#(his heart was not stable enough for him to go under for surgery

[crvstybowlofcereal]

Tell me about your tattoos if you have them and or what tattoos you want

i have two tattoos, and i plan to get more!

i got the first one two days after my 18th birthday, i had been planning it forever. it's a memorial piece for my first dog Rocky. I got it on the outside of my thigh, very high up so most of it is covered when i wear shorts.

i covered up the bit with his face because i dont like to share it very much, im terrified of the idea of someone finding a picture of it and getting the exact same tattoo because that's my dog and he meant the world to me. i know its a bit of an irrational fear, and i dont worry about it with my other designs, but i try not to share it online fully, but heres a different picture of him!

the flowers underneath are red roses, lilies, and forget me nots, for their specific meanings

the next tattoo i got just a couple months ago for a 7 year friend-iversary

its based on several layers of inside jokes

my long-term tattoo goal is to fill out my leg like a sleeve made of individual tattoos. i also intend to design all of my own tattoos.

some other ones i have in mind for my next ones are - a ghost (i always draw sheet ghosts the same way) - the mystery machine from scooby doo - the irken invader symbol from invader zim - a swarm of bats (probably on my inner thigh) - moon phases - lavender (and amethyst?)

more context for things in the tags

[steddieas-shegoes]

Requests: Steve adopting an abandoned child post earthquake in Hawkins after the spring break from hell. And him realizing all the ways he was hurt as a child due to his parents neglect. And how he overcomes it and raises his baby-child with gentleness, warmth, patience and love

OKAY GENUINELY I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS PROMPT AND IT STILL WASN'T AS MUCH AS I WANTED TO DO. FAIR WARNING: this is an emotional roller coaster. It ends HAPPY. But there are a lot of sad and bittersweet moments and feelings leading up to that moment. There is the mention of child neglect, and that can be difficult for some people to read, even with a happy ending, so please keep that in mind before starting this. Also, this is not how the law or CPS works at all, and it wasn't in the 80s either, but this is fiction and I do what I want. I hope someone can continue this idea somewhere because it is so special to me now. This is 6200 words of me not knowing how to wrap it up with a bow. I hope you love this my darling, thank you for this one. - Mickala ❤️

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

Steve spent the last 12 hours pacing the waiting room floor at the hospital. He’d promised the kids he would stay until there was an update on Eddie and Max, and their parents had insisted they go home after they’d been quickly attended to for their minor injuries.

Max was stable, but not awake. They weren’t sure if she ever would be again. Steve passed that on to Nancy so she could call everyone.

Eddie finally made it out of surgery, alive, but barely.

He’d lost a lot of blood and they weren’t able to give him a transfusion until Wayne got there to donate.

It was touch and go for another few hours in recovery.

But things calmed down a bit, his heart rate settling at a normal rate, his oxygen maintaining where it should be with the mask on, the bleeding stopped and his blood regenerating on its own.

He wasn’t awake, but he was alive.

That was enough for Wayne and Hopper to kick him out of the hospital and make him go home.

“Shower. Eat. Sleep. In that order, Harrington,” Hopper said, the gruffness in his voice overruled by the concern.

He was up to speed on everything he missed, and he wasn’t thrilled about how much Steve had put on the line for everyone.

So Steve left, even though he wanted to stay, needed to have eyes on Eddie, on Max.

He had to trust that they were being taken care of.

He made it home, did two of the three things Hopper told him to. His shower was long and hot, finally able to wash away the blood and dirt and Upside Down particles that clung to his skin for the last couple of days. His dinner was quick and unfulfilling, but frozen meals usually are.

And then he did try to sleep. He tried on the couch first, his usual go-to spot after crises. Then he tried to go to his bed, hoping the weight of his comforter would help lull him to sleep.

But two hours later, he was still wide awake.

So he got up, put on jeans and a sweater, and made his way to the school, where emergency services had been set up.

It was chaotic, still very little organization amongst groups. The firefighters had been dispatched all over town, and most medical professionals had been called into the hospital or to help EMTs on calls. A handful of teachers had been put in charge of the check-in process here, making sure anyone who came through was on a list of survivors first, then sent to help where they were needed if they were able.

Steve was able, so he put his name on the list and was told to stand with a group at the far corner of the gym. Everyone in this group was waiting for a dispatch crew of firefighters to come get them to help locate survivors.

They were given vests, gloves, and helmets to wear, and given quick safety briefings. They were told not to move any rubble, that if they suspected someone was under some, to call for the professionals. They were just extra eyes and ears because everyone was stretched too thin for a disaster of this magnitude and help from local towns was slow to arrive.

Steve figured this would help him, if he stayed busy and managed to help people, he wouldn’t think about how helpless he was when it came to Max and Eddie.

The first location they were dropped at was a small neighborhood on the outskirts of town. Most of the homes had been completely demolished, cracks in the ground swallowing pieces of them. If there were any survivors here, they would be in desperate need of medical attention.

But after nearly four hours of searching, only one person was found, their leg trapped under a large wooden beam. The leg was broken, but they were fine other than that.

Steve felt relief that nothing more serious had happened there.

But the second area was worse.

It wasn’t a neighborhood, just a small wooded area surrounding two homes a good distance apart. Surprisingly, the homes were still standing, but everything around them was destroyed. Fires had been only recently extinguished, downed trees and power lines blocking most of the driveway and road in front of them.

“This should be relatively quick, both homes are empty and cars are gone, so we think everyone managed to get out safely, but we do need to be sure,” the firefighter in charge of this group said before leading them forward.

The smaller of the two houses was empty, though a mess, like the occupants had rushed to pack necessities and threw anything else on the ground as they rushed to get out.

The other home, though, was surprisingly clean. Kept up in a way Steve wouldn’t have expected for the panic most people showed while escaping town.

Everyone assumed maybe the occupants hadn’t even been home when the quake hit.

But Steve decided to go upstairs anyway.

Something was telling him this wasn’t normal.

It felt familiar in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge yet.

No one else followed him, all of the volunteers congregating in the living room area to discuss their next location before heading back to the school for a break.

Steve followed his gut, and his gut told him to check the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He opened the door, not surprised to see that nothing seemed strange at first glance.

Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, under the bed.

He would’ve checked there anyway, that’s where he would have hidden in this kind of situation, too.

“I guess this place is all clear,” Steve said, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone downstairs yet, but loud enough to be heard by the person under the bed.

“Wait!”

It was a kid, Steve figured as much based on the items on the desk in the corner and the poster on the wall.

The small boy crawled out from under the bed, panic on his face.

“Are you gonna take me to my parents?” The boy asked, lips wobbling.

“I’m gonna try. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”

“Elliott.”

“Nice to meet you, Elliott. How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Jesus Christ. Where had his parents even been? Why weren’t they looking for him?

He hoped they were on their way back and just stuck trying to get into town.

But a part of him had already known that wasn’t true. A part of him knew the moment they pulled into the area that he’d find someone left here, someone who shouldn’t have ever been alone.

“Alright, Elliott, let’s get you back to the school. We can put your name on the list so your parents can find you easier, okay? I can stay with you until they get here.”

“I don’t know if they will.”

Steve’s heart stopped for a moment.

Sure, his parents never came back after the Upside Down bullshit, but he’d been a teenager and adult. They probably assumed he wasn’t involved in any of it and was fine.

But Elliott was nine. Even his parents would have come back for him at that age.

They never should have left him alone to begin with, but even they knew the trouble they’d be in for leaving him at that age after a fucking earthquake.

“Of course they will, buddy. It’s just hard getting into Hawkins right now, you’ll see on our way back.”

He placed his hand on Elliott’s shoulder, not surprised when he tensed up under him for a moment before he relaxed.

Steve hadn’t been used to casual touch until he met Nancy.

But Elliott deserved to feel cared for right now, so he kept his hand there, let him get used to it for a moment, and then guided him out the door and down the stairs.

Most of the group had moved back outside, but a few people remained.

One of the few women in the group looked over at his entrance, her jaw dropping when she saw he had a child with him.

“Oh my God!”

Steve held his hand up, knowing Elliott probably didn’t want to draw a lot of attention to himself.

“He’s okay. He managed to find a safe place to hide. His parents might be looking for him though so we should get him back,” Steve said calmly.

No one crowded him, but the firefighter waiting by the van that was transporting everyone checked his heart and lungs, made sure he didn’t have any visible wounds or injuries.

Elliott didn’t let go of Steve the entire time, his hand gripping his forearm like he was terrified to lose him among the group.

Steve didn’t try to pull away, not once.

He knew Elliott needed someone. He could be that someone for him.

—-------------

When they arrived back at the school, they put his name on the list, and since he was a minor, they had him go to one of the classrooms that was being watched over by security while they tried to contact his parents.

He told them they left for a business trip over a week ago, he didn’t know when they would be back, and his aunt checked on him every morning, but he hadn’t seen her since the quake.

Steve stood by as he spoke to the responsible adults, not letting Elliott out of his sight.

Elliott begged for Steve to come with him to wait while they tried to locate his parents, so he did.

He realized pretty quickly that Elliott must not have slept last night; He curled against Steve’s side on the floor almost immediately and fell asleep, light snores making Steve smile to himself.

The floor was hard, the wall behind him was somehow harder, but he wouldn’t move short of another emergency.

They stayed like that for hours, kids coming and going as more were found and reunited with their families.

Elliott was the youngest one left in the room, all the other kids high school age.

When one of the men from the group he was in earlier came in the room to get another kid, he asked if there was any update on Elliott.

“Nah, they’re still trying to find them. The aunt um…” The guy looked nervously down at the sleeping Elliott. “She didn’t make it. Was on her way to try to get him when another crack hit the road she was driving on, car crashed. They contacted the dad’s business and were told he’s out of the country and won’t be returning calls until next week.”

“How long are they gonna make him stay here while they figure it out?”

“No clue, man. I’ll ask someone.”

But he didn’t come back and Elliott deserved something better than the floor to sleep on.

“Hey, buddy,” Steve said, gently nudging his shoulder to wake him up. “Sorry, just gotta run and ask someone something real quick.”

Elliott grabbed his shirt, holding it in his fist tightly.

“Don’t go! Please,” he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

Steve’s heart broke.

He’d been this kid for so much of his childhood, practically begging people to stick around so he didn’t have to be drenched in loneliness again.

He knew he would be right back, but to Elliott, especially after the quake, he probably felt like anyone who left would be gone forever.

“Come with me. We’ll find you some dinner while I find out how things are going.”

He stood up, his legs numb from sitting on the floor so long, and helped Elliott find his balance after waking up so abruptly.

They left the room, the security nodding them on when he saw Steve was with him, and walked down the hall to the cafeteria area.

They were serving ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of chips, and water for everyone. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

If he could find a phone, maybe he could get Robin to bring him and Elliott more food.

Elliott shyly thanked the person handing out the meals, and Steve slowly guided him to an empty table while his eyes searched for anyone he recognized.

He almost did a happy dance when he saw Dustin and Claudia across the room.

“Hey, that’s actually my friend and his mom. Can you wait here while I grab them?”

Elliott nodded nervously, clearly only letting him walk away because he would be within his sight the entire time.

Steve ran over to them, wincing slightly when the bite on his stomach started pulsing. Probably should take it easier while that healed.

“Dustin!” Steve exclaimed as he got closer.

Dustin’s head shot around, smile lighting up his face as he realized it was Steve.

“Dude! Everyone’s been trying to find you for hours. Have you been here all day?”

“Kinda. I came to help with searching and I found a kid earlier. They’re trying to find his parents, but he’s been kind of attached to me.”

“Damn, I hope they find them soon. Phone lines keep going down. You seen Hopper come by yet?”

“No, has he gotten any sleep yet?”

“Doubt it. Ma, do you have any cookies left for Steve?”

Claudia came bustling over, digging through her purse as she walked.

“Oh, I’m sure I do! Hi, Steve, dear. Hope you’re doing okay in all this madness.”

“I’m doing alright,” Steve gave her a small smile as she managed to find the cookies and hand them over. “Hey, do you know the parents of Elliott Devers?”

“Oh, I know of them, sure. Only met them once, they never seem to be in town. He’s a sweet boy, his aunt seems to take care of him most of the time.”

Steve filled her in on what he knew so far, that Elliott’s aunt had died, that no one could reach his parents, that he’d been alone in the house for at least a full day before Steve found him.

That Elliott didn’t seem to want to be separated from Steve.

Dustin was watching him talk, eyebrows furrowing like he was trying to think of something.

“Wait, his dad’s the guy who was under investigation for tax evasion, fraud, and identity theft, isn’t he?”

Steve’s stomach dropped.

His brain made connections that only children of rich parents can in a matter of seconds.

His parents ran to another country on “business” because that was the only way they were allowed to leave while he was under investigation. No one could reach them because they gave fake information so they could go into hiding. Because he was guilty of all of the things he was under investigation for and didn’t want to lose everything and end up in prison.

Fuck.

Claudia must have realized the same thing, a deep frown settling on her face.

“Elliott is the boy sitting at that table?” She asked as she pointed towards him.

He was watching them as he ate, eyes wide as he kept glancing around the room.

Steve nodded.

“If they ran, and they aren’t coming back, where will he go?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure he’ll be placed with a family who can take him until they can figure out a more permanent place, but that may be hard right now with so many people leaving Hawkins. He may have to leave town,” Claudia said, though Steve could tell she was trying to figure out how to take him in, even if only for a few days.

“What would I have to do to keep him while they keep looking?”

“Oh, that’s a question for Hopper, sweetie. I’m not sure you’d fit the requirements, even though I think he’d be very lucky to get to stay with you,” Claudia touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze in comfort.

“Is he coming by?”

“Hopper? Yes, he just got done at the hospital handling some things for Edward,” Claudia said.

“Eddie, Ma, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“The tone! Watch it!” Steve said before Claudia could respond.

She smirked at Steve, then gave Dustin a look that said she wasn’t going to listen to him and walked away.

“I gotta go with her, she’s bringing dinner to Wayne at the hospital.”

“Is Eddie awake?”

“Not yet, but they think it could be anytime. They said the drugs in his system are heavy enough to keep him out for a while.”

“But he seems okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Max?”

He almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“No news.”

Steve nodded once, acknowledging that Dustin didn’t want to talk about it right now, that it was tough to even think about how she was probably not gonna wake up anytime soon if ever.

“Hey, come by my house tomorrow, okay? We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

“Sure.”

Steve gave Dustin a quick hug before making his way back to Elliott, who looked like he might start crying any moment.

“Hey, buddy. Sorry that took longer than I thought, but…” Steve pulled the bag of cookies from behind his back with a smile. “I got cookies! Claudia makes the best chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. You’ll love them.”

Elliott relaxed a little, smiling up at Steve as he reached for the bag of cookies.

“Is she nice? She looks nice.”

“She’s awesome. She always brings me soup if I’m sick.”

“Is that what moms do? My aunt sometimes does, but she doesn’t know how to make the kind I like.”

Steve bit his lip.

“What kind do you like?”

“My favorite is tomato and noodles. She can only make chicken noodle. It’s okay, but sometimes it has a funny taste.”

Steve smiled at him, glad he was at least talking, even if what he was saying was heartbreaking.

“I’m sure Claudia can make you some tomato and noodles. I’ll call and ask.”

“But not now, right?”

Elliott’s voice filled with panic, his eyes widening.

“No, I’m staying with you right now. The chief should be here soon and we can figure out what’s going on, okay?”

“Like, the chief of police? You know him?”

“Yeah, Hopper’s nice. Don’t let his mean face scare you. He’s kind of a teddy bear.”

“Excuse you, I’m not a teddy bear. I’m a grizzly bear,” Hopper said behind Steve.

Elliott laughed, and Hopper tried to hide a small smile. Teddy bear.

“Are you Elliott?” Elliott nodded. “Can we go talk for a few minutes just us? I promise Steve can wait right outside the door.”

Hopper gave Steve a look that said he was about to ruin this kid’s day as if it didn’t already suck enough.

“Um, can Steve come in the room too?”

“If you want him to, sure.”

“I want him to.”

“Okay then, let’s go.”

Steve grabbed everything off the tables, throwing the trash away on the walk towards the teacher’s lounge area that had been set up for the cops to conduct phone calls and interviews as needed.

It was empty now, probably thanks to Hopper taking control quickly.

They sat down around a table, Elliott’s hand finding Steve’s quickly.

“Alright, Elliott, so I have a few questions and then I have some news,” Hopper started, his voice maintaining no emotion the way he’d been taught.

“Okay.”

“How long have your parents been gone this time?”

“I dunno. A week, maybe a little longer.”

“And you were alone that whole time?”

Elliott looked to Steve, like he needed help to answer, but Steve just smiled at him and mouthed ‘just be honest, you’re not in trouble.’

“Most of the time. My aunt came to check on me in the mornings and bring me food for the day.”

“Aunt Janice?”

“Yeah.”

“Bud, I’m sorry to tell ya this, but your Aunt Janice was in a really bad accident and didn’t make it,” Hopper’s voice started to show some emotion, but Steve squeezed Elliott’s hand so he wouldn’t focus on that.

“She died?”

“Yeah, bud. I’m sorry.”

“But who will bring me food in the morning?”

Steve couldn’t do this. Holy shit, he could not do this. How was Hopper able to do this?

“Well, we still haven’t been able to call your parents. Do you know exactly where they might be?”

“I don’t know. They don’t tell me where they go.”

Steve and Hopper looked at each other.

Hopper knew Steve had been in a similar position when he was younger, but no one checked on him. Hopper had often been the one to show up at his door during his early teens to make sure he had food and wasn’t hurt.

“What if he stayed with me until you find them?” Steve asked Hopper.

Elliott turned to him.

“I can stay with you?” He asked excitedly.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. There’s a process for this kinda thing,” Hopper began.

“Then start the process. He’s staying with me,” Steve said firmly, not caring if he sounded rude, not caring if Hopper hated him for it, just wanting Elliott safe and in a house instead of a school converted to a disaster relief zone.

Hopper eyed him up and down, and the way Elliott was holding his hand and bouncing excitedly in his chair.

“Alright, fine. But it’s a week by week basis until we can get ahold of his parents,” Hopper said directly to Steve.

“Steve, do you have a microwave? I make popcorn so good, like so good. I can make it tonight even!”

Steve smiled at him, and then at Hopper, who was watching with a fond smile.

“I’m sure I have what you need to make some popcorn, buddy.”

“You wait here, I have to get the release from CPS. They’re in the front office.”

Elliott went on and on about all the things they could do while he stayed with him, and when he found out Steve had a pool, he didn’t even stop for breath as he explained that he was the best swimmer when they took a field trip last year to the pool and that he could probably even beat Steve in a race.

Steve just smiled and agreed.

—-----------------------

A week with Elliott went by, and it was easy.

Steve was terrified how quickly he just fit in.

He fit in at his house, making it feel like a home, with his rambunctious energy and nightly popcorn making.

He fit in with the kids, showing interest in D&D even though he’d never heard of it before.

He even fit with Robin, who kind of hated kids, but thought Elliott was probably the cutest kid she’d ever met.

One night, while Dustin and Mike were showing Elliott how to build a character, Robin asked him the question he’d been dreading.

“What happens if he can’t stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m assuming they’ll find his parents soon, and when they do, he’ll have to go live with them again. Or at least his mom since his dad will be in prison for life at this rate. How are you gonna handle that?”

He had no clue. He wanted Elliott to have parents who stuck around, and who loved him, and let him pop popcorn every night.

But realistically, even if they did come back, that wasn’t what his life would look like.

His life would be a lot like Steve’s was, sad and lonely, and he didn’t deserve that.

“I’m gonna fight for him. I don’t know what that means yet, but I know that whatever is best for him is what I’m gonna make sure happens.”

Robin wrapped him up in a hug, her arms squeezing him to her.

“You’re gonna be a great dad someday.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

But maybe he could believe it.

—-------------------------------------

Steve was the first person to come to the hospital when Eddie woke up, Elliott excitedly chattering from the backseat of his car the whole way.

It was helping Steve’s nerves, but he knew he wasn’t giving Elliott the attention he needed.

