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talaok · 2 years

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I’ve dreamed of this (pt. II)

Summary: You are a part of the BAU, and for the longest time you and Dr. Spencer Reid had been best of friends, even when it was clear to everyone else, and at times to you, that you should be more than that, and when something almost happens on a night out with the team, everything is destined to change. This is a double pov story (each chapter will be alternated between y/n's and spencer's pov)

Chapter summary: Spencer is overthinking what happened last night

warnings: none

a/n: In case you didn't get it, I was sad while writing this. if you want to be added to the tag-list comment or write to me.

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Spencer

The painful light shined on his face, making him groan. He gripped the cover and threw it over his head, turning his back to the window. He had just fallen asleep, how dared the sun ruin that moment? How dared the curtains not protect him? He had gotten home and taken off his cardigan just to crawl into bed with his shirt, pants, and socks still on. he was tired, he remembered having thought about crying, but then again, he had nothing to cry about. Nothing had happened. And that was it. Nothing had happened at all. For the first time in his life, he thought he had a chance, for the first time in his lonely and sad existence he had thought things were finally going his way. But no. Emily opened that stupid door, and she had moved away, like everyone always did. And maybe they were right, maybe it was best if they stayed away. He always seemed to make things worse anyway. He remembered her face when he looked at her. The fear and regret so incredibly clear in her eyes, and he remembered her words. "we were drunk" she had said, but that wasn't true. He had drank two sips of whiskey just to hate it and give it to Rossi, and he spent the rest of the night drinking coke. And Y/n, she had had to drink, but she wasn't drunk, he had seen her drunk, had seen her stumbling cutely on every surface she could find, and had heard her slurred monologues about the meaning in life, so he knew, with a certainty only someone who knew her that well could have, that she wasn't drunk. She had simply realized the huge mistake she had just made. Leading him on when she knew she didn't feel the same. And she had come up with that excuse. But he knew. He knew what she really meant. And so he had run away, leaving her before she could do the same to him. As spencer sighed into his pillow he wished it had all been a dream, a very lucid nightmare where he and the woman he's been in love with for four years, the same one who could ask him to jump off a building and would have him comply in a second, almost kissed, and that he didn't run away. Saying that Spencer felt like shit was an understatement. he had no idea how to face the day, had no idea how he was gonna have to behave with y/n. Nothing had happened, they were friends, just like they had always been, but he feared, for the first time since he'd met her, that this was the last straw, that after yesterday, he wasn't gonna be able to pretend anymore, to act like she hadn't been the sole reason he woke up in the morning for the past four years. But the alarm rang nonetheless, uncaring of his state, and of his frustrated groan as he pushed it off the nightstand.

_ _ _

"hey there pretty boy" Derek's voice resonated through Spencer's ears as he was pouring himself his third cup of coffee of the morning. "good morning" he answered weakly "Wow, what's that tone?" he smiled "too much partying last night?" Spencer wanted to run away, fly through the doors and down the stairs until he was out of the office. He knew he would have had to have this conversation, he had actually prepared himself for it the whole morning, but still, it hadn't worked, he still wished to disappear. Spencer forced himself to chuckle "nope, I'm just tired" "I bet" Derek said suggestively, filling his own mug "You and y/n had a lot of fun, huh?" he shouldered him jokingly and Spencer felt like he was gonna puke. just the mention of her name made him physically hurt, he didn't want to even think about what was gonna happen when she was gonna walk through that door. "Y-yeah" he said thinly, looking at his mug. "yeah come on" he chuckled, lightly punching his shoulder "then why are you so down?" he asked "I mean, from what I saw you seemed pretty happy about what was going on" he kept going " you didn't look like you minded being so close to her" Spencer sighed deeply, looking quickly around the room. "No, I-i didn't" he said truthfully. Of course, he didn't. Fuck, that was all he wanted. Every time she touched him he felt like he had just been blessed. He had to start hugging people just so that it wouldn't have been weird when he hugged her. He continuously made up excuses to be close to her, and went against every germophobe rule he had made for himself when it was about her. So, of course, he didn't mind it, that's the problem, he lived for it. "Then what's wrong?" Derek asked, more worried now "Did something happen?" Oh, how wrong you are, spencer thought. "No, it's fine" Spencer shook his head "I'm fine" "hey" Derek placed a hand on his shoulder "you can tell me kid " he tilted his head, trying to look him in the eyes "I wanna help" "It's-It's nothing really" he said, turning away to get out. "Spencer" Morgan's voice was low, steeped with that tone he only used with Reid, when he blocked him out, not accepting the help he needed, the help he deserved. "please talk to me" "It's stupid Derek, don't worry" Spencer turned around "I don't care" he said, stepping closer to him "I don't care if it's the stupidest thing that I'll ever hear" he put a hand on his shoulder "just - let me help you" "derek" he finally looked at him "It's nothing" Morgan sighed, sometimes Spencer was difficult, he had learned it a long time ago. He had every reason to be, but Derek felt that no matter how hard it was to get him to trust you, it was worth it, he was worth it. "What happened Spencer?" he asked again, and this time Reid sighed, looking to the ground before finding Derek's eyes. "that's the problem" his lips twitched into a sad smile "nothing happened" "hm?" Morgan frowned "I wanted it to but-" he shook his head "but-" "oh there you are" JJ opened the door "I've been looking for you all over the place" she smiled "we've got a new case" she gestured to the file she was holding "Alright, we'll be right there, thanks" Derek told her "ok" she said, quickly glancing between the two men, noticing just now the weird atmosphere of the room. She furrowed her brows at Morgan, silently asking him if there was something wrong, and when he shook his head she spoke " I'll call the others then" before getting out, closing the door behind her. "what do you mean you wanted t-" "we have to go" Spencer interrupted him, not leaving him enough time to protest before fleeing the room. He knew it was wrong, he hated this part of him, the part that blocked everyone out, creating a barrier where one wasn't needed. he hated this need of his to not trust anyone and to never ask for help, or advice, or anything really. He hated all of it, but as much as he wished to change it, for as many times as he tried, he found he couldn't, he always remained him, his old, barricaded self, that not only hurt himself, but others too. And there was no point in fighting it.

