occasionalstorytelling - Tumblr blog

[occasionalstorytelling]

A slightly-belated fic written for Jason’s death anniversary. I just really wanted to write a story with autistic Jason, so here it is!

Summary: Jason Todd shows up at the Manor and asks if Alfred can spare some time for a chat. They head down to a coffee shop and settle in to talk. Jason has been thinking, and he wants to tell Alfred that he thinks he might be autistic, actually.

Word Count: 2,888

Read it here:

Damian wandered into the kitchen, where Alfred was finishing up cutting some apple slices for him. Damian took one, and crouched on a kitchen stool, balanced on his feet like some kind of bird of prey. Alfred was used to this behavior—it tended to be typical of Robins.

“Todd’s coming,” Damian shrugged in between apple bites.

“Really?” Alfred turned to the window. Lo and behold, Jason Todd was walking down the path to the Manor’s front door. With lightning speed, Alfred grabbed a medical kit from below the sink, then ran to the front door. He threw it open before Jason even made it all the way up the walk.

“Jason! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” Alfred was too panicked for formalities. The boy didn’t seem to be limping, and there were no visible bruises or cuts on him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. Alfred opened the kit, ready for whatever it was was.

“Yeah, Alf, I’m fine,” Jason winced. It didn’t take Alfred more than a few seconds to notice the wince was at Alfred, not out of any kind of pain or duress.

“You’re…that’s good to hear, then, Master Jason,” Alfred said, awkwardly closing the kit. He tucked it loosely under one arm.

“Guess I don’t, uh, visit that often,” Jason rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s good you’re not hurt. Is there something you need, then? Anything,” Alfred said. “Would you like to come inside?”

Jason looked up at the house, then down at the ground as if he was staring through the dirt right into the Batcave. “Don’t need anything. Just wanted to talk. Not inside, though.”

Alfred nodded. “I’ll fetch my coat.” He went inside, set the medical kit on a counter, and grabbed a coat and a hat. Then he went back outside to the front lawn, where Jason fidgeted nervously, still staring at the ground like he expected Batman to pop out of it at any moment.

They left the Manor grounds and walked into town. Alfred suggested a diner for a quick bite. Jason shook his head and suggested a coffee instead. They went to the nearest Jitters.

Alfred ordered a tea. Jason ordered a hot chocolate. They smiled awkwardly at each other then. Alfred paid, then joined Jason near the pickup counter to wait for the drinks.

“I don’t know why I said coffee,” Jason smiled, still awkward. “Neither of us drink it.”

“I’d wondered if your tastes had changed,” Alfred said fondly. “As I recall, you don’t drink soda, either. You’re still the only one of the boys who refuses.”

“So?” Jason shifted slightly, uncomfortable. “The bubbles go up my nose.”

“It’s healthier for you, anyway,” Alfred said. “If only Master Tim could be convinced to lower his caffeine intake, I’m sure we’d all feel a lot better.”

“Yeah,” Jason snorted. “Replacement’s the one who’s not…I mean,” Jason froze, sentence only halfway out. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like he was trying to figure out how to say whatever it was he’d meant to say, but he eventually just trailed off and went quiet. They were saved from the awkwardness of the moment when the barista called “Pennyworth” and Alfred had to go retrieve their drinks.

“Shall we sit down?” Alfred asked.

Jason nodded. They found an empty table outside. Alfred took the seat with his back towards the street—another behavior typical of Robins was that they liked to be able to see their exit strategies. Not that Jason was a Robin, of course, but he was still Jason. Jason sipped his hot chocolate, and generally failed to make eye contact with Alfred.

“You’re looking well,” Alfred said.

“I’ve…been doing the thing you told me about,” Jason said, with just a slight flush of embarrassment in his cheeks.

“Which thing?” Alfred asked. He’d given Jason a lot of advice over the years.

“When you said it’s hard to take care of a Robin,” Jason said.

“I never meant that as a slight on you or any of the others,” Alfred said. “My sincerest apologies if—”

“No, no, I mean…um,” Jason took another sip of his drink while he figured out how to say it. “The self care thing. I’ve been…the thing about being gentle?”

“I’m not…sure what you’re referring to?” Alfred said.

“I’m the Robin,” Jason said, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I don’t have to…punish myself? You said that when I’m struggling with something, to pretend the thought or the idea or the thing or whatever is coming from my own Robin sidekick and deal with it like that. So I’ve been doing it.”

“Is it helping?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah,” Jason let out a relieved breath in a whoosh, at finally being understood. “It’s been really helpful. The other day, I bought a bunch of frozen mini corn dogs for him. Me? Me, I mean. I just…you know. I’m trying to…take care of myself.”

“That’s good to hear,” Alfred said. He sipped his tea. It was a little over-sugared, but Jitters tended to make all their drinks like that.

“And I was, um, researching on the internet about stuff too,” Jason said. “Self care stuff.”

“I’m proud of you,” Alfred said. “God knows Bruce needs to take better care of himself. I’m glad to hear you’re not following his poor example in that regard.” Alfred knew Jason very well, so he called Master Bruce simply “Bruce” to put Jason at ease, and he gave Jason praise that amounted to “you’re doing all right without Batman.” Jason always insisted he didn’t need to hear that, but the way he glowed after the praise…like he was glowing now. Jason took a long sip of his hot chocolate and relaxed enough to put his hands on the table.

“There was something else,” Jason said. “On the internet. That I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Please,” Alfred waved a hand. “You can talk to me about anything.” Admittedly, it had been some time since Jason had taken him up on the offer, but what better time than now to start changing that?

“I think I’m autistic,” Jason said. He stared at his drink when he spoke, but it came out smoothly, calmly, practiced. He’d practiced this conversation, Alfred realized.

“All right,” Alfred said. “Thank you for trusting me enough to say so. How can I support you?”

Jason laughed. “That’s what you said to Dick when he told you he liked boys, Alf.”

“The sentiment is no less true in this scenario, Master Jason,” Alfred said. “I am happy that you’ve…confided in me? Is that an appropriate term?”

“I guess so,” Jason shrugged. “It’s not a secret, I’m just not…not telling Bruce, and stuff.”

“Have you seen a doctor or a therapist?” Alfred asked.

“No,” Jason tensed. “I, uh, self-diagnosed. But plenty of people in online communities say it’s totally valid, and a diagnosis could only make my life worse, so—”

“Worse?” Alfred didn’t mean to interrupt, it just slipped out.

“Yeah,” Jason grit his teeth. “I mean, even if I wasn’t legally dead, it’s apparently really hard to get diagnosed officially as an adult, and even if I got a diagnosis it’s not like…I mean, it wouldn’t help, you know? It would be yet another excuse to get passed over in Bruce’s inheritance, and fired from jobs, and…stuff.”

“I understand,” Alfred nodded. “And you’re right. You don’t need a diagnosis to be valid. But, if I may…why tell me?”

“It just…seemed like something you tell people,” Jason fidgeted, cracking his knuckles over and over again. “Dick told you he likes boys, so…I’m telling you, this, I guess.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Alfred repeated. “I am…honored that you trust me with this. It’s clearly very personal.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “I don’t know…I don’t know that there’s much you can do to support me, I just wanted you to know.”

“Talking is supporting,” Alfred said.

“Talking is supporting,” Jason repeated it with a smile. He took another sip of his hot chocolate. Alfred finished off his own cup of tea. They both watched people walk by along the busy streets of Gotham.

“And, I can’t tell Bruce, because he’ll think it’s more…you know,” Jason said, picking up the conversation as if there hadn’t been a pause.

“He’ll think it’s related to your death,” Alfred nodded, finishing the sentence.

“See? You’ll at least talk about it. Bruce won’t even say it…” Jason sighed. “But yeah. That’s kind of what I worried, too? Do you remember if I was always like this,” he gestured at himself, “before I died?”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked. “Your hairstyle has certainly changed.”

“Like, my costume,” Jason said. “Um. I was researching…I think I’ve got a sensory processing thing. And that’s why I don’t like soda bubbles, and why I need a helmet that blocks out more distractions than just a mask, and why I can’t wear leggings.”

“You wore leggings for a significant period of time,” Alfred pointed out.

“I know,” Jason frowned. “I remember doing it. And I tried it again the other day, someone lent me a pair of fishnets to try on…but the feeling on my legs doesn’t go away. I can’t wear leggings or skinny jeans for more than ten minutes without feeling like I’m gonna go crazy.”

“I see,” Alfred said.

“So…I remember wearing leggings before, but I don’t remember how it felt,” Jason said. “What if…I don’t know, what if all of my autistic symptoms, traits, whatever, what if if is all after-effects of being dead?”

“Would that make it any less real?” Alfred asked.

“I guess not,” Jason huffed and leaned back in his seat. “But…I want to know.”

“You hated the leggings, even back then,” Alfred said, remembering. “But you were too stubborn to wear anything else on patrol, which meant that when you got back, you threw them on the floor and went around in your underwear, and I was the one who had to pick them up and wash them.”

“Okay, that I think I remember,” Jason smiled. “I remember Bruce telling me to put on pants because Selina was coming over, at least.”

“Your new costume is more comfortable, I hope?” Alfred asked.

“It’s heavier. It’s nice,” Jason said. “I like the weight. It’s grounding. And it’s looser…no more leggings and spandex. It’s comfortable.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Alfred said. “You know…it occurs to me, you were also very particular about your bedsheets. You only liked the ones with the purple flowers, even though Master Dick’s favorite were the ones with the little rocket ships.”

“The flowers were the only ones with the right texture,” Jason said. “Yeah…that’s still how I buy sheets. It doesn’t matter what color it is, so long as it’s soft enough that it’s not gonna distract me from sleeping.”

“Would that also be related to…sensory processing?” Alfred asked, trying to remember the phrase Jason had used.

“Yeah,” Jason nodded. “Same with picky eating. I mean…yeah. I don’t have a better word for it, but—”

“There doesn’t need to be a word for it,” Alfred said. “Your food preferences are individual to you, just like anyone else’s.”

“Bruce still thinks I eat like a little kid,” Jason mumbled. “He thinks it’s stupid. I can tell he does, even when he doesn’t say it.”

“If that is the case, we will simply not discuss it with him,” Alfred said.

“Yeah,” Jason said, relaxing slightly. “That would be the one thing I’d change, though. If I could, I mean. I’d want to be less picky. I’m sorry I didn’t eat much of those dinners you used to make.”

“I’m only sorry it took so long for me to adapt to your tastes,” Alfred shook his head sadly. “I remember you claiming not to be hungry one too many times…”

“I didn’t want you to be mad at me, it’s just you worked so hard—”

“Nonsense,” Alfred said. “You should have been mad at me. I should have provided.”

“Your mac and cheese was always delicious,” Jason said. “I make it for myself, like, once a week.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” Alfred smiled.

“There’s other stuff too though,” Jason said. “Other than sensory processing. I mean, I’m not making it up—”

“I never accused you of doing so,” Alfred said.

“I mean, I was looking at traits online…the thing about making scripts to talk to people? I do that all the time,” Jason said. “And I always get told that I’m too blunt and unreadable, and you know how I like to stick to my schedule, and I’m not really great at emotional regulation, and I can’t always tell when people are being sarcastic or trying to tell me something…I’ve been trying to relearn how to stim. I’m still not sure what masking is, but I think I’m doing it. Have been doing it? It’s…I got a spiky ball to play with, see?” Jason pulled a small, spiky stress ball out of his pocket. “And I got a chewable necklace so I could try to stop biting my fingernails…”

“Jason, I trust you,” Alfred said. “I believe you’ve done your research. You don’t need to convince me. If you say you’re autistic, I believe you.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “I just…you know. It’s weird, saying it out loud? It doesn’t feel real. But I also know it’s real, it’s my own brain and I know how it works, but…and Bruce would never understand, and I don’t really have—” Jason hesitated. Alfred hoped he hadn’t been about to say “I don’t really have any friends.”

“I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this,” Jason finished. “Online isn’t the same. I don’t…I want to talk to someone about it.”

“Talk to me about it,” Alfred said. “I’m happy you came to me. What were you saying about learning to stim?”