“Sorry, buddy. What was that?”

Elliott was quiet for a moment.

“Are you worried?”

Steve smiled at him in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel tight.

“A little. You remember how everyone told you about Eddie? How he saved us all and almost died?”

“Yeah, he’s a hero!”

“He is. But he’s still healing and I’m just worried about how hurt he is.”

“Oh. So we can’t hug him or hold his hand to help him feel better?” Elliott groaned. “Oh man, I was gonna bring him popcorn!”

Steve laughed quietly to himself.

“I think he’s on a pretty strict diet right now, buddy. Maybe when he’s out of the hospital we can have him over for a movie and you can make him some.”

“When will he be out?”

“I dunno yet. I think it might still be a little while.”

“Will I still live with you then?”

Steve gulped.

“I hope so.”

“Me too,” Elliott said quietly, staring out the window as they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

His mood was a bit somber as they walked through the halls of the bustling hospital, going to the fifth floor in the elevator where Eddie’s room was.

When he got to the right room, he knocked on the door even though it was open, smiling in at Wayne.

“Hey, come in, Steve. Eddie, Steve’s here,” Wayne said as he turned to Eddie, who was awake, but mostly horizontal still in bed.

“Steve?” Eddie’s rough voice asked.

“Hey, Eds. Hope it’s okay I brought my buddy, Elliott, to say hi. He’s heard a lot about you and Dustin and Mike and Will have been teaching him D&D for when you get out of here.”

Steve walked close to the bed, holding Elliott’s hand. He seemed shy suddenly, which wasn’t like him, not since he was living with Steve.

“Hey, Elliott. You keepin’ Steve company?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wayne snorted.

“Oh, son, you don’t have to be formal with Eddie. He’s barely older than you in his head.”

Eddie glared at Wayne, but smiled at Elliott.

“Seriously, bud, just Eddie is fine. So you ready for a campaign?”

“I dunno. Dustin said maybe I can play with you guys?”

“‘Course you can. I have so many ideas when I get outta here.”

Eddie turned to Steve and gave him a smirk.

“As long as we can host at your place?”

Steve blushed, remembering the last time he had Eddie’s full attention on him, back when his words “make him pay” sounded a lot like “I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that. When do you get out of here?”

Elliott was loosening his anxious grip on Steve’s hand as the nerves wore off.

“They said not for a couple weeks, but I’m gonna walk right out of here the moment I can feel my legs again.”

Elliott let out a giggle and Eddie smiled.

“You can help me, right? I may need some support to run for it.”

“No! You have to stay until you’re all better, goofball.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, Elliott. You’re much wiser than he is,” Wayne said with a roll of his eyes.

Elliott moved closer to the side of the bed, his hands folded in front of him.

“Um. Could I hold your hand? So you feel better?”

Steve was going to cry.

Eddie kind of looked like he might, too.

“Yeah, I could use a hand to hold, bud. Thanks for offering. Wayne’s hand gets sweaty, but don’t tell him I said that,” he whispered the last part to Elliott, but loud enough so everyone could still hear.

Elliott held his hand, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed.

He told Eddie all about the character Dustin and Mike helped him build, about how they might run a practice campaign with him soon. He told him about the popcorn he would make for the first time he came over.

Steve watched fondly, realizing quickly that this wasn’t something he could lose.

Not Elliott, and not Eddie either.

—-----------------------------

Elliott’s parents were still missing.

It’s been almost a month, Eddie was released from the hospital a day ago, and Elliott was still living with Steve.

The longer he stayed, the more it would hurt if he left.

They got into a routine.

School had been canceled for the rest of the year, so they mostly just made breakfast together, went in the pool, hung out with the kids, visited Eddie, played basketball, and had popcorn every night.

Steve knew Elliott was happy, he knew he was happy.

He was terrified it would end.

They were hosting Eddie for a movie night, and Elliott was more excited than ever.

Steve was a nervous wreck.

He was in charge of making sure Eddie didn’t overdo it, making sure he took his nighttime medications, and getting him to bed at a reasonable hour. According to Wayne, his pills made him tired and he would fight sleep if you didn’t force him into a bed.

Steve spent the day cleaning, baking, and preparing.

By dinner time, when Eddie would be arriving, Elliott was starting to question it.

“What’s wrong? Do you not want Eddie to come over?”

“No! Of course I want him to come over.”

“So…why are you being like this?”

“I’m…”

“Is it because you love Eddie?”

Steve choked on air.

“What?”

“Or do you think Eddie doesn’t love you?”

“Elliott, gonna say a big kid word right now. What the hell do you mean?”

Elliott rolled his eyes.

“You want to make Eddie feel happy and safe here, and you always get this stupid look on your face when we visit him, and then when I asked Wayne if you two were boyfriends he laughed and said ‘probably soon.’ So you love him, right?”

Steve’s mouth was working open and shut, open and shut, no noise coming out.

“Two boys can be together, you know. Robin told me.”

“She what? When?”

“When she told me two girls can be together.”

Steve put his face in his hands and couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief he let out as Elliott touched his back to comfort him.

“Did you not know you loved Eddie?”

“Uh. I guess I didn’t know that other people thought I loved Eddie.”

“Oh. So are you gonna be boyfriends?”

“I…I don’t know, buddy. Maybe.”

“I think you should be. Then it might be like I have two dads.”

What?

What.

“What?”

Elliott pulled his hand away and suddenly seemed nervous.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Steve couldn’t handle the look on Elliott’s face.

“Elliott, look at me, buddy.” He waited for Elliott to look at him. “Is that what you think of me as? Like your dad?”

Elliott nodded.

“Come here,” Steve said, pulling Elliott into a hug. “You’re the best kid, you know that?”

Elliott nodded, and Steve let out a wet laugh.

“Uh, everything okay in here?” Eddie said from the doorway.

“Eddie!” Elliott let out, and despite the mood of the previous conversation, he was smiling from ear to ear.

Eddie smiled at him and pulled him into the least hurt side of him for a hug.

He looked at Steve with a questioning look. Steve just shook his head quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes quickly.

“Can I make popcorn now, pleeeeease?” Elliott asked, bouncing on his heels.

“Yes, fine. But only one bowl right now. You can make more after dinner.”

“Okay, dad!” he yelled as he ran to the popcorn maker.

Eddie’s brows raised to his forehead as he looked at Steve, who was crying buckets at this point.

“What’s that about, Stevie?” Eddie whispered as he came up to him.

“I um, I guess he just feels like I’m his dad,” Steve shrugged.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I just don’t want him to go.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pulling Steve into a crushing hug that had to hurt him. Steve sniffled against his shoulder, letting himself cry for a minute. “Did Hopper say he may have to go soon?”

“No, but I mean, if they find his parents or if CPS decides he has to go to a real family, then he’ll have to.”

“Stevie, they wouldn’t just take him. Not when he’s safe here and wants to be here. I promise.”

“But what if he goes somewhere far away or to people who won’t let me see him?”

Eddie held the back of his head against his shoulder, placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“He won’t. We’ll fight for him to stay here, okay? He’s got a family here, with us. Right?”

“Us?” Steve asked as he pulled away.

“Yeah. Us. Sound okay to you?”

Steve could only nod as he wiped his running nose.

How attractive.

“Hopper still doesn’t have any idea where they are, right?”

“Nope.”

“They’ll give up eventually. I hate to say it, but they won’t put more effort into a kid who has a safe place to go when they have bigger problems. Like how half the town is still homeless because of a fucking earthquake.”

“That’s a big kid word!” Elliott yelled from his spot at the counter.

“I’m a big kid!” Eddie yelled back, smirking at Steve.

“But I’m not!” Elliott yelled as they heard the popcorn machine starting up.

“Fine!”

Eddie placed a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then one against his lips.

It was soft, chaste, barely a kiss at all.

But it was a perfect first kiss for them.

—----------------------------

Another month passed with no news.

Eddie was at Steve’s house almost every day, spending time with Elliott, spending time with the party, with Steve.

Steve had converted the main guest room into Elliott’s permanent bedroom, but was scared to think of it that way still.

Eddie tried to reassure him, but even he was nervous that no final decisions had been made and the case remained open.

Until Hopper came by one night, well after Elliott went to bed. Eddie was doing the dishes while Steve was prepping some fruit for Elliott’s breakfast before his first day of summer camp the next day.

“Hop.”

Steve felt his stomach sink.

They were going to take Elliott.

“Steve. Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Steve let him in, his face forced into casual calm, but on the inside he was already screaming and crying about what was about to happen.

Hopper sat down on the chair, gesturing for Steve and Eddie to sit on the couch.

“So.”

“You’re taking him aren’t you? He can’t stay.”

“What? No.” Hopper frowned. “No, Steve. The opposite actually. We’re closing the case. CPS said after interviews with him, even if his parents did get found or come back on their own, he wouldn’t be put back in their care.”

“But what about putting him with another family?”

Hopper sighed. He watched Eddie place a hand on Steve’s knee to calm him down.

“They’ve spoken in detail with him about his current situation. They believe that you’re the person he wants to live with and they aren’t going to disrupt his life any more than it already has been. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Steve felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

“He can stay? With me?”

“He can stay with you.”

Steve let out a sob and fell against Eddie’s side. Eddie was crying too, but trying to keep more control so he could comfort Steve.

“CPS has to do a home visit to finalize everything, but if you’re good with it, you can officially adopt him. He’s been considered abandoned by his parents, and since it’s been 60 days, they relinquish all rights automatically.”

“How quickly can we do that?”

“We? Both of you?”

“I mean, can we both even do that?”

Hopper shrugged.

“Don’t know. But they’re probably expecting just Steve for now. They’ll call tomorrow to schedule everything and give you a chance to talk to Elliott.”

Steve and Eddie both nodded.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it, but call me if you need me. Congrats, Steve. I know you wanted this. I know he wanted this.”

“Thanks.”

Hopper saw himself out, closing the door quietly so it wouldn’t wake Elliott up.

“Eddie, did that really happen? Am I dreaming?”

“No, sweetheart, you aren’t dreaming.”

“I get to be his dad.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want to be his other dad?”

“I would love to, baby. Let’s ask him tomorrow, though. It’s up to him.”

Steve nodded.

It was up to Elliott, but he knew what Elliott wanted.

He knew what he wanted.

They were gonna be a family. A real family. No more worrying about someone deciding to take Elliott away from him.

He could finally use this house that had been left to him by his parents for something other than being miserable. He could keep it filled with love and laughter and happiness and maybe the occasional stupid argument.

Maybe Elliott would make friends at school in the fall and want to have hangouts here. Maybe they could both save up some money and take him on a vacation somewhere. Maybe someday they could get married and Elliott could be the best man.

Anything could happen.

Steve couldn’t wait.

[cebwrites]

hey!! not sure if you’ve already done this but would you do something law x reader with how law acts / treats his SO when they’re injured / sick / need surgery?? lots of personal attention and soft fluffy intimacy and all that u know :3

of course!! fluff and intimacy is the name of the game around here~ (especially law's) <33

taking care of a sick partner (Law)

gn reader, he/they law word count: 0.5k

Obviously their response is a little different depending on the severity of the situation, but whether his partner is just under the weather with a common cold or undergoing a life-saving procedure - Law is fussy 

Law’s 100% on top of all his partner’s medication and physical care, personally seeing to it that they make a full recovery with no complications whatsoever, if they can help it

They won’t get a wink of sleep until your condition is stable and even after, refuses to leave your bedside until absolutely necessary (what Law deems ‘absolutely necessary’ is up for debate with the crew, but god so help them the Hearts will drag their bull-headed captain out for basic necessities by hand if they have to

Law’s steeped in worry, only attending to those basic needs because it wouldn’t do well if anything happened and he was too incapacitated to help or god forbid missed it all together - it’s not that they don’t trust their crew to handle it, but you’re his partner and what good could having all this power be if yet another loved one just slipped through their fingers due to carelessness, of all things

Safe to say they’re not leaving your bedside until you wake; once you have and Law is assured you’re not going anywhere, performing “menial” tasks like eating, sleeping, and showering become a little easier knowing that you’re just in the other room, playing cards with your peers and laughing while Shachi obnoxiously lords his royal flush over everyone

If it’s something benign (and Law’s made sure that it’s just benign), they allow themselves to be a little more lax and let other members of the crew handle your regular check-ins while he works away in his office

Occasionally they’ll drop by themself so Law can pretend that they don’t want to cuddle just as much as you whine at them to, swatting grabby hands away when you reach for his shirt and pull the best award-winning Bepo eyes with the wobbly lip you can manage, only to dramatically howl when Law doesn’t give into your woes of withering away without their touch because they don’t have time to catch whatever’s got you sniffling

If he’s feeling generous, Law will award his darling, frail patient a nose nuzzle or One(1) forehead kiss through a surgical mask to tide them over until the sick is gone, judging that as enough affection for now; and other times, Law ends up roped into their arms, sliding his hands up their feverish sides while his partner whispers their name over and over in a giggly daze - delirious from their ailments or captain’s touch, who knows

Of course, this always ends up with Law fielding a massive headache on top of their week-long cold but they’ll admit to absolutely no one how this happened

And plus, with such a sweet lover to nurse him back to health, Law finds it hard pressed to stay tooooo mad at them for getting him sick in the first place; they will, however, use this opportunity to drive their partner mad by acting like a spoiled monarch, but only ever in their presence alone where no one else can tease him for hamming up the act to get doted on for once

[thesoulesscollection]

(Request) Keep Me Stable

Request: I have a request, could you do one with Reg & Carol right after Rhm was defeated and then a timeskip to after he's even given his cybernetics. CopperRight

Maybe not my best work but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you feel the same while reading it. 

Blood. So much. It fills his vision. Reginald felt sick to his stomach. 

"... Oh, shit…" When he hears another voice, familiar, though he could barely hear it as he struggled to breath. "... Regi-?" 

Everything is stained with blood. The floor, walls, even the ceiling up above. Reginald didn't want to think where else it laid as he stumbled back. 

He was shell shocked by the entire ordeal. How can he not be?

His long-term partner, his soulmate, is left in critical condition. A man he loved dear to his heart, he can't be left alone like this, was left for dead, torn apart at the seams, and is now clinging onto life. 

"Reginald" Again he hears her elegant voice, more clearer than the last, deeply soothing, able to command the room, it puts him at ease. "Please, stay with me" 

A firm hand grips his shoulder, she jerks him from the horrible scene into a separate room so he can only focus on her. Throughout he can barely hear her voice coming in one ear out the other, as his vision is a dizzying blur, mind left in an unfocused mush. Until a very concerned Carol is in view. 

"He. H-he's… Rig-" That's when Reginald breaks, speaking incoherently. 

"I know. I know" She whispers so no one else can hear them. "We got him. They're taking good care of him as we speak" 

When attempting to turn his head to look if they were indeed doing what she says, Carol tenderly cups his head he instinctively leans in. 

"He's going to be fine. I know it and so do you" She went to reassure, wiping the tears away. Buried in the back of his mind, he's embarrassed for showing weakness. For being such a coward. He can't even do his title as a leader correctly without almost killing his right hand. 

"H-how. How can you be so sure?" 

Reginald heaves, broken sobs choked back, hunched over, palpitations in his chest, any moment it could either sway in or out of their favor. Death like always would be around that corner now, eager, ready to steal his love from him in an underhanded swoop. 

"I know so. He's tough" Hesitant to believe her is a severe understatement, Reginald fought to not cry. "He won't dare leave your side" 

***

They've been close friends, considering one another as family for years Carol could tell something was up. When she entered his office she saw the man, exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes, and laying his head, messy hair askew, down on the dark oak desk. 

"He's going to be alright, Reginald" She said in a low, calming tone as if she read his mind.  

"I know he will, Carol... He's in stable enough condition after the surgery" As she moves to sit next to him, he shrugs his shoulders. "But I worry" 

"You're allowed to. We didn't think he'll make it but the doctor did her work well" 

Reginald sat up in his seat, nowhere close to reassured, thin fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, "She did. Forever grateful for her work. Nonetheless I regret my choice"

"Why though? He's alive. Doing better then he's done before"

"I know, Carol, dear, I know. What will he say when he wakes up and sees how much he'd changed. I can't bear the idea. Everything will be different" 

"Do you think he would be mad at you? For me, I think he'll be more than grateful" 

They sat in silence together where Reginald balls then unclenched his fists on his lap. "I really hope so. I only want to do what's best for him" 

"You are. He's going to be fine" 

[justahopelessaromantic]

In your dreams, kid (Ch. 2: early to rise)

Fandom: Omori Timeline: Post Good Ending Ships: Suntan (Sunny/Kel) Links to First and Next Chapter List of Accompanying Playlists for this Fic Pinterest Moodboard for this Fic Summary: Under Sunny’s hypocritical, well-intentioned advice, Kel puzzled over his mental checklist as the bruised house drifted out of sight, now a grey blur. An assortment of surgery, artery-clogging snacks? Check! Mixtape Sunny made special for him, covered in little red hearts and a doodle of the two of them holding hands? Check (No, actually, he will not read into that, thank you for asking). An 8-pack of Monster so Aubrey wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel while he drives her mad with alien conspiracies and iSpy all night? Check! (Sunny downed three, the absolute madman, before they even stepped foot in the car, but he figured it still counted) Homework? ...check. An excuse for stealing Ms. Suzuki’s car, running away with her son and "future daughter-in-law", and showing up at his incredibly busy brother’s dorm room? You know, something even remotely better than “You sounded like you were about to cry over the phone last night and you don’t cry and I’m so worried and distracted and madly in love with you, I simply had to come check on you, so...Surprise!” ...He’d check that one off sometime before they got there. Probably.

If Aubrey stuck to her early jogging routine like she once stuck to Mari or Basil’s insomnia didn’t feel like lending itself any rest, there was a good chance they’d spot his widened eyes from the stairs and ask about a supposed morning. Kel, of course, would say no, but he’d take note of the thin hue of light draped over the sky, since that basically meant it was sunrise, which basically meant it was morning.

To him, at least.

Kel was intrinsically aware that “morning” meant going out and getting…something, but putting together mental to-do lists was hard on good days. Harder still with bony arms gingerly wrapped around him in a vain attempt to stop Kel’s trembling, whispering scripted yet sincere sweet nothings. The hands on his back were embarrassingly welcome, yet so hesitant, only daring to brush over the cotton fabric, tickling rather than soothing. The effort, as always, was appreciated. Even his gentle rocking back and forth feels awkward, like Sunny never learned quite how to shift his weight right.

Like he was the one used to being held.

...Oh. Oh, boy.

He was probably about to cross some boundaries today. Maybe even upset Sunny. God, he hoped not. He could hear the signature pitter-patter of a wild Basil from the living room, the clang and clatter of nervous hands finally quieting. They didn’t seem stable enough to handle two friends close to tears.

Still though. He always had questions (Hero used to gush over that. Called it a “learner mindset!” His teachers were less impressed). If he didn’t get an answer today, he’ll be restless all morning, and no one liked a restless Kel besides Kel (and Aubrey, when she was looking to pick a fight).

“Heh,” Kel prayed his sleepy voice didn’t make that sound forced. “Mari teach you all this?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ah.”

Something anxious and kinda pushy in the back of his head told him to add something about being totally fine now, no worries, man. Maybe some kinda vague, tongue-in-cheek “no homo” joke to make sure Sunny didn’t read any farther into this blatant cuddling. You know, with “ENJOYING HIS WAY TOO MUCH FOR A STRAIGHT MAN” practically stamped in bold red ink on his massive forehead.

The impulsive dumbass with too much control in his head felt it appropriate (for some ungodly reason) to comment on how this was the perfect atmosphere for a first kiss. The nerve-wracking silence made shutting him up difficult, but Kel was always up for a challenge.

Still, his touch-starved ass was taking any distraction from that lingering dream he could get his slick hands on. He buried his nose further into the black shoulder strap instead. Sunny seemed satisfied with that answer, hummed in response. Hummed again, and again, and again, and…

Oh, Kel knew this song!

