably broken. The intern’s still shackled, just go close it again.”

Peter took one last breath and pressed his hand over his mouth, not daring even to blink as the captor’s shadow slunk into the cell. A moment later, the man himself. There was a brief second where the man looked at Peter, and Peter looked at the man. He was dressed all in black, a bandana covering all but his eyes and a hat pulled covered his forehead. At his hip, a gloved hand hovered over a knife sheath.

But it was only a second, the man’s eyes grew wide, and Peter used the momentary shock to his advantage, reaching forward and clasping his head in his hands before bringing his knee up to meet it. The man crumpled in Peter’s arms, not dead, but certainly not getting up anytime soon. As quietly as possible, Peter dragged him further into the room and propped him against the corner with the drip, just for that small win of knowing he’d be annoyed when he wakes up.

“Sullivan?” Peter’s heart hammered in his chest, that voice was closer than he’d hoped, and he didn’t know how many more people could be outside. “Sullivan, what’s taking so long? Just close the damn door.” Peter looked at the cuffs still around his wrists, the remains of the chains hanging down. He didn’t dare move for the sound they would make. “Fine, I’m coming in.”

Peter grinned, announcing your entrance? Rookie move. That gave him a little boost of hope.

This guy was clearly on edge already, not only from their unsure voice, but he already had his knife tightly gripping in his hand. Still, there was a second where he froze at the sight of Peter standing over his teammate’s body. “Hi,” Peter smiled, “I’d love to hang out a little longer but-”

The captor lunged forward, knife out as if he were in a fencing match. Peter’s spidey-sense forewarned him, he stepped to the side and twirled around so he’d switched places with the attacker. “That was rude.” Peter aimed a roundhouse kick at their outstretched arm, foot connecting with their wrist with a crunch. The knife fell to the floor. “I wasn’t finished.”

With all his strength, Peter shoved the man back against the hard stone wall. He whimpered as he went down, Peter followed him, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him slightly off the ground. “Tell me why you did this,” he demanded, lip curled in a futile attempt at appearing intimidating. “What do you want.”

The man spat. Said nothing.

“You got a bomb. I heard you talking. Where is it?”

He let out a gargled laugh, a twisted smile on his face. “Stark will never know what hit him.” Peter faltered at the thought, the man used it to overpower him and lurched for his knife, twisting out of Peter’s grip and slashing at his calf. Peter bit back a yelp as blood seeped from the wound, he couldn’t risk alerting any other guards.

A scream echoed down the hallway, both Peter and the man turned to face the door. It was, unmistakably, Ned.

“Alright,” Peter growled, fixing back on the man. “I’ve had it.” He leapt up, fingertips sticking to the ceiling, and swung his legs forward so his feet his the man square in the chest. He stumbled and fell back, smashing the back of his head against the wall and fell limp to the floor.

Peter lowered himself down carefully and examined the gash running the length of his calf, it was deep and bleeding steadily, but Peter could still walk so it must be okay. Probably. Right now, he had to focus on Ned. He crept back to the doorway and peered both ways down the corridor, gentle gas lights swayed from the ceiling and lit the way. Empty.

Silently, Peter padded down the hallway. For some unknown reason, the attackers had taken his shoes and socks, leaving the rough stone to cut his bare feet. Identical doors lined the hall; Peter hovered outside each one listen out for breathing or heartbeats from inside.

A thud, followed by another scream. Peter sprinted towards the sound and flung the door open without a second thought. The room was the same as Peter’s only Ned was still shackled to the wall, blood trickling from his forehead, wide eyes staring at Peter. Also staring, three more captors, all dressed head to toe in black, all armed with knives.

“Peter?” Ned’s voice was small, but hopeful. The single word seemed to launch everyone into action. All three ran at Peter, wildly swinging their weapons as Peter bounced from wall to wall - to ceiling - to avoid them. Almost, at least, while Peter aimed a punch to the side of a captor’s head, another sliced open his side. This time, he let out a scream of pain and allowed the adrenaline to aid his fighting.

One guy was already down. Another, charged forward, knife raised, Peter dodged to the side and their knife plunged into the abdomen of the other. The assailant jumped back, into Peter’s fist, while the injured hobbled away. Peter let them. They weren’t making it far, anyway.

“Peter,” Ned said again, though his time his voice was filled with awe, maybe a little fear, “What the fuck, dude?”

“Uh,” Peter knelt beside Ned, gripped the chain of his shackles, and yanked him free. “This wasn’t the way I planned to tell you.”

“You’re Spider-Man?” Ned exclaimed, rubbing his wrists as Peter helped him to his feet. “Like the Spider-Man? Fought the Rouge Avengers, Spider-Man? Hero of Queens, Spider-Man?”

“Yeah, I guess I am. But we need to go before Mister Stark get’s here.”

Ned’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, yeah. They said something about a trap-”

“Explosion, I think. They want Mister Stark dead, and don’t care about who gets caught in the crossfire.”

“Yup,” Ned nodded furiously, already bee-lining for the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Peter clutched one hand to his side as they jogged down the hallway, a fruitless attempt at stemming the blood flow. “Are you alright?” Peter asked. “Did they hurt you?”

“Nothing too bad,” Ned said grimly. “Coulda been a lot worse. Coulda been stabbed,” he looked Peter up and down, “twice.”

Peter grimaced. “I’m used to it, let’s just hurry.” He picked up the pace and led Ned towards the very, very, distant sounds of the city.

“That’s terrifying, Peter. Terrifying.”

“You sound just like Mister Stark.”

“He knows? And he still lets you intern?”

They came to a fork in the tunnel, one path heading left, the other veering right. “Ned, this is the internship.” Peter ran to the left; the bustle of the city was louder that way. 

“Right, That makes sense.” Ned followed close behind. He eyed the way Peter hobbled up the inclining tunnel. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep,” Peter replied a little too quickly. “Anyway, It should be right around-“ They turned a corner, and were greeted by the sight of the tunnel exit, far off city lights glittering in what looked to be a river, obscured by thick trees. “Here.”

“Great.” Ned went ahead. Peter couldn’t blame him; he was more than eager to get out of this damp, musty old cave they appeared to be in. As Ned neared the mouth, Peter’s spidey sense exploded out of nowhere, he dived forward and caught his fist in the back of Ned’s shirt, stopping him midstep.

“Look,” he nodded down at a thin, all but invisible wire running the length of the mouth, a few inches off the ground. “Must be the trap they laid for Mister Stark.”

“Shit… I nearly tripped it.” Ned’s foot hovered over the wire. He made a deal of stepping over it, Peter followed. “We’re free!”

“Yeah, but we need to contact Mister Stark before he goes and gets himself blown up for me. Do you have your phone?”

Ned tapped his pockets, face falling. “They must have taken it.” 

“Mine too,” Peter sighed. He looked across the water at the city he could recognise from anywhere. “We‘ll just have to get to a phone box or something.”

“Do they even still exist?”

“I don’t know, Ned.” Peter threw his arms up, adrenaline wearing off and leaving him tired and cranky. “It’s that, or go all the way to the compound and hope he’s still there.”

“Or not…” Ned pointed upwards towards the city. A faint dot of light, steadily growing larger. As the Iron Man suit became visible, the boys jumped and waved their arms, trying to attract Tony’s attention, but the trees were too dense and Tony too laser-focused on the cave. “He’s not gonna see us.”

Peter ran towards the cave, yelling for Ned to stay put. Ahead of him, Tony landed in his signature pose before straightening up and heading for the cave mouth. Peter closed in. “Wait! Mister Stark, don’t-!”

Tony tripped the wire. Peter’s warning came too late to stop it... but not too late for him to react. Tony whirled around, thrusters already engaged, and flew directly at Peter, scooping him up under the arms and flying high into the air. A fireball chased them up, and Tony climbed higher still so Peter remained unharmed.

“Kid,” Tony flipped open his faceplate once the blast had dissipated. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, Mister Stark.” Peter glanced down, the trees closest to the cave’s mouth were burning, flames licking along the branches and illuminating Ned beneath them, the force had knocked him back onto his hands, and ash coated his face. But he was alive. “Could you, um, put me down now?”

“Right,” Tony cleared his throat, “of course.” He lowered them down, the second Peter’s feet touched the ground, Ned enveloped him in a hug. Tony dematerialised his suit, standing awkwardly to the side. 

Pete reached out and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Come on, Mister Stark. You’re not getting out of this one.” He pulled Tony into the hold, smiling at how normal it felt.

A female voice cut through the moment. “Boss, I hate to be a killjoy, but Mister Parker requires urgent medical attention.”

Tony sprang back, already assessing Peter for injuries and swearing under his breath. “I thought you said you were fine!”

“I am fine!” Peter shot back. He looked down at his blood-soaked shirt. “Ish.”

“Fineish is not good enough, Fri, get me medical over here, now.”

“It’s not that bad, really-“

“It’s pretty bad, dude,” Ned admitted. “You could barely walk outta that cave.”

“Snitch.”

“What! I don’t want you to die. I just found out my best friend is Spider-Man! This is the best day of my life.”

Tony turned to Ned, an eyebrow raised. “You got kidnapped.”

“Yeah. And then Spider-Man saved me.”

Tony sighed as the sound of the Quinjet approached, shaking his head. “Kids.”