“Oh,” Jason said. “Well, now that I live alone, I can play a song out loud on repeat as many times as I want, you know? And I’ve been letting myself move more…I’ve seen the replacement do the flappy hand thing, and I’ve read about it online, and I don’t know if it’s really a thing I do or if I’m trying to copy it so I’ll feel more autistic—”

“It’s okay,” Alfred soothed. “Take a deep breath.”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “Sorry. I know I talk fast.”

“You talk at the perfect speed,” Alfred said. “You just seemed…anxious.”

“I keep picturing how Bruce would take it,” Jason fidgeted awkwardly, digging the spikes on the stress ball into his palm.

“Are you sure he’d take it poorly?” Alfred asked.

“I’m sure,” Jason snorted. “Either he’d tell me he doesn’t believe me and I’m not autistic, which would be no more emotionally devastating than anything else he does, I guess, or he’d act weird about it and walk on eggshells around me and constantly misunderstand my whole life, which is already how things are with him! Ugh,” Jason put his head down on the table.

“You don’t have to tell anyone you don’t want to,” Alfred said.

“I know,” Jason said. “But, like I said. Wanted to talk about it. Don’t have anyone. So.”

“Thank you for talking to me about it,” Alfred said. “I do appreciate your faith in me. Trust me—Master Bruce won’t hear a word of this from me.”

“I trust you, Alf,” Jason picked his head back up. “Thanks.”

“Is there anything in particular I can do to support you?” Alfred asked.

“Just this,” Jason said. “Thanks.”

“Would you like a hug?” Alfred asked.

“Yes,” Jason said, sniffling slightly. They hugged, and they both pretended not to notice that Jason was almost in tears with happy relief.

“So, uh, yeah,” Jason sniffed and sat back in his chair. He continued to fiddle with the spiky ball. “I guess that’s it. Wanna start walking back?”

“I am at your service,” Alfred said. They walked back to the Manor, and hugged one more time on the front step.

“If Bruce asks, this conversation didn’t happen. I did come here because I was injured, or something,” Jason said.

“My lips are sealed,” Alfred smiled.

“See you later,” Jason waved, and walked back down the path, heading back to wherever he lived. Tim had mentioned Jason had some kind of safe house near Crime Alley. Maybe he’d invite Alfred to see it sometime.

“What did Todd want?” Damian asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Alfred said.

“I ate the apple slices,” Damian said. “And we’re out of granola bars. I ate all the ones in the cabinet.”

“You’re a growing boy,” Alfred ruffled his hair, and Damian grudgingly allowed it before smoothing it back into place.

“Bye,” Damian said, and slipped off into the house like the little ninja he was. There was a soft chiming sound. Alfred looked at his phone. He had a message from a number he didn’t recognize.

Thanks for talking. Could we meet there again, same time next week?

Of course, Alfred texted back with a smile.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Presenting, a short drabble on the subject of Bucky’s vibranium arm being detachable.

“Bucky, why is there a hand-shaped hole in my sister’s kitchen counter?” Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“...Sorry,” Bucky said. It came out quieter than just the muffling of the door could account for.

“You okay in there?” Sam asked.

There was a long moment where Bucky didn’t respond.

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Sam asked. “Do I need to come—“

The door opened. Sam took and awkward step away as Bucky stared him down. Bucky’s face was perfectly neutral, but he was doing the not-quite-crying thing Sam had learned to recognize by now. Bucky’s eyes would get watery, but Sam had never seen him shed an actual tear. Bucky claimed Hydra had removed his tear ducts. Bucky also claimed not to know what Sam was talking about when he said Bucky was doing the not-quite-crying thing again.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head.

“Can I help?” Sam asked.

“It won’t come off,” Bucky shrugged vaguely and rolled up his left sleeve for Sam to see where metal met skin.

“Oh, Buck, I don’t think it’s supposed to come off,” Sam said softly. He stepped closer into Bucky’s space, but he didn’t touch the arm yet, hesitant to close those last few inches of personal space while Bucky was upset like this. Usually, Bucky hated to be touched when he was this upset.

“There’s gotta be a button or something,” Bucky took Sam’s hand and pressed it into his shoulder repeatedly. “Can you see anything?”

“What’s this about?” Sam asked. He obliged and began gently feeling around Bucky’s shoulder for anything that felt out of place, something that felt like a button. Bucky shivered like he was feeling the ghost of the sensation.

“It’s not ABOUT anything. Ayo took it off, maybe I just want it off,” Bucky said.

“If this is about the kitchen counter, I was just going to ask you if you know how to re-grout,” Sam said.

“Sarah’s kid surprised me,” Bucky swallowed nervously.

“The little guys spooked you? YOU?” Sam laughed. There was a soft click as he pressed a panel that depressed slightly, but the arm stayed fully attached.

“He wanted me to pick him up,” Bucky said, looking away from Sam all too un-subtly.

“You didn’t want to?” Sam asked. “They’d understand.”

“I want to, but...not THAT arm,” Bucky said. “I figured if I could take it off...but it doesn’t come off. It’s not coming off, I mean.”

“Sarah’s kids love your arm, they think it’s cool,” Sam said.

“I could crush someone to death with it without even thinking,” Bucky said.

“But you wouldn’t do that,” Sam said, repeating the same thing he’d told Bucky hundreds of times before.

“But I HAVE done it,” Bucky said, following the familiar pattern of this conversation.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Sam knew his lines by heart. “Anyway, it might be good for you, to try and use the arm for something a little less murder-y.”

“Can you take it off of me or not?” Bucky snapped, yanking on his left hand with the right, pulling like he’d actually be able to take off the arm himself.

“Can’t figure it out,” Sam shook his head.

“We could use the shield,” Bucky glanced at Steve’s shield, in a bag in the corner.

“We’re not doing that,” Sam shook his head. “You can call Ayo and ask her how once it’s daylight in Wakanda. In the meantime, wanna come to the hardware store and help me buy grout?”

Bucky hesitated before shaking out both arms and relaxing just slightly. “Is that even what you’d use to fix a counter top?” Bucky asked.

“Let’s go find out,” Sam clapped him on the back.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: A rewrite of the beginning of Age of Ultron. The Avengers were busting Hydra bases looking for Loki's scepter, but they found Bucky first and he joined the team. When they go up against Wanda and Pietro in the castle, Wanda traps everyone (except for Barton) in a shared dream. Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Tony, and Thor fight their way through everyone's imagined dreams, one at a time, working together to get out and back to reality. It isn't a problem until they get trapped in Bucky's dream. Everyone worried it might be a nightmare, a memory left over from his time with Hydra...instead, it's something very different, and much more pleasant.

Word count: 2697

Read it here:

The world faded away. Greys and blacks and blood-streaked rocks disappeared from existence, replaced by oranges and yellows and a sleek ballroom floor.

“Is everyone okay?” Tony was practically vibrating with anxious tension.

“All good here,” Steve said. “Stark, do you want to talk about any of that, or—”

“Nope,” Tony shook his head. “You’re alive, I’m alive, we’re all alive, let’s just move on.”

“Barton’s still not with us,” Natasha said. “He must be on the outside.”

“He must find the witch before we endure any more of this,” Thor grumbled.

“Said the person who got to have a party,” Bucky poked him in the arm. “Some of us have actual trauma to work through, buddy. Speaking of which, how come I wasn’t in Tony’s nightmare?”

“Because you being dead would be a relief,” Tony rolled his eyes.

“Wow.” Bucky pressed a fist over his heart and feigned sadness. “That hurts, Tony.”

“All that matters is that we need to figure out who’s dream we’re in now,” Bruce said. “Anyone recognize this?”

“It’s mine,” Steve said. Everyone looked around. It was a beautiful 1940s ballroom, decorated for a party. There was a crowd in the center of the dance floor, and their conversations and laughing were barely audible over the strains of music that lilted through the air.

“Ha!” Thor laughed. “I am not the only Avenger who dreamed up a party.”

“I can take care of this,” Steve said. “We’ll be out of here in just a second.” He stepped forwards, toward the crowd. As he moved, they began to part in front of him, revealing Peggy Carter standing alone in the center.

“Steve.” She smiled. “Is it finally time for our dance?”

“Hi, Peggy,” Steve sighed. He took her hand. “You’re not real. This isn’t real.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Peggy said, brushing a lock of hair away from his face.

“I do,” Steve said. “Even if it was real, even if it was possible, I know what I gave up when I went into the ice. I’d make that choice over and over again if I had to. And I’m happy in the future, and I’m happy with my friends.”

“You know, some of us just call it ‘the present,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “If it were really the future, I’d have the flying car your dad promised me.”

“I hate you,” Tony said. Bucky stuck out his tongue in response.

“Quiet, boys,” Natasha said. “Let Steve finish up.”

“Goodbye, Peggy,” Steve said.

“Bye, Steve,” Peggy blinked away a tear, and the crowd closed back up behind her. Steve returned to the group.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“I gave up Peggy 70 years ago,” Steve shrugged. “It hurts to see her, but not enough to make me want to stay.”

“Then I guess we’re on to the next dream,” Bruce said.

“No way,” Bucky said. “We’re done. We did Thor’s party, Natasha’s Red Room, your ‘everything is exactly the same but I’m tall’ dream, Tony’s nightmare, and Steve’s dance partner. That’s everyone.”

“What about you, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Pssh,” Bucky scoffed. “I don’t have dreams.”

The world blinked around them. It was like experiencing a computer glitch from the inside. The ballroom floor shifted beneath them, then reformed as if nothing had happened. They stumbled slightly, but when they looked up, everything seemed exactly the same.

“Huh,” Steve said. “Okay, I was pretty sure I’d worked through it, but I’ll give it another go, I guess.”

“Colors changed,” Tony gestured with a thumb.

“He’s right,” Natasha frowned. “Steve, your ballroom was yellow and orange. Why did it turn green?”

“Shit,” Bucky whispered. “Shit shit shit shit—”

“So much for ‘I don’t have dreams,” Bruce crossed his arms.

“We need to get out of here,” Bucky went pale. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fists against his forehead. “It’s not real, it’s not real, wake up wake up wake up—”

“Whatever it is, we can handle it together,” Steve said. He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky flinched away like he’d been burned. Steve took a step back, worried. “Buck, are you okay?”

“Is it a Winter Soldier dream?” Natasha asked. “Can’t be much worse than the Red Room, and we’ve been there, so…”

“It’s not Hydra,” Bucky shook his head.

“Then what is it?” Thor asked.

There was a stirring in the crowd, like someone was pushing their way through, trying to get out.

“Can everybody just close their eyes?” Bucky said. “Nobody wants to see this.”

“Everybody saw my nightmare,” Tony shrugged. “You can bet your 1940s britches I’m looking at yours.”

“We’re all here for you, Buck,” Steve said. “Whatever it is—”

A little blonde head poked out of the crowd. Two skinny arms shoved their way through, pushing the last few people out of the way. It was a young man in a US military uniform. The guy looked up, saw Bucky, and his face lit up with happiness. “Bucky!” waved the tiny, pre-serum Steve Rogers. “Bucky! Buck!”

“Oh. My god,” Tony’s jaw dropped.

“Wake up wake up wake UP,” Bucky pounded on his forehead with his fists. “This isn’t happening. It’s not real.”

“Is that…Steve?” Natasha stifled a giggle.

“He’s short,” Thor frowned. “And tiny. Tinier than usual, I mean. All mortals are tiny.”

“Bucky!” Imaginary Steve ran across the ballroom, pushed Tony out of the way, and grabbed Bucky’s metal hand. “Come on, you’re missing all the fun. You love this song!”

“No, no…” Bucky stared in horror as the metal plates began to peel away from his skin. From his skin. There was skin underneath. Imaginary Steve ran his hand up the metal arm and it turned real. Bucky’s costume shimmered, turning into a military uniform to match Steve’s.

“Come on,” imaginary Steve laughed, and pulled Bucky, stumbling, away from the other Avengers, towards the laughing, dancing crowd.

“Bucky, stop!” Real Steve called out, but Bucky didn’t hear. He stared at imaginary Steve. Bucky looked like he’d follow him to the ends of the earth.

“Well, we’re doomed,” Tony sighed. “Who’s going to talk the world’s deadliest assassin down from this one?”

They all watched Bucky take imaginary Steve’s hand and lead him in looping, gentle circles around the ballroom floor. Imaginary Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s chest and sighed happily.