...Well, not by name, but he knew Mari and Sunny’s songs when he heard it. Their duet, Mari called it. Close enough. Kel had a feeling Sunny would rather he not know the title. He seemed determined to keep it a sibling thing, something he could share with her beyond the grave. Kel could respect that.

Despite the raspy texture of grogginess and selective mutism, he carried each note with such loving precision. Like a musician who loved their job more than their well-being. Kel knew how dangerous dwelling over her memory in public was, (stupid overemotional bullshit, worrying anyone who caught him!), but, hey. It was late (well, it felt late), and the strongest image of her floating around in his head at the moment was too unnerving to really tinker with. So, using a faint memory of their impromptu duet during one of her picnics as reference, he scrunched up his face in thought and tried to picture the implications of that melodic texture.

Just the two of them, snuggled up in her fluffy sheets, shadows cascading over their silhouette (How did they always manage to look so mysterious?). Sunny’s little fingers digging into her sides, like his lifeline could slip through his fingertips at a moment’s notice (the irony is rude and disrespectful, as far as Kel is concerned). His ragged breaths and tightlipped whimpers settling into a steady unison part, intertwining with her voice as he slowly melts into her chest. The dispassionate rigor of their violin and piano playing could never compare to the sound of them mixed up in each other, communicating in a way only they understood. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ll protect you.” without words to bog down the intimacy of its delivery.

The last time he crawled into bed with Hero, he chuckled and said something about Kel being a little too old to deal with nightmares like this, ruffling his hair before draping the covers over him and pecking his forehead. He probably wasn’t being serious.

Kel stayed out of his room anyway.

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 22 - Toxic

(second part of this)

2002

"The fuck are you doing here?"

It was probably not the politest thing to greet your team leader with, especially when the last thing you remembered was actually having quite a positive thought to spare about the guy for once … But Logan's head felt like it was exploding soon which Scott's distinctive Armani aftershave right next to him didn't exactly help, he was feeling nauseous like usually only in the first five minutes after a bottle of especially cheap booze … And his arms and shoulders felt like there was scorching hot lead inside them – still –, instead of just a brand new layer of Adamantium. Shit, well … Something had obviously gone a little more complicated than expected with that upgrade procedure of his because he was also pretty sure he was no longer laying buck naked in a tank full of ice-cold water but that the air stank of blood and drugs and a hint of fur instead which also had him fear that his boss hadn't come alone here on top. Sickbay, no longer the operation hall.

  Fine, maybe it wasn't entirely unreasonable for his teammates to worry about him a little but Logan had thought he'd been very clear about none of them leaving that damn house as long as he was at U.G.E.R. and had his kid under their damn supervision.

  "I live here," Scott answered dryly. "Sorry for that."

  "Huh?" Logan finally cranked an eye open but closed it again immediately with a groan because that made the headaches even worse … Why the fuck did he have a headache? Was there one of these damn ray guns here that Weapon X had attacked him with not too long ago? These shitty, cowardly things that suppressed mutations much like Lehnsherr's reversal gun had back then, only far more effective and for longer … Something the X-Men had been told by U.G.E.R. for years didn't even exist and wouldn't for a while to come … But if Logan was back at Westchester … And that had definitely looked like the somewhat calming, dark blue tiles of a well-known ceiling above him for a second … That made even less sense.

  "When you started doing better, we thought you'd wanted to be with Noemi. Moira was nice enough to fly you here herself, so relax. Kid's fine. To your left." Logan could swear he could hear Scott roll his eyes behind his damn glasses.

  This time, he managed to squint a little longer through half-closed lids, that painful clench around his heart immediately going away when he saw the small mobile crib next to the med stretcher where a certain red-haired toddler was sleeping peacefully, breathing so deeply and quietly that he hadn't even heard her immediately. Mostly because his senses felt like they were covered in ether-drenched cotton but he wasn't even sure he wanted to hear yet why. For now, all that counted was that this traumatizing, painful procedure that he'd undergone voluntarily this time was over and that he could hopefully from now on make sure again with his full strength that his daughter would be safe, instead of having to rely on his teammates, no matter how well a job they were doing. "Thanks, Slim." He was still out of it enough to not even be in the mood for a silly quip, and maybe for once, it really wasn't appropriate.

  "That's what we're here for," Scott said simply, and yeah, that was probably also true. "I know you're still feeling like shit but you should be better by nightfall, and you were stable enough for the helicopter. Besides, I'm pretty sure you traumatized Moira. She wasn't exactly unhappy to drop your ugly ass with us again."

  It was Logan's turn to roll his eyes because he also remembered that one unnerving conversation with the doc before this surgery, to replace what Lehnsherr had stolen from him back then, in annoyingly much detail. "I told her my heart would probably give in at some point. Not like I haven't been there before."

  "One time, sure. But 20?" With that certain smell of wet dog having become stronger in the last few seconds, it wasn't exactly shocking when large, gloved hands started to feel Logan's life signs, and a far too bright light was shone in his eyes which drew a warning growl of agony from him because fuck, that kept on hurting like a bitch.

  A verbal protest, he still couldn't come up with though, because he was too busy trying to swallow what he'd just been told there. 20 … Apparently, it was better he had soon blacked out when that damn broiling stuff had been injected into his flesh and this time never had woken up again like he knew he had last time he'd done this shit, from the vague scraps of memory in his dreams. "Wanna tell me why I feel like being hit by a spaceship, furball?"

  It wasn't Hank who answered. That Logan also hadn't noticed so far that Marie, too, was in the room, was both a sign of his instincts being entirely fucked up from that new nightmare and, not least judging by that unusual slight tremble in one of his favorite charge's voice, for there being a more serious reason for that than a really bad cocktail of too much whiskey before surgery and some killer anesthesia. "It was your powers, Logan … We're all to blame, honestly. None of us thought that it could be trouble for the surgery that we aren't what we were before the Scapels moon."

  Right. That … probably should indeed have been expected, with Logan's healing factor more diminished than when Stryker had tricked him into this shit the first time. But that his tissue and bones needed a moment longer to deal with the fact that they'd been scorched almost into atoms still didn't explain feeling like he was honest-to-god sick for the first time in his life. "So? What happened?"

  "Adamantium poisoning." Hank chuckled, it sounded slightly hysterical, when Logan incredulously turned his head his way, another movement that sent a twinge of pain through his neck and chest and had him wince. "Yeah, that was about the face I made when Moira sent me your bloodwork. Adamantium isn't titanium. It was never meant to be in a human body permanently. That's never been a problem before because your healing factor always eliminated the toxins before they could even fuck up your cells. But with your gift reduced and liters of painkillers overloading your system that Moira had pumped into you to take the edge off at least? It's all been a bit much."

  "There's good news too, though." Marie sat on the edge of his stretcher with her dark brown eyes shining, a mischievous little grin on her heart-shaped lips, and rested her gloved hand firmly on his lower arm, fingertips digging into his flesh hard enough to make him feel that long-missed resistance of indestructibility there.

  "Yeah. Ain't no one gonna piss the two of us off anytime soon anymore. Do me a favor, Slim." Logan nodded at the Crib and reluctantly let Hank help him sit up a little as the upper half of the stretcher was automatically tilted to support his heavier-grown figure.

  "That was the idea, yeah, but that's not what she meant." With the practiced move of someone raising a kid themselves, Scott lifted Noemi from her bed without waking her up and laid her down against Logan's chest, not even questioning that, though if there was one thing the two of them usually shared, it was a slightly exaggerated worry for their daughters. Today, Scott only helped Logan lift his arm in place to hold the little one tight because his muscles didn't obey him yet the way they should, with the same unnerving mysterious grin on his lips that Marie was showing. "It looks, much like yourself, your healing powers need a good hard kick in the ass from time to time before they can raise to their best. They're recovering, Logan. Your score is almost back to where it was before we left for the Shi’ar ship back then and still climbing. Your body is repairing itself from what Phoenix took from you." From all of us. The addition was as loud in the air as all those pretty storms Scott's wife and Ororo could so easily create in the sky.

  Every human body was perpetually repairing itself, not only those with healing gifts. It might take the others a while longer, but eventually, they'd all be back to what they'd been capable of before Phoenix.

  Logan of whom that fucking alien bitch had robbed of the other thing he'd loved most in the world would never be able to be whole again, but at least there would hopefully be no more losses. Sometimes, that had to do. He pressed his lips tiredly to Noemi's tiny forehead and closed his eyes for another little while, just enjoying sensing his daughter's warmth, her breathing, alive and strong, against his upper body, and allowed himself to hope.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive​

[ragingbookdragon]

Answered Call

Jason Todd x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Blood & Violence, Mentions of Death

Author's Note: @bunnvoid didn't as but they're gonna receive because I'm only summoned when I smell angst brewing! Based on this piece that Bunn made and the sequel to this! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The first time he ever held a dead body, he was eight. He felt the warmth leave Martha and Thomas’ bodies, laid there between them, and sobbed for hours until someone finally decided to call GCPD and report the disturbance. The next time he held a body that was so personal to him was the death of his son, and by that time, Jason’s body had already gone cold. He grits his teeth as a tear slides down his cheek from under the mask, refusing to look over at Jason curled up in the passenger seat because if he does, he knows he won’t be able to keep it together long enough to get back to the cave, he’ll break down there. He’s already called ahead, knows Leslie is there, knows Alfred and the others are standing by waiting for their arrival. He just hopes he can make it in time.

Cassandra’s ahead of him on her bike and he knows she’s trying to get them down a street that isn’t crowded, but every one is seemingly packed with people and Bruce can’t help but feel anger well in his chest. His son is dying, and these people won’t move. She screams at the top of her lungs for him, and Bruce has never heard her yell so strongly.

Suddenly, she sticks her arm out and makes a hard left turn, so sharp that her body brushes against the pavement as she does and Bruce only has time to make the turn, then slam on the breaks as he sees Cassandra’s body turned to the side, feet planted firmly on the ground.

He follows her line of sight, and it shouldn’t send shivers up his spine given the fear in his heart, but goosebumps trail up his arms and legs at the sea of flashing blue lights before them. He doesn’t even have time to ask when he sees the green line on the comm click and an all too familiar voice echoes on the line.

All units we’ve got a 10-59 coming down the main street. I want roadblocks on every east and west intersection and street. I repeat, I want 10-93’s on every intersection and street going east and west. Clear the roads. No one goes through except Batman and Black Bat.

Cassandra only revs her bike once, then she’s peeling out in a hail of white smoke as her tires spin and she speeds down the street, Bruce on her tail like a bat out of hell. As they pass, he sees some officers setting up blockades with their cars and barriers, others are moving people left and right, but the majority of them are simply standing in front of their squad cars, right arms cocked up in salutes. Bruce doesn’t have time to admire their dedication because all he can think about is that while the gesture is one of respect, all he sees is the image of a funeral procession.

He shoves that thought as far from his mind as he possibly can, but it decides to stick in the back of it, like a dogeared page. Jason hates it when people dogear books, he thinks. He always says it’s a sin against the very soul of the book.He has to take a deep breath to steady himself away from those thoughts. The last thing he needs is to be blindsided by something he thinks in the past tense.

“Move.” He commands to Cassandra, and she obeys, falling in beside him as he tears down the main street and out onto the highway in the direction of the cave, the purple flames of the afterburner propelling him faster. He watches the navpoint between him and the cave grow smaller and smaller, and it’s only rivaled by the faint and rare beeping of the heart monitor he’s got pinned to Jason’s chest.

Bruce is running out of time.

Jason is running out of time.

The water cascades over the front of the Batmobile as he enters the cave entrance and the titanium doors have already been lifted for their arrival. He keeps going, until he sees the levels of the cave before him. Bruce doesn’t slow, he pushes the Batmobile as hard as she’ll go and jumps her to the second level. The platform shakes from the strain, he sees things fall from shelves, but he doesn’t care because Cassandra appears beside him and she’s already coming to the side of the Batmobile to peel the door up.

Dick and Duke are there, already tugging Jason up and out and Bruce comes up behind them to pick his son up, managing to not jostle him too much as he runs to the operating table Leslie’s already prepared. He sets Jason down and her voice floods his ears.

“Get his suit off.”

Bruce works to undo the clasps and straps on the front of Jason’s suit, and he barely gets them open before she’s sticking heart monitors to him. Leslie turns, fumbling with the monitor and she sees it flicker, signaling Jason’s still with them.

Her eyes go back to Bruce. “List of injuries?”

He lists them with a monotoned fashion. “Shotgun blast to the abdomen, minor wounds to arms and legs, cut to the face—”

A spurt of blackish blood cuts him off and Leslie’s hands are already peeling away the torn skin and her face blanches; Bruce doesn’t need to see, he knows, even as she says, “He’s bleeding internally from his intestines,” her hands shift around, and she lets out a breath of shock. “Jesus, his lung’s been punctured. It’s filled with blood.”

Bruce is there, already grabbing a syringe with a long tube connected. “Which lung?”

“Left.”

He shoves away the fabric from Jason’s side, murmurs an apology, and shoves the needle up and into his lung. The blood immediately starts flowing from the tube and onto the floor, but he pays it no mind. “Suture his lung.” He turns his head. “Cassandra, get the oxygen mask. Put it on him.”

Her hands are swift, and he sees her grab Jason’s shoulder, squeezing tightly, her own agony written across her face. Leslie’s shifting hands make a squelching sound as she moves around Jason’s internal organs but she’s quick and sure once she moves to his abdomen.

“There’s buckshot everywhere,” she explains, “I need someone to help pick it out.”

It’s Dick’s turn to step up as he pulls on the long rubber gloves, holding the tray for her. Some she can pick out with her fingers, others she has to use the long nose tweezers. They get about halfway and Jason’s body suddenly convulses, his heart rate and blood pressure going wild, then he jerks, going still.

Leslie meets Bruce’s eyes for a split second, both of their expressions pure shock and then she’s pulling away, yanking off the chest monitors and grabbing for the paddles. He takes the needle from Jason’s lung, and she places the pads down, one on the middle of his sternum, the other just below it.

“Charging,” she says. “Clear!”

His chest jumps then falls flat back against the bed. Nothing.

“Charging! Clear!”

His chest jumps again, fingers clenching with the shock to his nervous system but there is still no pickup of his heartbeat.

Leslie’s breathing is coming out in pants. She’s scared. They all are. She inhales sharply. “You’re not dying on me, Jason Peter,” she gripes. “Charging!” she rubs the paddles together vigorously, then puts them back. “Clear!”

This time, Jason’s chest jumps and flattens, and they stare for a solid second, Leslie’s going to up the voltage when a beep echoes from the monitor. They look, not believing their eyes nor ears, but sure enough, it’s a steady pulse. Jason wheezes out through bruised and injured lungs, but it’s a breath, nonetheless.

They all breathe a collective sigh of relief, but Leslie doesn’t let up. “Dick, I still need your help with the buckshot.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse and sticks the bowl back out for her.

Bruce steps back. He lets her work, knowing he can’t do anything more.

He hears the children behind him, Stephanie and Duke are in each other’s arms sniffing slightly, and Tim is pacing back and forth along the walkway. An arm comes around his waist and he spares a glance down. Damian is there, his fingers are tight in Bruce’s utility belt, dark brows pulled together, a deep frown on his face. He lays his arm over Damian’s shoulder, palm flat against the boy’s chest, unspoken words of comfort between them. He feels another weight on his bicep and looks over, this time seeing Cassandra there.

She lays her head against his arm. “Scared,” she whispers and Bruce’s jaw clenches so tightly he swears his teeth are going to crack under the strain.

“Me too,” he manages to reply and Damian’s fingers clench as he turns his face into his father’s side, his small body shaking with every sob. Bruce wants to break down too. He wants to collapse at Jason’s bedside.

Jason don’t leave me again, he thinks, he prays.

“Fight, son,” he begs. “Damnit, fight.”

His children say nothing, but they know the worry built in his bones. Knows what Bruce stands to lose if Jason dies again. He makes a promise then and there, with a quick look back at the old suit still in the case—it seemed to be the brightest thing in the dim cave—he promises, with all the pain he’s feeling, he won’t look away from the outcome.

If Jason dies, he’ll stay beside him.

If Jason dies, he’ll hold his hand.

If Jason dies, he’ll be there to make up for when he wasn’t.

If Jason dies, Bruce will be there with him.

He won’t let his boy die alone again.

***

It takes a long time before Leslie is even close to finished with his surgery, but once she does, Bruce is the first person there, the others following up to Jason’s bed. They’ve dosed him heavily with morphine and other sedatives to keep him stable and Leslie steps back once she knows Jason isn’t going to flatline again. Her eyes find the young boy gripping the blanket tightly, only Dick’s arm across his chest keeping him from crawling up with his brother. She looks up, gazing into the eyes of a man who is starting to look a lot like the eight-year-old boy she once knew.

“I’ve done all I can,” she says, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over; she has to be the doctor right now, not the mother. “But it’s up to Jason now.”

They know what it means. It’s not a promise that he’ll pull through. Jason’s will was probably the strongest of their family, but they knew the young man was tired.

Bruce bends down and caresses his son’s head, pressing his face into Jason’s temple, his lips next to his ear. “I know you’re tired,” he whispers, so quietly it’s as if he wasn’t speaking at all. “If this is all you can do…I understand. If you’re ready…I’ll be right here with you.” His lids snap shut, and he feels the sting, so powerful, like he’d never felt in his life. “But if you’re not ready yet…then you have to fight. We still need you. Your family needs you. I need you.”

He pulls away and gives Jason’s head one final caress before he stands up straight and watches his son’s chest rise and fall evenly. He feels hands at his wrists, undoing the gauntlet but he doesn’t look away to see who it is, he merely lets them take them off.

Damian is perched between him and Dick on one side of the bed, Duke is at the foot, and Stephanie and Cassandra are on the other side. They all stand, watching, waiting, knowing it’ll be hours, maybe even days before Jason finally decides to wake up again, if he does at all.

And so, they wait.

***

“—ar death, who see with blinding sight, blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Dick read the words softly, halfway through the book of poems that he’d found on Jason’s bedside earlier in the night.

He let out a soft breath. “And you, my father, there on the sad height, curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” He looked at the next page.

“Jason likes Keats more than Thomas,” Damian muttered, eyes still shut as he leant against his eldest brother’s chest. “Find When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be,” he said. “He likes that one.”

Dick doesn’t argue, merely going back in the book and finding where it’s located; when he gets it, he breathes deeply and clears his throat. “When I have fears that I may cease to be, before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, before high-pilèd books, in charactery, hold like rich garners the full ripened grain. When I behold—”

He quiets when Damian shifts, pulling the cape tighter around his shoulders for warmth; once he settles, Dick starts again. “When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, and think that I may never live to trace their shadows with the magic hand of chance. And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, that I shall never look upon thee more, never have relish in the faery power of unreflecting love—”

Bruce overtakes him, voice low and full of heart as he finishes, “Then on the shore of the wide world I stand alone, and think till love and fame to nothingness do sink.” He doesn’t open his eyes or pull his hand away from where he’s got it pressed to his cheek. “John Keats was dying of tuberculosis when he wrote that.”

“He nursed his brother while he was dying of it too,” Damian adds, turning his face into Dick’s chest. “I will not nurse Akhi whilst he dies. He will live.”

They fall into a silence; Dick is still looking for another poem and Damian is trying to meditate. It’s a contemplation beyond what they want to think about, of life and death, twenty-five years is too young to die, and they can’t do it again.

Their silence is broken by a rough voice, scratchy from sleep and heavily laced with staved off pain, but it’s clear enough.

“Hey…old man,” Jason murmurs, and he can’t manage to take a look around at everyone, though he knows they’re there; but he can see Bruce. He can see his father.

Bruce grasps the only finger Jason can manage to raise, his body is still too weak to do much other than breathe, and he whispers back with a tearful laugh, “Hey son.”