[anotheronechicagobog]

The Heroic Heralds of the Hermann Horde

Part 1

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: swearing, tension, parental issues

 A/N: You should read my fic ‘Tylenol and Tequila’ part three for some relationships to make sense but it can be read without having done so, the story focuses mainly on the Hermann family (or Hermann Horde as I have dubbed them) but there’s some stellaride and upstead in here as well.

Being one out of five kids was exhausting. There were pros and cons that they all had to deal with. Lee Henry, Luke, and Annabelle got new clothes, Lee Henry because he was the oldest, Luke because hand me downs were too worn when they got to him, and Annabelle because she was the only girl. Kenny, Luke, Max, and Annabelle got away with pretty much everything because they didn’t have to set an example (and the only times they did get in trouble usually had more to with a bad call their dad had than anything else). Kenny was unintentionally favoured by their dad more because he has made it very clear he wants to be a firefighter like his dad. Max was favoured by their mom because of his traumatic birth. Kenny, Luke, and Max were closer because Lee Henry was the firstborn and not only had Cindy and Christopher decided to wait a few years before having more kids but also because he had to be the responsible older brother/third parent most of the time, his parents hadn’t intended for that to happen and they felt guilty about it sometimes, but they needed his help and made sure he got at least an hour of free time (this didn’t include homework or chores) a day. Annabelle felt left out frequently because she was the only girl and while she didn’t fit the girly girl mould, she just didn’t share a lot of interests or societal problems with her brothers. So the Hermann’s were their own unique brand of love and chaos, and they were alright with that. 

Lee Henry had gotten a part-time job for Friday nights and weekends as a lifeguard. People liked to joke that lifesaving ran in the family, but that wasn’t the case. Lee didn’t want to ever rush into a burning building, he never wanted to let worry and fear linger over his family’s heads day after day. Wondering if every unexpected knock on the door or phone call was a death notice or call to the hospital. He didn’t resent his dad for his career, but it had affected a lot of his life choices. The reason he became a lifeguard was because when he was 10, almost 11, his dad fell through the floor of a burning building.

He remembers the phone ringing, wondering if it was Susan from his granna’s quilting club, or Kraken (Karen) from the PTA. His mom answered with a cheerful hello but when she made no other noise and the room suddenly felt thick, he looked up, and he saw his mom’s face. She had gotten so pale he could see her veins, her eyes were wet and had sunken in, her mouth moving like she was screaming so loud it would shatter windows but nothing was coming out, and then she collapsed. Her knees just gave out underneath her. Lee jumped up to try and keep his mom from falling on the floor. He was too weak to catch her so they landed together on the hardwood together with a thump. She still couldn’t say anything, she started shaking, so Lee grabbed the phone. “-Ms. Hermann? Are you still there? Did you hear me? Your husband fell through the floor of a burning building, he’s on transport to the hospital-”

“In ambulance sixty-one?”

“... I’m sorry who am I speaking to?”

“Lee Henry Hermann, son of Christopher and Cindy Hermann. Is my dad being taken to the hospital in ambulance sixty-one?”

“Yes, but I should really-”

“Which hospital?”

“Lakeshore medical centre, I should really speak to-”

“We’re on our way.” He hung up, remembering the words his dad has said to him a thousand times, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. “Hello, yellow taxi? I need a cab to take five people, one adult and four kids, to Lakeshore medical centre. My Dad got hurt and mom can’t speak.” It was a flurry of running and car seats and firefighter turn out gear that wasn’t his dad’s. That wasn’t cool anymore. That he couldn’t stand to look at or smell. So when no one was looking he got up and, calmly, walked to a closet. He walked inside, closed the door, and let it all out. He cried, muffled his screams with his forearms. He ruthlessly scratched his arms, and hit himself. In the head, chest, thighs, feet. He knew right then, from the look on his mother’s face, from the grimness behind uncle Randy’s eyes, from the tearing feeling in his chest, he could never do it. He could never be a firefighter.

When he returned to the group, his long-sleeved shirt was rolled down and he’d stopped at the bathroom before heading to the cafeteria to make sure he looked okay. He was carrying two plastic bags that were filled to the brim with sandwiches and water bottles. He was spotted by uncle Randy first. “Lee Henry! There you are, what’ve you got there?”

“Some food and water, I figured we’d all need something to eat and drink, we might be here a while after all.”

“Yeah... Hey, I heard that you helped get everyone here, and you’ve been really calm and level-headed throughout this whole thing. You’ve done really well, why don’t you sit down and we’ll keep you company til we hear some news about your dad? Severide can pass around the grub, okay?” Severide made his way over to the oldest Hermann child and gave him a proud smile. “I for one, am not even remotely surprised that you’re so calm. Your old man is a firefighter, remaining calm in stressful situations and helping others is in your blood. Should we be expecting another Hermann at 51?” Lee felt his heart sink into his gut, but thankfully Boden called for all the members of 51 to have a talk in one section of the ER before Lee could answer.

Lee took one last walk around the pool, to make sure he hadn’t missed any puddles or items when cleaning the deck while the last of the stragglers got out of the pool and the stands when he heard a loud crack. He whipped his head around and found a teen about his age lying on the floor at the bottom of the stands. He rushed over and methodically went over his injuries, calling out orders to the other lifeguards and people around him. He and Kylie got the guy on their backboard and his neck stabilized. The paramedics arrived quickly. “Lee Henry?”

“Hey Brett, so we have a teenage male, unsure of age or name, with a head laceration, possible neck trauma, and loss of consciousness. He fell off the stands and hasn’t so much as opened his eyes, one of the other lifeguards went through the change rooms to see if there was anyone waiting for him but they couldn’t find anyone. I noticed him come in a couple of hours ago, but he didn’t socialize with or appear to have come with anyone. He just came in and sat down at the top.”

“Alright, well you did a good job, we’ve got it from here.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning he was met by his dad, smiling from ear to ear. ”There's my boy.” Christopher began patting Lee Henry on the back. ”Brett said you were amazing, guess you'll be joining me at 51 pretty soon, huh? And tonight we are going to celebrate, the entire firehouse is coming over and we're gonna do a pot luck.”

Lee Henry couldn't get a word in edgewise, just sighed as his dad walked away, over the moon. Lee Henry finished getting ready under the concerned eyes of his mother, who had witnessed the tension in his shoulders and fine line his lips went into. ”Are you okay, honey?”

”Yeah, I'm great. I'll see you after work.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his duffle and headed for the station.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lee felt his stomach sink when he recognized the extra cars cluttering the street in from of his house. He rolled his shoulders back at the sound of heavy laughter coming from inside, knowing it was better just to face it head on. He was met with the smell of various kinds of foods, and was met with the sound of rowdy firefighters. ”Hey Herm, the guest of honour had finally arrived. Lee Henry, come over here!”

”Hey guys.” Lee spent the next two hours, after working a 10 hour shift of a labour intensive job, bearing everyone’s comments about the ’next generation of Hermann firefighters’, and constantly being pulled away from the food table! Donna made pallea and his mom made brownies! He just wanted to eat!

He was tired, hungry, and emotionally worn out when uncle Kelly pulled him aside. ”Hey, Lee, I didn't want to say this to your dad before you, but I made a couple calls, and was able to get you a spot at the academy for next fall if you want it. It'll be great-”

”I don't want to be a firefighter.”

”What?”

”I haven't since I was ten.”

”Lee, you don't have to-”

”I... It's just a personal choice.”

”But your dad... He thinks you want to be a firefighter.”

”He never lets me get a word in, just rambles until he has to leave for shift or Molly's.”

”What do you want to be then?”

”A doctor.”

”Ha, you’re a healer not a smokeater, huh?”

”Don’t laugh, you'll need someone to fix up your self-destructive ass when you fall through a floor in a burning house.” Lee just couldn't take it anymore, his emotions had boiled over, so he’d snapped. And now he needed to leave so that he didn't have to watch his uncle put all the dots together right in front of him.

----------------------

He was hungry and in need of comfort. Both from food and people. So when Kylie jogged out of his house after him, he was grateful. They caught the el downtown and went to Bartolli’s, a favourite restaurant of the Hermann’s. ”You were pretty loud, when you were talking to Kelly, just so you know.”

He sighed. ”I figured. I texted my mom before we got to the station, told her where we were going, mostly to avoid her worrying, but I fully expect someone to show up.”

”It does seem like something anyone at 51 would do, they are very involved in each other's lives.”

”Hey, you've been dealing with this for a few months, I've been dealing with it my whole life.” Their conversation flowed freely, mixed with milkshakes and deep-dish pizza. 

”Do you know what you want to do when you get out of high school?”

”Definitely something that helps people, but I don't think I want to be a firefighter either. Kelly and Stella worry about me just going to school, I can't imagine how they'd feel if I was running into burning buildings! They'd probably only be okay with it if I was at 51 with them, and while I love them, I don't love them that much. I think something in law.”

”The only issue for us is how to pay for all that.”      

“We could join the military, but that does kinda defeat the purpose of not being firefighters...”

“Lee Henry? Kylie?”

“Detective Upton and Halstead, hi.”

“What are you two doing here? I thought that 51 was celebrating a big save you made.”

“Yeah, but it just ended up being a firefighter thing, you know how it goes, especially because apparently, you guys do the same thing.”

“Yeah, we do...”

“Well,” Halstead gave a smirk and a nod, “you two enjoy your pizza.”