“I do not understand,” Thor frowned. “Stark had an imaginary Steve. Why is this one created by the Bucky any different?”

“You really used to look like that, Steve?” Bruce asked. “I saw some files back when I was working on making a new serum, but that’s—"

“I don’t think I ever had that kind of rosy glow in my cheeks,” Steve said, still staring at imaginary Steve, and the way he held Bucky. “And I was neverthat good at dancing.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Natasha said. “He talked me through the Red Room, I’ll talk him through, uh, this.” She left the Avengers standing in an awkward half-circle and walked up to where Bucky and imaginary Steve danced together.

“Hi there,” Natasha tapped imaginary Steve on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”

Imaginary Steve laughed. “Find your own soldier boy to moon over. This one’s taken.”

“Nat,” Bucky smiled at her sheepishly. “Forgot you guys were still here.”

“Yep. Everyone’s back there,” Natasha tilted her head at the group. “How’s it going?”

“Badly,” Bucky winced. “I can’t—”

“Aw, no, Buck, really?” Imaginary Steve cupped Bucky’s face in both hands. “Just look at me, Buck. It’s just you and me.”

“Quite the fantasy,” Natasha crossed her arms.

“I haven’t thought about it in years,” Bucky said. “After Steve turned into Captain America, it just seemed…impossible.”

“I like the new arm, too,” Natasha said.

“I…” Bucky faltered.

The music changed. “Ooh!” Imaginary Steve squealed. “A slow dance. Buck…hold me close?” He pressed himself up against Bucky’s chest like a starfish, stuck fast.

“Did Steve really act like this?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Bucky sighed, but he held imaginary Steve protectively in his arms. “Especially after the war started, he was always focused on what he could to do help. He wasn’t really into the expo or anything, but he’d come along if I asked him to.”

“I’d go anywhere for you,” imaginary Steve breathed against Bucky’s neck, and Bucky shivered.

“Come on, Bucky,” Natasha put her hand on imaginary Steve’s shoulder. “We need to get back out there. Clint’s alone, fighting a witch and a speedster while we’re all trapped in this shared dream. You need to work through this so we can all get out.”

“I love you,” imaginary Steve kissed Bucky’s left hand.

“I felt that,” Bucky stared down at the spot. “I can feel it. It’s real, it has to be…”

“Bucky,” Natasha started, but imaginary Steve whirled on her angrily.

“Go away!” Imaginary Steve held up two fists on skinny, skinny arms. If not for the military uniform, he’d look like a twig about to snap in two. “Get away from him!”

“Okay, you need snap out of it, pal,” Natasha gently moved imaginary Steve out of the way.

“Owww,” imaginary Steve moaned and collapsed to the ground.

“Steve!” Bucky knelt beside him. “Are you okay?”

“I can do this all day,” imaginary Steve smiled weakly up at Bucky as a purple bruise flowered over his cheek. His lip split and started bleeding.

“I barely touched him,” Natasha blinked.

“Stevie…always getting into fights you can’t handle,” Bucky shook his head, staring down into Steve’s eyes.

“That’s why I have you to save me,” imaginary Steve coughed, and reached up a trembling hand to push Bucky’s hair out of his eyes.

“Bucky, you can’t possibly be falling for that act,” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You hurt him,” Bucky looked up at her with one of the scariest looks she’d ever seen on him. The Winter Soldier was cold and emotionless—if he attacked you, it wasn’t personal. From the look in Bucky’s eye, this was personal.

“Bucky, he’s not real,” Natasha said, softly.

“You’ll protect me, won’t you, Buck?” Imaginary Steve clung to Bucky’s shoulder.

“You hurt him,” Bucky repeated dully, scowling at Natasha.

“He’s not real,” Natasha said. “You have to snap out of it—”

In one fluid motion, Bucky stood, and delivered a powerful uppercut to the underside of her jaw. It might have looked like skin, but it still felt like metal when it hit. Natasha staggered back and braced herself for a fight, but Bucky had already turned back to Steve, forgetting her entirely.

“My hero!” imaginary Steve giggled. The bruise and the injuries had disappeared, like they were never there. He took Bucky’s collar in both hands and pulled him down into a messy kiss. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into it, kissing back.

Natasha returned to the Avengers.

“That went well,” Tony raised an eyebrow.

“He won’t listen to me,” Natasha sighed. “This fantasy really has a hold on him.”

“I wonder if the enhanced woman accidentally tapped into the remnants of his Winter Soldier programming,” Bruce frowned. “That might explain why Bucky’s having such a hard time breaking free. Steve, do you want to try talking to him? Steve?”

Everyone looked at real Steve, who was mesmerized, watching Bucky kiss imaginary Steve. Bucky swooped imaginary Steve into a dip. They kissed and it looked like a 40s photograph made real life.

“Steve?” Bruce asked.

“Sorry,” Steve blinked. “What were we talking about?”

“Surely, the Bucky remembers this is only a figment of his imagination,” Thor said. “Even Tony only needed the merest of hints to understand that his recreations of us were not real.”

“Who knows what goes on in that cyborg brain,” Tony grumbled. “Wait, I guess we do, because we’re watching it, and it’s gross.”

“Don’t be homophobic,” Natasha elbowed Tony in the stomach.

“I’m not being homophobic, I’m being the same kind of assassin-who-killed-my-parents-phobic I always am,” Tony grumbled.

“Steve, are you okay with trying to talk to him?” Bruce asked. “You might stand a chance at reminding him the difference between imagination and reality.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him,” Steve said numbly. He walked forward into the crowd. He’d done this just minutes ago, when he knew Peggy was waiting for him on the other side. Bucky had watched that, and hadn’t even said anything, even when Bucky’s own fantasy was almost the exact same thing, only Peggy wasn’t around, and neither were their parents to tell them they were spending too much time together and they needed to get girlfriends, and neither was that guy Bucky beat up in an alley for calling Steve a fag…

Steve broke through the crowd and got a clear glimpse of Bucky again, still holding imaginary Steve like nothing else mattered to him.

“Buck,” real Steve whispered.

“Buck,” imaginary Steve whispered it close into Bucky’s ear. “I’m never going to leave you behind.”

“I didn’t mean to,” real Steve winced. “If I’d known you’d survived the fall from the train…”

Bucky looked up then and saw real Steve. “Steve,” Bucky flushed bright red and dropped imaginary Steve, taking a few hasty steps away from him. “I…this isn’t what it looks like?”

Imaginary Steve wrapped his hands around Bucky’s no-longer-metal arm and stuck out his tongue at real Steve. “You don’t need all those muscles. I’m good enough for him without them.”

“I…didn’t know?” real Steve tried. “That you—”

“How could you not have known,” Bucky glared at real Steve.

“You were always going out with girls,” real Steve said.

“And I always took you along and said it was a double date,” Bucky said. “I never once left you behind. I didn’t want you to be lonely…I didn’t want to be lonely without you.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” imaginary Steve cuddled close against Bucky and nuzzled against his shoulder. “All you have to do is stay. There’s no Hydra here. There’s no Winter Soldier here. There’s no Avengers that lie about not hating you. It’s just you and me.”

“The Avengers don’t hate you,” real Steve said, desperate.

“I love you,” imaginary Steve said, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at real Steve.

“Wake up,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake UP!” The world shifted, and crumbled into pieces around them. The dream dissolved, and the Avengers woke up.

“Barton! We’re out,” Natasha barked into the comms. “Where are you?”

“20 degrees north of you, in the forest,” came Clint’s gasped response. “I could use some help!”

“On my way,” Natasha said, and she bolted out of the room.

“Okay, uh, bye,” Tony summoned his armor pieces and flew out of the room, followed closely by Thor and Bruce on foot.

“Bucky,” Steve started, but Bucky cut him off.

“After the mission,” Bucky said bitterly. “If we need to talk about it. Which we don’t.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve said.

“You know how I woke myself up? I remembered that it was an impossible dream, that I wanted something I could never have,” Bucky spat. “Let’s just go back to the mission and forget about it, okay?”

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Steve said quietly.

“Well I do,” Bucky glared. He turned, flexed his metal arm, and followed the Avengers out of the castle and into the forest, leaving Steve alone.

“But…” Steve felt horrible. He remembered those years. He’d spent so much time trying to distance himself from Bucky, once he’d realized he might not be entirely straight. Bucky didn’t need that in his life holding him back, and Steve didn’t need to add another disability to the reasons he couldn’t enlist. Not that being gay was classified as a disability in the future, Steve reminded himself.

He hoped he hadn’t messed everything up. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was over Peggy… But it would be a hell of a lot longer before he could get over Bucky. He raised his shield and followed the team out into the woods.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: After catching Zemo trying to force Bucky to be the Winter Soldier again, Sharon kills him. Sam doesn't like her methods, and decides to continue his search for the Flag Smashers elsewhere, but Bucky decides to stay when Sharon offers him a paying job. Sharon takes Bucky to the party she's hosting, and Bucky discovers he likes taking her orders. Sequel to Pet Psychopath.

Word Count: 2603

Tags: Light BDSM, Light Dom/Sub dynamics, Bucky’s Got a Praise Kink, Touch Starved Bucky

Read it here:

“There we go,” Sharon smiled, handing Bucky his copy of the paperwork. “You’re officially on my payroll.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, flipping through the pages. “Uh, I don’t have anywhere to put this—”

“Put it in the spare room. It’s your room now,” Sharon shrugged. “Per the contract, I’m providing room and board.”

“It’s…weird,” Bucky admitted.

“What do you mean?” Sharon asked. “I’m so sorry, of course you don’t have to live here if you don’t want to—”

“No, that’s not it,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m just…you’re actually paying me.”

“That’s what the paperwork says, doesn’t it?” Sharon smiled.

“Yeah. It’s just weird that… I think you’re the first one to give me a paycheck since the 40s,” Bucky said, crumpling up the papers and shoving them into a pocket.

“If you’re a free agent now, you have to start acting like one,” Sharon said. “Even if you weren’t working for me, which by the way I’m very glad that you are, you’d need to advocate for yourself. Were you doing assassinations or bodyguard work in New York?”

“Uh, no,” Bucky said. “I had inheritance money from Steve. And, um…” He paused for a moment, considering how to describe beating up Hydra agents to Sharon. “I had hobbies,” Bucky finally said.

“A lot of the time, you have to force people to pay you,” Sharon said with a dark look in her eye. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it if you ever strike out on your own.”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled agreement. Striking out on his own? Not likely. He’d missed the simplicity of taking orders from someone he trusted. He’d followed Steve into countless battles, and it had felt right. Following Steve felt like the only thing he really knew how to do. He was going to give following Sharon a try, though. Steve had trusted her, and Bucky would too.

“Anyway, I’m having a party tonight,” Sharon said. “I’m hosting clients. They’ll be here in an hour.”

“I saw the Monet downstairs,” Bucky said. “You’re good at what you do.”

“I have to be,” Sharon shrugged. “Want to come?”

“What, to the party?” Bucky asked.

“Well, you’d have to change,” Sharon said, glancing at Bucky’s outfit. He still had Zemo’s blood stained across his chest.

“You know what, sure,” Bucky said. “Might as well enjoy myself.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sharon said. “Now remember, it’s my party, so—”

“I know, I know,” Bucky sighed. “Don’t kill anyone, don’t hurt anyone.”

“Are you kidding?” Sharon raised an eyebrow at him. “I was going to say the opposite. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, do whatever you want to them.”

“Really?” Bucky blinked at her, confused. “But—”

“But what?” Sharon scoffed. “You’re on my payroll, which means you’re mine. If someone is messing with you at my party, it’s my business. Feel free to handle it. Unless you’d rather call me over, I’d be happy to kill a fucker for you.”

“Uh, no, I could handle it,” Bucky frowned. “But…really? I used to be the Winter Soldier. Everyone’s going to stare at me.”

“Use your discretion who gets hurt and who doesn’t, then,” Sharon said, like it was obvious. “Probably after you take down the first thug, nobody else will have anything to say to you.”

“So I should probably change into something sleeveless, then,” Bucky said, looking down at his metal hand.

“Buck,” Sharon sighed. “Can I call you that?”

“Uh, that’s fine,” Bucky said, surprising himself that he actually was fine with it.