[homosexuality-at-its-finest]

To love a hero

A/n: So I'm really sad right now and I'm gonna project that onto my writings, sorry in advance

Plot: Loving a hero is a difficult and heart wrenching task

Pairing: Peter parker x male reader

Y/n: Your name

L/n: Last name

N/n: Nickname

H/c: Hair color

Warnings: lotta angst, happy ending because I’m not a monster, cussing, major character injury

Word count: 1774

Y/n L/n and Peter Parker went way back, even farther than Peter and Ned. The two had been friends since Pre-K, and only grew closer as the years went by. The two were almost interpretable, if one of the boys was seen, the other was close by.

No one really understood their friendship, but no one questioned it either. In high school the two boys became impossibly closer, Y/n was the first to know about Peter’s abilities, the brunette couldn’t keep something so big from his best friend. Y/n was there and helped make his first suit, the boy was there to soothe his aching bones and to nurse his blossoming bruises.

The pair shared an unbreakable bond, they were what love stories depicted. The love between them was seen by everyone but the two. Of course, Peter knew he was in love with Y/n and vice versa, but for two genius’ they were both dumbasses. Hell, even Tony stark noticed the young love blossoming, the billionaire could see how much the pair adored each other.  

On multiple occasions he’d tried to coerce the young superhero into admitting his feelings but was always given the same response.

“Y/n doesn’t like me like that Mr. Stark, I’m not ruining our friendship over my feelings.” Simple and to the point, but it drove Tony insane that the young genius was so fucking blind. He opted against bringing it up again after seeing such clear pain in Peter’s eyes every time they talked about it, being a bystander as time passed by.

Maybe Peter couldn’t see how enamored Y/n was with him, but Tony could. Especially as he clutched the said boy against his chest as he let out guttural and heart wrenching sobs.

It had all started off as a normal Saturday, Peter was over at Y/n’s the two sitting on the couch and watching some unknown movie, it was purely background noise. The two boys were to focused on each other and their conversation to care about the movie. The domestic peace was ruined by Peter’s phone chiming, a familiar sound that always caused dread to run down Y/n’s spine.

It was the sound of Peter’s police scanner, hearing the radio chatter begin. “Unknown entity in central park, currently creating a perimeter and pushing back civilians, backup requested.” The look of determination crossed over Peter’s features, and if Y/n knew Peter would listen, he’d beg for him to let the avengers take care of it.

“That’s my cue, I’ll see you later N/n!” Peter did a mock salute to his best friend, easily escaping the home via window. For some unknown reason Y/n felt on edge, his gut tightening painfully. He immediately flicked on the news, only having to wait a few moments before the familiar figure of spiderman flung into frame.

The fight was nerve wrecking, watching as the Villain and superhero alike exchanged punches and kicks, and Y/n knew Peter was probably making stupid quips to keep his anxiety under control. The H/c haired boy gnawed on his bottom lip as he watched the fight escalate, getting more violent by the second.

The villain had hit Peter with all their might, and Y/n could only watch as the boy he loved more than anything was flung against a building before he crumpled to the ground. It was as the world stood still, stealing all the breath from Y/n’s lungs as the figure of spiderman didn’t budge, he didn’t get up. Peter promised he’d always get back up.

He felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest and stomped on, air was to thick to breathe and he could feel the moisture running down his face and the devastated cry that left his lips went unheard. The boy couldn’t really remember when Happy arrived at his house, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the disheveled teenager.

Y/n couldn’t remember the drive to the compound, it was as if his brain had just shut down, leaving him devoid of any life. Maybe that’s what Peter was like right now, devoid of life. His constant chatter silenced, his jittery movements stilled, his beautiful face pulled into the blank look of death.

The teenage boy could remember that Happy had to pull over so Y/n could vomit on the side of the road, silent sobs clenching his lungs in their vice. Never in all of his short life had he felt so much pain, never had he begged for the sweet release of darkness as he did now.

The H/c haired boy begged any god that would listen for this to be a nightmare, that he’d wake up and he and Peter would still be on the couch. The brunette would tease him for falling asleep, but he’d take anything to make this pain go away.

When he finally got to the compound and saw Tony waiting, the same grim look on his face as happy, it felt like every last shred of his strength and control was gone. Y/n collapsed into Tony’s arms, breaking into pieces. He only processed a few words “surgery” “critical” and “I’m so sorry.” Everything blended together as the billionaire led him to the medical wing, holding onto the breaking teenager, as if his touch would mend him.

Hours felt like eternity, it was hellish. The sobs that once left the teenager were turned into deafening silence, the occasional sniffle leaving the boy, comforting Tony that the child was in fact still alive.

May had shown up at some point, Y/n couldn’t honestly remember when, or honestly care. Not when he felt like part of himself was missing, leaving a gaping hole where Peter once was.

Good news came in the form of a doctor informing them, at hour 4 of waiting, that Peter had survived the surgery and was now stable. If it wasn’t for his healing factor, the teenager would’ve been dead. He was under sedatives currently, so his body could work solely on healing.

It felt like a weight off of everyone’s chest, he was okay, alive and breathing. The 3 walked in silence to Peter’s room, May and Y/n taking their respective sides on Peter, as Tony sat at the foot of the bed.

Hours were spent in silence, May haven fallen asleep not to long after receiving the news that Peter was okay. Tony and Y/n stayed awake, both lost in their own thoughts. The teenager held Peter’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles silently. His eyes rarely left the still form, scared that if he looked away the boy would disappear from his grasp.

“Yknow what sucks about loving a hero?” Y/n’s broken voice cut through the silence, starling Tony from his thoughts. He didn’t reply, his gaze falling on the teenager. Y/n looked over at Tony and fuck that look should never be on a child. He looked so broken, so tired.

“I know he’s going to die long before me, and I’ll be stuck in this fucked up world without him.” A humorless laugh broke through the boys’ lips, it sounded watery and oh so broken. “I’m not ready to live without him Tony.” A quiet sob left his lips, his free hand going to stifle it.

“I love him so much, and it scares me so fucking bad.” Y/n’s eyes moved back over to Peter, shakily bringing the sleeping boy’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Tony felt his chest tighten painfully; this was really a reminder that they were just kids who grew up way to fast.

“He’s not going to die Y/n, not if I have anything to say about it.” Tony replied in a surprisingly gentle but determined tone. He’d be damned if he let this pair get separated, Peter and Y/n deserved to be together. To grow up together and create a life.

The room fell into silence after that, neither of them wanting to broach the topic again. In the early hours of the morning Peter’s doe like eyes opened once more. Every inch of his body ached with an indescribable pain, and he had to hold back a grimace. He was surprised to see the 3 most important people in his life strewn about the room, two fast asleep. Y/n was still awake though, clasping Peter’s hand like a lifeline has his tired eyes burned into the sheets.

Peter gave his best friends hand a gentle squeeze, but it was enough for the boy’s head to shoot up so fast Peter was scared he’d get whiplash. “Peter! Oh, thank God.” The H/c haired boy breathed out, and even through his eyes were red and puffy from tears and purple bags so dark they looked like bruises bloomed under his eyes, he was still the most gorgeous creature Peter had ever seen.

Peter gave a weak smile, squeezing his hand once more. “How long have I been out?” He questioned; head tipped to the side like a curious puppy. “About 12 hours.” Y/n replied, voice cracking slightly.

The gentle aura Y/n held around him quickly disappeared into one of anger. “If you ever do that to me again Peter I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.” Y/n spit out angrily, but the anger was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“I thought you died, and that was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. I love you, and I’d rather you be with the land of the living.” The confession was made by a boy to tired to process he had said it.

Peter felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the boy’s confession. He knew now wasn’t the time to talk on the subject. “I’m okay N/n and trust me I won’t be doing that again any time soon. Why don’t we sleep and talk again in the morning?”

Peter was exhausted, and he knew his best friend was too, they could talk about this at a later date. As Y/n made a sound of agreement, laying his head against the mattress, Peter knew that everything would be okay. It didn’t matter what horrors he faced, or what pain he went through. He had made a promise to Y/n. He’d get up every time, and he’d be damned if he ever made the Boy he loved go through that pain again.

[pthalomars]

Ninjago fanseason!

Here’s the first part of my synopsis post, I’ll make sure to reblog it and add more of my summary as I write it out. 

Trigger Warnings for this: blood/gore, hospitals+surgery, injury, there will probably be more and I will make sure to tag accordingly (if there’s anything else that I miss, please let me know so I can tag it!!)

Anyways, here’s how it starts...

Battle in Ninjago City

A group of assailants are on the rise in ninjago city. The ninja show up to thwart their latest attack and a battle ensues on the streets. The assailants are spread throughout the city, so the ninja are forced to split up into teams. Cole with Jay, Zane with Nya, and Lloyd with Kai.

Lloyd and Kai are fending off their attackers, but Kai notices something is wrong. His powers aren’t working. Pathetic flames are sputtering out of his palms and fizzling out into smoke. He’s losing his powers again. 

While Kai is distracted, one of the enemies has a laser gun trained on him, ready to strike and take him out. Lloyd jumps in front of Kai at the last minute, taking the laser beam straight through his left shoulder. Dangerously close to his heart. Kai and Lloyd are on the ground, and when Kai comes to his senses, he frantically gets him and Lloyd into an alleyway for cover. 

Lloyd is losing a lot of blood, and Kai is doing his best to tend to his wounds. He screams into the com that Lloyd is down and that they need medical help, now. Zane assures him that an ambulance is on the way, and to stay with Lloyd until paramedics show up. 

The attackers start to make their way into the alley, only to be strewn aside by Nya and Zane. Cole and Jay have showed up as well, and now Kai and Lloyd are at least safe from them. Kai has Lloyd propped up against a wall, keeping pressure on his wound and telling him that he’s gonna be alright. Lloyd is whimpering in pain and tears fall from his eyes and stain his red-painted gi. “It hurts..” Lloyd murmurs. Kai lets out a choked sob and holds him close. “I know, I know it does buddy. It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay I promise.”

Medics finally show up and get Lloyd out of there. Kai and Nya are able to ride in the ambulance, and so they make their way to the nearest hospital.

The Ambulance

The ambulance ride is tense. Paramedics are working to stabilize Lloyd enough so that he can survive until they arrive at the hospital. Kai and Nya are shoved in a corner, as to not get in the way of the medics. Kai doesn’t say anything, his eyes are empty and he’s a million miles away in his mind. Nya is beginning to process the events of that day too, and all she can do is look between her brothers and silently let her tears fall. 

She leans on Kai and goes to hold his hand to comfort him, but she stops short of his wrists. He still has so much of Lloyd’s blood on his hands. It’s on his gi, it’s in his hair, it’s underneath his fingernails. She figures it’s best to hold his arm, so she does. Thankfully, the ride is short, and they make it there in time for Lloyd to go into emergency surgery.

The Hospital

Lloyd is rushed into surgery and Kai and Nya are left in the lobby of the hospital. Kai wants to be near Lloyd, so he stays as close as staff will allow him to. Which means he ends up sitting on the ground in a hallway for a very long time. 

Nya sits with him for a while, before she gets up to get them snacks. Then to call the others and let them know where they are. Then to get some fresh air. She checks in on him periodically, but also figures he needs space to process what all happened that day. 

Eventually, the others show up. Cole, Jay, Zane, Wu, and Misako arrive and start asking a million questions. Nya looks exhaustedly at them, and tells them that she’ll fill in the rest later. Jay leads Nya to sit down and Cole asks where Kai is. Nya points to the hallway across the room, and says that he should be at the end of the corridor. 

Cole makes his way down the hall, and low and behold, Kai is still sitting in the same spot. The master of earth knees down, putting a comforting hand on Kai’s knee. Kai looks up for the first time in hours and Cole sees the dried tear streaks coming from his red and puffy eyes. 

“Hey buddy, how are you holding up?” he asks. Kai averts his gaze and curls further into himself. Cole’s eyebrows pinch upwards, and he goes to move some of Kai’s hair out of his eyes. He notices the blood in his hair and worriedly asks him if he’s gotten medical attention. Very quietly, Kai says, “ ‘s not my blood.” and then Cole looks down at Kai’s clothes, and his hands. It finally clicks. It’s Lloyd’s blood.

Cole sighs, moving to stand up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Kai doesn’t respond, but allows Cole to help him get on his feet. They make their way to the nearest bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Kai starts to wash his hands. He watches as the dried blood begins to run off of his hands and drain into the sink. He scrubs and scrubs and scrubs, but his hands are still red. The water is scalding hot and he’s started to rub his skin raw. Cole sees Kai become increasingly upset and then notices his hands again. Steam is rising from the sink and there’s no more blood. Cole turns off the sink and grabs paper towels. He dries off Kai’s hands as delicately as he can before looking at him. “Your hands are clean, Kai. They’re clean.” Cole brings Kai in for a hug and Kai shatters in his arms. Cole presses a kiss to the top of Kai’s head and wraps his arms tighter around him. They hold each other for a long time before they finally leave the bathroom. 

Cole brings Kai to the lobby, where everybody is sitting together, finding ways to pass the time. Zane and Jay go to stand up and greet Kai, but Cole gives them a soft, warning sort of look. A look that tells them that Kai isn’t ready for that quite yet. They sit back down. 

A nurse comes out and informs them all of Lloyd’s condition. He’s alive and he’s stable, but he’s going to need to stay at the hospital for a while until his condition improves. And unfortunately, they aren’t able to let the ninja stay with him through the night. They have to go home. Kai protests, stating that he needs to be there for Lloyd, that he can’t just leave him alone. Wu puts a hand on Kai’s shoulder and reassures him. “He’s in good hands, he will be okay for the night.” Wu says. After a moment, Kai sighs and reluctantly agrees to leave.

The First Night Home

The gang gets home and everyone is so exhausted from the events of the day. It’s about 1 in the morning and everyone heads to bed. Cole asks Kai if he wants to stay in his room. Kai nods and lets Cole lead him to his bed. They fall asleep in each other's arms, and Kai is too tired to cry anymore. Cole holds him and pets his hair. He could take a shower in the morning. 

The first week(s) home

Each day that passes, Kai begins to come to a realization. Lloyd was hurt because he was protecting him. If he had been able to use his powers, Lloyd wouldn’t have had to get hurt. It was his fault that Lloyd was in the hospital, that he had a hole blasted straight through his shoulder, that he wasn’t home. 

He still visits Lloyd every day. His little brother isn’t always awake, but he just needs to make sure he’s still alive. Usually one of the others will go with him, and sometimes everyone will tag along. Lloyd gets better with time and his recovery goes along smoothly.

Kai comes to another realization. Without his powers, he is useless. He can’t protect himself, let alone anyone else. The rest of the team has to compensate for him, and because of that, they get hurt. Kai has to leave. 

The others notice that something is off with Kai. Cole, in particular, sees that he’s acting very differently. He asks him if everything is okay, and every time Kai responds with “I’m fine” or “it’s nothing important.” Part of Cole feels bad, and wonders if he’s being too pushy. But his concern for his boyfriend overpowers that minor worry.

Kai spends the majority of his time thinking over his departure. Where is he going? What is he going to do? Why is he leaving? He doesn’t have all the answers right away, but to him, that didn’t really matter. All that mattered to him was that he was a danger to those around him, and to keep the others safe, he had to take himself out of the picture for a while. At least until he got his powers back and could carry his own weight.

But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. He was going to wait until Lloyd came back home. He had to make sure he was going to be okay before he left. He had already failed him once, he didn’t want to make it worse by leaving without ensuring that he was in hands he could trust.

Lloyd comes back

Lloyd is finally able to be released from the hospital. The ninja have worked hard to get the monastery clean and ready for him to come back home. After what felt like forever, they would finally get to have him back. 

The doctors gave strict orders that, even though Lloyd is stable enough to be released, that he must be given enough time to fully heal and recover from his injuries. No training, no fights, nothing. Just bed rest and lots of physical therapy sessions. 

The gang brings Lloyd home and they all share very careful side hugs with their boy. Kai is so relieved to have Lloyd back, but he also knows that it was time for him to go. 

They all sit down for dinner and the room is lighthearted. Everyone is laughing, cracking jokes, and enjoying each other's company. Except for Kai. He’s trying to fake it, but it’s painfully obvious that he just doesn’t have the energy. Nobody pushes him though, nor prods at him with questions. For once, Kai feels relieved that he isn’t being put under scrutiny.

Eventually, Kai excuses himself and heads to his room. He explains that it’s just a headache and that he was going to lay down for a bit. 

After a short period of time, Cole gets up to go check on Kai. He knows it wasn’t just a headache.

(dialogue)

[[Cole: Hey babe, just wanted to check in on ya. Everything okay?

Kai: … jus’ not feeling well. 

Cole: Do you want some company?

Kai: I’d rather be alone right now.

Cole: That’s okay. Just know that I’m here for you when you’re ready. I love you, Kai.

Kai: .. I love you too, Cole. I really do.

Cole: I know. I hope you sleep well, good night honey.

Kai: g’night, rocky.]]

Kai’s Departure

Later that night, everyone has gone to bed except for Kai. He’s laying in his bed, staring holes through the ceiling. He knew that he would leave once Lloyd came home. He was alive, recovering, and safe with everyone else now.

He gets up and starts packing the essentials. He realizes he’s gonna need different clothes for when he’s gone. There are multiple reasons for this. He needs to be less recognizable, he doesn’t want people to see him and immediately know who he is. His signature color reminds him of his failures, how his fire has both failed him in his times of need and hurt those around him. And most importantly, it reminds him of Lloyd’s blood that remained on him for so long. The way the blood dried on the fabric and never seemed to wash out from underneath his fingernails. He doesn’t like the color red anymore.

(as a characterization for his outfit, the colors are dark grey and black to resemble charcoal and ash. This is meant to be symbolic that his “fire” has been put out and that he has to find a way to “reginite” himself)

As Kai is putting together his new outfit, Wu walks in and sees what he’s doing.

[[Wu: Kai, what are you doing?

Kai: I’m.. I’m leaving.

Wu: Leaving? Why? Where are you going?

Kai: Master Wu, I.. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t have my powers, and I’m dragging everybody else down. I can’t even protect myself, let alone those I love, or even all of Ninjago. Everybody else has to pick up the slack that apparently I can’t carry on my own. People are getting hurt. My friends are getting hurt, Wu, and it’s my fault.

Wu: Is this about Lloyd?

Kai: Yes, yes of course it’s about Lloyd! He got hurt trying to protect me because I panicked and wasn’t paying attention. He could’ve died, and it would’ve been my fault. 

Wu: Kai, you know he did that because he didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sure you would have done the same.

Kai: Of course I would, but that doesn’t matter. There was- there was so much blood. He was crying and I had to keep pressure on the wound but it was hurting him and there wasn’t anything else I could do. There was so much blood, and it was everywhere. I was supposed to keep him safe. But I couldn’t because I don’t have my powers, again. You know how I reached my true potential because I realized I was supposed to protect the green ninja? Some fuckin’ protector I am, I couldn’t even keep him from getting shot and almost dying. AGAIN. It seems like every five minutes, I lose the only thing that makes me worth something!!

Wu: Kai-

Kai: You know, after all the years you’ve spent training us, training me, that I would be able to carry my own weight. But I can’t! I can’t and I don’t understand why! So- so I’m leaving. I can’t stand to see other people getting hurt, so I’m gonna go figure some things out. I’ll come back when I’m ready, but I just can’t do this right now. And don’t try to talk me out of this, I don’t wanna hear any-

Wu: I’m not going to try to talk you out of it. 

Kai: -what? 

Wu: Even if I tried to convince you otherwise, it is clear that your mind is made up. If this is what you have to do, and this is what you think is right, then go through with it. It is not my place to tell you what to do. You may be my student, but you are also a grown man and you are allowed to make your own decisions. 

Kai: I.. wow I wasn’t expecting that..

Wu: I know, but I hope that it was better than hearing me chastise you and tell you that you weren’t allowed to leave. 

Kai: Yeah, yeah it was better than that. 

Wu: However, you must understand how your absence will affect the others. Have you told them that you’re leaving?

Kai: .. No.

Wu: They will be searching for answers, and they will most likely be looking for you. 

Kai: I know. If they ask about me, you can tell them why I left. But don’t tell them where I’m going.

Wu: Why not?

Kai: Because even I don’t really know. 