“Thanks,” Kylie piped up, having not spoken much with the detectives, “and you two have fun on your date.” Lee and Kylie turned to go back to their meal, but noticed the frozen body language and panicked expressions of the two adults. They looked at each other, concerned, before Lee decided to bite the bullet. “Uh, guys? Are you okay? Should we call the other Halstead?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“... Yesssssss.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Have a nice night kids.” Upstead (what they were to be referred to as according to his mom) turned and bolted out of the restaurant, blushes and pizza in tow. “I really hope that they sort out their feelings, it’s getting a little exhausting and I don’t even spend that much time around them!”

“Amen to that.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lee returned home it was late, and only the porch and living room lights were on. He entered the quiet house alone, having dropped Kylie off at her apartment before returning home himself. He locked the door, turned off the porch light, and went straight to the living room knowing that it was better to face his dead head-on than beat around the bush. “Dad.”

“Lee Henry.”

“We need to talk.”

“Apparently we do.”

“I don’t want to be a firefighter.”

“Well, I heard that pretty loud and clear. It was too loud to miss. You know I just don’t understand-”

“October 10th, 2012.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and uncle Matt fell through the floor of a burning house. Your ADSU went off cause the fall knocked you unconscious. I’ve heard Gabby say that that was one of the scariest days of her life. And I remembered you comforted her when she visited you in the hospital. But you didn’t comfort me-”

“Lee-”

“No. Let me speak for once. I was ten years old. And I had to call the cab company, and get everyone in the car, and keep everyone together, and make sure everyone was eating, and check-in with the nurses about your condition, and get school stuff organized for Luke, Max, and Annabelle, and make all the meals for a week, and get Granna and Grandad on an earlier flight back to Chicago, and manage your medication because mom was too stressed to. Your voice was ringing through my head the entire time, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. All that I was told that miserable week was that I was destined to be a firefighter like you. But I was just listening to you, and I realized that being a firefighter was the absolute last thing I want to be when I get older. I had always known in the back of my mind that your job was dangerous, but it didn’t hit me until that day, not even when uncle Andy died. I just... I had my blinders ripped off, and I can’t ignore the terror I feel every time you leave for work. And I see mom and the others feel it too now that there have been more close calls, and I can’t do it. I want you to know that I don’t resent you for it in any way, but I can’t do that to my friends and family. I can’t let the people in my life feel like they’re saying goodbye to me every time I go to work. And I’ve tried to tell you, but I can never get a word in.”

“I tend to do that apparently. Look, I’ll admit there’s a part of me that’s always wanted you kids to follow in my footsteps, but that is a very small part of me. I am actually really happy that you don’t want to be a firefighter because I know that I don’t have the strength to worry about you or any of the others day after day. It takes a special breed of people to do that, and I don’t come from it. If you want to be a doc, that’s great. I know that you’re more than capable and I’m really proud of you for being able to recognize that. I’m also really sorry. That you had to be so brave so young. Need you to know that I love you, that I am so proud of you, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I should have been.” Lee had never, ever, seen his dad cry. Christopher Hermann was always strong and firm. But here he was crying in front of his eldest son, exposing all of his vulnerable emotions to him. Cindy found them forty minutes later full-on bawling and clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. Finally making peace with each other.

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring. 

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him…  but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty." 

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.” 

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter." 

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?" 

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse…  the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?” 

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?" 

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!” 

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today." 

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another. 

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…" 

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

[spiltkpop]

Trouble. [4]

The room was cold. You could tell there was still hints of blood lingering within the walls, must have had lots of accidents.

I was sitting in Lay's office as he had just done some x-rays on my stomach and elsewhere. I told him there was really no reason, but all the boys refused me and demanded that I go for a check up.

Beats the real doctors I guess, he was studying the images pretty roughly, I've been sitting here for the past 10 minutes waiting for him to say anything to me.

"Have you ever had a broken rib?" he asks me and I think back to when I first got kidnapped.  

I was talking back, which was a stupid idea, and I somehow got out of the ropes on my wrists. Probably from the lack of eating the first couple weeks, my body started the thin.

I was nearly finished helping the girl beside me before someone grabbed my hair and threw me into the wall. I could have sworn my whole body busted. He snickered. I never really seen most of their faces since they wore masks. And I only spoke to 3 of them.

He kicked me while I was down, twice. I groaned in pain.

"Kicking me while I'm down?" I stifle, and try and get up knowing I should stay down and not try and move.

"I can do whatever I want to you," he replies before crouching down near me and runs his nasty fingers down my spine. I groan and I can hear the girl that i was trying to help beg him to stop. Why?

He laughs and walks over to her and grabs the gun from his pants and aims it at her. She looks scared, but I think she doesn't care about dying at this point. Instead he knocks her out.

Thankfully one of the others comes in the room asking why I am on the ground and the other is knocked out. They mutter a few words to each other before I know it I am out cold.

"Yeah, couple times I think," I reply back to him leaving my past where it belongs. He seems tense and puts my x-rays in a folder before walking over to me.

"You're fine as of now, but your x-rays show some shitty stuff, are you sure you're emotionally okay?" he asks with concern in his tone. I nod my head and he lets me leave the room.

Luckily he was following behind me to tell the others what he seen, thankfully everyone is in the same room. Because I have questions.

I smile and stand in the middle of the room so they all can see me and I can see them all.

"I have questions," I announce.

"Go ahead," Suho says. I turn to look at all the faces, they look worried, or confused?  

"Who's the leader?"

"Technically I am, and Kris too, even though Xuimin is the oldest, it's better for us." Suho replies.

I nod, "am I a prisoner here?" they all sort of shift in their seats

"No, you aren't," Baekhyun speaks up.

"But I can't leave the property?" I question. He nods.

"Not a prisoner, we should just take you everywhere you need to go," Kris jumps in.

"I want to work out," I announce, not really a question.

"You can work out with me if you like," Xuimin says. I nod, but Suho and Kris have other words.

"Why do you need to work out?"

"We can protect you."

"I don't doubt you can protect me, but I was in the basement for over a year and once a week they let us walk around the room, I haven't worked out in a year." sighing.

They both agree and so does everyone else who sort of seemed off about it.

"Do you have anymore questions?" Chen asks me.

"Two more actually," I say. "Are any of you attracted to me?" I spit out, avoiding all the shocked faces and I try and ignore Baekhyun and Tao blushing. I realize the power I hold over everyone, I am gorgeous, i've practically got them wrapped around my finger.

"Yes, you are very beautiful." Kyungsoo says, everyone else agrees with that statement.

"Would it cause conflicts if I involved myself with you guys, or multiple at a time?"

"If you're asking if we would be willing to share you, the answer is yes, we have an discussed that we would jump your bones if you let us, and if it's about 3sums or orgies, you should be able to figure out which ones would share and who wouldn't" Xuimin smirks at me. I blush under everyone's gaze. I already figured out a few.

I knew they all liked me, it wasn't hard to figure out. If I stood too close to them they would blush. I accidentally brushed my hand up against a few of their hands a couple times. Kyungsoo is really a tomato.

Xuimin announced that I should put on workout clothes and then he would bring me to the gym in the basement.

I was standing in my closet debating if I would try and get Xuimin to fall for me today or another day. I put on some shorts and a black sports bra and a white tank top all whilst putting my hair into a high ponytail.

I lightly jogged down the stairs to meet Xuimin and everyone else seemed to be elsewhere.

"It's downstairs, follow me," I already knew that, but followed him down the stairs anyways. There were a few closed doors that we passed before we made it to a big room that was filled with all types of work out equipment. It was honestly like I was at a public gym.

We stretched together, he was wearing some shorts and a loose tank, I noticed his muscles and how strong he probably is.

Scared because I was worried how weak I have become, I got into sit up position.

"Can you come step on my feet, I'm probably insanely weak by now," I stutter and he comes over and lightly puts a small amount of weight on my feet holding me to the ground.

I was able to do 5 but each time I made this very painful grunt. He looked worried and confused but never said a word. It sounded like childbirth but I was just doing a workout. He smiled trying not to laugh at me. I can feel is gaze upon me as I move my feet out from under his and stand up. They're all taller than me, but for him, I like the height.

He's not leaned over me like Chanyeol is, but it's like decent. I cough trying to clear the awkwardness and decide to ask some questions.

"What else do you guys do besides run one of the most powerful mafias in the world?" I peak up as I grab some weights and start something basic not to strain my body too much.

"Lay works in a hospital, only really when he's free. Baekhyun does some programming stuff, I never really cared to know. Suho and Kris co-own a couple restaurants and hotels. Everyone kind of does their own things, I own some clubs." he says taking the weight off his chest and putting it up on the bars. I nod listening to everything he says.

"So what's in those doors?" I question and walk over to him. He smirks and gets up from his sitting position and faces me.

"Business stuff, couple of those rooms have locks on them for a reason, like when we need to torture someone or discuss matters, in a joke friendly way. But there's a door that only Kris and Suho have keys too that has files on everyone they come in contact with. Including you and I." He replies and places an unexpected hand upon my hip.

"What do you think my file says?" I ask with lust and curiosity.

"Probably mentions when we met you," his fingers rub my hip slowly moving along the hem of my top. "Might mention how god damn sexy you are too," he whispers but I heard him.

"What else?" I ask placing my hand over his, allowing him to move his hand under my top.

"Lay mentioned your broken ribs," he stutters. I see his eyes hover over my chest. I sigh and lift his chin up to my level, so his eyes meet mine.

"I am fine now, I've got it under control." I tell him truthfully, I do have it under control.

"I'm worried about you," he says quickly, I'm quite surprised actually. "We are all worried about you," he admits and sighs.