“Buck, wear whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t have blood on it when the party starts. Hurt or kill whoever you want. I do not care,” Sharon said.

“But…everyone else does,” Bucky said, hating how pathetically it came out.

“Do I look like everyone else?” Sharon said. “You and I both know what it’s like to be on the run. I’m finally in a position with some power, and I’m paying you to back up that power. And, I trust you—do what you want.”

“Uh, okay,” Bucky said awkwardly. They stared at each other for a moment then, as Bucky tried to figure out how to organize his next words.

“Is there a problem?” Sharon asked. “I didn’t mean to imply you have to come to the party. Nobody’ll force you.”

“Uh, what should I wear?” Bucky asked.

“Pick whatever you want,” Sharon said, leading him to a clothing rack. “I’ve got plenty of stuff.”

Bucky sifted through the clothes. They all seemed so different, so fancy, so…weird. “Can you pick something for me?” he asked.

“Why?” Sharon asked, stepping just slightly closer to him, a hint of a smile on her face.

“Uh, I don’t know what’s good,” Bucky said, face flushing just slightly red, but he wasn’t sure why.

“Okay,” Sharon said. She reached past him, hand just brushing against the blood stain on his chest. “Wear this.” She pulled out a loose black jacket, with fully covered sleeves. It had a black pattern of stars embossed into it in gentle, sloping lines.

Bucky took the jacket, and took a step away from Sharon. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sharon said, cocking her head sideways. There was still just a hint of a suggestion of a smile on her face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Bucky swallowed, throat suddenly feeling dry.

“You’re on my payroll. Which means you’re mine,” Sharon repeated. She took a step closer to Bucky, closing the distance again. “How does that make you feel?” She all but breathed the words, making Bucky shiver.

“I guess…it’s nice?” Bucky said.

“Go on,” Sharon said.

“I’m the one who came up with the plan to work with Zemo,” Bucky said, looking at the floor. “It was stupid, and I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Hey, shh, shhh,” Sharon said, rubbing his shoulder gently. “It’s not your fault. You’re not stupid.”

“It’s just nice that I’m not the one calling the shots anymore,” Bucky blurted, all in a rush.

“I get it,” Sharon smiled, and stepped away from him, giving him a little space. “Steve makes a big shadow. It’s easy to stand in it and follow orders. Steve’s got that kind of a presence.”

“Maybe I’m just the kind of person who follows orders,” Bucky said quietly. “I don’t know if I was like that before Hydra…but either way, I am now, so.” He took deep breaths, trying to stay focused.

“So you like that I’m your boss now,” Sharon grinned. “It’s okay. I like that you’re my employee.”

“Well, good,” Bucky said, sounding like a little kid.

“I want to give you as much freedom as you want,” Sharon said. “You’re not the Winter Soldier, you don’t have to suffer silently. You have to tell me when there’s something happening that you don’t like.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky said, then coughed trying to cover it up. It had just slipped out. He hadn’t meant it.

“At ease,” Sharon winked. Then her tone became brisk and commanding. “Wear the jacket I gave you. Meet me downstairs in 45 minutes exactly.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, stifling the "sir" that almost followed it out. Sharon marched off deeper into the apartment. Bucky went to the spare room—his room—to change. It was nice to get out of the bloodstained uniform, the one with the sleeve torn off. He’d worn it to the bar, to play the character of being the Winter Soldier again…people always wanted to see the Soldier’s arm, like it was some kind of toy. Bucky had thought Sharon would want people to see it. Wasn’t that why she’d hired him, so he could be her muscle? But the jacket she gave him flowed in all the right places. When he put it on properly, it moved the same over both arms. To him, it felt more like armor than a bulletproof vest. He smiled, seeing it in the mirror. When he went to the bathroom, Zemo’s corpse had already been cleaned up and removed. This was Bucky’s space now. It felt good. He went down to the party to meet Sharon, at just the time she’d told him.

“You’re right on time,” Sharon smiled. “Good boy,” she said.

Bucky shivered, hearing her say it. That felt good, too.

“Are you okay?” Sharon asked, concerned.

“Great,” Bucky nodded. “Sir.”

Sharon’s smile returned, matched with a hungry look in her eye. “Enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble, but if trouble finds you, remember what I said.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky said, and once it came out he felt so embarrassed, he’d said it twice in a row and she’d think it was weird and she wouldn’t want him—but Sharon just smiled, like she genuinely wanted him there, and rewarded him with a quick ruffling of his hair before she disappeared back into the depths of the party, leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky went to the bar, even though he knew he couldn’t get drunk. He wasn’t sure what else to do, where else to be. He didn’t exactly like mingling, or talking to new people. Why had he even agreed to come? On some level, he was only here because Sharon told him to be.

<Quite a show in Low Town,> someone said in Russian. Bucky turned. There was a man approaching the bar, one Bucky was pretty sure he recognized from the Low Town bar. Wonderful. Bucky hoped he wasn’t here because Bucky had injured one of his friends. That would be a guaranteed fight.

The man was about the same height as Bucky, but he had blonde hair, tied up into a braid behind his head. <Ready to comply, Solider?> he asked.

<I’m not the Winter Solider anymore,> Bucky responded with a sigh. <My name is James Bucky Barnes.> He’d said the phrase so many times, it was almost automatic. Almost.

<That wasn’t what I saw last night,> the man grinned. <I saw a killer. A predator.>

Bucky turned back to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to signal that the conversation was over.

<I’m talking to you, Soldier,> the man shoved Bucky in the human arm and stood between him and the bar. <Where’s your master?>

“You know what, man? Shut up,” Bucky scowled. He really didn’t want to deal with this. The party was a bad idea.

“Make me,” the man said, pulling a knife. Bucky raised both hands instinctively in surrender, even though he could have taken the knife away in a heart beat.

“I don’t want trouble,” Bucky said. “Go back to the party.”

“Oh, now you don’t want trouble,” the man laughed. “You're going to be my new henchman.”

“You’re going to get out of my party, Artemiy,” Sharon said. She’d appeared from nowhere, and pressed her gun to the man’s ribcage.

“We’re just having a talk,” Artemiy said. “The pet’s here. Where’s the master? Where’s Zemo?”

“Zemo is dead. I killed him,” Sharon said coldly, but her friendly smile never dropping. “You’re next if you don’t stop talking to my newest employee.”

“The Winter Soldier works for you?” Artemiy went pale.

“His name is Bucky,” Sharon said, forcing the gun against Artemiy’s ribs a little more forcefully. “Anyone who’s got a problem with that can talk to me.”

“Sharon, you don’t have to kill him,” Bucky said, more out of a sense of obligation than any real feeling on the subject. “He’s just an idiot.”

“You’re right,” Sharon said. She drew her gun under Artemiy’s chin before putting it away. “There will be other idiots to make an example of.”

They’d drawn a small crowd. Sharon put her hands on her hips and stared them down. “This man is mine. The next person who forgets that is dead. Am I clear?”

There were furtive nods and sounds of agreement from the crowd.

“Good,” Sharon smiled. “Then let’s get back to enjoying the party, why don’t we!” The crowd dispersed, and Artemiy slipped away quick as a snake.

“It was a mistake to come to this,” Bucky mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sharon said. “It's my fault. I shouldn’t have left you. Just stick next to me for the rest of the night, okay?”

Bucky nodded.

It felt familiar, following Sharon around the party. He stayed just a step behind her, keeping close enough to participate in her conversations but far enough away that it wasn’t rude when he didn’t. He remembered bodyguard duty as the Winter Soldier, he’d done it hundreds of times. It was an easy role to slip into, and looking the way he did was half of the work. It was different, here. The jacket concealed the metal arm, making him feel more like a person, and less like a mechanical toy. Sharon would reach out and touch him every so often, fixing his hair, or adjusting his collar…no one from Hydra ever did that. They were all scared of the Winter Soldier. Sharon wasn’t scared at all. She was a very touchy kind of person. She acted like she liked touching him, and the last person who would’ve agreed with her was Steve. It had been a while since anyone had offered Bucky even so much as a friendly pat on the shoulder. He found that he liked it. He wished she’d do it more.

“You’re quiet,” Sharon said, nudging him in the shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Just thinking,” Bucky said.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sharon asked.

“You could fix my collar more often, if you wanted to,” Bucky said awkwardly.

“Like this?” Sharon smiled and took his shirt collar in both hands.

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky said, feeling his face begin to heat up.

“Or maybe like this,” Sharon said, pulling him close.

“Yes,” Bucky whispered.

“I could kiss you right now,” Sharon said, lips just centimeters from his cheek. “Then everybody would see that you’re mine. That you belong to me.”

That she wanted him. He didn’t just belong to her, she had picked him. He liked it.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Sharon said, “if that’s okay.”

Bucky blinked. He hadn’t even realized he hadn’t responded, and now Sharon was looking at him like she was worried she’d made a mistake, like she’d accidentally triggered him or given him a flashback. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. He nodded, as much as he could manage. He felt overwhelmed. She really wanted him? She really cared?

Sharon pulled on his collar and pulled him close to her, kissing him. He closed his eyes and kissed back. His enhanced hearing told him the people around them were ceasing their conversations to watch, but he didn’t care. Sharon kissed him until she was done, then released his collar, smoothed it back into place, and eyed him up and down, hungrily. “Mine,” Sharon said.

Bucky’s heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest, it was pumping so fast. “Yes, sir,” was his only response, and for a moment he worried people would think he was just the Winter Solider obeying a master’s orders, but he soon realized he didn’t care. Sharon could have told him to drop to his knees right there, and he would’ve done it. He’d done much worse as the Winter Soldier, and this time the memory almost made him smile. It couldn’t hurt him anymore. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier, he was Bucky. He was Sharon’s Bucky. It felt really good.

Sharon took Bucky’s elbow in one arm. “I’ve got more people to talk to. Coming?”

“Anywhere,” Bucky breathed, and she led him deeper into the party.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: Sharon called Bucky "Zemo's pet psychopath." Maybe it's about time someone stopped Zemo and gave a poor little pet psychopath a new home.

Word Count: 2793

Read it here:

“Pet psychopath…Ms. Carter has such a way with words, does she not?” Zemo ran one hand lightly over Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“Stop,” Bucky managed to choke out. He shuddered under Zemo’s touch, but he couldn’t move to escape it. He was frozen in place.

“Don’t worry,” Zemo whispered it with a smile into Bucky’s ear. “It’s such a shame Sam doesn’t want you, but I do. When this is all over and he, what was that he said? When he never wants to see you again, I’ll keep you.”

“Try it, and I’ll kill you,” Bucky said it through gritted teeth, staring straight ahead as Zemo continued to move around him like a snake.

“I don’t think you will,” Zemo grinned. “Let’s try something new, shall we?” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out the little red notebook. He flipped through the pages almost listlessly, almost carelessly.

Bucky wanted to scream. Shuri and the Wakandan doctors had done their best to strip the Hydra out of Bucky, but they were working blind. They only had a few trigger words they’d identified, and the rest was guesswork. Zemo, on the other hand, still had the manual, and it turned out that he’d been right, and there was still something of Hydra left in Bucky, and all it took was one word and Bucky was forced back into form, standing here motionless while Zemo licked his finger and turned a page.

“Ah,” Zemo said, making a big show out of tapping whatever he’d found. “This is interesting.”

“No,” Bucky said, but it came out more like a whimper. “Please, don’t. Stop, you can’t—“

“Who’s going to stop me?” Zemo stepped closer, right into Bucky’s space.

“Please,” Bucky begged.

“I’ll stop you,” Sharon said. There was a gunshot, so close and so loud it left a ringing in Bucky’s ears. He blinked and discovered that Zemo was crumpled in front of him, dead on the floor. There was brain splattered all over the wall to Bucky’s right. There was a little of Zemo’s blood on Bucky’s face.

“So,” Sharon stepped delicately into the room, high-end shoes avoiding the growing blood stain. “What’s happening in here?”

“You should know better than to shoot before asking questions,” Bucky managed to say it, and make it sound almost normal. Hardly a quiver in his voice at all.

“Yeah, somehow I doubt anyone’s going to miss Zemo. Or care about this,” Sharon shrugged. She kicked the dead body, rolling it out of her way. She stood in front of Bucky, far enough away to give him a little space.

“Thanks,” Bucky said hoarsely.