Wu: I understand. Please be safe, Kai. The monastery will always be your home, and we will be here for you when you are ready.

Kai: Thank you, Master Wu. Thank you.]]

Kai makes his way out, but as he is leaving, Lloyd looks out of his window. He sees Kai walk out of the monastery and into the night. But Lloyd is still in a sleepy daze, and immediately falls back asleep. He assumes it was all just a dream.

[bertiemaklinn]

Title: Do No Harm

Fandom: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series

Pairing: McKirk

Prompt: @badthingshappenbingo – Healing Pod Malfunction

Summary: When Jim gets hurt on an away mission, McCoy uses Starfleet’s brand-new healing pods to work on the worst of his injuries. Unfortunately, Starfleet Tech might not be all it’s hyped up to be.

“Mr Scott, beam us up!” If you asked Spock, he would have maintained that he was completely calm as he called through with the request, but McCoy had known the Vulcan for long enough now to hear the slight note of desperation in his voice. 

It was enough to make his stomach tie itself into knots – not that he would ever admit to it. He was a trauma surgeon; he was meant to be calm under pressure even in the direst of situations. Besides, all of their scans and data had said the planet was uninhabited. How much trouble could the away team possibly get themselves into?

He cursed the thought the moment the four members of the away team appeared on the transporter pad. 

Immediately, he began triaging the situation before him. Three of the team had minor to moderate injuries at worst, but the fourth member of the team was what had him worried. 

Jim was currently being held up between the two redshirts, his command golds turning red themself as crimson spread across them from a large gash in his stomach. 

McCoy had pulled his communicator from his pocket before he really had a chance to think about it. “I need a medical team in the transporter room. Now!” he near shouted into it. Then, his feet carried him over to the group. “Get him on the floor,” he said, and the redshirts obeyed. 

McCoy ripped into Jim’s shirt, exposing the full extent of the wound. Already, a puddle of blood had begun to form beneath him.

A few seconds later, his medical team entered with a hover stretcher and bags of equipment.

“Somebody get pressure on this wound,” he ordered, even as one of his nurses tore open a dressing pack and did just that. “Let’s get him on the stretcher, I want him in sickbay now.”

Several pairs of hands grabbed hold of Jim and lifted him onto the stretcher. Then, they got him to sickbay and onto a biobed. McCoy studied the vitals that flashed up onto the overhead display. Shit. 

“Ok, let’s get him stabilised and then into surgery.”

His team moved fluidly around each other, as he gave out orders, even though most of them didn’t need it. He had trained them well, and they already knew exactly what he wanted. 

Still, though, Jim vitals weren’t improving. In fact, they were doing the exact opposite. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it through surgery. McCoy’s throat clenched and he had to take a moment. 

“Dr McCoy, he’s not improving,” Chapel said from the other side of the bed. 

“I know,” he paused. “We’ll just have to go to surgery like this, before he can deteriorate further.”

“Or we could use the pod.”

McCoy looked over his shoulder at the healing pod. It had been installed the last time they’d docked and was Starfleet Med’s newest toy. He hadn’t used it yet.

“No, we haven’t tested it yet. I’m not risking it.”

“Dr, he’s not stable enough for surgery. Those pods have had all the testing they need and, right now, they’re the captain’s best chance.”

She was right, and he knew that deep down. 

“Ok, let’s get him in there,” he said finally, and they transferred him back to the stretcher and then to the pod. 

Things went well to start with. McCoy sat on a stool at Jim’s head, watching the live readouts on a PADD. Jim’s blood pressure was going up, his heart rate coming down, he was healing.

The first time he twitched, McCoy didn’t think much of it. Jim was healing, so he was waking up. McCoy reached for the intercom button on the pod. “Jim, it’s Bones. If you can hear me, you were injured on the away mission. You’re in a pod to heal your injuries, so just stay calm.”

That seemed to work for a minute, but then Jim started moving around more and then that changed into outright thrashing around.

“Jim, it’s ok,” McCoy said into the intercom again. “You’re ok, just stay calm and relax until the pod finished doing its work. We’re almost done.”

This time, his words had no effect. He kept trying, though, kept talking to Jim even though it did nothing to calm him. Until Jim started to scream. At that point, McCoy launched himself from his seat and towards the pods control panel. He desperately tried to cancel the cycle, to open the pod, but his hands refused to work properly, and he just kept getting error messages in response. 

“Somebody get this damn thing open!” he shouted, except he’d finally managed to press the right buttons and the pod opened with a hiss. His eyes immediately went to the place where Jim’s wound had been, where a fresh scar was in its place… and several angry looking burns. McCoy stared at the spots where blisters had already started to form, and his brain finally kicked back into gear. 

“Looks like we’ve got at least second-degree partial thickness burns on our hands,” he called out to the room at large. “Let’s get him out of this contraption and back onto a biobed, I need better readouts than this can get me.” He tossed the PADD, still in his hand, onto the nearest surface and helped his team transfer Jim back to the stretcher, back to the biobed. 

“Somebody get me burn gel and wet gauze,” he studied the overhead display again while waiting for someone to carry out his orders. “I also want some analgesia on board and get his pants off. I need to see if there are any more burns.”

It took a while, but they soon had the captain resting peacefully. His burns had been covered in gel and soaked gauze, and he’d been given enough pain relief to knock him out for at least a couple of hours. 

“Keep him on fifteen-minute checks and change the gauze out regularly. If he changes at all, I’ll be in my office.”

McCoy ignored the chorus of ‘yes Dr McCoy’s and made his way to his office. He fell down heavily into his desk chair and put his head into his hands. It was pretty rare that he felt like a failure of a doctor, but he did right then.

He hadn’t wanted to use that damned pod, something inside him had known that something was going to go wrong. He’d let his mind be changed and he shouldn’t have, now Jim was hurt because of him. Whatever happened to ‘do no harm’?

He emerged from his office an hour later and – after getting a quick update from Chapel – went to sit with Jim and wait for him to wake up. He settled down with a medical journal, knowing it would be a while before he saw any sort of activity from the captain. 

Of course, James Kirk couldn’t be normal and had burned through his analgesia within just over an hour after it had been given. Only a few minutes passed between his first stirrings and opening his eyes.

“B’nes,” he slurred. McCoy stood and reached for Jim’s hand.

“Hey Jim, how are you feeling?”

Jim seemed to consider his answer. “Hurts,” he said eventually, and he must have been in some considerable pain to admit it. McCoy didn’t waste any time loading a hypo with more pain meds and giving it as gently as he could manage. 

“That should take effect in a few minutes, Jim.”

“Why ’m I sticky?”

“You were injured pretty badly, Jim. We put you in a healing pod – which I am having torn out the moment we dock again – and you sustained some burns.” He wasn’t sure how much Jim would manage to comprehend in his half-conscious state. Probably more than McCoy would give him credit for. 

“Ok.” Jim was quiet for a moment and his eyes slipped closed. McCoy thought he’d fallen back to sleep, but then he spoke again. “Bones?”

“Yes Jim?”

“Thanks for saving me again.”

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Of Academic Interest

Fandom: Indiana Jones

Collection/Series: Tribute to/Part of @alloftheimaginesblog ‘s ‘Secret’s Out’ Saga world.

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Female History Lecturer Reader (Glasses are mentioned very briefly)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T 

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You’re one of the newest history lecturers and Indiana turns up to watch your open lecture on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead

Notes: I love Angela’s Secret’s Out Saga, i’m happy that I get to send her requests and see the amazing things she writes for it and lately i’ve been getting the urge to write something for the world/au/series. 

This is a homage, a tribute, to it, obviously none of this is canon unless Angela says so. 

This is set before Indy and the Reader are dating.

All facts come from an essay I did at university on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead, which I also did an hour long presentation on. 

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You were relatively new to the history department at Marshall College and were somewhat of a novelty to students and staff alike having only been there for a few months. Being one of the few female professors and on top of that specialising in some more taboo or ground breaking historical takes on the history of gender and sexuality, you had successfully caused quite the stir. 

The majority of your colleagues were accepting, happy to have you and generally interested by your studies and research. Despite being relatively new to academic teaching they were supportive, although there was a small subsection of the humanities department who, in typical old man fashion, talked down to you, treated you like a coffee girl and disrespected your expertise. You had taken to stealing their students from their modules and attracting them to your modules instead as a passive form of fighting back.

Students were clamouring to be taught by you, to get onto the list for your modules or to get to see your open lectures. You were the only member of the faculty who talked about the more riveting elements of history such as prostitution, sexualisation, and even ghosts. In comparison to the same lectures on Anglo-Saxon England and the Civil War, you were significantly more interesting to the student population. That did not, however, remove sexism within the student population. While female students actively enjoyed your lectures, got involved more so than in other modules, and felt a sense of comfort in a more female friendly space, you found that a small portion of the student male population tried at every turn to either explain your own specialism to you or to discredit you. You had long since taken to finding it rather amusing, especially when most of those individuals were failing your course. 

You had been asked many months ago to prepare an open lecture on the history of surgery and medicine, the faculty head had told you to pick any topic you wished so long as it was well researched and you could put on a good lecture for the student population. For some it might well be their first ever history lecture, for others it was just an addition to their usual workload, nonetheless you’d chosen a topic that was of interest to you and that you felt confident presenting. 

Standing before a podium in a large lecture hall, you push your glass further up the bridge of your nose and flick through the pages of notes in front of you to temporarily distract yourself from the crowds of people that were slowly making their way inside and to seats. It was a large hall, one that could hold upwards of 200 people and despite years of public speaking under your belt there was always an anticipation, a sense of nerves, before you began a lecture or presentation. 

You checked the microphone on the podium, happy to find it in working order and smiled at a few familiar faces in the front row, some of your students who had apparently decided to spend their free period listening to you talk some more. Checking the time you waited a few more minutes before choosing to start, letting the last stragglers find a seat or for those unlucky enough to stand at the back after all seats were filled. It was a large turn out and you could feel those nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach as you cleared your throat and picked up your notes. 

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules to hear me drone on once more about dead people,” Light laughter and small chuckles filled the space as you began, your students looking at each other with a shake of their heads. “Today i’m going to be talking to you about something called the Cult of the Beautiful Dead in Victorian medicine. Specifically surgery.” 

You find yourself drifting from the podium, pacing across the stage even as this requires you to speak louder without the microphone. There is a familiar energy in your body that demands you move as you speak, to expend it in some physical way. “The Cult of the Beautiful Dead pervaded the world of art within the 18th and 19th centuries. It has been defined as ‘a subjective fascination with idealised images of the deceased in such a way that permanently embalmed bodies and stable images displace and replace impermanent reality’, but I would characterise it within medical and surgical art somewhat differently.”

You stop briefly, give yourself time to breathe and them time to process your words, in that brief moment your eyes glance across the crowd and spot a familiar face that makes your cheeks warm and your heart stutter. Professor Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones Junior. 

Professor Jones was known throughout the history and archaeology department for his digs, his finds, and his immense knowledge, that and his good looks and charming persona. He was friendly, enticing, handsome, and treated you as an equal. While you could not consider yourself friends, you did have a healthy respect and rather decent crush on the man. In fact, the only reason you weren’t friends, you suspected, was your inability to talk around the man without stuttering. He had no reason to be at your lecture, but he’d come anyway, in fact it looked as if he were the only member of the archaeology department present. 

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and continue, “It is the idealised image of the female body on the dissection room table or the surgical bed with her flowing hair, her soft, pale skin, her perfect, unharmed nature and her sexualised passivity which characterises the Cult of the Beautiful Dead within medical art. On your seats you would have found copies of a painting by Henri Gervaux and an illustration by Hasselhorst, I will be talking today about these pieces of art and how they fit in with the realities of the dissection room.” 

You move across the stage again, wait as they find out their papers and find yourself looking over at Dr Jones again. He is intent in his observations of the papers in his hands, interested, actively engaged and that is a bigger compliment than anything you think. It would be heartbreaking, you decide, if he were bored by or disinterested in your lecture. While you don’t need his approval, you are an academic in your own right, you do desire it. 

You continue on when he looks up, shifting your eyes away quickly, “In the 19th century women were less likely to be patients of surgeons than men and even when they were operated on they were by no means symbols of the Cult of the Beautiful dead. See Before the Operation by Henri Gervaux,” You wait for them to find the print of the painting, “It is a portrait of Dr Pean, a French Surgeon, and depicts the moment before an operation on a young woman and fits into the ideal of the Cult even though the woman is anaesthetised and not dead.” 

In this fashion you continue your lecture, moving across the stage discussing the sexualisation of the female body in medical art and the realities of surgery in comparison. You’re highly aware of Dr Jones’ eyes on you as you move across the stage, to the point that you stumble at points in your oration. As time goes on you find yourself relaxing under his gaze, accepting that he is here purely out of interest, not to judge you or pass criticism. His active engagement with your lecture, the notes you can see him scribbling down in a notebook, is rewarding and reassures you that he is enjoying himself even on a topic so far removed from his own studies of ancient civilisations and centuries old artefacts and skeletons. 

You reach the end of your lecture, returning to the podium and straightening your skirt, “Are there any questions?”

Hands pop up across the room, but it is one in particular that you are drawn to. You don’t expect him to ask questions, you don’t expect him to have any, but you are a little scared to hear what he has to say. It shouldn’t scare you, this active academic engagement, the meeting of minds, but you so desperately do not want to make a fool of yourself. 

“Dr Jones?” You gesture for him to go on and ask and he stands in response. Tugging at the tweed waistcoat and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

He smiles at you as he begins, “Dr Y/L/N,” He addresses you by your title, formal and respectful. You are reminded, once more, that he has never failed to treat you as an equal. Unlike some of the other male professors, “I was just wondering what your opinion was on the eroticisation of death in this period?” You let out a little laugh, for no reason other than a little relief at the ease with which you can answer that question. 

“Thank you for your question Dr Jones, well art such as Hasselhorst’s helped to eroticise death in the 18th and 19th centuries, death became equated with beauty, even if the reality of the dissection room failed to live up to the standards of the Cult of the Beautiful Dead. What we see is death portrayed often as a young woman. She is often portrayed as beautiful with long flowing hair, a fair face, a soft pale body, naked, open to the eye and most importantly passive. The dead woman in this period is a passive object, dead, yet sleeping, immortally captured at her most beautiful and unable to object to any sexualisation or objectification. She cannot talk back. Death is an obsession of the Victorians and it’s prevalence in medical art like Hasselhorst’s shows just how deeply connected death, beauty and the erotic became at this time.”

“Do you think we’ve continued that desire for passivity today? The way in which we expect women to act?” 

“What do you think, Dr Jones?” You turn the question back on him, eager to hear his opinion, knowing that your own certainly sees the way 1930s society demands passivity from women even if death is no longer eroticised in the same way. 

“I think we’ve perpetuated that desire for passivity from women within our society, demanded they hold their tongue, keep themselves in check and in place and as objects of desire, but not too much or else they’re no longer respectable. I think we expect women to be passively sexual, unknowingly so, innocently so, yet they must be attractive else their worth is diminished. An outspoken or intelligent woman is demeaned, pushed out from academics or workplaces. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” You take a moment, give him a smile before answering the next question and the next and the next. You expect him to leave like many of the other members of the audience once his question has been answered, instead he stays, listens to your responses to each question and pays you rapt attention. 

You find yourself even more interested in Dr Jones than you were before. His acknowledgement of the treatment you and other women have faced when attempting to make a name in a career or in academics is refreshing and his engagement with your lecture is enjoyable and endearing. You curse him a little for making your crush, your infatuation deeper simply by coming to your lecture. 

You find yourself packing up your notes at the end, listening to the sound of feet leaving as you grab your notes and stuff them into your leather satchel. A tall shadow falls over you as you heft the bag onto your shoulder and you smile up at Dr Jones as he stands before the podium notebook in hand, he folds the glasses off of his nose and pockets them. 

“How did you enjoy the lecture, Dr Jones?” You run an anxious hand through your hair and twist your wide hips in a nervous movement, always finding yourself a little flustered when one on one with the man. There’s a part of you that worries about coming under scrutiny from him, the part that has so often been judged in life for your gender, your area of study, and your weight. Years of nasty comments, suggested diets and family obsession with the size of your body had created a paranoia almost, a sense of expectation. You were just waiting for the scrutiny to be voiced.

“It was one of the most interesting lectures I've had the pleasure of watching. You should write a book, it might be a worthy next research project and please call me Indiana.” 

“Only if you call me by name. I think we can both drop the doctor? I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I...I didn’t think the Victorians would interest an archaeologist.” In truth the idea of Indiana Jones wanting to learn about people not long dead, a period which rarely requires archaeological excavation and has few true mysteries, had never crossed your mind. 

“In all honesty?” There’s a pause as he looks away from you with a charming smirk before turning back to you, teeth showing through his smile. “You interest me. I’ve read all your books, all your papers, every time you lecture I stop at the door and listen. You’re a compelling orator.”

“You listen to my lectures?” You can feel warmth flooding your cheeks, your neck, your ears at his admission. Feel a familiar sense of butterflies flapping about in your stomach. You look down briefly, smiling at the ground before meeting his blue eyes again.

“When I have time, surprised you haven’t noticed me hovering in the doorway. You really are one of the best academics I've ever met.”

“I...thank you.” You’re a little lost for words, you have barely shared more than a few polite conversations with Indiana, too intimidated to talk in depth with him and yet here he is extolling your values and praising you. 

“Don’t let Dr Carr convince you otherwise.” He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the wood of the podium, looking away from you and towards the door where you can see the much older Dr Carr standing waiting impatiently for you to leave the room for his next lecture. 

“You heard...the other day.” You think back to the argument you’d gotten into with the old professor over his sexist attitude towards you, his constant demeaning comments. You had thought it had been a private argument, but it seems not. You were still rather angry about the whole thing in truth.

“Yeah, look he’s old school. Doesn’t think women should have degrees or PhDs, ignore him. You’re a better academic by far and he’s just angry that he’s been passed over for the chair again. He’s a washed up old academic, he’s only still got a job because the Dean feels bad for him.” He says the last part loudly, on purpose you’re sure, loud enough for Dr Carr to hear and turn a glare on him. You know he won’t say anything to him though, Dr Jones was the university’s prized archaeology professor, he brought in more artefacts than the other’s combined and more students. Dr Carr wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Couldn’t. It was enjoyable to watch the old fuddy professor go red in the face and huff at the doors. 

“I don’t know what to say. I...Thank you. I know we don’t...we don’t really talk, but thank you, I. It’s been hard joining the faculty, it’s a very masculine environment and I...it’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner.” You think to your Grandfather telling you that academics would make you barren, cause you to go insane, think to your mother telling you to find a nice husband and settle down, that you should desire the life of a housewife alone. It has been very difficult simply getting this far and to know you have him in your corner, someone in your corner means a great deal, in a new city, a new job, a new career. 

“Always.” The two of you stand there in silence, just staring at each other, despite the impatient noises being made at the door by Dr Carr. You grip the satchel strap tighter over your shoulder and tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Now?” You don’t have any more lectures for the day, just your office hours later to answer any student questions, but the offer still surprises you. 

“Yeah, I don’t have a lecture until later and...if you’re free I have more questions.” He holds up the notebook, little post notes coming out of the side, it’s thick from writings and usage. It flatters you that he’s so interested in what you have to say, in your mind. You think it might be more of a compliment than anything physical. 

“So it’s entirely professional then, Dr Jones?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from to cause the words to fall from your lips, to cause a little smirk to lift at them as you look at him over the top of your glasses. Flirtation is one area you are not confident in, despite it all. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely, sweetheart...I’d like to get to know you better.” He’s utterly too charming for his own good you think and too charming for your poor little heart, but despite any concerns you have, any worries about his intentions you still find yourself agreeing. You’ve wanted to get to know him better for so long, too scared to talk to him in more than passing that you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. Refuse to. 

“That sounds...lovely.” 

“Shall we?” He offers his elbow out to you and you take it, wrapping your arm through his and pulling yourself to his side. He is taller, broader, and warmer than you. He smells woodsy and a little like black coffee and everything about this moment has your heart skipping a beat. 