_ _ _

"good morning" Spencer forced a smile as he entered the conference room, everyone was already there, and they all greeted him. He felt like everyone was watching him, he didn't know how, but everyone knew, everyone somehow already knew. He tried to not look anybody in the eyes as he sat down in his usual chair. It creaked under his weight as he rested his back on it. Derek entered just moments after, and even if he felt his eyes on him he didn't look up, too embarrassed to even try. "where's y/n?" Emily spoke, and spencer's heart started beating faster. He had noticed she wasn't there, obviously, and a part of him couldn't help but feel relieved by it. If she didn't show up that meant he didn't have to deal with it, with his feelings, his stupid feelings he was having troubles taming down and with y/n. he wouldn't have had to panic at her sight, but that also meant he wouldn't have gotten to see her, to hear her, and suddenly he didn't feel so relieved anymore. Why wasn't she here? It wasn't because of him, he knew that, he wasn't stupid. "She said she'd be late but she should be arriving briefly" JJ explained. Thank god, at least nothing had happened. "speak of the devil" Rossi smiled, nodding at the door. "Hi, sorry I'm late" Y/n entered the room, her presence immediately filling the space, and Spencer's mind. "no problem we were just about to start" JJ smiled reassuringly "all right" she said, sitting hastily down on her chair, right next to Spencer. "hi" she greeted him briefly, her big smile making his heart skip a beat. "hi" he whispered back. She still smelled like outside, like the wind and the city, the undertone of lemons still prominent, as it always was. He didn't know if it was her shampoo or her perfume, what he knew, was that he shouldn't be thinking about either of them. They were friends. That was it. He needed to get a grip, and stop feeding into his delusions. Everything was normal, she had greeted him normally, and so had he. She wasn't thinking about him, or about last night. He was the only delusional one. It wasn't a big deal, nothing had happened. Everything was fine. Everything was fine, he kept telling himself, even as JJ started speaking, and even as his eyes involuntarily kept drifting to his coworker, his friend, her. Everything was fine.

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#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid Criminal Minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #fluff #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader

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the-little-moment · 9 months

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Not Just the Carcass, but the Spark

I decided to share part of this late chapter from my Echo fic to encourage myself to finish it.

Words: 1,777

Warning: Alcohol abuse, depression

Crosshair clawed his way back to consciousness the same way he had every morning since he’d lost his brother and the woman who had tried so hard to raise him. The nightmares weren’t always the same, but they were always crippling. The feeling of Senna’s arm breaking in his hand. The sorrow in her eyes as she held his face in the cell on Mount Tantiss. As he plummeted towards some certain death, Tech’s words echoed in his mind. “Crosshair has always been severe and unyielding.”

“No!” Crosshair yelled as he plunged through the surface of the Kaminoan sea. He twisted around in the water to peer through the darkness, knowing what he would see and unable to stop himself from looking. Mayday’s body drifted below him to the ocean floor, a blaster bolt marking the chestplate of his white armor, and Crosshair knew he had put it there.

The sniper bolted up in the bunk, jerking back just before he slammed his head into the ceiling again. He blinked at the metal that arched over him for a moment before falling back against the mattress, panting as the familiar sweat cooled on his body. He wished he was dead.

Crosshair didn’t do anything anymore besides sleep, try to drink away the pain, and go over his old weapons, his Firepuncher that Hunter had taken from him on Kamino and the other blasters he’d had in his weapons kit. He spent hours disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling them, his movements trancelike. He could do this in his sleep. He almost was.

Wrecker came in on him polishing his rifle one afternoon. It had been a little more than three weeks since Senna had left and Crosshair had been dropped into her place. What a trade, he thought bitterly.

“Yer gonna rub that thing outta existence,” his brother joked weakly, but he sat down at the other end of the table and pulled out his own deece so they could work together in silence. Wrecker wasn’t good at silence, but Crosshair was grateful for it. He had nothing to say. Nothing really mattered anymore anyway. What was the point of talking?

After he’d been stunned in his cell, the stormtroopers had taken him to an agreed point in the desert of Ord Mantell, dumped him, and left. When he’d woken, he was on the Marauder, headed here, to this karking island, where he’d been ever since. He’d been delirious for days while whatever they’d drugged him with left his system, struggling in his fever dreams to get back to Senna. When he was finally lucid again, Hunter had told him about the deal she’d made for his freedom. He’d told him about Tech.

Crosshair had refused to stay with the others, preferring to live on the ship. If this could be called living. He was sitting alone at the table later that day, staring at the bottle in front of him, when he heard the ramp lower and small feet climbing it. He sighed. Not again.

“Crosshair?” The kid was behind him. Hunter too. When he didn’t respond, she continued. “We’re having dinner at Lyana’s. Do you want to come?”

“No.”

“But—” He heard Hunter stop her.

“Come on, Omega. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” the girl insisted. He flinched when her hand was suddenly on his arm. “I-I know you’re sad,” she looked up at him as he refused to meet her gaze, “we all are, but Senna and Tech wouldn’t want you to be like this. We’re going to get her ba—”

It was suddenly too much for him, hearing her talk like everything was going to be fine. What the hell did she know? Crosshair pushed her hand off his arm.

“Get away from me!” he hissed. “This is because of you. Don’t you get it? You’re the one they wanted!” His angry sob was choked off as Hunter lifted him from the bench and slammed him into the bulkhead, his forearm barred across his brother’s throat before any more hateful words could find their way out.