“Don’t mention it,” Sharon frowned. “Can you move?”

“No,” Bucky said, flushing red with embarrassment.

“How do I fix that?” Sharon asked, putting her gun back in its holster.

“Don’t know,” Bucky said.

“How’d he do it to you?” Sharon asked.

“Don’t know,” Bucky said, just on this side of desperate. “He said something, but when I try to think about exactly what, I just get a headache.”

“No, I don’t need to know the trigger, I need to know how he knew it,” Sharon shook her head.

Bucky swallowed, considering his options. There weren’t many. “Flip him over again,” Bucky said. “There’s a red notebook in his hand.”

Sharon did as he said. “You’re right. It’s not even that bloody. What’s—”

“Don���t read it out loud,” Bucky said. “Please.”

“Zemo’s a sick fuck, isn’t he,” Sharon said, frowning at the notebook. She looked up at Bucky and grinned. “Was a sick fuck, that is.”

“Just flip through until you find something that looks like a release,” Bucky said.

“Half of this is in Romanian, but there’s some notes in English too,” Sharon said, flipping back through the pages. For a moment, Bucky had a horrible feeling of vertigo. She was standing in the exact same spot Zemo had been standing just a minute ago. Not that there were many places to stand in the small bathroom. He took deep breaths and tried to stay calm. Sharon was an ally. She was a friend. She was just looking through the notebook looking for the release words.

“I think I found it,” Sharon said. “This might be it.”

“Give it a try, it’s not like this can get worse,” Bucky said.

“We should talk,” Sharon said, closing the notebook around her finger as a bookmark.

“Oh, no,” Bucky said, heart dropping into his stomach. “Can we talk after you say the code word, or—“

“I think we should talk now,” Sharon winced. “I thought you were, you know, cured.”

“So did I,” Bucky said, redoubling his efforts to break free on his own, but he didn’t even move a muscle. “It’s a bummer. You can let me out now—”

“I…heard a little of what Zemo said,” Sharon said. “Did Sam really say that to you?”

Bucky would have frozen in place, were he not already frozen in place by the trigger. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” Bucky said, throat feeling dry and scratchy.

“He did, didn’t he,” Sharon sighed and shook her head. “Sam…I love the guy, but he’s not ready to be Captain America.”

“I…I think you’re right?” Bucky said. “But…what is this about?”

“I could use someone like you on my side,” Sharon said. “I’ve made a life for myself in Madripoor, but with the Winter Soldier supporting me—“

“Sharon, don’t make me put you on my list of enemies,” Bucky said.

“Sorry, sorry, but with you, James Bucky Barnes, supporting me, I could do even more,” Sharon said. “You’ve seen how I live in high town. I can afford to pay you well, probably even more than Hydra ever got for loaning out the Winter Soldier.”

“Um…” Bucky still couldn’t move. “That’s great, but if you really wanted James Bucky Barnes, you would have let me go by now.”

“I want Bucky, but I need to know that nobody’s going to force the Winter Soldier out of you,” Sharon frowned. “If Hydra still has control over you, you’re a bigger liability than you’re worth.”

“Hydra doesn’t control me anymore,” Bucky sighed. “It’s just that some of the triggers they used to control me are still in place, apparently. The only person who could control me is the one who’s got that notebook.”

“Huh,” Sharon said, staring down at it. “Mind if I keep it, then?”

“I’d prefer you to let me go, and then I’ll rip it to shreds in front of you,” Bucky said.

“Noted,” Sharon said. She left the bathroom, notebook in tow.

“Sharon! Sharon! Fuck, Sharon!” Bucky yelled after her, but he couldn’t even turn to watch her go. He was alone with Zemo’s corpse. The blood stain had just about made it to touch his shoes. “Sam! Sam, if you’re there, I need help. Sam!” Bucky yelled.

“Sam’s outside, on the phone with his sister,” Sharon said, returning to the bathroom. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting long.”

“I liked you better before you were like this,” Bucky glared at her.

“A lot of people did,” Sharon crossed her arms. “Brace yourself.” She opened her mouth and said something, and it looked like she was saying words, but all Bucky could hear was a dull buzzing sound. His limbs unlocked and he almost fell over after all the tension of holding himself up for so long.

“Careful,” Sharon said. “Blood is slippery.”

“Why did you hide the notebook?” Bucky put his hands on his knees to stabilize himself, but in that position, he was staring down at Zemo’s corpse. He righted himself and leaned heavily against the sink, trying to catch his breath.

“Zemo memorized portions of it. I’m not taking chances that someone else has done the same,” Sharon said. “What would you have done if Selby pulled out a trigger word and you didn’t have the notebook around?”

Bucky had to concede that it sounded like a fair point when she said it like that. But still… “Why not give it to me and let me deal with it?”

“Why don’t I keep the passcode for my safe inside my safe?” Sharon raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like you’d be able to free yourself, if it came down to it. I guess maybe it would make sense if Sam had it?”

“Don’t give it to Sam,” Bucky said. Sharon was talking something that sounded like sense. He hated listening to it. He hated the realization that she might be right.

“Hence, hidden,” Sharon spread her arms wide. “You can look at it if you promise not to destroy it. I just think maybe you need a second to calm down—”

“I don’t need a second,” Bucky coughed, then dry heaved into the sink.

“—and then you’ll be in a better headspace to think about this logically,” Sharon finished. “Anyway, the job offer stands. I don’t care if you’re a risk. Cap trusted you, and I do too.”

“Stop,” Bucky said, staring down into the sink so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “If you heard what Zemo said, you’d know better than to try and manipulate me in the same way.”

“I love how you think it’s manipulation for someone to say they trust you,” Sharon hummed sarcastically. “Are compliments manipulative too?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said.

“I think you’re a good fighter. You, James Bucky Barnes, because I saw you in action before I went on the run. I’d like to pay you to be on my team, because I think you deserve fair compensation for the work you do,” Sharon said. “Is that manipulative?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. “Because you’re going to make me want to say yes, and I can’t. I’m working with Sam. We’re dealing with the Flag Smashers, so I can’t work for you.”

“You two aren’t the only ones with an eye on Karli Morgenthau,” Sharon said. “When we draw up your contact, we can make stopping her your first mission.”

“You’re messing with me,” Bucky said. “You don’t actually want me around.”

“Spoken like a guy fresh from court-mandated therapy,” Sharon shook her head. “Been there myself. Doesn’t work, does it?”

Bucky didn’t have an answer for her.

“Want something to drink?” Sharon asked.

“Super soldier serum. I can’t get drunk,” Bucky said.

“I meant water,” Sharon said.

“Oh, um, yes. Sure,” Bucky said.

“I’ll grab some. Clean the Zemo off of you, then come back out to the living room,” Sharon said.

“Oh. Yeah,” Bucky said. “And what about—”

“I’ll have someone clean the bathroom, don’t worry about it,” Sharon waved a hand dismissively. “Towels are in the cabinet, use whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said. Sharon left.

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. He could feel the vague warmth of Zemo’s blood on his face, still warm. Of all the blood splatters he’d seen, somehow, this was one of the most satisfying. Zemo deserved to die. Bucky felt like an idiot for breaking him out of prison in the first place, but Zemo had delivered the instructions like an order, and Bucky hadn’t been able to say no. He’d convinced himself he wanted to do it. Now he wondered if Zemo had used a trigger, and Bucky hadn’t even noticed. The thought made him want to throw up, but the sight of Zemo’s corpse was comforting. Zemo wouldn’t be hurting anyone anymore.

Dealing with the blood was actually secondary. Bucky tested out his limbs again, running a few basic stretches he remembered. He needed to make sure he was completely unfrozen. He fiddled with the metal arm too, and sent a shiver down it to articulate each plate individually with a soft mechanical whirring sound. He rolled his shoulders and shook out his arms, bouncing in place. Everything seemed okay. Sharon found the right release code, and she’d used it properly. Bucky almost expected her to send him all the way under, after the way she was talking. He set to work washing the blood off his face.

Then again, Steve had trusted her. Steve had liked her. Steve had trusted her to know when to break the law and when to work within it. He’d trusted her with Bucky’s secrets long ago, and so far, all she’d done with it was free Bucky from someone else’s control, multiple times now if you included the airport and everything. Maybe she wasn’t being manipulative when she offered Bucky a job. It was a better offer than he’d ever gotten from anyone—people tended to assume that the Winter Soldier didn’t need payment, Bucky grumbled to himself. The blood was sticking to his vest a little more than it had to his face. He scrubbed at it, but he’d need to give it a real stain treatment later.

And Sam never complimented Bucky, ever, so maybe that’s why he wasn’t used to it. Sam always had something to complain about, Bucky was too fast, or he wasn’t fast enough, or he’d gone left when he should’ve gone right, or something like that. Zemo had used compliments like a weapon, but Sharon said them differently, almost giving them away. Bucky liked that.

The two of them had been right, anyway. Sam did say he never wanted to see Bucky again after all this was over. It would be nice to have somewhere to go, somewhere other than court-mandated therapy or his empty apartment or “making amends” visits to people who hated him. Shit, should he have tried harder to make amends to Isaiah? Too late now, Isaiah wouldn’t want to see him again, even if he could come up with a better apology… But a job with Sharon might not be so bad. It might even be fun. It would certainly be an improvement over wallowing in misery and self-pity, and Madripoor didn’t allow extradition, so no one could force him back into court-mandated therapy again.

Bucky walked out of the bathroom to discover Sam yelling at Sharon. “What do you mean you killed Zemo?” Sam was furious.

“It needed to be done,” Sharon said.

“No, he needed to go back to prison, not be dead,” Sam said. “And he was our only lead looking for the Flag Smashers!”

“Just keep using his plane, he won’t care,” Sharon rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t care about anything anymore.”

“Did you know about this?” Sam rounded on Bucky, who flinched under Sam’s scowl.

“Sam, he was going to—” Bucky tried to explain, but Sam wouldn’t hear it.

“This is just like you. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore! You can’t just kill people you don’t like,” Sam said.

“I didn’t. He was—”

“You should know better!” Sam yelled. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

“No,” Bucky said awkwardly.

“What?” Sam blinked at him, confused. Bucky had never really stood up to Sam like this before.

“I said no,” Bucky crossed his arms. “I’m not leaving. Sharon can help us take down the Flag Smashers, and with Zemo dead, she’s our best bet.”

“With Zemo dead, we can’t stay here,” Sam said.

“Then you leave,” Bucky spat it out angrily. “You don’t even care what Zemo was trying to do to me.”

“I know exactly what he was trying to do to you,” Sam said. “I saw the way you moved in that bar. It’s not Zemo who’s fucked up, it’s you. You’re the one who keeps following his orders!”

“I didn’t want to,” Bucky said, desperate. “Sam, I—”

“You know what, fine, stay,” Sam said. “I’m leaving. I’ll find the Flag Smashers on my own, with or without you.”

“We’ll work together,” Sharon said. “We’ll stay in contact with you, Sam. And if you ever need backup—”

“I’ll call Walker before I call you, Buck,” Sam turned around and stalked out of Sharon’s apartment. Bucky just stared after him, numbly.

“I, um…got you some water,” Sharon said awkwardly, handing Bucky a glass.

“Thanks,” Bucky said. He took it, but he didn’t drink.

“I wish it hadn’t worked out like that,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry.”

“No… It was always going to work out like that,” Bucky shook his head. “Sam doesn’t need me. It was me who needed him. I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong,” Sharon said. “You’re relearning how to trust people again. It’s going to take some time.”

“Well, I’m going to start by trusting you,” Bucky said. “Cap trusted you, and I do too,” he said hollowly, repeating back her own words.

“Let’s talk to my secretary about drawing you up a contact,” Sharon said. “You’re going to be a hired goon, how does it feel?”

“Big upgrade over unpaid goon,” Bucky said dryly. They laughed, and everything felt just a tiny bit better.

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: A short drabble in which Bucky thinks about the time in his life when he COULD have just run up on a stranger, beat them up, and take what he wanted. Life with HYDRA was very different than life after deprogramming.

Read it here:

“Let’s take the shield, Sam. Let’s take the shield and do this ourselves.”