I cup his cheeks with both my hands, "I want to kiss you, can I kiss you?" I submissively ask him, feeling like he's a dominant type.

Both his hands are now on my waist and he pulls me close to him, our lips are brushed up together. I can feel his hot breath on mine, I can smells scents of coffee on his breath. I take his reaction as a yes and pull his face to mine until our lips are touching. My hands travel to his hair one of his hands has found my butt, whilst the other is skimming my bare skin under my top.

"Use your words," I tell him and his eyes turn dark. A smirk crept on my lips.

"I want you," he says in a dominant tone, I could melt in his palms right now. I pushed him onto the bench behind him and straddled his hips. I heard a low groan come from his lips before smashing mine to his.

Our lips moulded together and his one of his hands cupped my breast earning a moan slip from my lips and he took his chance to enter my mouth with his tongue, taking his time.

I growled on his mouth and started moving my hips on him. I could feel his hard member against my inner thigh.

In one swift movement he removed my shirt and attached his lips to my neck, his other hand found its way between my thighs and moved the fabric of my shorts to one side before palming my clit.

"You're already so wet for me," he smiled before giving my love bites on my chest, a few moans escaped my lips before I grabbed his hand and pulled it away. I could feel his frown on my chest.

I stood off of him, "That's enough for today," I say before looking at him and could see the shock in his eyes and clearly see an outline of his member in his shorts. I smiled before picking up my shirt and exiting the room leaving him alone with himself.

A/N: I was gonna try and update like every Monday and Friday but I think I'm just gonna update whenever. :-) Please share with your friends and give much love, also if you have any questions feel free to ask them. ;-)

[asunafairywizardessheart]

Ladders

SPECIAL CHRISTMAS PROMPT KLAUS/ASANA

Requested by: Anon. This is for the Anon who requested 4 prompts. Letting you know, there will be Klaus (this one), then Joel, Luca and Elias. Switching it up a bit.

Summary: putting up lights, she falls when Klaus startles her but he catches her. Prompt number 22.

Bright flames blazing through the night had smouldered into grey ashes, and what was previously wood, were now clumps of blackened coal. Without the warmth of the blazing fire, the chilliness of the wintry air, clinging to the marble home, filled Klaus’ chambers.

Sleep evaded her that night, but a cyan light diffused behind chiffon curtains signalled the beginning of a brand new day. Quietly, she slipped from Klaus’ comforting warm arms and peered through the gap between the curtain, being careful not to wake him.

Freshly fallen snow glistened, like tiny diamonds in the light of the early morning rays, across the fields and through the gardens. Slipping out of her warm pyjamas, she dressed herself in warm winter clothes with the intention of heading outside to smell the fresh air and see the beauty of the winter gardens up close. Leaving a kiss on Klaus’ cheek, she made her way down the cold and vacant halls, using the shortcut through the kitchen to get to the back garden quicker.

Stepping outside, she could see her breath in the ice cold air. Inhaling, she could smell the freshness of the snow that had fallen last night while they were all sleeping. Her booted footprints made indents in the snow as she wandered around with no clear area in mind, but to happily admire the beauty of winter among nature.

“Winter symbolises the death and rebirth of nature,” she smiled, looking around at the snow covered hedges with dead flowers and the skeletons of leafless trees. “It dies to be reborn in the spring.”

“King! Come back!” When she thought she was the only person awake, she heard a familiar voice ring through the echoing garden of white, Julius chasing after his one year old Siberian Husky, “King, come on!”

His beautiful blue eyes came to her direction but his eyes weren’t on her but a squirrel who had sneaked its way onto her shoulder. She turned to look at the cheeky squirrel, “Hiya,” it greeted, not caring that King was bounding their way.

“King, stop, please don’t jump on me,” she begged him, but the loveable hound refused to slow down, “Argh! King stop!” the squirrel jumped off at the last second as the dog crashed into Asana and sending her to her rear and the dog being distracted by her presence.

Julius put his leash on him, and Asana could hear the snickering laughter of that cheeky squirrel. “Asana, are you alright?” Julius worriedly asked, offering her his hand to pull her up off the snow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she smiled, and petted King’s fur and hugged him, “I know it wasn’t your fault King, you were after that squirrel. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled, and knew she could never stay mad at the loveable pet.

Asana dusted the snow off her jacket, “Are you taking him for a walk?”

“Oh no, Dad and I are pulling the lights and decorations from the storage sheds so we can put our lights up and King was with us and then just took off barking. He loves to chase all rodent creatures, not even birds are spared,” he explained.

“Lights, huh? Anything I can help with?” she had nothing else to do, and figured her time would be spent more wisely helping them with putting up lights.

Julius invited her to walk with him and walked King by the leash. She noticed and figured it would be better to let him off, “Hey, I’m sure the squirrel is gone up in a tree now. Huskies are more energetic in cooler weather too.” Her work as a veterinarian enabled her to know the behaviours of various breeds of animals, and he would be happier off the leash.

Unhooking the leash, Julius let him go, and he bounded a few feet in front of them, happier and less noisily. His tail wagged and he brought his ball to Asana’s feet. She grabbed it and threw the ball far ahead of them so he could fetch it, he brought it back just as quick too.

“So, why are you awake so early? It is quite a rare sight to see you without Klaus hanging around,” he humorously wondered.

She knew he had a playful nature and smiled and giggled along with his jab at Klaus, “He’s still asleep and I didn’t want to wake him. But, for some reason I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Oh yeah, why? Something on your mind?” Although he had a playful nature, he also worried and cared deeply for his family, especially his younger brothers and Asana, who he came to accept as his little sister after two years of marriage to Klaus.

However, she couldn’t think of anything worrying that would have kept her awake last night, “…I don’t feel stressed about anything,” she said, trying really hard to think about what could be keeping her up at night, “…Except, I haven’t been able to find a gift for Klaus for Christmas.”

Julius laughed, “Well, that certainly sounds like something for you to lose sleep over,” he teased, “Klaus has never been one for gifts, he’s the type of guy who has been able to accept what he has without being greedy about wanting more than he has.”

“That’s not helpful,” Asana replied, and they reached the storage sheds where Walter had dragged large boxes of lights, decorations and stands to hold up the display.

“Hey Dad, found a helper,” Julius announced and dragged an impossibly tangled bundle of lights.

“Good morning Asana, why are you up so early?” he wondered, greeting her with a warm tone.

Despite being married to Klaus for two years and having dated him for another three years before he proposed, being alone with Walter and Julius, two very powerful men on their own feet, still made her nervous. “…Oh, couldn’t sleep well last night and it’s a beautiful morning. Um…is there anything I can do to help?”

Julius chuckled, and Walter turned to her with a smile, “Are you ever going to stop being nervous around me?” he teased, and pointed her to a box of lights, “Though, if you want to make yourself useful, start by untangling the lights.

She pulled out a tangled bundle of lights, and slowly started to untangle them, and watched Julius and Walter doing the same task but they weren’t using magic, “…Wouldn’t it be easier to use magic to untangle the lights?”

Walter smiled, “This coming from the same girl who said not everything should be done using magic.”

Stunned, she stared at him confused, “…I taught you that?”

“Yes, but also this year we are entering the City’s Lights Competition and part of the requirement is the forbidden use of magic because it is considered unfair to non-magic entrants.”

“This is Mom and Elaine’s idea, they want to use the display to bring happiness to people who will be coming to our events here at the house. The extended family Christmas luncheon, the Gala Charity Ball,” Julius explained, “That said, why are they sleeping in and we are here untangling lights in the snow?”

“Now, now, Julius. Your mother and Elaine do work hard for their projects and charity work, and this year proceeds are going to somewhere useful,” he smiled, knowing that the proceeds would go towards Asana’s dream of developing an animal shelter and wildlife hospital for non-magic and magical animals and creatures.

By the time they had untangled all the lights, they followed a mould to hang them in place. Up on a ladder, scaling the wall, she pinned lights and decorations according to the design plans, until…

“Here you are, I have been looking for you everywhere,” Klaus’ voice startled her and she started to lose balance. Slipping off the slat, she started falling and let out a small scream. She braced herself to hit the hard snow below her, and shut her eyes.

Then, she landed in something soft, it wasn’t the snow she had prepared herself to crash into. “Huh…?” she opened her eyes and saw Klaus’ beautiful eyes staring back at her, but he glared at her, “Thanks for catching me.”

“What were you doing?” he asked, a maddened tone evident in his voice.

“Oh, I volunteered to help your brother and father put up Christmas lights.”

“Did you volunteer to go up the ladder?”

“…Yeah, makes sense because I’m lighter.”

“You fell!” he reminded her, angry that those two even agreed for her to do something dangerous.

“I fell because you startled me,” she reminded him.

Walter and Julius had been down the front near the gate when they heard her scream, and ran up as fast as they could, “What happened? We heard screaming!” Julius worriedly questioned, oblivious to Klaus’ presence.

“Why did you agree for her to go up the ladder?” Klaus unhappily questioned his older brother, “Seriously, she fell.”

She shook her head at Julius, “Klaus is over reacting. I feel because he startled me, and I lost balance on the slats.”

“I am not over reacting! They should have gone up the ladder.”

He still had her scooped in his arms, berating and lecturing his brother and father of gentleman behaviour. They listened until he was satisfied, “Yes, but since you are here. Lend us a hand, go up the ladder for your wife and pin the lights according to the design,” Walter encouraged his help and turned on his heel.

“What?! I was not volunteering my help, I came for my wife!”