“Don’t you dare.”

Crosshair choked against his brother’s arm as Echo appeared in the doorway, the cyborg’s pale eyes darkening at the scene before him. “Hunter, let him down.”

Echo turned to Omega as Hunter dropped Crosshair, seeing the tears on her cheeks. He pulled her into his side. “It’s okay, kid.” Crosshair could hear her sobbing as his hearing returned, Hunter panting in anger beside him. “What happened?”

No one answered him. Hunter growled deep in his throat and scooped Omega up, his hand protectively on her small back as she buried her face in his neck. Echo watched as the sergeant stalked from the ship. He turned back to where Crosshair had sunk to the floor, waiting until the sniper had stopped coughing. “What’d you do?” he demanded. “What’d you say to her?”

Crosshair stared dully at the floor, too empty for defiance. “The truth.”

Echo made an ugly sound. “The truth. I don’t want to know what you think the truth is.”

When Crosshair didn’t respond, the ARC squatted down in front of him. “The truth is that Tech died trying to save your sorry ass. The truth is that Senna is probably locked in a cell now, suffering because of you. And all you can do is sit here on this ship, drinking and making little girls cry. Who else do we have to sacrifice for you?”

Crosshair didn’t look at him, clenching his jaw as his brother’s harsh words bit into him. “They made the wrong choice,” he said tonelessly.

Echo made a sharp gesture with his scomp and stood. “It’s too late for that now. You’re going to help us get her back, then you can do whatever you want with the rest of your miserable life. I don’t care.” The sniper was quiet as he snatched the bottle from the table and left the ship.

Outside, Echo took a steadying breath, trying to calm himself before he headed down to dinner. This business with Crosshair had robbed him of any appetite he had, but he still felt the need to put in appearances for the others’ sakes. He looked down at the liquor in his hand with disgust, throwing it in a nearby trash can with more force than necessary. The sound of glass shattering was cathartic. Echo understood his brother, deep down, in a way he refused to examine, but that feeling was too much right now. Crosshair’s pain, Hunter’s guilt, Omega’s fear, Wrecker’s denial, his own anger and all of their loss. He could only focus on the anger now; it was going to help him get her back. Anything else and he would break.

Shep had taken Lyana and Omega in to bed and it was just the three brothers and Phee sitting around the table as the lights came on across the island. “You made any more progress on that plan?” The pirate smiled gently at Echo across the table. It was all they really talked about anymore, when they talked at all.

“Some,” he told her. “Still waiting to hear back from Rex about who we can count on for reinforcements.” Waiting was killing him. Acknowledging that he needed help was killing him, but Echo had always been a planner, as much as he wanted to go and break her out of the Imperial facility this second, now that he knew where it was. They didn’t have enough intel yet. This would have been a lot easier with Tech. This would have been at least marginally easier if they didn’t all have Crosshair’s dark cloud hanging over them. He’d hoped he could count on the sniper for help, but it wasn’t looking like it now.

Phee gave him a sympathetic look. “Senna’s tough, maybe even as tough as me. She’ll be okay until we get there.”

She’d better be, he thought, looking down at the glass in his hand.

Wrecker stretched next to him. “Phee’s right. We’ll get Sen back and, once we find Tech, Crosshair’ll get better. Then things’ll go back to the way they’re supposed to be.”

Echo grimaced at the table and raised his eyes to find Hunter wearing a similar look.

“Wrecker,” the sergeant said tiredly. “We’ve talked about this. I know you think Tech’s still out there, but you can’t talk about it around Omega. It’s not fair to her.”

None of this is, Echo thought, as Wrecker made a frustrated sound and stood to walk down to the lower level. Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face and stood himself. “I’m going to bed.” Phee left with him, laying a comforting hand on Echo’s shoulder before she went.

Echo heard a deep sigh from the lower terrace where Wrecker had gone. He’d thought the big clone would have accepted his brother’s death by now, after all, only Wrecker and Omega had actually seen him fall. But Wrecker had, somehow, never lost a squad member before this. Echo still remembered Droidbait, Cutup, and Hevy’s deaths as clearly as the day they had happened. There’d been so many since then. His beloved Fives that he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to, half of his brothers in the 501st, and now Tech, whether Wrecker wanted to believe it or not.

Echo didn’t want to believe it either. Tech had been the one to fill the hole in his heart that Fives had left, as well as anyone could. They couldn’t be more different – Tech was more like Echo than Fives had been, but the pilot had grown on him in the early days of his time with the Batch. It had helped that Senna had clearly adored the odd clone, smoothing the way between them, but Echo thought that he and Tech would have become friends no matter what. He had enjoyed his brother’s sarcastic wit and grudgingly admired his reckless flying, his intelligence and mechanical talent, even as he had despaired of the incredible mess that seemed to accumulate in any place Tech had been still for more than two seconds.

More than all that though, he’d loved his brother’s steady belief in the goodness of the galaxy, that right would win out in the end. It was so completely opposite the way Echo viewed the world and, in anyone else he would have thought it naivete, but Tech was so smart, maybe it was true. But, then again, if the universe had any goodness in it at all, wouldn’t he still be here with them? Wouldn’t Senna?

I’m going to bring her home, brother. I’m sorry I let her go.

#star wars the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars oc #the little moment writes #not just the carcass but the spark #dr divehdi

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jojotier · 1 year

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I see now that it was a mistake to send you such a letter in dire haste. Had all my wits been about me I would have burned that letter the moment its composition had ended and scattered the ashes. That way you needn’t lie awake so desperately hoping for one more frenzied reply. That way, you wouldn’t read how my heart appears to have taken permanent residence in my throat.

In answer: Lucien is still safe in bed. Since the moment he laid down he did not rise but to toilet, and even then did so unwillingly. I have kept vigilant watch.