Sam had been trying to sleep. Sam needed so much sleep. Pretty much everyone except for Bucky needed so much sleep, at least in comparison to Bucky. Bucky didn’t need much sleep at all. Sam shifted then, and sat up to look at Bucky. “We can’t just run up on the man, beat him up, and take it.”

He was wrong. Bucky could do it. Walker didn’t even look that tough. It wasn’t like it would have been hard.

“Don’t you remember what happened the last time we stole it?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” Bucky said. Of course he did. He remembered everything.

It wasn’t that Bucky missed HYDRA, it really wasn’t. He’d never go back. He’d never want to go back. Even just thinking about it made his skin crawl…but he didn’t have the luxury of a broken long term memory to hide behind anymore. He remembered everything, and he remembered that there was a brief time when life had felt like magic.

The whole beginning of it was bad, for a lot of reasons. From the amputation-without-painkillers on, it was a shitty, shitty time. HYDRA spent hours, days, weeks breaking him and molding him into the Winter Soldier, and everyone knew that was what was happening. There wasn’t a tech around who didn’t know the latest details of a particular Soldier trigger, there wasn’t a HYDRA goon who was afraid of him, because they all knew what was being done to him. Soldier was as likely to get a pat on the back as he was to get kicked in the face, and it could have come from anyone.

People get old, and then they die. Everyone except for Bucky, at least. Slowly, the techs disappeared and were replaced with new ones, one that didn’t know as much. HYDRA was very concerned with its secrets, after all, and the details that allowed for controlling the Winter Soldier was a big secret. HYDRA goons stopped laughing at Soldier and started giving him a wider berth. Techs got jumpy if Soldier even so much as twitched. A few people still knew the main triggers, but their visits were few and far between.

It was much nicer to be feared than it was to be tortured.

It wasn’t that Bucky had liked anything HYDRA had done to him or for him, but…he remembered how it was after the higher ups decided Soldier was HYDRA’s most valuable asset. All of a sudden, no more sitting alone in damp and uncomfortable cells, now it was constant surveillance in rooms that actually had places to sit. Mission debriefs started including painkillers and muscle relaxants, and it sucked that that was Soldier’s standard for “comfort,” but at the time, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. They fed him, and it was like he was a fancy purebred guard dog—if he didn’t eat, they coaxed and pleaded and somehow found better food and brought it to him. Soldier was valuable, and the higher ups wanted him safe. And the techs didn’t know the triggers anymore.

There was a mission, early on, when Soldier damaged his ankle. Returning to the base, he all but collapsed. He couldn’t stop himself from falling, and one of the goons thought Soldier was trying to attack him. Everything after that was colored with electricity and triggers and punishment. HYDRA had been a single unit, and every single person there was invested in breaking Soldier.

Years later, there was another mission, where Soldier had waited for days in a particular spot, waiting for the target to appear, when a goon had fumbled the delivery at the last moment and the target got away. Soldier had turned away from the gun, expecting a punishment for failure, but instead, the goon cowered. Like he thought Soldier was going to hurt him. Soldier wanted to hurt him; that goon had interfered with a mission. But no matter how long he waited, there was no punishment for failure. Soldier began to get a sense of the new rules. He wondered how many people even remembered the punishments anymore.

Once, on a debrief, they shocked Soldier so hard he remembered a boy with blonde hair getting beat up in an alley. Bucky hated this memory of a memory. Soldier went crazy (well, crazier than usual) and killed three techs and five goons. Soldier came back to himself when one of the higher ups came to fix the problem. Soldier pressed himself into a corner, and even though he was muzzled, he begged not to be punished. Killing a non-target had been a particularly bad offense when they were first training him. Through the muzzle, he went unheard. Soldier almost went into cardiac arrest, he was so scared.

The higher up looked around. He lightly kicked one of the bodies. He left, without punishing Soldier. Later, Soldier learned that it was the techs who had been threatened with punishment—it was the techs who were at fault for the murders, not Soldier. Soldier could kill anyone wanted. Everyone (except Solider) was replaceable, and HYDRA’s most valuable asset was to be kept alive, active, and happy. Things got really good for Soldier after that.

Solider learned to speak up on missions, after that. A goon would try to suggest a plan, and Soldier would (politely) explain why it wouldn’t work, and if the goon pressed harder, Soldier pressed back. Soldier hit a goon across the face, with the metal arm, too. He took seven bullets to the back in retaliation. The goon who had fired on him never appeared again.

When Soldier walked through the hall, people got out of the way. Even in his weakest, most vulnerable states, people tiptoed, they were careful around him. There was yelling in the lab one day and Soldier screamed at the overstimulation and everyone went deadly silent. It was amazing.

Soldier was valuable. If he could’ve asked for anything, he would have gotten it. HYDRA loved him, and they did their best to show it. Sometimes, goons were even offered to Soldier, as a way to blow off some steam for Soldier, as a punishment for the goons. As if Soldier was an angry volcano to which the people made sacrifices. Soldier beat the victims into the ground and imagined they were people who deserved it, even though Soldier always had trouble keeping track of exactly who that was. The techs would clean the blood off his hands and seem grateful just to be alive, that Soldier’s wrath wasn’t turned on them. When they bound Soldier, or put him on ice, it was totally different than it had been at the beginning—they weren’t putting away a toy, they were restraining a dangerous creature. Soldier liked being dangerous, he liked when the HYDRA techs were afraid of him.

It was hard not to think about it, sometimes. Bucky could still remember how that had felt.

Being a good guy was hard. Objectively speaking, things were more difficult when you cared who lived and died, when your goal was defense rather than attack. Being Soldier had been easy. Being deprogrammed-Bucky was hard.

He’d visited Pepper after Tony’s funeral, trying to make amends. Pepper had let him in her house, and offered him coffee. They talked for a long time. Bucky wished she’d been there before, when he’d really needed a buffer between him and Tony. Pepper showed Bucky the house. Her and Tony’s child, Morgan, was watching a movie in the living room.

It was some new Disney thing. Bucky remembered when Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs first came out in the 1930s, but now Disney was huge, a household name. This movie wasn’t animated like Bucky remembered. It was about famous Disney villains’ kids, Pepper explained. On the screen, a girl with white hair looked at the camera with wide, green eyes.

“Don’t you ever miss screaming at people and making them run away from you?” she asked.

Bucky froze. The boy in the movie told her that no, he didn’t miss that, why would any normal person miss doing extreme violence on their enemies—Pepper was saying something.

“It’s a cute movie,” Pepper laughed.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He swallowed. His throat felt dry and horrible. He excused himself, he was sorry, but he had to leave, he had to get home. That night, he almost threw up, kneeling over the toilet on the cold bathroom floor. He didn’t miss HYDRA, he didn’t miss killing people, he didn’t miss making people scared…

There were plenty of people who were still scared of him, anyway. Bucky took deep breaths and managed to stand up. This was yet another thing that he would not explain to his therapist. He didn’t miss HYDRA, that was true. He didn’t want to kill or hurt anyone ever again, also true. But did he miss the days when he felt more in control, like the only thing that mattered was his physical strength, and problems were “how hard do I hit” and not “how much money do I have for groceries this month” and “how do I talk to people” and stuff like that? He had to admit, things were hard now. Sometimes, he did miss when things were easy.

“I’ll help you in case you forgot. Sharon was branded enemy of the state, and Steve and I were on the run for two years,” Sam said.

Bucky wanted to roll his eyes. Sam was so great at listing things that had happened, but had conveniently forgotten that Bucky had spent a good chunk of that time frozen in Wakanda, voluntarily suffering over a year of nonstop nightmares while Shuri tried to figure out how to deprogram him. What Bucky wouldn’t have given just to be on the run.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna live the rest of my life la vida loca,” Sam was saying.

Again, Bucky held back the urge to eye-roll or make a sarcastic comment. What did Sam think Bucky’s life was like, anyway? Maybe living on the run would be an upgrade from the dark apartment with no bed or anything. There had been that farmers’ market with the good plums in Romania…actually, Bucky couldn’t go back there. That was where the SWAT team had tried to kidnap him after the UN thing, and rule number one of being on the run was no going back to where you’d already been…but there’d be other farmers’ markets.

“We just got our ass handed to us by super soldiers, and we got nothing,” Sam sighed.

Bucky suddenly had a bad idea. There was another super solider out there…Isaiah was still around. Sam would like to meet Isaiah, Bucky was sure of it.

“Not entirely true,” Bucky said. “There’s someone you should meet.”

[occasionalstorytelling]

Summary: While the Teen Titans (Cyborg, Starfire, Beast Boy, and Raven) are taking down some of Slade's robots, they bump into a robot that isn't a robot--in fact, it's a kid, about their age, with black spiky hair and a domino mask under the Slade black-and-orange faceplate. It's Slade's apprentice, Dick Grayson, rescued from the circus after his parents' death when Batman wasn't around for him. Dick (or his villain name, Apprentice) has never tangled with heroes before, but he's not going to let Slade down. If only someone had warned him that nobody can stand up to the Teen Titans.

Excerpt:

“Okay, Titans, just like we planned,” Cyborg raised his sonic cannon and pointed it at the door.

Whoever Slade was, he’d sent villain after villain to destroy the Titans, but now he’d changed tactics, and was trying to steal a series of computer chips from tech companies around the city. The Titans had staked out Wayne Tech, ready for Slade’s next robotic army assault. Cyborg and Beast Boy were down on the main storage room floor, ready to fight off the creepy robots with their identical forms and blank masked faces. Starfire and Raven were both in flight, covering all possible other entrances and exits to the room.

They could hear a loud, repeating banging sound as the robots beat on the door. Starfire powered up, eye glowing green. Beast Boy nodded at Cyborg and turned into a T-Rex, ready for whatever was coming through.

“Here it comes!” Cyborg said. “Raven, shield us!”

Raven’s magic washed over them, a black shield against which shrapnel from the door scattered harmlessly. The shield flashed away, revealing an army of Slade’s robots standing in the doorway.

“Titans, go!” Cyborg yelled.

Beast Boy roared and stomped into the fray, tearing robotic limbs to shreds with his T-Rex teeth. Cyborg stood behind him, firing blast after blast of his sonic cannon into the robots. One of the robots was different than the others, he noticed. It was smaller, more agile. Most of the robots were big, lumbering tanks that would keep charging forward until they met their goal or got destroyed. This robot was light, and Cyborg watched it cartwheel one-handed out of the way of one of Beast Boy’s swiping attacks. Cyborg pivoted to face it, but it was fast. It almost danced around him, the way it moved. It leapt into the air, making a grab for the chip, when Cyborg finally caught it in the leg with the sonic cannon. It wasn’t a good enough hit, though. The robot still had both legs, and it kept coming. It reached into a pocket and threw something at Cyborg. The something exploded on contact, clogging up Cyborg’s sensors with smoke and ash. It almost destroyed his power cell in one hit.

“Star!” Cyborg coughed.

“I see it,” Starfire said. She flew over Cyborg’s head and attacked the smaller robot. It turned and ran from her, towards one of the walls. She threw starbolt after starbolt at it as it ran, then it ran up the wall a few steps, did a backflip over her head, and threw another something at her. The explosive force slammed Starfire into the wall as the robot jumped away, heading for the chip again. Cyborg fired another few sonic cannon shots, but it rolled and ducked like none of the other robots could.

Raven swooped down, putting herself between it and the chip. The robot froze for a second, as if sizing her up. “Azarath metrion zinthos!” Raven said, and the floor panels under the robot’s feet began to rise, shoving it away as they formed a protective wall around the chip. The robot pulled out another device, one that looked like a gun. It shot at Raven, and she threw up a shield to protect herself, but the robot hadn’t been aiming for her. It was a grappling hook, and the robot used the line attached to her makeshift wall to swing under it and grab the chip out of the security force field.

“It’s got the chip!” Cyborg yelled. “We can’t let it take it!”

The robot launched itself back towards the crushed lab door and the safety of numbers, but Beast Boy had left the robot army not much more than a pile of parts. He was now an octopus. “Got you!” Beast Boy said, grabbing the little robot with a few of his arms. The robot pressed a button on its belt and Beast Boy yelped and twitched as electricity flooded through him. He dropped the robot and collapsed, shifting back to himself as he did. Raven used her power to raise the rubble into the air, blocking the robot’s escape. The robot turned to face the Titans, the only one of its peers left standing. It pocketed the chip and raised both fists, ready for a fight.