“You would let your poor old father go up there?” Walter smirked, “Now see who is being inconsiderate and socially unethical?”

Julius chuckled, so to did Asana, “You and him are two peas in a pod. Well then,” Julius followed after his father to continue the display down the front. Leaving Klaus and Asana to do the lights on the house to which Klaus summoned Elias to help and take Asana’s place on the second ladder.

Both complained about being dragged into the setting up.

[cc-hatredisland]

Exploration. {Arts Room}

Vague fragments of Mikiro’s song bounce around in my head. Maybe it’s because I’d never listened to anything he’d written before. Like no other song had, actually. Super High School Level students probably had some magnetic quality to the stuff they did. I guess thinking about it that way, it’s easy to see why it was so memorable.

Since the Arts Room was so close, it took no time at all to find the door and let myself in. Chiffon was quick to follow, so caught up in following my pace that she wasn’t able to babble as much as she usually did.

The second I opened the door, the various smells of paints and supplies hit me all at once. I couldn’t help but cough. Probably wasn’t even that strong in there; I was just unused to it. There were a variety of easels and canvases in the way; the room was pretty small and because it was so crowded, I ended up having to push things aside to get around.

I actually couldn’t see Nagase until I cleared the path a little. Well, it didn’t help that she was sitting on the floor for whatever reason.

After what I’d witnessed earlier I wasn’t actually sure how to approach her. Nagase was pretty anxious without the added stress and I wasn’t the most sensitive person in the world. But I wanted to try and say something before Chiffon did; she was still behind me, tripping over this or that. So I guess I had time on my side, at least.

“Uhm... Nagase. Hey.”

I cringed at how false I sounded.

As I predicted, Nagase basically jumped out of her skin. It felt weird; I was on eggshells every time I talked to her but I still ended up messing it up somehow. Maybe I oughta read a book on it or something.

Her eyes kept going all over the place, as if she was looking for something or someone.

“Uh... uhm... er... y-you... are weather. Yes! Hello! It’s... a nice one!“

Oh, ouch. The awkward’s making it hard to breathe over here.

“Look, I’ll be real. If I’m bothering you, it’s okay to just say so, y’know? If you don’t make it clear, I won’t know. And this is... a weird place for all us to be. I get that.”

“No! No, no, no, no! Oh, um! Oh gosh, how to say...!”

The way she spoke so loudly all of a sudden had me reeling but it seemed like she wasn’t bothered. Considering all the death and the whole Shiratori thing I thought she’d be in tears. She twiddled her thumbs for a bit before continuing on.

“I want... to... I want to... um... I-I’d like to try and do better. I’m... I’ve... said... and acted things... I’m not proud of. And I think... I’m thinking, if I wallow, that’s um, that’s going to... it’ll hurt us all. If I really make an effort to get along... and be normal, then...!“

“I’m gonna stop you there. Listen, forcin’ yourself’s only gonna stress you out, right? Nobody wants you getting an ulcer over acting out of character.”

“N-no, but... but listen. Yuu-chan told me something... and I felt it click in my head somehow. Yuu-chan said, ‘talking to this many people is a miracle’. She said that... maybe ‘we knew each other’ before this. And... considering what Hanji-san... said...”

She paled at the mere mention of him. Given what he did... what he’d said... and how he died... I could hardly blame her. She shook her head, desperate to get back on track.

“I want to believe we were friends. So, although I’m like this, please give me your patience. I, um... I wanted to also... thank you... on another note... ‘cause you... helped a lot. In the... you know.“

In the trial, I’d guess.

“You did, too. Without you, I’d have probably been lost. I didn’t have much evidence directly tying it to him.“

“We can’t... let that happen again.“

“Murder... in fiction is one thing. B-but it’s... it shouldn’t be like that in real life. And dying like that, there’s... there’s absolutely no ‘justice’ in that.”

There were a lot of reasons to hope it never happened again. It was wrong on every level. Yesterday’d been so wild I was almost tempted to write it off as a dream... but I knew how dangerous that’d be. And on a maybe less relevant note... I didn’t want to risk messing something that important up again. That ‘trial’...

Even I know it didn’t go so well. You’re supposed to work it out so easily - they do it on TV like that. But it ended up so messily and... I kept thinking about it. How unfinished the whole thing felt.

The easy thing to hope is that it’d just never happen again. But an awful gut feeling kept me wary.

“Nobody wants to die and nobody wants to get killed. Should be obvious. I’m hoping people take what they saw to heart and gets smart about it. Everyone wants to get out but we’re better off working on our own terms; not his.“

“... Oh... it’s a he?”

I shrug.

“It’s a whatever. Who cares?“

She seems to warm up and a little and laugh.

“I get that you’re doing your brand new you thing but... are you really gonna be okay? I mean, I’m not the softest guy around, sure, but there’s more than me to worry about. Rie, n’ Kasahara n’... Shiratori.“

Her face falls on the mention of the lats name on my list.

“You... overheard.”

“Wha-? No, I just...”

This wasn’t working.

“... Yeah. Sorry.”

“I think... Shiratori-san... needs to, um... it’s like, he needs to think things over for a bit. I... I’m hurt, of course, it’s still... but. But, him being like that, um, it’s not just trouble for me. It hurts everyone when he acts like that. Controlling things with your moral compass... how can I put this? It’s... it’s arrogant. To think that your right and wrong are the rights and wrongs of the world. And enforcing that without asking, it’s... well... if you ask me, of course it’ll end up badly.“

Yuunagi had a similar way of thinking. I mean, I guess I did too but I thought about it more basically than that. I just kinda thought he was an ass.

“So, uh... you’re gonna be okay, then?“

“T-that’s... that’s a little hard. I’ll probably cry a little and I’ll... always worry what people think but... I’m gonna try and fix that. I want to believe our survival here is a little more important than, er... something like that... in the past. You know? I mean! Not that it’s not valid! I mean, if it weren’t me, I mean, if I weren’t me, I might be like... hmm, but like... you know... the timing... i-it’s hard to say. I don’t know, I just hope it’ll go well.”

I guess that’s enough for now. Hope is all a lot of us have to go on right now. At least, until something switches it up. It feels like we’ve been talking for a good few minutes now and the refreshing silence was now beginning to gnaw at me. Alright. Where was she?

I turned around to look for her and... to my surprise, I had completely lost track of Chiffon. Uh. Oops?

Turns out she’d wandered off to a whiteboard and was looking at it pretty intently. I excused myself from Nagase but she followed behind, albeit at a distance.

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

The serious expression on her face kinda through me for a loop. Had she actually found something? I looked at the whiteboard and all I saw were some ground rules and scribbles. There was a lot to see but most of it’d been erased. There were just smears of red and blue, where words probably used to be. Seems like it’d seen a lot of use.

“I’m looking for... proof of myself.“

She seemed a little irritated.

“Because! It’s strange, right? Admit it: it’s strange! I’m here and nobody knows anything about me! Even if I don’t remember anything, you lot should, shouldn’t you?“

“It’s not like we knew much about each other either, y’know. We’re workin’ this out as we go.”

“I’m being excluded! There should be exciting clues to who I am everywhere! Why can’t I find them? ... Ah... no, could it be...?”

You’re an idiot?

“Aha! Hahaha! Of course. You’re supposed to find them for me!“

“I’m what now?”

“It’s not much of a revelation if the revelator finds it out, right?”

I can feel my shoulders sag at a weight I can’t quite explain but it’s definitely linked to this chick. She just seems so overwhelmingly proud of everything she says. Nagase seems amused, at least.

“You’re always in such good spirits.“

Oh right, she stayed with Yuunagi and Nagase, didn’t she? Guess she’d be more familiar with Chiffon than I am.

“A good spirit is key to a good body and mind. Now then! Make my mind sharper yet by telling me about this room!”

“Go look yourself.”

She stared at me with the audacity of a guilt-free puppy that’s just chewed through your shoes.

“It’s fine! I, er, okay, um, I know it sounds dull but when I get to like, you know, introduce people to, uh, to things. It’s great! Mm. Yeah. Super great.”

It sounds sarcastic but coming out of Nagase’s sincere mouth I figured she was just flubbing her words.

She ushers Chiffon over and sweeps an arm across the room. The room was... small, well, it was probably more average but it just felt smaller due to all the crap lying around. A big table took up a huge bit of space too and to go with the painting supplies, there were chalkboards and whiteboards and even some statues. Whether someone had crafted ‘em or someone had just left ‘em here, I had no idea.

“This is the Arts Room. Since the place was a free school, you could come in here at any time and practice your craft.“

“Like magic?“

“... Um, no. Um, more like, you know... whoosh ... and splat... clay, paints... pen...cils... anyway, art.”

Chiffon nodded but I wondered about what that gesture even meant for her.

“There are a lot of supplies for it, too. Clay moulds, sponges, duct tape, paints, inks... there’s even safety equipment. Like an apron or some masks. I mean, I’d guess some artsy people get, you know, like, um... super into it. I guess. I know when I’m writing I lose my every sense...“

As Nagase talked, I listened with some vague interest, but I couldn’t help but be drawn to the same whiteboard Chiffon was drawn to. I’d been trying to pick out words on it for a while now, the erased ones, but it was no easy feat. Still, I swore I could see some. Greetings, project details and... names. Kotobuki. Seiyama... and... Anzai. I thought I read those names. But maybe it was some kinda confirmation bias. Like... I wanted to see those names.