Even as I write this he rests lightly. The delicate rise and fall of his chest rustles the silk linens and I pause in writing from time to time just to watch him breathe.

He used to tell me the habit was ghastly morbid. I wonder if now the thought has changed, as the pallor of his skin has deepened; as his lips crack with abandoned movement; as his expanding ribs, at times, stutter in rhythm.

In further answer: I am to blame for Lucien's burning.

You know this and yet you refused to accuse me in your letter; thus, I confess to the crime. It was gross negligence that led me from your brother’s chamber in the waning light of the evening and a misplaced hope.

I had been under the impression that Lucien was beginning to recover. Not fully; but enough. The deep yellow bruising which tanned his hide had lightened to sickly pallor. His hands still shook. His breath was still shortened from time to time. But he began taking deep lungfuls of air from the open window and had begun to unfurl the heavy hunch of his back where he walked. That hated play of his was left to the wayside, the notes of his obsession slowing, and when he held my cheek it was simply to look at me.

Lucien had passed his thumb over my cheek and sighed, “My love,” so gently. His eyes still held those deep bags beneath, but there was light there, the brown of his eyes warming as oak. Yesterday afternoon, I sat and read to him, and he didn’t say a word; merely laid his head upon my shoulder and peered at the pages to read along.

After I’d served supper, Lucien had asked me, “What are they playing in the theatre?” His lucidity had been much improved since the day previous, and his voice was clear, if still somewhat faint against the general noise of Market Street. To say nothing of the relief I felt, knowing this creature of the playhouses longed to return!

I told him that As You Like It had returned and would serve as preulde to the production of Twelfth Night.

“No, my darling, you must be mistaken,” Lucien said, playing with the tips of my fingers, “I had heard Twelfth Night wasn’t until December,”

I informed him that December was a scant fortnight away.

“And is it not Camille this week?”

It will be next.

“Hm.” He’d said, “I fear someone in my acquaintance is lying to me.”

I smiled, and asked him whether he accused his Jonathan of the act. I received no smile in return.

Where before my Lucien might have smiled, dimples etching themselves anew into his pretty face, now his eyes remained still. The tide of attempted joviality buffeted against the stone of Lucien’s gaze until its forced retreat to lowness and Lucien answered, “Not you. Never you.”

For days, I have spent all of my waking hours waiting upon Lucien’s bedside. You know already that we have entertained your company; we’ve entertained Leon’s company, and we’ve entertained the company of your wife, God bless her. What you don’t know is that Lucien has not permitted any other visitors in all this time. It has only ever been his dearest few.

I asked him who was lying, then- what were the contents of the lie, and what could they possibly gain from the lying? But Lucien shook his head. No matter how I pressed, he would not speak to it.

I was half-convinced that it was some game borne of his ill humors and that perhaps the lucidity was somewhat of a lie. It was at this point that he asked me if I trusted him.

Had it been any other time, the answer would have been instant: yes. A thousand times yes, with the strength of every vow that could be made to heaven, yes. Lucien is, above all, my dearest heart.

But when I opened my mouth, I imagined that damned play, hiding beneath the mattress. The script written in increasingly harried hand. My Lucien's voice, so feeble in his delirious cry of no mask? No mask! to the audience of pestilent spirits at the door. In that moment, my voice had been seized.

And yet I still told him yes. He bade me not speak of this, but I told him yes, and I tell you all.

I sat on the bedside, a man condemned, as I told Lucien I trusted him with my heart. Yes, it is no lie. If nothing else, I trust him so with all my heart.

But is it not a lie, that I was beginning to suspect his mind?

To distract from the hypocrisy I was brewing, I asked him the same, attempting to be light: "Could you trust me, then, while I keep you stuck abed?"

“Were God to kneel an oracle at my feet,” Lucien told me, “I’d sooner kill prophecy than believe Him, if you thought Him false.”

The melody of his previous lyricism bubbled from beneath the pallor and the boils. It made me wonder how long he’d spent writing even without a pen; how he conjured words from the river-fog which had been choking his mind. It made me wonder how long he’d been waiting to say this.

His gaze is heat itself. It is his charm as an actor; intensity, a roiling fire in his eyes bellied by the low thrum of his voice weaving spells. This magic bound thousands at a time and now it was meant only for me. There is nothing I could do under the force of such sincerity.

I told him I loved him. It may be hard for you to understand, Devon, but I do love him. More than any lyric could sing of it.

He asked only for me to retrieve some of the play bills. He missed seeing the illustrations on the fronts, of seeing the little cast sheets sandwiched in among the advertisements and promises of further entertainment. I agreed.

The errand wasn't too terribly long. It took but fifteen minutes in total. Market Street was slower in the moments before the evening rush of playgoers stampeded by. The valet who gave me my copy was commenting on what a shame it'd be, seeing Pulitzer send Cockeril off to New York, as though the news were not lime dust by then.

I was preoccupied by the peculiar conversation as I made my way back to the apartment. I had been musing on how a little light murder could be excused if one simply wrote most sensationally, and it was then when the scent of smoke rose from the open window of our apartment.

From there, I dare not say more. It pains me to think of the fire; to see the furls of Lucien's pretty script erupt into mere fantasy. To have seen Lucien staring, entranced, the flames licking up his wrists...

It is more than one man can bear. Yet I would never ask you to bear it with me.

From here, I know not how to finish this letter. You know the ending of the account. You know that your brother lays, asleep, under my evermore watchful eye. You know as much as I do.

My only plea then is that you might come soon and stay long. Stay long, and then stay longer than you believe is long enough.

Your business will survive without you for a while. Your wife will keep all well, and I have no doubt that you might leave messengers with her who might deal with the more ignoble clients of yours on her behalf. Leon has mastered the commute between work and leisure and Lucien as well- so why not attempt the skill yourself?