“This one is…smaller than the others?” Starfire frowned.

“That doesn’t mean it’s any less of a threat,” Cyborg scowled. He fired another sonic cannon blast, but the robot had already moved. It had used the grappling hook to connect to a vent close to the ceiling, and was making a run for it. Before any of the Titans could stop it, it was inside the vent and on the move.

“Throw me!” Beast Boy said. Cyborg picked him up and launched him. Beast Boy turned into a mouse mid-flight, and landed inside the vent. “It’s heading for the roof!” Beast Boy yelled back, already on the move following the robot.

“Then let’s go get it,” Raven said. She raised her teleportation raven to encircle the three of them.

“Wait,” Cyborg frowned. “Did any of us get hit?”

“I for one was hit most strongly, but I am fine,” Starfire said.

“Beast Boy’s blood is green, Star’s is orange, Raven’s is black, mine is blue,” Cyborg said, tracing one finger through the sticky red pool on the chip platform. “So whose is this?”

“The robot… It’s not a robot,” Raven said.

“Do you think it is Slade himself?” Starfire asked.

“Cyborg to Beast Boy, it’s not a robot,” Cyborg spoke into the communicator. “We’ve got to try and take him alive. We’ll meet you at the roof.” He nodded at Raven, who cloaked them. They reappeared on the roof. It was night, and the huge WAYNE TECH sign glowed white in the darkness. The vent clattered open as Beast Boy emerged as a badger holding onto one of the not-robot’s legs with his teeth. The not-robot landed a solid kick to Beast Boy’s face and tried to escape, but it was surrounded by the Titans, with weapons hot. The not-robot raised a weird-looking gun of some sort, attached to his wrist, but Starfire swooped down and crunched it into useless dust with one hand. “I believe we have caught you,” she said, keeping her grip on his wrist. The not-robot suddenly tensed and threw her over his shoulder, slamming her head-first into the ground and leaving a crack in the rooftop cement. He ran at Cyborg, fists raised.

“Dude, you do not want to fight me!” Cyborg said. “We know you’re hurt, and your fists won’t—hey!” After a few futile punches from the not-robot, he’d given up and tried his electrical attack on Cyborg, who just barely managed to dodge it. The not-robot didn’t even pause, he just ran for the edge of the roof and threw himself off of it.

“Raven!” Cyborg yelled.

“Got him,” Raven said. Her eyes glowed white as she held up a sphere of energy, trapping the not-robot inside of it. He struggled against it for a few moments, tried out a few gadgets on it, before seeming to give up. He slumped on the floor of the sphere.

“So…what do we do now?” Beast Boy sat up, rubbing a bump on his head.

They took the not-robot back to the Tower, careful not to let him out of the sphere until they were ready. They dumped him in a secure room, but nobody wanted to be in the same place as him. He was tough, and probably strong enough to take any of them down in a one-on-one fight. The not-robot sat in the secure little cell, and the Titans watched him from a connected window.

“Should we…turn him over to the police?” Beast Boy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cyborg frowned. “We’ve been fighting Slade for so long, I don’t think we can afford to miss out on whatever we can learn from this guy.”

“Who is he?” Starfire asked.

“He’s not Slade, that’s for sure,” Raven grumbled. “Maybe Slade finally decided to find some new friends.”

“He looks like a robot,” Beast Boy shrugged. “With the faceplate and all…are we sure this isn’t just one of Slade’s fancy new toys?”

They looked down into the room, where the not-robot was ripping his shirt sleeve into pieces and tying them around his leg. There was a little red stain on the floor below him.

“Huh,” Beast Boy said. “Well…okay.”

“He is injured. Should we not help him?” Starfire asked.

“We can give it a try,” Cyborg shrugged.

“Not it!” Beast Boy tapped his nose. “I do not need to be alone with that guy. My head’s gonna hurt for a week.” He rubbed the bump where the not-robot had kicked him.

“Starfire, you think you can handle him?” Raven asked.

“Surely,” Starfire said. “Though I may require additional instruction in your Earth medicine.”

Loaded up with a box or two of medical supplies, Starfire opened the door to the room. Without even taking a moment to hesitate, the not-robot stood and leapt at the door, but Starfire held him back with a starbolt. The not-robot faltered, and took an awkward step back onto his hurt leg. The security door closed, the the not-robot slumped sadly.

“For your leg,” Starfire said, as brightly as she could. She held up the boxes of supplies. The not-robot didn’t move, he just seemed to stare at her from behind the faceless mask.

“You are hurt,” Starfire said, pointing at his leg. When he’d tried to escape, he’d ruined his own makeshift bandages. He took a hasty, nervous step away from her, holding up his fists.

“No, I am not here to fight you,” Starfire shook her head. “I am here to help. I will not hurt you.”

The not-robot froze for a long, horrible moment, considering her. Then he sat against the wall and tucked his hands behind his back, as if promising he wouldn’t hurt her, either. Starfire came closer and examined the injury.

“I will have to remove some of this material,” Starfire said. The pant leg was torn and bloody, and the armor was preventing her from seeing much more. The not-robot didn’t comment one way or another, so she removed the metal plate armor and used a thin beam of energy to slice away the torn fabric. The not-robot stayed very still as she did so, clearly not entirely convinced she wasn’t going to hurt him.

There was a long, angry slice of red where Cyborg’s sonic cannon had grazed him. “You are lucky,” Starfire smiled. “If you were less agile, you would be missing the whole leg.”

The not-robot continued his silence as she gently wiped the wound with a damp cloth and bandaged him. “There you go!” Starfire said. “Does that feel better?”

The not-robot nodded carefully. “…Thank you,” he said, after a long hesitation. His voice was muffled behind the mask.

“Oh! You can talk?” Starfire tried not to sound as surprised as she was.

The not-robot nodded slowly.

“Um…” Starfire looked up at the window for help. Cyborg just shrugged. “Um, my name is Starfire! It is nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m Apprentice,” the not-robot said. He took off the faceplate mask, revealing a secondary domino mask beneath it. He looked about 15 years old. His hair was black and spiky, but a little misshapen after being under the helmet for so long.

“It is…nice to meet you,” Starfire said again, awkwardly. She looked back up at the window, where the other Titans were kind of flailing around unhelpfully.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Apprentice asked dryly.

“What? Of course not,” Starfire said, confused. “We—”

“Don’t talk to me,” Apprentice said. He pulled his legs up and hugged them to his chest, with only a slight wince of pain as he did so.

“We can help you,” Starfire said. “Are you inured anywhere else?”

“You don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” Apprentice said, glaring at her from behind his knees.

“Perhaps I could—” she reached towards him and he visibly flinched away from her. She looked back up at the window once more. The Titans had disappeared. She squinted, trying to confirm this, when the door opened again and Cyborg came into the room, leaving Beast Boy and Raven outside. The Apprentice turned back into a ball of rage and energy until the door sealed shut, trapping him once more.

“My dude, we caught you, fair and square,” Cybrog crossed his arms. “You’re not getting out of here.”

“So I’m supposed to stop trying to escape?” Apprentice spat angrily.

“I’m Cyborg,” Cyborg said.

“I know who you are,” Apprentice glared. “I know who all of you are. The Teen Titans…” he scoffed and shook his head. “You’ll never stop Slade. No one can.”

“So are you a showoff, or do you have a broken arm?” Cyborg said.

“What?” Apprentice went white.

“You do all your fancy cartwheels, but you haven’t been putting weight on your right arm,” Cyborg said. “You keep it held close to your chest as much as you can. You’re doing it right now.”

Apprentice hastily dropped his arm and held it behind his back.

“Did we do that?” Cyborg said, a little softer. “I’m sorry. I thought you were a robot, and, you know…”

“Robots don’t stop until you break them,” Apprentice sighed. “Yeah…I know. But it’s fine, and anyway, you didn’t do it.”

“Wait, you came to the secure weapons facility with a broken arm? Why?!?!” Cyborg gestured angrily.

Apprentice just glared back at him in silence.

“We can hook you up with a cast,” Cyborg offered.

“I can’t fight in a cast,” Apprentice said.

“You can’t fight like this, either!” Cyborg gestured again. “What is your problem?!?”

“Cyborg,” Starfire said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “perhaps we should try a different approach.”

“I won’t talk,” Apprentice interrupted quickly. “I may not be a robot, but I won’t—I mean, I…I won’t…you can’t—”

“Woah, woah, slow down. We’re just trying to help you,” Cyborg said.

“No, you’re trying to soften me up so I give away Slade’s secrets,” Apprentice said. “I won’t do it. So you might as well kill me now, because I won’t talk, no matter what you do to me.”

“No one’s going to kill anyone,” Cyborg started to say, but the door opened again as Raven and Beast Boy entered with the x-ray machine, and Apprentice launched himself at the Titans with complete disregard for life and limb.

“Titans, careful!” Cyborg said. “Beast Boy, don’t—”

“I can take care of myself,” Apprentice wrenched his broken arm away from Beast Boy and ran for the door, which Raven sealed with her magic just before he got there. Apprentice beat his fist on the door, just once, and leaned against it heavily.

They were finally about to coax the dejected Apprentice into the x-ray machine. “Dude, you’re covered in broken bone scars,” Cyborg frowned as he looked at the readings. “Half your ribcage is messed up.”

Apprentice just grit his teeth in response, staring pointedly up at the ceiling.

“Slade sure sends you on a lot of missions, doesn’t he?” Beast Boy shrugged.

Apprentice refused to answer, he just kept glaring at the ceiling like it was personally responsible for his failures.

“I’m not sensing any kind of mind control,” Raven said, touching her temple as she felt around with her magic.

Apprentice snorted at that, laughing a very teenager-y laugh. The hollow sound echoed in the secure room. It made the Titans shiver. Apprentice wasn’t some evil adult villain, he was the same age as them. He might as well have been laughing at one of Beast Boy’s jokes, he sounded so normal.

“And I’m not detecting any kind of mechanical control, either,” Cyborg continued.

“Maybe I just work for Slade, okay?” Apprentice sighed. “Maybe, just like you all chose to be ‘heroes,’ I chose to work for Slade.”

“How did that happen?” Beast Boy scoffed.

Apprentice clammed up again.

“Wait, I’m picking up something,” Cyborg frowned. “A signal of some kind, originating outside the Tower. We—”

Apprentice rolled out of the examination bed, took a small device from his ear, and smashed it onto the ground with one heavily armored boot. He didn’t stop until the device was completely destroyed.

“—and, the signal’s gone,” Cyborg sighed, snapping the plate on his arm closed again. “Let me guess, that was so Slade could communicate with you?”

“I don’t have to talk to you,” Apprentice raised his fists.

“Let’s end this,” Raven frowned. She drew herself up to full height and stood in front of Apprentice, who glared up at her as he held onto his fighting stance. “Apprentice, was it?” Raven raised an eyebrow.

Apprentice just glared up at her and clenched his fists a little more tightly.

“Raven, you do not have to do this,” Starfire said quietly.

“If anyone has a better plan for figuring out what Slade wants before he blows up the whole city, I’m listening,” Raven said.

“Do it,” Cyborg nodded.

“Whatever it is, I won’t let you,” Apprentice said desperately, backing up against the wall. “I won’t talk. It won’t work. Don’t—what are you doing?”

“Best Boy, can you hold him?” Raven asked.

Beast Boy turned into a gorilla and grabbed Apprentice in a hug, holding him still.

“Don’t! Stop! Let me go!” Apprentice struggled in the tight grip.

“Ow! He bit me,” Beast Boy grumbled.

“Azarath metrion zinthos,” Raven breathed, and she closed her eyes as she drifted into Apprentice’s mind.

She opened her eyes and found herself standing in a circus tent. Everything was tinged brownish-grey, more with Apprentice’s emotion than with age. Raven looked around. It was a strange, creepy place. There was a tightrope, but the netting below it had been replaced with a pile of crushing gears. There were gears everywhere, Raven realized—they lined the floors of the animal cages, they made up platforms and audience seating…

It was deathly quiet, except for a repeated shing…thunk sound. “Hello?” Raven called. “Apprentice? Anyone there?”