“We shall.”  

You take great pleasure in the dissatisfied sneer on Dr Carr’s face as the two of you walk arm in arm out of the lecture hall. 

                                                            ----

Taglists: 

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929  @trasheater

[marvel-heaux]

Stay (part 1) - SamBucky - warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, blood, hand wavy biology for super soldiers, hospitals

-

It wasn’t -

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“God damn it, Buck,” Sam pants, voice breaking, pressing his hand hard against the gaping fucking hole in Bucky’s chest.

It was supposed to be a simple press conference. As simple as they get, at least, when you’re Captain America. He’s not even wearing the fucking suit, for God’s sake. It was just to announce some education initiative, he can’t even remember, and now Bucky’s blood is running hot through his fingers.

“I need a medic!” Sam shouts, the chaos around them nothing but background noise to him. All he can hear is the wet rattle of Bucky’s breathing. “Medic!”

Neither of them had expected trouble - no one had. Least of all one fringe zealot nut job who was convinced Bucky was still working for Hydra and slowly taking down America from the inside.

But one nut job and sawed off shotgun bursting through a crowd is all it takes. Even super soldier healing can’t compete with a close range shot to the chest.

“Sam,” Bucky pants, hand coming up to cover Sam’s on his chest. He’s losing too much blood, the shot too close range. “Sam, look at me. It’s okay.”

The words are barely audible, dark blood leaking from the corner of Bucky’s lips. He’s going pale.

“Shut up, man,” Sam shakes his head, because he can’t. He doesn’t know when tears started burning his eyes, or when his voice got so weak, but he can’t. He can’t entertain that thought, not with so much between them unexplored. Not with so many more nights watching the sun go down in Louisiana to be had. Not when the boys will ask what happened to Uncle Bucky. Not without the mornings and nights together Sam knows they were meant to have “You’ve been a pain in my ass for this long and you’re giving up now?”

Bucky smiles, and when he lifts his hand to Sam’s face it’s shaking.

“You make me so proud,” he says, the words as broken as his breathing. Sam can tell it’s taking everything he has just to speak.

“C’mon, Buck, save it for when we’ve got you stable, alright -”

The medics are rushing over now, Sam can see them pushing through the chaos towards them.

Bucky shakes his head, lungs rattling wetly. His eyes are closing, the blood slowing beneath Sam’s palm.“If I was ever going to get old and grey, I’d want it to be with you.”

Sam makes a broken noise, barely registering the medics swarming them now.

“Then stay, Bucky, c’mon -” he pleads, feeling strong hands pull him away to make room for the medics. “Stay -”

It’s all a blur after that, Sam’s ears ringing as he sees the medics rush Bucky’s limp form into an ambulance. He tries to follow, but his knees go weak.

“- am! Sam, look at me, hey -”

It’s Torres, wide brown eyes worried as he grabs Sam’s face.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, gently tapping his cheek to get his attention.

“No,” Sam rasps. “Bucky -”

“They’re taking him to the hospital, I’ll get you there,” Torres nods, hauling Sam up as best he can. “Come on, Cap.”

-

Sam has paced the length of the hospital hallway at least a hundred times.

The poor nurses have been nothing but patient with him, despite his constant asking for updates.

Mr. Barnes is in surgery, they say. That’s all we know right now.

He talks to Sarah, reassuring her that he’s okay and hiding next to a vending machine when she asks him if he’s okay and he can’t keep it together anymore.

“There’s so much I haven’t said,” he whispers, hand over his eyes as tears roll hot down his cheeks. “Sarah, there’s so much I haven’t said to him.”

Sarah makes a soft noise. “I know, Sam. I know.”

She doesn’t tell him it’s going to be okay, because they both know she can’t promise that. But she listens, and she tells him to call her the moment he hears anything.

Hours go by. Torres brings him coffee, squeezing his shoulder and updating him on the situation at the conference - the man is in custody. Sam wants him dead.

Eventually, Torres falls asleep next to Sam in the waiting room, having adamantly refused to leave. He’s a good kid, Sam thinks. He’d probably have torn his hair out without him here.

Around 3 in the morning, an exhausted looking doctor comes out.

“Mr. Wilson,” he says. “Please come with me.”

Sam is up like a shot, heart pounding as he follows the doctor down the hallway.

“Is he -” he starts, voice catching brokenly before he can finish the sentence.

“He’s alive,” the doctor says, giving Sam a tired smile. “He’s a fighter.”

Sam feels like he might fall down, the sheer relief nearly bringing him to his knees. The doctor steadies him gently, giving him a moment to catch himself before they continue walking.

“His healing factor made the surgery incredibly difficult,” the doctor starts to explain. “Once we gave him transfusions and stabilized the blood loss, his body started metabolizing any anaesthetic we gave him. We couldn’t keep him under long enough to get the shrapnel out without him coming to. Eventually -”

He sighs, looking truly exhausted. Haunted, even.

“Eventually we just had to do it and try to keep him as comfortable as possible. We couldn’t allow him to heal around the shrapnel.”

Sam feels sick, the thought of Bucky awake and in searing pain during surgery as the doctors tried to save his life making him want to throw up or cry.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, scrubbing a hand down his face.

They come to a stop on a quiet ward, the door in front of them closed and the blinds drawn.

“He’s stable now, and lucid,” the doctor says. He sighs. “He’s been refusing any more medication. But he’s going to be okay.”

“Thank you,” Sam shakes the doctor’s hand, trying to pour every ounce of gratitude he has into it. The doctor nods, clapping Sam on the shoulder before heading back down the hallway.

Sam let’s out a shaking breath before opening the door to the room. The lighting is soft and dim, the air cool. Bucky is -

Bucky is there, alive and whole, covered in blankets and IV lines. He’s pale and looks like shit, and Sam’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire fucking life.

“Took you long enough,” Bucky croaks, eyes barely open. “Had other people to visit?”

Sam can’t even bring himself to say anything, a wet laugh leaving his lips as he strides over to the bed. He sits carefully on the edge next to Bucky, hands hovering above his chest, his arms, his face. He doesn’t know where to start, what to touch, how to make sure this is real and Bucky is alive.

“Know I said I wanted you to talk less, but I didn’t mean it,” Bucky murmurs, grey blue eyes opening a bit more to look at Sam properly.

“You’re such an asshole,” Sam whispers, tears running into his smile. He runs his fingers gently through Bucky’s hair. “If you ever do that to me again, I’m going to kill you myself.”

Bucky smiles, carefully extricating his hand to grip Sam’s.

“Nah,” he murmurs, and it’s easy to see he’s exhausted, body worn out from healing. But he’s still smiling, eyes half lidded and looking up at Sam. “You love me.”

Sam huffs a laugh, shaking his head. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“God help me, I do,” he whispers, letting their foreheads rest together. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here. Ain’t going nowhere.”

Bucky barely nods before he’s out, hand still in Sam’s and breathing steady.

Sam doesn’t move, just watches the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. The sun eventually begins to rise, and Sam has never felt so damn lucky.

[mandelene]

≣: hand holding — a 17 year old Alfred is a pedestrian in a bad hit-and-run accident and is brought into Arthur’s ER. Arthur doesn’t find out until they’re wheeling him into the OR.

Love and Rage

Word Count: 1243

“Seventeen-year-old male en route to trauma – should be arriving any minute now. Hit and run on the corner of Lexington and East 39th Street. Patient was walking to the subway after getting food with friends at Shake Shack. EMS says vitals are stable but the patient was briefly unconscious and there’s suspected head trauma – bleeding along his hairline from when he hit the concrete. Patient was also complaining of shortness of breath and feeling dizzy. Bruising and swelling around his left side where he was struck, including his hip, thigh, and knee. Ribs tender to touch on the left side as well.”

Arthur sucks in a breath through his teeth as he overhears the trauma team receive report. Seventeen—that’s the same age as his boys. How devastating for the teen and his family. How could someone hit a child and then drive off? The thought makes him shudder.

He continues his charting, turning his attention back to his own patients. They have a level one trauma center—the boy is in good hands at least and has an entire team of doctors waiting for his arrival.

He doesn’t pay it any more mind…

Until he sees the bruised boy being brought in on a stretcher.

Arthur’s body goes cold and stiff. His knees weaken. He thinks he might vomit or faint, or both. He stands up from his chair on wobbly legs and grips the edge of the counter of the nurses’ station, trying to confirm if his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

The boy on the stretcher is Alfred.

He is reminded of the conversation he had with Alfred two nights ago—he had asked if he could go to the city with friends after school...

For three entire seconds—the longest seconds of his life—Arthur is paralyzed. He watches helplessly as Alfred is rushed into the trauma bay.

And then, he drops everything and runs.

“Alfred,” he gasps as he reaches the trauma team and pushes past them. “Alfred!”

His son’s blue eyes are glassy as they shift over to him. Splotches of red and purple hematomas are scattered across his face and chest, the left side of his forehead is dirty with sticky, dried blood, and he appears dazed and confused.

He takes Alfred’s hand and squeezes it. It suddenly feels so small and fragile—so easily breakable. “Oh, Alfred…It’s going to be all right, love. I-It’s going to be just fine,” he manages to say despite the sudden incredible ache in his heart.

One of the emergency medicine doctors on the team touches his shoulder and says, “We’re going to need you to wait outside. I’ll find you as soon as I can, okay?”

Arthur swallows against the lump of grief in his throat. Of course…He’s just going to be a distraction—too overwrought to be of any use to Alfred right now anyway. Treatment first, emotions later.

He gives Alfred’s hand one more warm squeeze and kisses his forehead before excusing himself from the trauma bay. When he exits, everyone at the nurses’ station is staring at him but trying their hardest to seem discreet about it.

He retreats to the doctors’ lounge and calls Francis.

That’s all he can do right now.

And he hates himself for it.

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

They wait an agonizing four hours before they’re given the full list of damage. Three fractured ribs, a concussion—but no bleeding in the brain, which is a huge relief—fractures to both his patella and tibia with displacement (requiring surgery), a dislocated hip (also surgically treated), and a collapsed lung.

But he should be fine with rest, monitoring, and supplemental oxygen.

It takes all of Arthur’s strength not to break down when he gets the news. He hugs Francis tightly outside of the pediatric ICU, shaking.

“We can go in and see him,” Arthur rasps in a hoarse voice, glancing over at Matthew, who is sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting area and looks so pale he’s matching the shade of the wall behind him.

Francis murmurs, “I’ll stay here with Mathieu for another few minutes. It’s…It’s going to be difficult to see him, and I think we both need a moment to prepare ourselves.”

“Okay, I’ll go then. Only two visitors at a time are allowed anyway,” Arthur says, steeling himself. He knows he’s seen worse in the past, but seeing his own child suffering is a different beast entirely.

He alerts Alfred’s nurse of his presence and then enters the boy’s room, inwardly pleading with himself to hold back the intense sorrow washing over him when he sees the oxygen mask on Alfred’s face and the chest tube creeping out from under his hospital gown.

He knows the boy has been through a great deal of pain, and he hopes the painkillers he’s getting are strong enough to at least grant him some reprieve.

Alfred’s eyes are closed at first, but he opens them halfway when he hears his footsteps. He’s still a bit woozy from anesthesia and the cocktail of pain medication—that much is clear.

“…Dad…?” Alfred asks very quietly. A few tears roll down his bruised face.

“I’m here, love,” Arthur replies, hastily taking up the chair by the bedside and grabbing hold of Alfred’s right hand. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through…But you’re going to be all right, and that’s all that matters right now…Don’t cry, poppet. Shhh…”

Arthur carefully pets the boy’s head and wipes away his tears. “I know, darling. I know…”

Alfred rolls his head to the side wearily, and Arthur holds him against his chest very gently, doing his best to console him without causing him any additional pain.

“You’re going to be all better with time,” Arthur promises. “I won’t let anything happen to you, and I wish I could have protected you today…I’m so sorry.”

Alfred sniffles and bites back a sob so as to not irritate his ribs and his lungs. “I’m so tired…And scared.”

“Close your eyes and try to rest. Don’t be scared—I’ll be here should anything else happen.”

“It hurts…”

Arthur can feel his heart being torn in half, straight down the middle. “I know, love,” he sighs, placing a hand against Alfred’s forehead and holding it there—a steady warmth to calm him. “Your Papa and Matthew are going to come in soon. They’re very worried about you. We all are. But we’re also going to do whatever we can to help you get well soon.”

“Are you gonna leave later?” Alfred asks, voice quavering.

“No, no. Of course not. One parent is always allowed to stay. I’ll be here all night. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise,” Arthur replies without hesitation, combing a hand through the boy’s hair. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving. Do you think I’d be able to sit at home without you? Worrying sick about you? Never,” he assures.

That’s the thing about children—they never understand how much you love them. How you would give up your entire world for them. How everything falls apart when something happens to them…How you can’t imagine yourself living on without them…

If he could find the driver who did this, he would kill them. Would wrap his bare hands around their neck and make them feel the same pain.

The rage inside of him—it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

When Francis and Matthew take his place by Alfred's bedside, he goes to the men’s restroom and cries.

[kenganparadise]

Hey Chief! I absolutely adore what you’ve written and if it’s not to much on you schedule. Maybe the Baki characters SO gets hurt? Maybe from being jumped or being shot and having the characters being protective or something along those lines?

This was ao much fun to write! 😤 Thank you for requesting this! I decided to add even more characters this time.

Baki boys reacting to their S/O getting hurt-

Baki-

• Once he sees his S/O get injured he’s by their side in a heartbeat. He’s instantly putting pressure on the wound and trying his very best to stop the bleeding. Even if it’s just a flesh wound and not serious.

• If it’s a serious wound, Poor baby is panicking harder than ever before. He can’t lose his S/O. They’re pretty much all he has left. There are already tears falling down his face, he sobs out their name.

• He doesn’t wait around for an ambulance, He picks them up and runs them to the nearest hospital. Once his S/O’s injury is under control and they’re stable baki doesn’t leave their side. He can’t eat, he can’t sleep. He just watches them sleep and breathe softly with tears in his eyes and their hand in his.

• Once they awaken Baki is incredibly relieved. While they’re recovering Baki goes out and hunts down whoever hurt his S/O. Baki exacts his revenge and promises to protect his S/O with his life.

Yujiro-

• Once Yujiro sees his S/O get hurt he instantly takes the life of whoever dared to harm his S/O. He then moves calmly yet swiftly to their side. He probably chastises his S/O for being not careful enough and getting injured.

• But once he sees his S/O coughing up an alarming amount of blood and noticing the wound is much deeper than anticipated, Yujiro loses his cool just a little.

• He realizes that his S/O’s life is in jeopardy and he needs to act quickly. He’s never felt this way before, he’s never worried so much about anything in his life.

• He becomes uncharacteristically on edge and becomes quiet. His eyes are wide. He doesn’t say a word to his S/O as he gets them to help and safety.

• Once in the hospital and his S/O is in stable condition he returns to his usual self. He goes back to teasing his S/O while they lay in the hospital bed wrapped in bandages.

• He hates the new feeling he’s experienced But he’s relieved that his S/O is safe. He never wants to feel that way he did again, His S/O will never be put in danger again.

Jack-

• Jack probably doesn’t see his S/O get injured, he’s probably too preoccupied with whoever he’s fighting. Looking over his shoulder and seeing his S/O on the ground injured, laying in a poor of their own blood, Jack looses it.

• He doesn’t care if they’re friend of foe, Jack goes berserk. He scrambles to their side. He expects the worst. He lifts his S/O in his arms and makes a mad dash to Kureha. He’s the only doctor he trusts.

• Once his S/O is safe, he starts blaming himself for everything. He failed at protecting his S/O. Like Baki, he can’t eat or sleep, he doesn’t leave his S/O’s side until they awaken.

• Jack’s S/O is the light in his life, without them his world would be quite a dark place. He gets a harsh reality check. He cannot lose his S/O.

• Once they awaken, Jack apologizes. He feels guilty, like it’s his fault they got injured. He’s in fear that his S/O would leave him.

• He needs some reassurance and he needs his S/O to hold him. He apologizes over and over, promising to never let them go. Jack becomes more protective then ever.

Katsumi-

• Seeing his S/O get injured, Katsumi shouts out their name. He quickly takes out whoever hurt his S/O then Katsumi is by his S/O’s side in a second. He’d cradling them in his arms.

• If it’s a deadly wound, Katsumi is panicking hard. He looks down to see his S/O’s blood pooling around them and staining his White karategi.

• An ambulance comes and picks up them up, rushing them into the emergency room. The fear of losing his S/O consumes Katsumi. He stares at his Blood covered hands with tears in his eyes. His heart is in his throat. As his S/O is in surgery, he is in the waiting room. He can’t imagine his life without his S/O.

• Once his S/O pulls through and is in stable condition, Katsumi is by their side. He holds their hand in his. He looks at their sleeping face and he can’t help but choke up. He blames no one but himself.

• while his S/O is practically comatose, Katsumi tries to act like his usual self. However there’s pain in his eyes and his smile is fake. Doppo is the only one who really sees through his disguise, he’s only one that can really get through to him.

• Once his beloved S/O awakens Katsumi is overjoyed. He holds them in his arms and gently cries into their chest. Katsumi feels like he’s dogged a bullet and now he’s never leaving his S/O’s side again.

Retsu-

• Retsu senses something is very wrong. He views his S/O as an extension of himself, he is one with his S/O. So once he sees them injured, he is in pain.

• He’s by his S/O’s side, he can hear the ambulance sirens in the distance. He’s applying pressure to his S/O’s wounds. This whole time his heart is beating out of his chest and he’s staring at his S/O’s face. He feels nauseous and sick to his stomach. His whole body burns.

• If the wound is dangerously deep, He tries his hardest not to cry but hearing his S/O’s shallow breaths and the blood and life flowing out of them he can’t quite help it.

• Once at the hospital, his S/O is rushed to surgery. Retsu collapses, he bites his lip and hopes for the best. He sits down and prays that they’re going to be okay, he hopes he gets to hold them in his arms and see their smile again.

• He stays by their side until they awaken, Retsu apologizes profusely while holding them in his arms. He helps them throughout the recovery process, and kisses their scars. He makes an oath to never put his S/O in harms way again. And He keeps this promise.

Kaoru-

• Kaoru pretty much lives in danger 24/7. That’s just his lifestyle and something his S/O knows and has to except Pretty much everyone close to him has gotten injured or worse. The thought of his S/O getting injured has crossed his mind a few times, but once it actually happens it’s much different.

• Kaoru probably hears them cry out in pain as they’re injured. His head whips around to see them clutching their wound. Seeing his S/O injured triggers something in him, something he’s never felt before. He goes on a rampage, ending whoever wounded his S/O.

• He then rushes to his S/O’s side. Noticing that the injury could potentially be deadly he begins making way to the nearest hospital. Seeing his S/O this way makes his blood boil and makes him feel sick. He’s grinding his teeth as his heart is in his throat.

• He’s watched many of his friends, loved ones, and comrades get injured or worse, but for some reason with his S/O it feels so much different.

• Once His S/O is in stable condition he is quite relieved. He feels like he can relax now. He Has to go back to his duties as boss of the Hanayama group. However once he is given the news that his S/O is awake he drops whatever he’s doing and returns to their side.

• He never what’s to feel the way he did again, he promises to protect his S/O, and that they’ll never get injured again.

Katou-

• Katou is bad In situations under pressure, he’s very impulsive and doesn’t exactly think things through. So he might be in a situation where his S/O is put in danger.

• He probably doesn’t notice at first but once he sees out of the corner of his eye, his S/O on the ground bleeding out and he scrambles to their side and babbles out incoherently sentences.

• He then turns his attention to whoever hurt his S/O. He’s absolutely filled with rage. He quickly puts the perpetrator in their place.

• If the wound is deadly then He’s falling apart. He picks his S/O up and gets them to an emergency room as quickly as possible. He tries so hard not to cry, but he’s so overcome with fear and worry that he can’t help it.