I hope only that I did not cause you undue stress. I hope that you know how much your presence means to Lucien.

But above all- please, please forgive me.

Jonathan

(November 19th, 1883)

#the king in yellow #gothic horror #horror #injury #cosmic horror #terminal illness #grief #my writing #historical fiction #anyway! the dracula and king in yellow inspired gay epistolary novel.... that's what this idea's for #original fiction #original character #jonathan ruin #lucien d'ville #backburner projects

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hushbats · 1 year

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They say death is not for lovers (but that’s not what we are)

I think I messed myself up writing this, so be warned. Might be good if you need a good cry though. (See AO3 for tw)

Read on AO3

He was supposed to die.

That was his intent when he decided to protect Dustin and buy the rest of his ragtag group more time to fight Vecna. They’d spent the better part of a week trying to protect him and keep him hidden and safe from the cops, and the hate-fueled mob powered by Jason Carver’s rage; while at the same time trying to save the town - on the brink of destruction from what Nancy had said - from an evil wizard. He was tired; had been for a while and not for the first time. He’d been a burden much of his life, and if nothing else, he wanted to at least try to repay them in some way for their help. He couldn’t do much; he wasn’t brave like Max, or smart like Dustin, or particularly good at fighting like Steve. But he had a body and a life that he would gladly give in place of good people who possessed such admirable traits.

And so, he cut the rope and accepted his fate.

Or rather, he welcomed it – for Eddie Munson was a coward, too scared to go by his own hand, but just comfortable enough to go under the guise of self-sacrifice.

He was supposed to die – had fantasied about finally escaping his dead-end life and releasing Wayne from years of putting up with his bullshit. He knew Wayne loved him and would never turn his back on him no matter what chaos Eddie flung his way, so Eddie had to make the hard decision for him. He’d always figured he’d “accidentally” OD like his mom before him, like he’d almost done before not long after moving in with Wayne, but he’d take what he could get. This was far more metal.

1986, it was his year – he’d go out in a blaze of glory while helping those who helped him, and finally die with a smile on his face like he’d wanted. It was the best he could have hoped for. Two birds, one stone.

Except he didn’t. Dustin and Steve made sure of it.

***

Steve pulled into the trailer park at break-neck speed, the beemer kicking up ice and stones as it skidded to a stop outside the ruined trailer. He jumped from the idling car leaving the door wide open as he ran into and around the trailer shouting Eddie’s name, not caring if he woke the few stubborn residents still there – but it was to no avail; he wasn’t there. Panic was starting to grip Steve as he ran his hand through his disheveled hair. He was running out of time and places to look. There was only one other place he could think of, and so he quickly hopped back into the car and made his way to Reefer Rick’s.

Steve should have listened to Dustin from the start. Out of everyone in the party, he would know. Even if he weren’t close with Eddie, the kid was always right, even when he wasn’t, so Steve should have listened the second Dustin told him something wasn’t right.

From the very moment Eddie woke up from his near two-month coma Dustin had claimed something was off. He had insisted on spending every waking moment he wasn’t at school at Eddie’s bedside. Nothing could stop him – not even the cops who reluctantly let him under strict rules while Eddie was still in a coma, cuffed to the bed and under investigation – and so he was there to witness Eddie’s miraculous return to land of the living. And so was Steve coincidentally. He tended to spend most of his time watching over Max to give Lucas and her mom a break, but he always popped in to check on Dustin to make sure he ate and got enough rest.

It was on one such occasion that Eddie first became lucid after spending days slowing fighting the pull of the coma.

***

Steve decided to stay a while longer with Dustin after he heard there was a chance Eddie would wake properly soon. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness and they removed the breathing tube a day or two ago. He’d figured the kid would need the extra support when Eddie eventually came to. And he was right.

“…Henderson?” Eddie croaked, confused.

“Holy shit, Eddie! You’re awake!!” Dustin cried, jumping from his perch next to the bed, tears glistening in his eyes as he tried not to fling himself at Eddie and aggravate his injuries further.

“…awake?” His brows furrowed further as if trying to decipher the meaning of Dustin’s words.

“Yeah, man, I mean, it was touch and go for while there, but you pulled through. You’re alive!” Dustin babbled excitedly.

“Oh,” was Eddie’s croaked, lack-luster response. He looked back at the ceiling above him and didn’t say anymore. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d have almost thought he sounded disappointed.

Dustin’s face fell at the lack of enthusiastic response and Steve took that as his cue. He rose from the unforgiving plastic hospital chair tucked away in the corner of the room and made his way over to Dustin, laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’d better give the nurses the good news,” Steve smiled, while giving Dustin’s shoulder a supportive squeeze on his way past the boy. “It’s good to see you finally awake, Munson. You had us all worried there for a second. I thought I told you not to be a hero?” he teased lightly, before letting go of Dustin’s shoulder to make his way out of the room.

He received a huff of air in response, what he’d imagine would have been a self-deprecating laugh if Eddie had been in better health. Satisfied he wouldn’t be missed, he left the room to chase down the nurse assigned to Eddie, leaving Dustin alone with him.

By the time he’d returned and Eddie was taken for assessment, Dustin somehow looked more worried than he had sat at Eddie’s side all these weeks.

“He’ll be okay, Henderson, the worst is over now,” Steve reassured, putting an arm around Dustin in a half hug.

“I dunno, Steve. He didn’t seem much like Eddie or all that much like he was happy to be awake.”

“Well, you try having any energy for long-winded monologues and theatrics after being a demon bat’s chew toy and waking from a medically induced coma doctors weren’t sure you’d ever wake up from,” Steve joked, though it fell flat. He always kind of sucked at stuff like this. “Look, I’m sure he’s just tired and groggy. His body’s been through a lot. Give him some time to adjust and you’ll see.”