The shing…thunk sound stopped for a moment, then it picked back up again. Raven followed it around a corner, to where a boy in a blue uniform sat on one of the giant gears. He had spiky black hair. Raven watched him draw a small, thin knife from one of his pockets—shing—and throw it across the room, where it landed in a wooden target with deadly accuracy—thunk.

“Apprentice?” Raven asked.

“Huh?” the boy looked up at her and smiled. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Are you Apprentice?” Raven asked.

“My name’s Dick,” the boy shook his head. He jumped down from the gear and did a lazy backflip towards her. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Raven,” Raven said. “What is this place?”

“You don’t know?” Dick’s smile dropped. He gave her a sad look. “You should probably go, then. You don’t belong here.”

“I can’t go until I find Apprentice,” Raven said. “I need to talk to him.”

“I can show you around, I guess,” Dick shrugged. He led her through the circus, pointing out the attractions as they went. If he noticed the creepy stillness, the emptiness of the circus, the dark energy flowing around them, he didn’t say anything, and it didn’t seem to dampen his smile.

“This is where I grew up,” Dick was saying. “I used to do an act with my parents, before.”

“Before what?” Raven asked.

“Just before,” Dick said, smile never dropping. Now it looked more like a facade, though. Like an act. Like he was performing for her benefit. “Anyway, after it, Master found me. He’s been training me. That’s what I was doing when you found me.”

“Training?” Raven asked.

“Yeah,” Dick said, and he moved quickly then, the way Apprentice had. Knives appeared in his hands like magic, and he threw them at her. She raised both arms to shield herself, but they whizzed harmlessly past her. She turned, and saw Dick had made a perfect outline of her in knives behind her on a wall.

“Can we have some applause for the audience volunteer?” Dick beamed and raised his hands wide, turning to face an invisible audience like he’d performed an excellent trick. Then a shadow slammed into him from the side, hitting him in the chest and knocking him to the floor. “Ouch,” Dick winced from where he’d landed in a pile of rubble.

“You know the rules,” Apprentice growled.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Dick hung his head.

“Get up,” Apprentice held out his hand and helped Dick to his feet. “Sorry doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” Dick said, accepting the help and standing up.

“Apprentice,” Raven said. “Why are you working for Slade?”

“I already said, I don’t have to talk to you,” Apprentice growled. “What makes you think I’d be more willing in here?”

“Tell me what he’s planning, and I’ll get out,” Raven said.

Apprentice crossed his arms. “It’s my mind. You’ll get out anyway.”

Dick pulled a short stick from a pocket, which extended into a long bow staff. “Sorry,” Dick smiled apologetically at Raven. Then he leapt at her with the staff.

Dick stabbed and jabbed at her again and again. It took all of her concentration to fend off his attacks, even though as far as she could tell, he didn’t even have powers. Dick somersaulted away from her and grabbed a chair and a whip. “The lions have nothing on you,” Dick grinned. Raven flew up into the air, out of his range.

“Now that’s what I call high-flying!” Dick said. He dropped the props and clambered up one of the tightrope poles like a monkey. “But can you do this?” He swung down at her, and kicked one of his shoes to reveal a knife coming out of one of the toes. Raven dodged it and used her magic to detach the ropes holding up the bar. Dick fell, and Apprentice leapt into the air to catch him before he hit the gears below.

“Look, I don’t know what Slade’s planning. He doesn’t tell me that stuff. Will you just get out of here?” Apprentice set Dick down and glared up at Raven.

“No. Why are you working for him?” Raven asked.

“There was nobody else after,” Dick said.

“Shut up,” Apprentice said.

“Slade said he could be like a father to me,” Dick said.

“I said shut up,” Apprentice growled at him.

“He protected me,” Dick said, looking up at Raven.

“He’s going to hurt a lot of people,” Raven said. “That’s why my friends and I need to stop him.”

“This is why we’re not talking to you!” Apprentice said. “You’re just going to stop me too, like you stopped all those robots.”

“No…the Titans don’t kill people,” Raven said.

“Oh, sure you don’t, you just invade minds and try to poison me against Slade,” Apprentice rolled his eyes. “Much nicer.”

“Master could hurt a lot of people, though,” Dick said quietly. “He cares about you, and he still hurts you. Imagine what he could do to people he didn’t care about.”

“You know that was for training!” Apprentice rounded on Dick angrily. “Once I’m good enough at fighting, he won’t be able to hurt me anymore. That’s the whole point.”

“Slade can’t hurt you while you’re with the Titans,” Raven said.

“Wanna bet?” Apprentice scowled.

“If that’s why you’re working for him, because you’re scared of him—”

“I’m not scared,” Dick said, at the same time Apprentice said “Of course I’m scared.” They looked at each other, then both looked up at Raven.

“Keep talking,” Dick said.

“Shut up,” Apprentice said.

Raven made a solid attempt. “You don’t have to do what Slade says anymore. You’re safe from him here, we can—”

“We’re not listening!” Apprentice roared. He grabbed Dick by the shoulders and threw him into the gears, then leapt down after him. “This is what happens to us because of you! You make us weak!” Apprentice pummeled Dick with punch after punch, not giving him time to get up.

“Stop it!” Raven swooped down and tried to pull them apart.

“You’re the one who’s weak!” Dick got a grip on Apprentice and pushed him into the pile of gears. As they fought, they began sinking into it, like quicksand.

“I’m not the one who says ‘thank you’ to my captors,” Apprentice pulled Dick’s hair.

“I hate you!” Dick jabbed an elbow into Apprentice’s side.

“I hate you!” Apprentice got the upper hand and put it around Dick’s throat, squeezing, seeming not even to notice as they sunk deeper between the gears.

“Let him go!” Raven yelled, trying to get a grip on them with her magic, but they slid out of her grasp. She tried to grab Apprentice’s shoulders, but his head turned around backwards and he grabbed her with both hands, pulling her down into the gears. She struggled to pull away, but more hands appeared, grabbing her, pulling her down into the darkness and the crushing weight—

“Get out!” Apprentice yelled, and Raven opened her eyes. She was back in the secure room with the Titans and Apprentice, still being restrained by Beast Boy.

“Slade can’t hurt you in here,” Raven said. “He can’t even hear you.” She gestured at the broken communications device where Apprentice had crushed it on the floor. “Why are you so desperate to get back to him?”

“He’s all I have,” Apprentice said, giving her a pleading look behind the domino mask. “Why won’t you let me go?”

“He’s not training you for anything, he’s just using you as a punching bag,” Raven said. “At best, you’re a human shield.”

“I’m not listening to you!” Apprentice screamed and slammed his head backwards into Beast Boy’s forehead.

“Ow!” Beast Boy couldn’t keep hold of him, and Apprentice dropped to the floor. He lunged at the door, trying to figure out how to open it.

“You’ll never get out,” Cyborg said. “That door is reinforced with the best security I know how to make. You’d have to be some kind of genius to hack out of—”

The door opened and Apprentice bolted down the hall like a scared rabbit.

“Get him!” Cyborg said.

“What happened to ‘he’ll never get out?” Raven raised an eyebrow.

“We can update the security after we catch him!” Cyborg groaned.

Apprentice was learning his way around their powers. He dodged starbolts, anticipated Beast Boy’s animal changes, and sealed himself in their living room, jamming the door mechanism to buy himself some time.

He had to shield his eyes against how bright it was. The room was basically all windows. He went to their massive communications screen and controls, trying to open a line to Slade.

“Slade, it’s me,” Apprentice said. “I need help. The Titans got me, but I can escape, I know it. I need—”

“Whatever you need, you must hope the Titans will provide it,” Slade’s face appeared on the screen, larger than life and imposing as hell. “You are no longer welcome, my old apprentice.”

“What? But Slade, I did everything just as you said. I didn’t tell them anything. I’ve even still got the chip!” Apprentice took it out of his pocket and held it up.

“You’ve been with the Titans for multiple hours now. That is more than enough time for you to have been compromised,” Slade said. “We had a good run, but I’m afraid I can no longer trust you.”

“Master, you can trust me,” Apprentice said, almost in tears. “Please, I—”

“If I see you again, I will kill you, Dick,” Slade said. “Goodbye.”

“No,” Apprentice fell to his knees as the computer screen turned off. “Wait, don’t…” But it was too late. Slade was gone, and he didn’t want Apprentice back, even if he could finish escaping from the Tower. Which didn’t seem likely, as the Titans were already busting down the door to the living room.

Apprentice stared down at the chip. If he’d just refused the mission to go after it, the pain from Slade’s punishment would already have gone away by now. He clutched it close to his chest. Surely, he could still deliver it. Even if Slade didn’t want him, he’d want the chip, right?

“Drop it,” Cyborg said, pointing the sonic cannon at him. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. There would be no more orders from Slade anymore. Apprentice dropped the chip and stared down at it. In a matter of hours, Apprentice had become less valuable to Slade than this piece of computer technology. Apprentice was envious. He wanted to smash it into a million pieces.

“Hands in the air,” Cyborg said.

Apprentice obeyed. “This is your fault,” he said quietly, staring at Raven. “If you hadn’t captured me—”

“Then Slade would be one step closer to taking over the city,” Raven said.

“Guys, I think we really took out Slade’s second in command!” Beast Boy beamed. “Titans rule!”

“So,” Apprentice sighed heavily, hands still raised. “What are you going to do with me now?” Unfortunately, it was seeming increasingly unlikely that they were going to kill him.

“Um…” Beast Boy looked at Cyborg.

“That’s…a good question,” Cyborg said.

Apprentice just sat there, motionless, keeping his hands raised, staring down at the chip. Apparently, he had all the time in the world to wait for their answer. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go.

I hope you enjoyed! This was just chapter 1. You can read the rest on my AO3, @OccassionalStorytelling. Link above!

[occasionalstorytelling]

AU where Batman never adopts Dick Grayson after his parents’ deaths, so he gets adopted by Slade instead and takes the villain name Apprentice. He goes up against the Teen Titans, but he should’ve known that NOBODY beats the Teen Titans. So they have no choice but to capture him and rescue him from Slade themselves, don’t they?

Chapter Two is live as of 3/8/2021

[occasionalstorytelling]

Chapter Four is up and I’ve changed my mind, this isn’t cursed. I’ve secretly been a genius this whole time

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423475

Happy Valentine’s Day, who wants to read a fic where Spock is a prince and Jim is his Orion slave, only Jim ISN’T Orion and Spock doesn’t want a slave, but they have to pretend bc reasons

[occasionalstorytelling]

Chapter Two is live! It’s like a fake dating AU where they eventually fall in love, but instead of pretending to date, they are pretending that Jim is an Orion slave

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423475

Happy Valentine’s Day, who wants to read a fic where Spock is a prince and Jim is his Orion slave, only Jim ISN’T Orion and Spock doesn’t want a slave, but they have to pretend bc reasons

[occasionalstorytelling]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423475

Happy Valentine’s Day, who wants to read a fic where Spock is a prince and Jim is his Orion slave, only Jim ISN’T Orion and Spock doesn’t want a slave, but they have to pretend bc reasons

[occasionalstorytelling]

Five likes and I’ll finally get around to writing the Zukka Mulan au I planned where Zuko has to pretend to be a princess so Azula doesn’t have to go to trade negotiations with the water tribe, only to fall in love with his handsome guide to water tribe life, Sokka

[occasionalstorytelling]

...I may or may not have banged out an explicit Stucky story set to the tune of “Be My Baby” by the Ronettes.

I’ll make you happy, baby / Just wait and see / For every kiss you give me / I’ll give you three

[occasionalstorytelling]

Complete! 23k words total, I’m v proud

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988836

So...I’m making another attempt at writing this. The vibe is turning out surprisingly “Star Trek novel,” and I’m actually really enjoying it!

[occasionalstorytelling]

I just posted chapter 12 of 18 today, and honestly? I’m so proud. It’s going so well!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988836

So...I’m making another attempt at writing this. The vibe is turning out surprisingly “Star Trek novel,” and I’m actually really enjoying it!

[occasionalstorytelling]

Reblog for different crowd

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988836

So...I’m making another attempt at writing this. The vibe is turning out surprisingly “Star Trek novel,” and I’m actually really enjoying it!

[occasionalstorytelling]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988836

So...I’m making another attempt at writing this. The vibe is turning out surprisingly “Star Trek novel,” and I’m actually really enjoying it!