• while his S/O is recovering he’s by their side. Seeing his beloved in a hospital bed injured and clinging on to life kills him inside. Once they wake up he somewhat tries to avoid them. He feels incredibly guilty, in a way he feels like it’s his duty to protect his S/O and he failed at doing that.

• He’s honestly worried that his S/O would leave him. While his S/O is recovering he’s acts very timid around them. He brings his S/O flowers, teddy bears, books, and other little nicknacks as apologies. He also helps taking care of them. Depending on how severe their injuries are, he helps feed them, helps them walk, helps bathe them, he’ll anything he can do to help.

Suedo-

• Once he finds out his S/O got hurt he snaps. Suedo can be angered quite easily, very small things can set him off. however messing with his S/O is something new entirely.

• He directs his anger towards whoever hurt his beloved S/O. Like Jack, he doesn’t care if they’re friend or foe, everyone gets a taste of his rage.

• However Once ambulance arrives he halts. He’s by his S/O’s side and his mood flips from enraged to worried. He’s panicking but he knows his S/O is strong. He tells himself that they’ll pull through.

• If the injury is possibly deadly then Suedo changes. He’s not his arrogant, loud, and confident usual self. He’s stoic and quiet. He rarely speaks. he’s always got a scowl on his face and he angers quicker than usual.

• While his S/O is sleeping while recovering, he talks to them. He says all the things he could never say when they’re awake. Once they do awaken, Suedo is incredibly relieved. He felt like is world was so close to falling apart. Seeing his S/O smile makes him feel like everything will be okay.

Kureha-

• He senses something is wrong. He looks over to his S/O right before they get injured. He’s already running towards them but he’s too late. He catches his S/O before they hit the ground.

• He remains calm, assessing the wound, then applying pressure as he calls an ambulance. He can’t panic in this situation. Once at his hospital, he gets to work. He won’t let any other doctor see to his S/O. He quickly stitches up their wound and dresses it.

• If the wound is deadly and requires surgery, Kureha is taking care of it. He acts as if nothing is wrong, his fellow doctors, nurses, and colleagues think nothing is wrong with him.

• Once his S/O pulls through feel like he can finally breath again. He sits by his S/O’s bed, holding their hand. He knew that his S/O would pull through, he is over-confident in his medical abilities after all. However these was a piece of him that was in fear of losing his S/O forever.

• He’s exhausted. He probably pushes his S/O over so he can take a nap next to them in their hospital bed while cuddling them.

Doyle-

• Doyle lives a very dangerous life. It’s no doubt that his S/O would be put in harms way pretty often. However once they get injured Doyle is given a reality check.

• He wipes out whoever injured them. He tries to walk calmly to his S/O’s body on the ground, but he feels like he needs to run. He leans over and tries to get his S/O to stand. “Stand up Y/N.” He orders. He repeats this again and again, trying to pretend that their injuries aren’t as severe as he thinks they are.

• When the blood starts pooling around his S/O and their breaths get weaker and weaker he scoops them up and makes a mad dash to the nearest hospital. His face is blank but his eyes are wide and wild.

• He drops them off at the emergency room and then disappears. He doesn’t want to deal with the hospital staff or any potential law enforcement.

• He finds out where his S/O’s room is and sneaks in during the cover of night. He watches them sleep from the shadows. He experiences something he’s never felt before. Remorse and guilt fill his chest. The reality of almost losing his Darling S/O makes him feel sick to his stomach. He’s never going to put them in harms way again.

Sikorsky-

• Like Doyle, Sikorsky has an incredibly dangerous lifestyle. The thought of his S/O getting injured or worse hasn’t really crossed his mind too much. He thinks that he’ll always be there to protect them or that luck would be on his side. Like Doyle, Sikorsky receives a harsh reality check.

• He leans over his S/O as they’re bleeding out. His heart is racing but he doesn’t exactly quite know what to do. He kills whoever hurt them and then takes them to the hospital. Like Doyle, he just drops them off then dips.

• He waits for them to be expelled from the hospital with a clean bill of health, then he’ll approach his S/O. Of course he spies on them the whole time, but he didn’t make his presence known.

• He pretty much acts like nothing happened. He won’t even acknowledge that his S/O almost died. For Sikorsky, This is a defense mechanism, it takes a long time for him to except his feelings. His S/O got severely injured and could have died, he’s never felt a fear like that before.

• At night when his S/O is asleep he’ll gently run his fingers over their scars while feeling guilty. His S/O is the first thing he thinks about when in a dangerous situation again, he can’t lose them.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6423 Warnings: mention of injuries, fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 24 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Time stands still like the eerie calm of the earth before a storm and in less than the blink of an eye things move all at once. The clouds break open with the downpour of your tears, a tornado sends you in a dizzying frenzy to change your clothes, hellish winds are unleashed that blow you across town so quickly you nearly forgot to take your phone with you as you scrambled out of the Uber that raced you to the hospital.

Sam’s call was brief. Bucky was brought into the emergency room by ambulance, fading in and out of consciousness from a car accident. Sam nearly went into shock himself seeing his friend littered in cuts and scrapes. You didn’t have time to ask much else, barely even changing out of your pajamas. You swapped thin bottoms for leggings, quickly grabbed your bra and threw a hoodie over it all, not thinking about how your hair looked or bothering to pick out the crust that just began to take root in the corner of your eyes. You grabbed a bag tossing in your keys and wallet and clutched your phone in hand to run downstairs.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as you enter the hospital, searching for Sam through the chaos of chatter and noise. The beep beep beep of machinery all around you, coughing, crying, moaning wails from people that want help or attention or just a place to sleep off their drunkenness. The ER was a maze you knew every route of but your mind pushed the knowledge out needing more space to panic.

Where is Bucky? Where is Sam?

You remembered the nurses’ station, sprinting towards it and happy to see a familiar face that does not recognize you right away. You didn’t expect Stacie to; you looked quite different when you were not put together in professional clothes and on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing up at the same time.

Together you quickly found Sam, unable to hold back the dam when you saw him and asked about Bucky.

“He went up into surgery.”

“Surgery!?” you cried out. “Is he going to be okay? Sam what happened?”

He let out a long and heavy sigh. The harsh lights above were unkind, showing the depths of the circles under his eyes.

“His leg is broken and he has some internal bleeding but we stabilized him and…”

You knew how hard Sam works, how everyone in this hospital works, getting an up close experience from your time there so you hated to be this person, frantic and begging for answers that he didn’t have.

“Doctor Palmer is an excellent surgeon. I’m gonna call her assistant now to let them know I’m sending you up.”

You nodded, biting your lip and roughly wiping away fresh tears. Sam pulled you into his chest and you felt your knees buckle. Bucky had to make it through surgery, he had to! A heavy sob wracked through you as you thought of the worst. Sam squeezed tighter, wishing he could stay with you upstairs through the surgery. Hell, he’d scrub in himself if they’d let him just so he could say he’s done everything to help his friend through this.

“I’ll be up when I can,” he promised, walking you towards the elevator.

You forced a worried smile. “Thanks Sam. Do you know… did anyone call his parents?”

Sam clenched his jaw as he thought about it. “It was pretty crazy in there, I’m not sure. I could fi–” He was interrupted by someone calling his name and you knew you had taken too much of his time already.

Your stomach dropped as the elevator went up, bringing you to an unfamiliar floor with unfamiliar faces that made you feel like an unwelcome stranger in someone’s home. You let the staff know you were here for James but a by-the-books nurse wasn’t keen on giving you information. Without thinking straight you had stupidly answered no when they asked if you were family, and when you asked if Bucky’s family was called she wouldn’t tell you.

You exhaled a deep, calming sigh, not wanting to yell at the person that was just doing their job, but as you sink into the uncomfortable chair you can’t help but silently cry to yourself. This woman doesn’t know how badly you need to know if Bucky’s okay. She doesn’t know that you spent the last few months ignoring him and wishing you could take it all back. She doesn’t know how much you miss him, how you love him. Even though he broke your heart you couldn’t help yourself from gluing the pieces back together and you needed to tell him, maybe you couldn’t tell him the truth but Bucky needed to at least know that you didn’t hate him.

The clock ticks away slowly and no one has come to speak with you. You stare at Winifred’s profile. She hasn’t updated her status since late in the afternoon. Does she know? Did anyone call them?

You decide they need to know, they need to be here just in case. A wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought and suddenly you become dizzy in your seat. You’re hot, sweating in the hoodie and yet you push on. Shaky fingers google his parent’s names and hometown in the hopes they are listed. You find a number, hesitant to call at this late of an hour. Rebecca was a few hours behind, and you debated messaging them in hopes of a fast reply. Should you do that? Should you be doing this at all?

Fuck.

If you had some answers you could at least feel a little better about all of this. You messaged Rebecca on Instagram telling them what happened and leaving your number. Your cheeks burn like lava as you rest your palm against them, dialing the number that google provided which may or may not be correct.

The phone rings and rings, and with each unanswered ring your stomach twists a little tighter. Relief comes but only slightly by way of Winnie’s bubbly voice prompting you to leave a message. Your voice shakes as you do, letting out a strangled cry as you leave them the limited details you knew about Bucky. Are they sleeping?

It doesn’t take long before your screen lights up with a number you don’t recognize and you were relieved to hear Winnie’s voice. Someone did call her and George, and they were on their way to the hospital.

“Rebecca sent me your number. I’m so happy you’re there. We’ll see you soon sweetheart,” she said, with sobs in her voice.

After hanging up you saw a message from Rebecca repeating what you already knew. They asked if it was okay to call you and you were thankful for the distraction. Together you tried to comfort each other, worrying about Bucky making it through surgery, about their parents driving with little sleep and so much on their minds.

“They’re here,” you said spotting George first from down the hallway, “I’ll call you back.”

It had been at least a half hour since their call and getting up from the chair was slow, your body ached from sitting for too long but you didn’t care. George and Winnie wrapped you in their arms, tears flowing as you embraced. The tears poured a little harder as you gripped them tightly, realizing how nice it was to see them again but wishing desperately it was under different circumstances.

George withdrew first, going up to the desk to let them know he was there. Winnie cupped your face softly, her hands were cold but it felt good against the heat of your skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that released more tears down her reddened cheeks, her eyes already swollen and full of spidery veins.

Together you waited. Talking, pacing, crying, waiting, waiting, waiting until a short woman in green scrubs called out for the Barnes family. The three of you jump up and you feel immediately sick, holding on to Winnie’s arm as you try to read the expression of the woman before she said anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes my name is Doctor Palmer, I was the surgeon who worked on your son James.”

Winnie held your hand a little tighter, squeezing as every second went by until Dr. Palmer said he was stable and in recovery.

“He came in with blunt force trauma from a crash. He fractured two ribs and there was some internal bleeding from his spleen which we were able to repair with arterial embolization. However, James had a severe compound fracture of the tibia. We debrided the area and secured the bone with plates and screws. James is in the post op recovery room and he’s awake but not fully lucid.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room, with mixed tears of happiness flowing freely again. The doctor said a nurse would come by to bring you in to see him shortly and you couldn’t wait. You didn’t know what you would say to Bucky or if he would even be alert enough to hear you but you knew it was time to let him know that the past is in the past and you want to move forward.

A beat fills the room, steady like a metronome to keep the rhythm but the sound is unfamiliar. Too soft for the drums, not high enough for strings. Quick, simple. Piano? No. The sound isn’t broad enough. Keyboard? Yes. Electric, synthy. But it still sounds wrong.

Bucky tries to open his eyes but his lids are too heavy, bolted down by invisible chains. He sees the light of the sun through them. He tries to lift his arm to shut the blinds but even they are too sluggish to move, heavy like they were coated in cement.

He feels the scratch of a rough blanket against his skin, vague thoughts cross his tired mind wondering the whereabouts of his comforter. His toes are cold, feeling like tiny icicles are hanging off them. His right foot drags against the mattress. Was it always this uncomfortable? It’s his left foot that isn’t covered, a sock that probably came off in the night.

In a state of half sleep Bucky tries to wiggle the icicles off and suddenly his whole body feels like it’s been set ablaze. The beat quickens. A terrible pain fires through every nerve. There’s a sharp sensation in his hand when he tries to move it making him wince. His left side has a dull stabbing ache that increases as he takes a deep breath. Bucky feels sore all over like he was just hit by a–

And then he remembers.

His breaths are shallow, the tempo moving rapidly like the hook of an EDM song about to drop the beat as Bucky replayed the scene like a movie. He left the premier’s after party in an Uber never expecting the violent jolt of an SUV t-boning the car into a traffic pole. Everything after was a blur. There were flashing lights, noise, a steady bright light, an angel with the face of Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes fly open in state panic as he looks around wildly at his surroundings. His leg is in a cast, elevated by a sling. Needles in his arm, tubes around his nose, wires everywhere. He felt like a mess, he could only imagine he looked even worse but then all of his worries fade away when he sees Y/N, the angel at his side.

You’re asleep on the chair, elbow propped up on the wooden arm with your head leaning against your palm. It’s not comfortable at all but you didn’t complain, it wasn’t important. It was nearly five in the morning when Bucky was moved to a room. The walls were a dreadful sage green that looked more like dirty money in the dim light of dawn. The room was small but the lack of a second bed for the time being made things seem a little larger.

George went off in search of a third chair for the room as you and Winnie pulled yours up close to Bucky, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam came up to visit after his shift ended, introducing himself to Bucky’s parents. The tackling hug Winnie gave him was unexpected by his sleep deprived body but he accepted it all the same, giving her a reassuring hug that everything would be okay. Before he left you whispered a thank you in Sam’s ear, for treating Bucky and giving you a call. You promised to keep him updated as told him to get some rest, he certainly deserved it.

Bucky slept peacefully as you watched over him, your head falling forward and jolting you awake every time you had begun to fall asleep. Winnie had already fallen asleep but you were fighting against your body’s needs. You stared longingly at Bucky, wanting to be awake in case he woke up. George put a gentle hand on your shoulder, nodding with silent permission that it was okay to shut your eyes. A large black cup of coffee aided him in keeping watch and so you blinked slowly, your lids growing heavier with every languid motion until they remained shut for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the sound of rapid beeps that you were alerted into consciousness again.

Your head whipped up quickly with concern at the sound that slowly began to steady, finding Bucky awake with an ever so slight tug of a smile on his lips that grew once you locked eyes. It had been far too long since you looked at Bucky, truly looked at him without anger and heartache clouding your vision.

The scrapes and bruises that littered his face did not hinder any part of his handsomeness. His lips were dull and slightly chapped and yet it didn’t stop you from wanting to press yours against them. You lifted your eyes towards his, feeling blessed to be able to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue once more. They glistened with unshed tears as Bucky gazed back at you.

Your own tears came instantly, falling down the curves of your smile as you leaned over him. Your name fell softly from his lips and hesitantly you lifted your hand, wanting to reach out and caress his face. You pulled it back, dropping your head for a moment, squeezing tears out of your tightly shut eyes. Bucky was a blur when you opened them again but he was there, he was alive and you were more than thankful.

“Hey neighbor,” you sniffled. “It’s good to see you.”

No longer caring if you should or shouldn’t touch his face, you wanted to. Your thumb gently grazed the delicate skin of his cheek, early stubble scratching lightly as you brushed against it.

Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling him smile against your palm. “It’s good to see you too.” His voice was strained, still dry from surgery.

You took Bucky’s hand in your own, careful of the IV sticking out. He asked what happened, knowing he was in an accident but unsure of the details afterwards. It was obvious his leg was broken but you told him the specifics– the emergency surgery to fix his break and stop his internal bleeding, how Sam had treated him when he came into the ER. He smiled at that.

“You broke a few ribs too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “So that’s why it hurts to breathe.”

Your lips pulled tightly across your face, wishing you could take the pain away from him. The tension released when you felt Bucky squeezing your hand as if he heard your thoughts, offering you comfort when he was the one that really needed it.

“Oh, your parents are here,” you remembered, though you looked around, unsure of where they went. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to contact Claire.” The shock of Bucky’s accident made you forget to text all your friends until the early morning.

His face twists with confusion. “Claire?” Did you really not know? “Claire and I have been broken up for months.”

Your lips move without sound as you try to process what he said. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if Bucky hid his breakup as you had yours. Now you didn’t feel as guilty holding on to the feelings in your heart. You’re about to blurt out the words, to tell Bucky what you couldn’t say back to Peter but the sound of Winnie calling his name stopped you and you turned to see her running up to his bed.

“James, you’re awake. We were so worried,” she cried in his ear, contorting herself around machines while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries.

George walked in with a cup of coffee for you and you thanked him, getting up so he could get closer to Bucky. The warm brew felt good going down even though it wasn’t the best, forgetting to warn them about the cafeteria’s lack of quality. Good thing you weren’t relying on this to keep you awake, not since Bucky shocked every cell of your body into full alertness with his news. Though you were happy to learn he broke up with Claire it still didn’t mean what you wanted it to and you were thankful you hadn’t scared him off with an “I love you.”

Pulling out your phone you saw a text from Wanda, featuring a block of caps locked screaming with question marks and sad emojis. You typed back an update about Bucky, looking over at him with his parents and back down again to the message that was still in the process of sending. It took a few minutes before the message decided not to go through at all.

You excused yourself, letting everyone know you were going to update all your friends about how Bucky was doing. George commented on the terrible service in the room so at least it wasn’t just your phone. You probably could have stood on a chair trying to force better service somehow in different parts of the room but you also wanted to give Bucky and his parents an opportunity for privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” you said with a smile, passing a woman coming in with flowers for the person who had been brought into the other side of the room early in the morning. Your gaze lingered back at Bucky one final time before leaving.

George shared a look with Winnie and staring at her son she said, “Y/N was here all night you know...”

With your phone in hand you follow it like it’s a map with five full bars leading you to treasure. It only took walking around the whole floor to find a good spot on the opposite side of the building near a window for your text to go through. In between sips of coffee you recorded a message for everyone on the group chat, it was so much easier than typing it out and you were still very tired.

You decided to finish your coffee there, giving Bucky and his parents more time as you stared out the window at what looked like a bright and beautiful morning. A slew of notifications came on your phone as half the people responded. Clint was probably still sleeping but Natasha replied asking if Bucky needs anything. Though Peggy was in England she asked if there was anything she could do. Steve wondered if he wanted visitors and asked you to pass along his get well wishes. You typed back that you would find out, promising to keep in touch as the day went on.

When your cup was empty you tossed it into a nearby garbage can and headed back, not expecting to hear your name being called.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You turned to see Elena, concern etched on her face as she held onto your shoulder. Embarrassment washed over you as you remembered how you looked, feeling even worse when you realized that earlier in the week Elena was technically your boss.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay. A friend of mine came in last night, car accident. I’ve…” you took a moment to yawn, covering your mouth, “Excuse me, I’ve been here all night.” You slapped your face lightly to wake up, now wishing the coffee had been stronger. “He’s going to be okay though,” you finished.

“He? Is this Bucky?” she wondered, and you were surprised she recalled his name since the wedding was months ago. You sighed, nodding slowly as your lips pulled into a soft smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Elena hugged you before she turned around to see a patient, reminding you she was here if you needed her. It was really nice to know she was there for you, Elena had become more than a mentor in the time you’ve worked for her.

Heading back in the room you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when you saw Bucky. The few minutes apart you spent were more than you ever wanted to do again. George moved down a seat so you could sit closer to Bucky, letting him know everyone was asking about him, wondering if he wanted visitors.

Bucky sought your hand again, smiling as your soft touch helped to ease the discomfort he was feeling. It would be nice to see friends but he was more than happy you were here with him. It wasn’t long before a nurse came in to check vitals and Bucky was relieved since he definitely could use more pain medication.

Winnie asked you to join her to get food since no one had really eaten and even though you didn’t want to leave Bucky you weren’t going to say no to his mother. Besides, you needed to steer Winnie away from the cafeteria and the nurse seemed thankful to have less people in the room.

Bucky felt settled after a dose of painkillers, easing the radiating aches from all over his body. George poured a cup of water, handed it to him and set aside the pink plastic pitcher.

“How’re you feeling James?” he asked, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was cry looking at the state of his son, from the deep purple bruises on his temple to the scrapes that marred his skin.