“You weren’t there, Steve. You don’t get it. Something is definitely wrong, I know it.”

Steve hesitated.

“Like, normal wrong or Upside Down wrong?”

“I dunno…normal? But now that you say it, I guess it could…no.”

“Dustin, what is it? Did he say something to you?”

“It wasn’t what he said, Steve,” Dustin snipped. His attitude often got the better of him when frustrated, faced with a particularly difficult puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. “It’s what he didn’t say,” he finished quietly, dejected.

“Just give him time,” Steve repeated lamely, unsure how to comfort his young friend.

As the weeks progressed and Eddie became stronger, Steve had begun spending more and more time with Eddie and Dustin, mainly to keep watch over Dustin, but Eddie too in case there was some Upside Down-related problem. Steve found he actually quite liked Eddie now that he’d gotten to know him a little better and they enjoyed shooting the shit and teasing the kids together. But he never really knew where he stood with him. They weren’t really close and Steve was sure he’d probably done something horrible to him while in high school. It made things kind of awkward on the rare occasion they were left alone together without a buffer.

The doctors were impressed by how well Eddie was healing up. They were planning on starting physiotherapy later in the week, but Dustin’s concerns remained. He’d tried to talk to him again about what exactly it was about Eddie was putting the boy on edge. Vague statements like, “He’s not Eddie”, and half-formed explanations like he’s not present most of the time are about the extent of the responses he’d got from Dustin on the matter up to now. But surely that was to be expected. It was a lot to process for the guy.

Honestly, Steve knew next to nothing about Eddie outside of the horrific week they spent together fighting for their lives and the little time he’d spent at his bedside. To him, nothing seemed particularly concerning. Eddie chatted with any visitors, laughed along with the kid’s antics most of the time, and he gave Steve a hard time for his own amusement. Sure, he was less animated from what Steve had remembered of him in high school, what with all the jumping on cafeteria tables and causing a general ruckus, but he figured a person couldn’t be like that all the time. Add to it the fact that Eddie was recovering from some serious injuries and it wasn’t all that difficult to come to the conclusion that he was still tired and recovering.

Even so, just in case, Steve had pressed Dustin one evening for just one solid example that would justify worrying about him while they grabbed a coffee in the hospital cafeteria, hoping he could understand his concern at least a little.

“So, you know how Eddie loves DnD, right?” Steve nodded in response, taking a sip of shitty hospital coffee from his Styrofoam cup. “Well, I’ve been trying to bring it up to him over the past few weeks about maybe putting together a one-shot to celebrate when he finally gets out of here, but he’s kinda…I dunno…avoided giving a solid answer.”

Steve waited, allowing Dustin the time to try and put what he was feeling into words.

“It’s just, anytime I bring it up he dismisses it, saying shit like ‘we’ll see’ or ‘maybe’ or ‘we have lots of time to do that later, dude’ or… whatever. It just sounds like he’s intentionally putting it off, like he’d rather do anything else. That’s just not like him.”

Steve had to agree that that was odd, but…

“Dustin, your game is full of monsters and magic, things that up until recently Eddie thought were just fun and games. Maybe now that he knows how real these things are and how close they came to killing him, he just doesn’t find it fun anymore. It might be best not to push him and let him come back to it in his own time,” Steve said, confident that was all it was.

Dustin sagged at Steve’s logical response, his eyes never leaving the rapidly cooling coffee between his hands. He slowly began shaking his head.

“If it was just that, I’d probably agree with you, but it’s that plus a bunch of other stuff that when added together just makes me think something is really wrong. I just- I just have a really bad feeling; I can’t explain it.”

“Dustin, I need you to try to explain it the best you can. Even if it sounds crazy, just spit it out and I’ll listen, man, I promise. I want to help you. You and Eddie.”

“He’s- he’s super focused on getting better and getting out of the hospital,” Dustin starts unsure, his eyes drifting to Steve for the first time since Steve brought up the topic of Eddie.

Steve couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising. “Aaaannd, that’s a bad thing?” he questioned slowly, a tad incredulous. Dustin sighed in frustration and Steve quickly corrected his mistake. “Look, I’m just trying to underst-.”

“It is when you also refuse to make plans for when you finally get out, Steve!”

Steve blinked back dumbly at Dustin’s outburst, still failing to see the problem.

“You know what, nevermind,” Dustin dismissed, flippant in a way he often was when he was suddenly reminded that Steve was a dumb jock once. “I’m going back to Eddie’s room. Later, Steve.” He stood suddenly, the scrape of the chair echoing around the half-empty cafeteria and hastily exited the room.

“No, Henderson, wait!” Steve pleaded, but Dustin was already gone out the door, his half-drunk coffee left forgotten on the table.

***

Steve white-knuckled the steering wheel and pressed his foot down fully on the gas, driving at full speed down the forest-lined road to the place where he and Eddie first met almost a year ago – mind racing.

He should have listened, really listened, to catch what Dustin was implying. The kid probably didn’t fully understand it himself, but Steve was the adult in the situation. He should have known; he could have been more supportive of Eddie instead of keeping him at arm’s length. And what for? Because of some high school hierarchy bullshit? Because he may or may not have made Eddie’s high school life hell? Because he didn’t want to get in the way of Dustin’s new friendship? Because he felt threatened by it? It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t try with Steve. He always looked happy to see Steve and asked about him to the others often when he hadn’t been around for a while. He always made sure Steve was in on the conversation when the kids rambled excitedly around them about their nerd games. He joked and laughed around Steve – made him feel warm and welcome. He treated him like any other of his close friends. Even giving Steve pet names like Stevie and Big Boy, and faux flirting with him to make him laugh. Unlike Steve, who was cordial at best, hiding behind a veil of formality he’d learned from his years as a Harrington.