I shrug and turn back to Nagase and Chiffon who are still moving around the room.

“These are... naked men.“

Nagase almost stumbles over when Chiffon says that, pointing at some of the busts.

“I mean. I... y-you can’t really see the lower half, so... a-anyway, th-that’s art. It’s just. Artistic!”

“Hmm.“

I get the impression she’s not impressed and Nagase’s face continues to redden as she reaches for her glasses. As I glance around, I can see there are pieces on the wall, some scenery sketches and paintings but no one I recognize.. and no names are on them, either. A red clock’s in this room, too, just ticking away. There’s a window too, so you can let in a breeze. I opt to take a peek out of it.

... Hm. Yep. That sure is sky.

Seems like you could jump to the ground floor but you’d probably risk breaking your whole damn leg.

... Well, maybe I could manage it, though.

I glance back to see Nagase seemingly finish up her tour.

“... And you can find some tutorials and guides in here. I think it’s... nice. Like, you could learn to start drawing anytime. So! What do you think?”

“... Art seems like a hassle.“

I guess we can cross Super High School Level Artist off her list, too. With that small tour done, I was guessing we were done in here. Well, unless I wanted to talk to Nagase a bit more, anyway.

* Talk to Chika Nagase

[Next] >> [Previous]

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 33

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @thorsbathroomchicken, @valkyrie-of-the-light

“Do you smell that?” Esme wrinkles her nose in disgust.  “It smells like...���

“Death,” Tyler finishes for her.

“If we find a dead body down here, I am the first one running out screaming. I did not sign  up for this.”

“I doubt it's a person. Probably an animal that got caught up in here and couldn't get out.  How the hell were you ever in the Corps? Did you never see dead bodies and other gross shit when you were overseas?”

'That was almost fifteen years ago.  I don't remember. I've had four kids. I have mom brain. I can't even remember what I had breakfast this morning never mind what I did fifteen years ago.”

“This one time, in Kandahar, on my third tour, we were on patrol and a guy three people in front of me stepped on a landmine and ended up in about a hundred different pieces. Nothing like being handed a shovel and a garbage bag and being told to clean up the mess.”

She makes an audible retching noise.  

“Jesus Christ,” he grimaces. “Don't do that. You know that noise makes me puke.”

“And you're the one with the iron stomach and that is what makes you want to throw up? The sound of someone else throwing up? Yet you can impale someone's face on the end of a garden rake and not even blink?”

“That was kind of...gnarly...”

She laughs.  “You sounded so surfer dude just then. You can take the boy out of the ocean, but you can't take the ocean out of the boy. Oh God...” she draws the front of her t-shirt up over her face when the smell becomes even stronger. “...I am sorry if I throw up on you, baby. This was not a good idea. Bringing me down here when I've been so sick the last few days.”

“Well I wasn't leaving you alone up there, so....” he reaches over her, placing a palm on the first door they encounter and pushing it open.   A hand on her shoulder, applying slight pressure to get her to walk in front of him.

“Oh yeah put me in front so the bad guy gets me first. Thanks.”

“There's no one down here. Just relax. And if anyone comes down here while we're here, they'll come from behind and they'll get me before you.  Why else would I do it? Calm down. Why are you shaking?”

“I'm freaking the fuck out. It's like the walls are closing in on me and it feels like I can't breathe. You know I hate tight, confined spaces. Remember the sewer? When I had a panic attack? What did you think was going to happen when you brought me down here? You should have just let me stay up there, outside.”

“By yourself? Fuck no.  Just calm down, okay?” He wraps his arm around her, forearm snug against her chest,  and pulls her tight against him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Just breathe. Everything is fine. You're safer down here with me than you are up there by yourself.  Just breathe.”

She briefly closes her eyes. Inhaling and exhaling slowly. Relaxing in the warmth that radiates off his body and the familiar, comforting scent that clings to his skin and clothes. It is little things like this that puts him in a league all his own; the reason why every man that had come before him no longer matters. The small ways in which he'd show her that he loves her. When he takes the time out of whatever he is doing...no matter how big or how small...to either support or comfort her.  Or the way he'll finish household chores without having to be asked. Or when he knows she's struggling to hold her shit together and  he'll just throw the kids in the car to get them out of her hair for a couple of hours.

“Good?” he asks, and pressing his lips to her ear.  “Calm now?”

She nods.  

“Just take it easy. Nothing is going to happen to you if you're down here with me.  Go...inside...” he gives her a nudge in the ass with his knee, encouraging her to step into the room.  It's pitch black; even with the light in hall way tumbling in. And with one hand firmly on her shoulder, he  uses the other to blindly feel along the wall for a switch. Palm coming in contact with nothing but cold concrete.  Relegating himself to using the flashlight option on his SAT.  “Be careful,” he says, and hands her the phone.  “I'm relying on you to be the eyes here. You trip, I'm going down with you. And that'll hurt. Just a bit.”

“I do not want you falling on me. You'll crush me for sure,” she slowly moves the phone in front of her, casting the light on every available surface.  “There's nothing here.  It's empty.  There's no furniture, nothing on the walls, nothing but dirt on the floors. Not cabinets or counters. Nothing.”  

'How far back does it go?”

“Maybe another five feet? There's nothing back there, either.  I don't think anything ever has been in there by the looks of it.”

“We gotta keep moving. There's a couple more rooms...at least...to check out. Turn slowly. Don't elbow me in the face or the nuts. You'd be devastated if anything happened to either. You okay?

“Yeah, I'm okay.” She does as she's told,  overly cautious where she puts her foot and how she turns her body. The room is incredibly narrow. Suffocating. And she breathes a sigh of relief when they finally reach the hallway.

“Keep going,” Tyler instructs, hand once more returning to her shoulder; the gentle yet firm pressure keeping her moving.  

Her body is much more relaxed now. Comforted by the strong, solid presence behind her; soothed by his deep voice and the calm yet assertive way he is handling the situation. She's always been the higher strung of the two of them; she's liable to fly off the handle quickly, while he's able to keep his shit together for longer periods of time.  There's very few things that send him into an immediate rage.  Someone...or something...threatening his wife or his kids being the  top culprits.

They search each room with the aide of the phone flashlight, yet find nothing but mould, cement, and dirt.

“Jesus ...fuck...” Tyler grimaces, the worsening smell even bothering him now; so strong and putrid that it makes him gag and his eyes water. “....I'm starting to think I was wrong.”

“Oh God,” Esme groans. “Please don't say what I think you're going to say.”

“Something's dead down here. But I don't think it's an animal. Put your shirt over your mouth and your nose. It's fucking gross and the last thing I need is you throwing up all over the place. You alright?”

“No...not really...” her voice is muffled by the layer of cotton now drawn over the lower half of her face. “You don't think it's Heather, do you? Or the kids?”

“It can't be the kids. We just got proof of life six hours ago. That smell? Well that's the smell of someone who's been down here a while.”

“I can't do this...” panic begins to take hold, and she digs her heels into the floor with such power and force that he has to put his hand against the wall to stop himself from stumbling into her.  “I can't...I can't do this.”

“You're fine. Just take it easy. I'm right here. Nothing is going to happen to you.  I won't let anything happen to you.”

“There is someone down here,” she sounds close to tears.  “Someone dead.”

“You need to take it easy,” Tyler takes hold of her shoulders, turning her around to face him. “Everything is fine. You're fine. Just breathe.  Close your eyes, listen to my voice, and just breathe.”

Her eyes flicker closed as she rests her forehead against him. His voice reverberating deep in his chest as he attempts to calm her, hands slowly moving up and down her shoulders and arms.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah...a little...”

“I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe with me. You're always safe with me. We have to keep moving. If there's anything down here, we need to find it now. Mark can't keep McMann tied up all day. You good now?”

“I think so.”

“You take the door on the right, I'll take the left. I'm right across the hall. You need me, just yell. Okay?

She nods.

“You're fine,” he assures her, and presses a kiss to her forehead.  “There's just the two of us down here.”

“And whoever that smell belongs to.”

“They're dead. They can't hurt you. Got your phone? You're going to need the flashlight.”

She removes her SAT from the pocket of her jeans and holds it aloft for him to see.  “I do not want to walk in there and find a dead body.”

“The smell is coming from the left. I'll take that one. Just try and stay calm and call me if you need anything.  I'm less than twenty feet away,” he runs a hand over her hair, then places it on the back of her neck and gives her a quick peck on the lips.  “You got this.”

****

This room is much larger than the rest; at least three feet wider,  several longer, with water and drainage pipes that run across the high ceiling. Condensation glistens on the smooth concrete walls; water drops splatter on the dirt floor.  She moves slowly, shining the flashlight over every possible surface, treading through the small puddles and mounds of left over mud. T-shirt stilled pulled over her mouth and nose; preventing the rancid smell from bothering her.  

The toe of her runner catches something on the ground; creating a crackling noise that seems to echo throughout the entire room.

“What the hell...” she mutters, as the flashlight beam catches a pile of styrofoam containers that have tumbled out of an overturned black garbage bag.  And she cautiously hooks a fingers around the edge of the plastic and draws it back, discovering the remnants of wasted food, plastic water bottles, and aluminum pop cans.

She presses the button on the radio, then continues her exploration of the room. “Yaz...can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I'm here. There's a lot of static. You might have to speak up.”

“Someone's been down here. Within the last few days.  There's all kinds of garbage. Take out containers, pop cans, water bottles.  The food hasn't even begun to rot yet.  You need to get a hold of McMann and find out when the last time was that he was down here. Or if he knew of anyone being down here. I don't know how you're going to do it without letting him know we were here, but...”