Bucky gulped down the water, quenching the arid condition of his mouth. “M’okay, a little better I guess.”

“Your head feels okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no one said I hit it or– ”

“Are you sure about that?”

George leaned in closer, as Bucky squinted in confusion. His smile dropped and his eyes grew stern as he organized his thoughts into a more appropriate lecture despite the disappointing anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

“I really wonder James, because see Y/N, a great girl who clearly loves and cares about you and you let her go.” Bucky tried to interrupt, to fill in all the details he hadn’t told him in the past but George wouldn’t let him. “No son, there has to be something wrong with you if you can’t see it.”

“Dad, it’s… it’s complicated,” Bucky let out with a sorrowful sigh.

“James, real love is complicated. It’s wild and passionate as much as it is frustrating, but when you find someone that loves you as much as you love them it makes overcoming obstacles worthwhile. Love isn’t easy but it is easy loving someone that makes you feel alive, that makes life worth living and when you find that someone you don’t let them go. Don’t let her go, James.”

Bucky sits with the weight of his father’s words heavy on his chest. It had already been hard to breathe and now things felt worse. He doesn’t know the full story, how a stupid mistake ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He wants to make it right, to tell you everything not that it would change anything. Bucky assumed that since you spent all night waiting by his side that you at least don’t hate him anymore like you used to, so maybe your friendship can be salvaged. Still, it’s going to hurt him to see you in Peter’s arms but Bucky would rather have you back in his life because not having you there at all is far worse.

You come walking in with his mom, smiling and laughing and it’s such a beautiful sight. The smile on his face can’t help but grow. Bucky watches as his father wraps an arm around his mom, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smiles looking up at him, pulling out sandwiches from a deli you had come from.

“Ohh and someone wants to say hello,” Winnie said, pulling out her phone, trying her best to connect to Rebecca on FaceTime despite the shitty signal. The connection is spotty and Bucky ends up having a regular phone conversation with them. They were definitely happy to hear he was doing better.

After the call Bucky asked about his phone and his mom found the bag of his personal belongings in the closet. She grimaced at the lack of clothes, realizing whatever he came in with was most likely cut off him in the ER, thoughts of the whole ordeal bringing tears to her eyes. Underneath his shoes were his wallet and phone which she handed him, surprised to see the screen had not cracked.

Bucky attempted to turn it on but it was dead. Normally you carry a charger with you but in the rush to leave your apartment that was the last thing on your mind. Your own battery had just passed half its life but you didn’t really care. There was nothing else you needed to focus on today besides Bucky.

His parents stay into the afternoon, getting a chance to speak with the doctor and meeting Natasha, Clint and Steve who arranged their visit together. They left shortly after since the room had gotten crowded between everyone and visitors for the person in the other bed. You and Winnie hugged, squeezing tight for a lingering moment, fighting the urge to cry again out of exhaustion and relief for the night you went through together. George gave an equally strong hug, one that Bucky watched from his bed, overhearing his parents making sure you had both their numbers.

You looked just as tired as they did and Bucky knows you should probably go home. He wonders if you’ll leave when your friends do but when the time comes and Natasha is shrugging on her jacket you make no move to do the same, only getting up to hug them goodbye.

Alone again, Bucky finds comfort in the silence between you, as the speaker for the TV lays beside him filling the background with noise. He watches as you set up the cards he received on the windowsill, making sure Clint’s it’s going tibia okay card is angled so Bucky can see it and smile.

When dinner arrives he frowns at cold peas and carrots, eats the bland chicken and enjoys the soup more than he thought. Bucky urged you to eat something more than the bags of chips and nuts you had been snacking on since the sandwich you split between breakfast and lunch. You insisted you were fine but he forced you to eat his salad, assuring you he was not in the mood to have it.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky groaned through an exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as hissed an unconvincing “yes” through his teeth.

“I need more pain meds and…” he shifted as much as he could trying to ease his discomfort.

“And what? Bucky, whatever it is I can get the nurse in.”

“I… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

You smiled softly, leaning close to remind him, “Whatever it is can’t be more embarrassing than the time I nearly shit myself in front of you. Remember? All my trips running to the bathroom hoping I could make it on time?”

Crinkles formed around his eyes as Bucky smiled, chuckling before he realized how much it hurt to do so, at the memory of your food poisoning and the weekend he spent helping you recover. And now here you were by his side, doing the same.

“It’s uh, my…” He looked away, blushing beet red as he squeaked out, “...my catheter. It’s not great.”

An array of expressions crossed your face. “Yeah… I can imagine.” When you finally locked eyes with Bucky again you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, offering to go get him a nurse.

It took a few minutes to return as you looked for the nurse, coming back with a surprise, Wanda and Sam. Wanda held back tears as she carefully hugged him and Sam couldn’t help but go into doctor mode and ask how Bucky was doing.

“I’m good. Alive thanks to you.”

Sam grinned. “I can’t take all the credit, but you are lucky. Very lucky.”

The nurse lumbered in, tired from a long shift but his demeanor changed upon seeing Sam, the two of them knowing each other well. Riley had praised Sam’s skills having formerly worked beside him in the ER for a while.

“Riley, this is my boy so please, whatever he needs make sure he’s taken care of, alright?” Sam turned to Bucky, “You good? Do you need a sponge bath?”

Bucky sighed, “No Sam, I don’t need a sponge bath.” He blushed with embarrassment, rolling his eyes at his friend’s teasing. “I would really like to pee on my own though.”

“Riley, call the stream team!” Sam shouted a little too loud.

Bucky instantly regretted his admission, pinching the tender bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It’s nice they let you out for some fresh air Sam, that padded room must get pretty boring.”

Sam wore a toothy smile, happy to see his friend was still in good enough spirits to rib him back. He and Wanda stayed long enough for the shift change and though Sam didn’t personally know the next nurse he introduced himself and wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of.

Once again you made no move to leave when Sam and Wanda did, getting up only to stretch. Your bones creaked like old wood, stretching out stiff muscles until you felt the slightest bit of relief. The chairs provided were not the most uncomfortable but after almost a day they definitely took a toll.

Bucky notices the way your eyes grow tired, how every action has slowed. You’ve been in the hospital nearly as long as he has and he doesn’t envy you, even with his injuries.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, stirring you alert. “It’s late, you should go home.” Your head shook before you spoke, opening your mouth to protest but he cut you off. “I’m good, I promise. You’ve been here all day and night, go get some sleep in a real bed.”

It would look stupid if you argued at this point, as you tried to fight back a yawn. Bucky asked you for a favor before you left, to grab his keys and bring some clothes and his phone charger tomorrow. “Only if you don’t mind.” Of course you would.

“Oh and one more thing,” he said, his eyes pleading up at you. “Call me when you get home. I need to know you got back safely.”

You nodded, smiling softly, before entering the number from his bedside phone into yours. Leaning down you pressed your lips against Bucky’s forehead, letting them linger against the warmth of his skin. Upon pulling away you shared a moment, smiling back at each other before Bucky took your hand.

“Thank you Y/N,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. There was so much Bucky meant within those words and by the way you looked at him he believed you knew.

With his body on fire Bucky still rested easier than he had in the last few months, knowing at the very least he had you in his life again.

The subway rocks gently as you travel down the familiar route to the hospital, this time not worrying about making it on time to clock in but with excitement fluttering in your belly to be able to see Bucky again.

Last night you called him just before you went into his apartment, grabbing the few things he asked for and not lingering. You were a second away from crashing, having enough energy to plug your phone in before your face hit the pillow.

In the morning you showered, drinking a strong cup of coffee as you got ready. You didn’t bother with much but it felt good to look presentable. You grabbed Bucky’s things, texting people before you lost service underground. Rebecca thanked you for the updates and said they were looking to fly in towards the end of the week. George and Winnie would definitely be happy to see them again. They contacted you this morning as well, saying they would be seeing you at the hospital in a bit.

Bucky tried to keep himself occupied, shutting his eyes and eventually finding sleep for a few hours before the nurse needed to check his vitals. He stared out his window, watching the dark blanket of the sky slowly lift over the buildings, falling asleep once more before the next round of nurses coming in. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal if he can’t sleep but the doctor lets him know he should be released tomorrow or the following day.

It lifts his mood but the height of his spirits soar high above the atmosphere when Bucky saw you walking into his room. You look much more rested than he does and he’s happy about it. He savors your arms around him, feasting upon the scent of your floral shampoo, your smile bringing sunshine upon a gloomy world.

You put the clothes he asked for in his closet, taking his phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet, settling down again in the familiar chair beside his bed. You were just as excited to hear about Bucky getting released soon, the thought of him being just beyond your shared wall again was comforting.

After charging for a little bit Bucky asked for his phone, just to check a few quick messages. You got up to unplug it, the screen lighting up and making your mouth fall open. Bucky’s lock screen was you! Well, it was the two of you, from that time Winnie was testing out her new phone. It was a beautiful memory, a candid capture of a moment in time when you gazed into each other’s eyes, the corners of your mouths settled into a smile; two people holding back the feelings that were written so evidently across their faces.

You pretended not to have seen it, handing him the phone with the screen down. Bucky nearly forgot about the picture himself, his eyes flitting quickly your way as he tried not to breathe too hard and have the monitors give away his panicked state.

Your head was turned up towards the TV, watching The Golden Girls through the muffled sound of the speaker resting against the side of the bed. You couldn’t look at Bucky in the moment, not when you felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. No, you needed this time to collect your thoughts, to find the perfect words to express exactly how you felt and right when they were at the tip of your tongue you held them back.

Winnie and George walked in looking a lot better than they had yesterday. They greeted you both and settled in for the next few hours. They too were excited about his impending release, offering Bucky to recover at their home.

“No, ma I’ll be fine. The building has an elevator, I’m good.”

Worry crossed her face. “What about food shopping? What about bathing?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “Well you’re not gonna bathe me if that’s what you think.”

You swallowed a chuckle, shifting your expression to a serious one offering your help. “For the food shopping,” you nervously added. Learning from the past, you shut your mouth to avoid the risk of digging yourself a deeper, awkward hole.

His parents left to get lunch for everyone since Bucky was sick of cold vegetables, and the two of you were alone again. He cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking, “You really don’t mind helping me?”

Your smile answered him before your words. “Of course not. Plus we still have a lot of pizza to try.”

You bit your lip watching the smile spread across his face, relief washing over him as things seemed to snap back into place as if nothing had changed. But Bucky forgot about Peter. You had been spending so much time with him this weekend he almost convinced himself things were different.

“Peter isn’t mad you’ve been gone all weekend?” Bucky asked, doing a poor job in hiding the uneasiness in his face as he anticipated your answer. He’s a glutton for punishment, reminding himself that things will never truly be the same again and little does he know how right he is.

“I broke up with him weeks ago.”

Your answer takes a moment to register, the realization hitting Bucky more than the impact of the accident. “Why?”

Haloed by the glow of the sun behind you, the words sang like the message of an angel, because there had to be some sort of divine intervention that brought all of Bucky’s dreams true when you answered, “Because he wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped down your face and Bucky lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and brushing it away. You cupped his hand against you, exhaling staccato breaths and smiling down at the man that brought music into a world that felt silent without him.

You leaned down, the tip of your nose grazing against his, your smile matching his as you closed the distance, pressing your lips together once more. The sound of love flooded your soul as you and Bucky found harmony at last.

EPILOGUE

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[aquietwritingcorner]

Sicktember Day 21: Unlikely Caregiver Word Count: 1836 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Alex Louis Armstrong, Olivier Mira Armstrong Warning: Mentions of past torture Summary: A younger Olivier is home healing from capture and torture at the hands of Drachma. Her relationship with her family is still broken. The last thing she wants, is to show weakness. So of course Alex finds her at a weak moment, and there’s no way she can refuse his help. Notes: This goes back to a headcanon I have that when she was young, perhaps a Warrant Officer, Olivier went undercover in Drachma. She stayed there for months, until she was found out. Once she was, she was captured, taken to a Drachman prison, and tortured for three days. She was pulled out by a team, but not before she had suffered severe injuries. She was sent back to Central as soon as she was stable enough to recover, and to the Armstrong Mansion. This took place before Ishval. Olivier is a young officer, Alex is in his first year since graduation, working towards his State Alchemist License. See Whumptober 2020 Day 5 for specifics on how Olivier was captured. AO3 || ff.net

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Unlikely Caregiver

Olivier paused, panting for breath as she pulled herself along the forest path. She still had her crutch, but she couldn’t get herself up to use it. Perhaps if she could get to something that she could pull herself up on she could stand and hobble toward the edge of this planted forest on the family property, but—

She flinched as she heard dogs barking again and, while she knew in her head that they were just some of Strongine’s rescues, kept safely pinned up until she could find homes for them, Olivier’s heart jumped, and panic coursed through her.

These were the wrong kinds of trees. This was the wrong season. Those were the wrong kind of dogs. She was in the wrong condition. But it was still a forest. There were still dogs. She was still alone and trying to escape something.

Her heart beat faster, and she resumed her journey, trying to drag herself down the forest path. This wasn’t Drachma. She wasn’t being chased. There weren’t dogs about to set upon her. She wasn’t about to be captured and dragged off to a prison to be tortured. She was home, in her family’s gardens, healing from torture in a Drachman prison.

She pushed on, reaching out with the arm that wasn’t still healing from being broken to pull, and pushing with the unbroken leg to propel herself forward. Her back, still a mess of healing scars from whipping, protested, but they were healed enough that they weren’t a detriment to her. Her abdomen, the muscles still healing from the surgeries they had to do to repair the damage to her lower abdominal organs from the deep stab wound she received, ached and protested, but the fear overruled any thoughts of further damage she might be doing. All she knew was that she had to get out of there. Her panic said to get out before Drachma got her again, and her rational side said to get out because it would help her calm down. She had one focus.

Reach. Push and pull. Reach. Push and pull. Reach. Push and pull. Reach—

“Olivier?”

Her head snapped up, panic threatening to clog her throat again, her hand going to her sword, but she pushed the panic down as best she could. Standing on the path before her was her brother, looking both concerned and perplexed. He had stopped, not coming any closer to her, and he appeared to be waiting for something.

“…Alex,” she said, and it seemed to be what he was looking for.

He made his way over to her, the concern in his expression overriding everything else. “Olivier, are you alright? What happened?”

Mentally, Olivier cursed. She didn’t want him to find her here like this. She didn’t want anyone to find her here like this, but especially not him.

She made no secret of the fact that she resented her brother. Oh, as children she had watched over him as she had all of her siblings. It was her duty as eldest. But she had always resented the way that just him being born a male had stripped her of her birthright, of the inheritance she deserved. She had been kinder when he was younger and didn’t understand. But as he grew older, she had made sure that he understood.

“I just fell,” she said. “I’m f—”

A dog barked again, and it sounded closer. The panic surged again.

Understanding seemed to light in his eyes, and he knelt before her, still in uniform from his day of work. “Olivier, how can I help you?”

His eyes and voice were soft, kind-hearted, and she wanted to curse at him, just to see if it would toughen him up a bit, but she knew that would just be a waste of breath and words and wouldn’t help her at all. “…Help me up. I need to get out of here.”

“Of course,” He nodded, and reached out with strong, gentle hands to help her stand. He helped her to her feet, allowed her to lean on him to get her balance back, handed her the crutch, and then let her go, although he stayed close to her side.

Oliver said nothing. She just focused on walking enough to get out of here. Bad enough that he had found her like that. It would be worse if he saw her panicking more. He, for his part didn’t say anything, just walked beside her.

They finally emerged from the forest, which was like a breath of fresh air. Olivier, energy spent, headed straight for a bench that was nearby. She hobbled to it, practically falling down into it. Alex followed her, sitting beside her. He didn’t say anything and neither did she, not for a long time.

Finally, though, he spoke up. “Are you alright, Sister?” he asked her.

Her default reaction was to say “Of course!” but she found it stuck in her throat. “…I need some water,” she said instead, and he nodded.

“I’ll go fetch some,” he said, and got up without complaint.

It left Olivier there, alone on the bench, and she tried to calm herself down. But her brain was going, and the forest was right there, and she could still hear the dogs. It felt like everything was closing in on her no matter what she said or did. It was getting closer, closer, and then it would take her and deliver her back into his hands and she didn’t think she could do that again. She could feel the cold of the prison, taste the blood and iron in the air, feel the hands setting her up for more torture, the touches, the comments, then—

“Olivier?”

Her head jerked up again, and this time, she couldn’t quite hide the panic she was feeling. Alex was looking down at her with concern, but she couldn’t respond to him. She almost wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.

He set the water he had down, and reached out to her, taking her hands in his. They were large and warm and strong.

“Olivier,” he said. “Why don’t we get you back to the mansion? We can take some tea there.”

Shakily, she nodded her head, and he took that as leave to help her up. She let him, although she didn’t want him to have to help her. But she needed the support, and she hated it.

Slowly they made their way back to the entrance to the garden. The further away from the forest and the dogs she got, the less panicked she felt. Instead, she started to feel disconnected from everything, and she wasn’t quite sure how to parse it, nor did she have the energy to.

Instead, they walked to the entrance of the gardens. A tea service was already there, no doubt thanks to her brother and his thoughtfulness. He helped her sit down, poured her some tea, pressed something sweet into her hands. He talked about Catherine and her latest escapades. And all the while, he kept concerned eyes on Olivier.

Eventually, she felt as if she were back to herself, although she was very tired and in pain at that point.

“Enough, Alex,” she said. “I don’t need to hear any more of your prattling.”

He stopped. “Of course, Sister. What do you need?”

Normally she would have replied with something sarcastic, or even slightly insulting. But tonight she was too tired to think. “… Rest,” she finally said.

He nodded and stood up. “Then allow me to escort you to your rooms.”

She was too tired to argue. “Fine. Whatever.” She went to stand as well and made it partway up before her good leg gave out under her and she started to fall.

“Sister!” Alex was right there, catching her, and she had to lean on him for a moment before she fought back.

“I’m fine, I just—” she tried taking her own weight back, and she started to fall again. She cursed out loud.

“Please, Olivier, let me help you,” Alex said.

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. “Fine.”

He shifted her weight around, letting most of it rest on him, and kept a gentle hand on her waist, just in case she couldn’t handle walking like this. Olivier hated it, but it was better than being carried, and Alex, resent for him or not, was preferable to the rest of her family.

Slowly, they made their way back to her rooms. Alex practically taking all of her weight by the time they got there. She was exhausted, and she collapsed onto the small settee that was in her suite. Alex helped her onto it, and then disappeared further into her rooms. She had no idea what he was doing, but she found that she didn’t care at this moment.

It was only a few minutes later when he returned with a soft nightgown for her. “I took the liberty of going head and turning down you bed,” he said. “You’ve also a glass of water on your nightstand.”

She blinked at him, then with great effort reached out and took the nightgown from him. He dutifully left the room, after making sure that no one else would be accidently barging in on her, and slowly she changed. When she was finished, he came back and helped her to her bed, making sure that she was settled in. After that, he set about cleaning up her clothes and straightening her rooms before returning to her side.

He placed her sword against the nightstand, within reach, the same sword that was supposed to be his, as heir, that she had fought for and won, that meant so much to her. “If you have need of nothing else at the moment, Olivier, I’ll take my leave of you. But if you need me, please, let me know.”

“Whatever, Alex. Leave me be. I’m tried.” Her eyes were still looking at her sword.

He nodded. “As you wish, Sister.”

He left her suite, making sure that the lights were off and low, and Olivier found herself drifting off to sleep as she stared at her sword hilt. She couldn’t help but think about her brother.

She still resented him and what he took from her. She resented him not standing up to their father more and instead speaking up for the traditions. He was soft-hearted, which would cost him. And he expressed his emotions too freely. But he was a good man. He cared about his family. He was principled. He was strong and skilled. She could respect that, at least. She still didn’t think that he deserved to be the heir by virtue of being male alone, but at least he was a good man. There was something to be said for that.

Who knew? If he proved his mettle in the military, perhaps one day they could reach a truce.