Steve should have known, but he didn’t.

In hindsight, it should have been really obvious to him the night he met Eddie’s uncle for the first time.

***

Somehow, over the months, they’d managed to miss each other, both on different schedules. Steve had made his way down to Eddie’s room from Max’s in hopes of catching Dustin before heading home, only to find a strange man sat at Eddie’s bedside instead.

“You must be the Harrington boy,” the man stated gruffly, a lifetime of heavy smoking evident in his voice. Steve nods. “’heard a lot about you. That Henderson kid could talk the hind legs off a donkey,” the man continued, rising from his seat and offering his hand. “Wayne Munson, Eddie’s uncle.”

“Steve Harrington, nice to finally meet you, sir,” he replied, shaking the man’s hand. Eddie’s uncle looked a lot like how Steve imagined him to look from Eddie and Dustin’s stories, but older, more tired and disheveled. Almost losing a family member would do that he assumed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Munson, for everything,” Steve said, feeling the need to apologize as he looked over at Eddie asleep in the bed.

“Sorry? Now, what d'ya have to be sorry about? From what I hear, you’re the reason my boy is still here with us,” Wayne said, clapping Steve hard on the back. “And, it’s Wayne.”

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly at the praise. “It was nothing, sir- I mean, Wayne. Anyone would have done the same, I just happened to be there.”

Wayne looked somewhat doubtful at that, and Steve felt a pang of guilt when he realized, they probably wouldn’t have – they would have made sure the job got done. Neither of them spoke for a moment until the prolonged silence became unbearable for Steve. He cleared his throat again to get Wayne’s attention from where it had wondered back to Eddie.

“Well, I better be going, Wayne. Again, it was nice meeting you and sorry for barging in. I thought it would have just been Dustin here. Have a good night.”

Wayne hesitated momentarily, seeming to debate something.

“Let me walk you out, Steve, it’s the least I could do,” Wayne offered, his hand at Steve’s back, leading him out of the room. “’sides, I need to stretch these old bones a’ mine every once in a while, and these darn hospital chairs ain’t helpin’ nothin’.”

A surprised Steve was herded out of the room before he could refuse the offer, and Wayne quietly closed the door to Eddie’s room behind him.

Most of the walk to the main hospital doors three floors down was filled with small talk about Wayne’s job at the plant and Steve’s ongoing search for employment since Family Video fell victim to what those outside of the know claimed was an earthquake. Steve figured Wayne was working up to something and he gave him the space to do so. His efforts proved fruitful when Wayne stopped Steve just as they exited the main hospital doors into the dusk.

“Steve, ya’ seem like a real nice kid, and you’ve done more than enough saving my boy, but if it’s not too much trouble, d’ya think you could keep an eye on him?”

“On Eddie?” Steve was surprised. Eddie had more eyes on him than ever, most of them professionals at that, the best doctors and nurses the government could spare, they’d made sure of it. Steve couldn’t fathom why he was singled out specifically by Wayne but he thought maybe it might have had something to do with Dustin. Steve’s confusion at the request must have been evident as Wayne continued.

“Eddie ain’t had the easiest of lives,” Wayne began, choosing his words carefully. He seemed to be considering how much he should tell Steve. “Hell, that kid ain’t caught a break from the day he was born. Y’know, we used to joke when he was a baby that he’d be an unlucky kid, what with him being born on Friday the thirteenth and all,” Wayne chuckled sadly.

Steve wordlessly listened as the old man spoke. Whatever he wanted to say seemed to be difficult for him to talk about but Steve had time.

“When Eddie came to live with me, I hadn’t seen him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, and he wasn’t the same rumbunctious kid I remembered either. His daddy, my younger brother, was an alcoholic with a real mean streak, and that’s putting it nicely. And his momma…well, that’s Eddie’s story to tell. Point is, that kid’s been through some shit most folks can't even bare to imagine, and you don’t come out the other side of what Eddie went through at that age unscathed, if you know what I mean.”

At Steve’s hesitation, Wayne steeled himself and brought his hand to Steve’s shoulder pulling him so they were eye to eye, willing Steve to understand.

“Steve, this ain’t the first time – hell, it ain’t even the second time Eddie’s faced death in his young life, and I’m worried it won’t be the last. You understand what I mean, Steve?”

Wayne levelled Steve with a meaningful look. Steve thought he understood and figured even if he didn’t, he could do what Wayne asked of him regardless. And so, he nodded. If there is one thing Steve knows he’s good at, it’s protecting others no matter the cost to himself. Eddie was one of them now and if Wayne was worried about an angry mob or a swarm of demon bats coming for Eddie, then they’d have to get through Steve first.

“Just keep an eye on him for me, okay? I can’t be ‘round as much as I’d like and I reckon he likes you, Harrington,” Wayne smiled and winked, patting him on the shoulder before disappearing back into the florescent lights of Hawkins General.

***

Steve glanced at the clock on the dash; 7:04 a.m. Come on, come on, come on, FUCK! He cursed his car for not moving fast enough up the ice-covered hill. He’d been looking for Eddie for over thirty minutes. It was still dark but he could see first light of morning struggling against the snow clouds to the east. He was running out of time.

Why didn’t he just listen and take everyone’s concerns seriously instead of burying his head in the sand? Why did it have to take a frantic phone call from a sobbing Dustin Henderson at an ungodly hour of the morning – and three days before Eddie was due to be released from the hospital – to open Steve’s eyes to the truth? The truth that Eddie was struggling – fighting demons far more unknown and insidious than anything the Upside Down could produce.

***

“Whoa, whoa, slow down Dustin,” Steve instructed, adrenaline pumping through his veins, making his heart pound rapidly against his ribcage at Dustin’s destress. Steve prayed this wasn’t the Upside Down making its long-awaited comeback. “Take a deep breath and start again.”