“I could call Mark. Ask him to casually work it into conversation. Question him about anything weird he's seen going on at the house lately.  I'll think of something.  You guys okay down there?”

“I think so. Tyler found a dead body.”

“What?”

“Well he thinks it's a dead body. He's in checking it right now. I'm...fuck!” her knee collides with something; so caught up in her conversation and swinging the beam of the flashlight along the walls and the ceiling that she hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings.

“You okay?” Yaz asked. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I just...” her eyes widen as the light falls on the object she'd bumped into, and she runs a hand over the smooth wood, then kicks the toe of her sneaker against the broken zip ties that sit in the dirt below. “...you will not believe what I just found.”

“Another body?”

“No. The chair. The chair from Heather McMann's video and photos. I'm going to send you some pictures. To your SAT.”

“Okay.  I'll be waiting.”

She turns the flashlight off just long enough to snap photos; pictures of the chair from all angles, followed by the plastic ties on the ground. Her anger growing stronger with each passing second as the truth becomes all to painful clear.  It had all been a set up. Heather McMann had never been a victim. She'd been in on it all along.  She'd planned and helped orchestrate a sick and twisted plan to get revenge against her husband that included using her children...who'd she'd nurtured and keep alive inside of her for nine months...as pawns.  She let people abuse them. Physically. And there was no telling if she'd let the culprits stop there.  

Tears burn her eyes; hot and angry.  And she quickly sends the photos the Yaz.

“Tyler!” she calls. “You need to...” she turns on her heel, only to find him already standing in the room. “Jesus Christ! Would you stop doing that?! Why do you insist on sneaking up on me like that? You scare the shit out of me every time.”

“We gotta get out of here,” his tone is curt. “Let's go.”

“What's wrong? What happened? What...?”

“You remember that girl I told you about? The one that showed up at the other hotel? Gave me all those pictures?”

“Erin Ferguson. Nik wasn't able to track anyone down by that name. She said the last time there was any sign of her was when she left through the hotel's front doors that same night. What about her?”

“That's who's dead in the next room. We need to go. Now. We need to get the fuck out of here before someone shows up.  They weren't done yet. I think we just missed them and I think they're coming back.”

“They definitely haven't been gone long. There's trash...” she points her cell phone in the direction of the bag on the ground. “...lots of it. The food isn't even spoiled yet. This is definitely where Heather McMann was kept.  Or should I say, she pretended to be kept. The walls are the same as the ones that were in the videos and the pictures. The chair is even here,” she shines the flashlight upon it. “...she was totally in on this. She planned this whole goddamn thing, Tyler. This is all some sick and twisted game. She's using her own kids...” her voice cracks.  “....and who knows what she's letting those people do too them.”

“We can't worry about that right now.  We have worse shit to think about. Come on, let's go,” he steps forward, grabbing a hold of her by the upper arm and turning her towards the door. “We need to get the fuck out of here. Now.”

“How did she die? Could you tell?”

“Yeah....I could tell...”  

“That bad?”

“That bad,” he confirms. “Just keep going. Walk in front of me,”  he steps to the side, back pressed against the wall, pulling her by the arm and placing her where he wants her.  “Move. Go. We need to get out of here. Now. Not five minutes from now. Now.”

“You could tell it was her?” she asks, his hand on the back of her neck, fingers digging into the skin. She's never seen him like this. At least not with her.  That hurried, almost frantic pace. The harsh tone of his voice. Whatever he'd seen, it had unnerved him, and he was anxious to get away from it. Or get her away from it. If he was alone she was certain this wouldn't be the way he'd react; he'd be calm, cool, collected.  It was her presence that bothered him; the thought that if someone did come back, she would be caught in the middle of it.

“I have eyes. I'm not blind. I could see it was her.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I meant, she still...you know...had a face.”

“It wasn't her face that was fucked up. It was everything else.  Just drop it. Just keep moving. I do not want to get caught here. Not when you're with me.  I need to get you out of here.”

“Tyler, what....?”

“Just go!” he snarls, and puts even more force into the grip on the back of her neck.  “I'm not fucking around, Esme. I need to get you the hell out of here. If we got caught here...if you get caught here...well these people don't fuck around and they won't hesitate doing to you what they did to her. If not worse. So please...let's go...”

She relents, allowing herself to be pushed down the narrow corridor.  And at the bottom of the stairs, he pushes her against the far wall, then removes the Glock from his holster.

“Wait here,” he orders. “Don't move. Not even an inch. Just stand there and wait for me to tell you it's okay to come up. Okay?”

“Tyler, what is going on? What did you see? What...?”

“We'll talk about it later. Just wait here. Stay quiet and just wait. Got it?”

She nods,  pressing her back against the wall, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as he cautiously climbs the stairs; gun at his side, finger already on the trigger.  Her nerves are shot;  every bundle and ending completely on edge, a brutal headache beginning to settle in the base of her skull, chest impossibly tight.  She's seen him on edge before; in Dhaka, when the threats had been everywhere and he'd been determined to get her and Ovi out of there alive.  But this is another level of intense. His prey drive incredibly high,  the rage in his eyes accompanied by fear and worry. And for a moment she can actually imagine what those young men...Ovi's captors...had felt like when Tyler had kicked down that door and taken them all down. Successfully.   The rage and brutality that they had witnessed him inflicting on others while waiting for their own demise.  This is the merciless Tyler. The savage Tyler. The one who will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about.

“Come on,” he finally appears at the top of the stairs.  “All clear. Let's go.”

When she reaches the the middle of the stairs, he offers assistance and she curls her fingers around his, comforted by the sheer size and strength of his hands, of the feel of his callouses against her skin. She is used to those hands;  the power wrapped up in them,  the punishment they can inflict one moment, and the tenderness they can possess the next. Such a juxtaposition; how someone can go from creating pain fear yet be capable of bringing about so much pleasure.

“We should have parked closer,” he laments, hand wrapped tightly around the base of her wrist, all but pulling her through the yard, her much shorter legs having to work twice as hard to keep up with his long, purposeful.

She can see practically she the wheels turning in his head. She knows he's questioning himself; doubting the decision that he'd made. It was second nature with him.  The second guessing that often came with the intricacies of the job. He's always been hard on himself; his own worst critic. Exuding confidence on the outside, but struggling internally. And right there's a thousand and one possible scenarios running through that troubled brain of his.

“You didn't want anyone to see the SUV in the driveway,” she attempts to reason, knowing full well that no matter what she says, it won't be good enough.  Once he's in this mindset...the job mindset...there's no reasoning with him. He becomes an entirely different person; the patience and the tenderness gone, replaced by a different Tyler. The old Tyler. The one that comes out to play under certain circumstances. Who can be brutal and savage and shows no fear.

“Shit...fuck...” he curses, when a car pulls up and parks alongside the back gate. “...other way...go...move...”   he roughly spins her around to face the other direction, and gives a purposeful shove to get her to move.  “Don't look back.  Just go.”

It's a brisk walk at first, but then the hand around her arm tightens even more; grip tighter, the push behind is more forceful.  The grass slick under the soles of her runners; twigs and leafs snapping and crackling with each step.  A jog now; a desperate attempt to get away from whoever is now stepping through the back gate,  a loud squeak as metal rubs upon metal.

“We gotta split up,” he says, as they reach the front corner of the house.

“What? No.  Fuck that, Tyler. We stay together.”

“Go back to the car. I'll meet you there.”

“Are you insane? I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you.”

“Esme...listen to me...” his tone is dire, eyes dark and stormy, mouth set in a grim line. “...you need to get back to the car. This is the safest way. It's two blocks south. Just hang a right at the next corner and...”

“No,” she remains steadfast, even as he grabs her hand and aggressively shoves the car keys into it.  “I am not leaving you here.”

“These people...those people?” he jerks his head in the direction of the back yard.  “They don't fuck around. You don't need to be here. If they get you, you're not going to like where it leads. What happened to Erin? The end result? They'll make what happens before a hundred times worse on you than the did on her. And I do not want that happening to you. You need to go.”

“Tyler...don't do this...please...”

“You go. I need to see who these people are,”

“No! You come with me or we both stay.  It doesn't matter who they are. We can find that out later.  We either go together or neither of us go.”

“I said go!” he bellows, and pushes her into the into the sidewalk. “Run. And whatever you do, don't look back.”

*****

It's twenty minutes before she sees him approaching the car; watching through the passenger's side mirror as he hobbles towards her. His limp far more pronounced, right forearm across the chest, as if preventing the shoulder from bearing too much weight and strain. His clothes, hands and some of his face covered in dirt and much. And as he gets closer she sees the blood; starting from his hair line and trickling down the side of his face.  

It makes her feel nauseous. Seeing him like that. The grimace on his face,  the obvious pain he's in with every stride.  It doesn't matter how serious of an injury it is; it doesn't have to be a gunshot wound to the next that leaves him bleeding out on bridge in Bangladesh.  It can be nothing more than a bloody nose or a split lip and it rocks her to her very core. And she tosses open the SUV door and jumps out, rushing towards him.

“Tyler...oh my god...what happened?  Are you okay? What...?”

He doesn't respond. At least not with words. Instead he takes her face in both hands and kisses her; his mouth  pressing hard against hers. She can taste his blood and his sweat, yet doesn't pull away. Her hands tightly grasping the front of his shirt; not caring about the dirt and the grim of the blood that transfers onto her own face and clothes.  It's a relief; feeling his hard chest and his heart pounding within it, being able to breathe in his scent.  

“You're okay,” he says, relief evident in his voice, as he places a hand on the back of her head and holds her again. “You're okay.”

“I'm okay,” she confirms, and just allows him this moment. Letting him feel her against her, his stoic and brave persona disappearing momentarily as tears mix with the blood, sweat and filth.  And she feels his body relax against her as the reality sets in that she is there in front of him. In his arms. Alive and breathing.  

 “What happened?” she tries her best to hold it together. Since his release from the hospital five years ago, he's always been the strong one. Always keeping his shit together during even the darkest and toughest of times. She'd once told him that the only time in her entire life that she'd ever felt safe and protected was when she was with him.  And since then he's been holding onto that. Always believing that he has to be that way.  That that...the protector, the provider...is what she needs.

Her hands are gentle as they investigate the various wounds on his face and hands; a large gash in the hair line,  the bloody nose,  the start of a black eye.  Knuckles on both hands swollen, bruised and bleeding.

“I'm fine,” he breathlessly assures her. “Don't worry. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine. Tyler, what the hell happened?”

“They're dead,” he says. “All of them. All four of them.”

“What did you....”

“It doesn't matter. I did it. I...” he lets out a groan and a string of expletives as her fingers press into his shoulder. “...it would be the bad one,” he manages through gritted teeth.  “I couldn't fuck up the other one so they'd match?”

“I need to get you to the hospital. You need to see a doctor.”

“No. No hospital. No doctor. I'm fine.”

“You are not fine,” she pushes those wayward locks  away from his forehead, gentle fingertips surveying the large wound that travels from the top of his eyebrow and travels several inches into his hair. “Tyler...you are not fine...at all...”

“We gotta get out of here. I put in an anonymous call. To the cops.  They'll be swarming all over the place soon.  We gotta go.”

“Let me at least call Nic. Maybe she knows someone. A nurse or a doctor that I can take you to see and...”

“I''m fine.  I'll be fine. We have to move. You're going to have to drive. I can't...with my shoulder...”

She nods in understanding, struggling to help him along when he drapes an arm around her shoulders.  

“Fuck...you're really short...” he manages to tease her.   “...did you never grow again once you reached puberty?”

“You said my height was one of the things that attracted you to me,” she reminds him, wrapping an arm around his waist, trying her best to keep him upright and not to be pulled down by his weight.  “You said it was cute. That I was cute.”

“Yeah...yeah I did...” he confirms. “...said I could pick you up and put you in my pocket.”

“Among some pretty X rated comments,” she teases him in return.  “You're going to have to help me out here. You're insanely heavy. Can you at least get yourself into the car?”

He nods, grunting and swearing as he slides into the SUV, her hand over the top of his head so he doesn't catch it on the door frame.  

“Legs,” she orders, and has to help him swing them into the car before shutting the door.

From the supply bag in the back seat she grabs a towel, then climbs in behind the wheel, snags the keys from where she'd drop them on the dash, and shoves them into the ignition. “Here...” she places the towel in his hands. “Tyler...” she grabs a hold of his thigh and shakes vigorously when his head falls forward; eyes glassy, disoriented. “...wake up...stay awake...use this...for your head...”

“What?” his voice is groggy,  eyes closing and then opening again, head repeatedly nodding forward.  

“Tyler...don't you do this to me...stay awake!” she presses the towel to his head, then grabs him by the wrist and forces his arm across his body, pressing his hand to the fabric now trying to staunch the flow of blood.  “...you need to stay awake!” she scolds.  

“I am,” he argues, even though that sleepy voice and the continued nods of his head give him away.

“Don't you pass out on me, Tyler Rake. There is no way I can get you of of this car if you pass out.”

“Okay...okay...relax...don't yell...”

“Don't you tell me to relax, you enormous pain in my ass.  Here....” she grabs a bottle of water sitting in one of the cup holders, uncaps it and then holds it to his lips, one hand under his chin to catch any spillage. “Drink.”

“I'm not one of your kids. I don't need you to help me. I can drink on my own.”

“Listen, I love you, but I will kick your ass into the middle of next week, you hear me? Stop being so stubborn and combative and let me take care of you. You're bleeding all over the goddamn place, you act like you're going to faint...”

“I'm not going to faint,” he insists. “I'm fine. I'll be fine.”

“Just drink!” she orders, carefully tipping the bottle back and allow some of the liquid to enter his mouth. “Hang onto it,” she says after her swallows, and places the bottle between his thighs.  “Keep your eyes open. I look over there and see your eyes are closed, I will pull over and beat your ass, understand me?”

“It's kinda hot when you think you can boss me around,” he quips.  

“I don't think I can. I know I can,” she says, as she throws the SUV into drive, tires squealing on the pavement as she speeds away.

*****

“What the fuck happened?” Mark asks, as he and Yaz meet them in the underground parking lot of the hotel. Holding the driver's side door open and offering a hand as Esme slides out; she's at a disadvantage to due to her height, and needs both the aide of his hand and the running bars on the vehicle to safely get out.

“Everything went to shit,” she laments. “Story of our lives.”

“You're okay?” he takes her face in her hands, frowning as his eyes take in the blood and dirt that tarnish her skin.

“I'm fine,” she knocks his hands away from her. “Tyler's pretty fucked up though. Yaz is going to need some help.”

He just stares at her, concern registering on his face and in his eyes.

“Did you hear me? Yaz is going to need some help. Tyler's messed up and there's no way Yaz can get him out on his own. So do you think could stop eye fucking me and help out?”

“He's too heavy for just me,” Yaz says from the passenger side. “Someone want to give me a hand here.”

“I'm fine,” Tyler argues. The grogginess now replaced by sheer orneriness. Annoyed by all the hands touching him, hating the idea of appearing weak and needy. “Just fuck off and let me do it myself.”

“Please?” Esme pleads with Mark. “Help him?”

He nods, then journeys around the other side of the SUV.   “Jesus Christ...” he chuckles.  “...what does the other guy look like?”

“Dead,” Tyler responds, as he swings his legs out of the car, frowning at Yaz as he slips his hand under his arm.  “I can do it.”

“Quit being such an asshole and let them help!” Esme snaps, as she slams the driver's side door closed.  “He gets like this,” she explains. “After something happens. He gets totally bitchy and uncooperative.”

Her husband glares at her.

“Just let them help, Tyler. For crying out loud. Quit being so....I don't know...so you.”

“What the hell happened?” Yaz asks once again, as he drapes one of Tyler's arms around his shoulders, Mark following suit.

“It's all fucked up,” Esme laments, as she grabs the bag of gear out out of the backseat; shoving the bloody and dirty towel into it before using her hip to shut the door.  “We found where Heather McMann was being help. Or at least where she was pretending to be held.”

“It was all a set up,” Yaz explains, as he and Mark help Tyler hobble through the lot and towards the elevator.  “Esme found the room where Heather was being kept. Or where she made it look like she was being kept.”

“And Tyler found a dead body,” she pipes up.  “An extremely smelly one.”

“It was Erin,” he says. “The one girl that showed up that night with the photos.”

“You're sure?” Mark inquires.  “I mean, if she was dead long enough to smell that bad...”

“She still had a face. It wasn't her face that was messed up. It was everything else. From the neck down. I don't want to talk about,” he drops his voice, so only the two other men can hear as he adds, “...I don't want her knowing about it. About what they did to that girl.”

“That bad?” Yaz inquires.

“Yeah. That bad. Brutal doesn't even begin to describe it. Just...drop it...let it go...at least while she's with us, yeah?”

Both men nod in agreement.

“Nik says she'll have someone come by the room,” Yaz says, as he hits the button for the elevator. “A doctor she knows. It all be keep off the books, on the down low. You don't have to worry about that.”

“I don't need a doctor,” Tyler argues, and then winces when the simple act of leaning back against the wall while waiting for the lift sends shards of scalding, brutal pain shooting across his right shoulder and down his arms, fingers momentarily tingling.

“Yes, you do,” Esme insists, as she stands in front of him, facing him with her hands on his hips. “Tyler, you're a fucking mess. You need someone to look after you.”

“You can do it. You've done it before. In Dhaka. When I've come home after other jobs.”

“This isnt Dhaka and this isn't like the other jobs. I'm not a nurse. Or a doctor. My days of stitching you up with a sewing needle and thread are long behind me, okay?”

“You did that?” Mark asks, obviously impressed.

“I had to. His right arm got all torn up and it had to be done. What was I supposed to do? Let him just bleed out all over the place?”

“She gives really good sponge baths too,” Tyler adds, smirking when Mark gives him a dirty look for even suggesting such a thing. “Well, she does.”

“Can you two stop?” she huffs. “Seriously.  Just stop. This is not the time for a pissing contest. It  not matter at this moment whose dick is bigger than whose.”

“Or who gives her multiple orgasms,” Tyler tosses out.  “Both are me, by the way.”

She sighs heavily. “Stop. Please. I know this is your way of dealing with shit, but you're only stressing me out more. We're going to get your upstairs and get you cleaned up and then someone is going to come and look at you. You don't get a say in this, Tyler. For once, let other people take care of things. You don't always have to be the one taking care of everyone else.”

“I love you,” he declares, and nearly stumbles into her as he leans in to kiss her.

“I love you too,” she says, and burying her face in his chest, holds onto him as tight as she can.