He could hear Dustin take two quick shaky breaths before he launched into a slightly more coherent explanation.

“Steve, he’s gone…Eddie’s gone…he’s not at the hospital.” Steve was about to explain it away. Eddie was a grown ass man and he could discharge himself at any time, but he froze, an icy dread running through his veins and accumulating in the pit of his stomach with Dustin’s next words as everything clicked for Steve. “I found his guitar on my doorstep this morning with a note saying to take good care of her and that he was sorry. Something bad is going to happen, something really, really bad.” Dustin’s voice became small, chocking back his tears. “You gotta believe me this time, Steve, please. I think…I think he’s going to hurt himself. You gotta find him, Steve, I’m begging you,” the boy gasped through his quiet sobs unable to keep them back any longer.

Steve was in shock. How could he have been so blind?! Looking back over Eddie’s recovery, it was all there in front of him. It seemed so obvious now. Steve cursed his dumb brain for its inability to read between the lines or pick up on the worrying signs in Eddie’s behavior. He’d thought he was doing well – Eddie had said so himself, even the doctors said so. So, it never even crossed Steve’s mind that while Eddie’s body was healing well, his mind was rapidly betraying him. Those closest to Eddie did know though, and Steve didn’t listen. If Steve had gotten over his insecurities and let himself become closer with Eddie, he’d have known. He felt sick and helpless. He suddenly wished it had been the Upside Down; he knew how to fight that and protect others – but how do you protect someone from their own mind? He had to shake himself out the shock and the spiraling train of thought. Dustin needed him to be the adult in this situation. Time was of the essence. He had to find Eddie asap, before it was too late.

“Okay, it’s okay Dustin, I believe you,” Steve reassured, grabbing his keys from the bowl next to the phone. “I’ll head out now, see if I can find him. Any idea where he’d be?”

“No. The note didn’t say anything else.” Steve sighed feeling a migraine coming on triggered by the rush of panic; he couldn’t think where best to start his search. Dustin continued, “but I don’t think he could have gone far. There wasn’t much snow on the guitar when I found it even though it’s been snowing on and off all night.”

Smart kid. Well, that was something at least.

“Does Wayne know Eddie’s going to-” Steve stopped himself, unable to bring himself to say it, “that Eddie is missing?”

“I- I dunno…you’re the first person I called” came Dustin’s shaky reply. “He’s probably not back home from his shift yet.”

“Call him as soon as you hang up the call and keep calling until you get him. He’ll have a better idea of where Eddie might be and know where to look, then radio me.”

“Okay. I should radio the party, too. The more people the better, right?”

“No,” Steve objected loudly. The minute those kids find out they’ll be on their bikes to help search and God only knows what they’d find. There’re too young for any of this, and they’ve been through a lot already – especially Dustin. He’d watched Eddie almost die once already and the kid was a mess. There’d be no coming back from it this time if the worst was to happen. He could hear Dustin’s protests through the line bringing him back to the problem at hand. He had to think quickly.

“No, we don’t need to worry the others yet; it could be nothing. Call Hop instead. He can put together a search team in no time, okay?”

“Okay,” Dustin replied, sounding lost.

“I need you to stay put at home by the phone and radio, Dustin, okay? That’s best way you can help Eddie, alright?”

“I got it, Steve. Just…just promise you’ll get him back safe.”

Steve heart broke for the kid and he had to look up to keep his own eyes from welling up. He had to stay strong. Dustin was trusting him with this and he didn’t want to let him down again.

“I’ll do what I can, Dustin, I promise.”

***

Steve was pulled from his thoughts when his headlights brought Rick’s house into view through the light snow that had begun to fall again. The beemer careened into the driveway and came to a halt outside. He wasted no time running straight to the house first, kicking the door in and screaming for Eddie, not caring about the potential future misdemeanor charge. Steve made quick work of the rooms, bracing himself for what he might find behind each door and being equal parts thankful and disappointed each time they came up empty.

With the house out of the way, Steve booked it to the boat shack at the back over-looking the lake, his heart racing making him feel like it was going to explode out of his chest. It was by pure chance that he saw it in his frantic haste to get to the boathouse. His eyes just so happened to sweep the lake as he ran by, and a sudden movement stopped him in his tracks. Out on the water, just visible through the flurries and pale morning light, a figure with wild curly hair tumbled from a small rowboat into the frigid lake water below.

“EDDIE!”

***

Eddie Munson was a human cockroach – notoriously hard to kill. Many had tried including himself, but it never seemed to stick. It would this time; he could feel it.

Eddie stared at the little pills in his hand. He had easily located Rick’s stash in its uninspired hiding place under the floorboards in the bedroom, and grabbed about two dozen heavy duty sleeping pills, a small baggie of Special K, and a half empty bottle of whiskey to wash it all down. He drank from the whiskey bottle and admired what he could see of the shoreline as light began to bleed through the horizon. Hawkins sure did look beautiful when you knew you were leaving it.

He glanced at his watch. 6:52 a.m. No point in delaying it any longer. He popped the pills four or five at a time and chased it down each time with a mouthful of burning whiskey.

His life had gone to shit fast since the week from hell. Life was already difficult before, but now it seemed more hopeless than ever. The damage from the bats had permanently changed him until he no longer felt like Eddie Munson anymore. He died in the Upside Down, and whatever Steve dragged out of there was nothing but a broken shell infected by the filth of the Upside Down. A week after he woke up from the coma, the doctors broke the news that he would likely never regain full motor function in his left hand. Too much of the muscle had been torn away and the nerve damage had been extensive. That meant he lost the one outlet he had that had kept him going all these years – long before DnD and Hellfire. Though he lost those too. Somehow it didn’t seem as fun and fantastical as before. He couldn’t use it to escape the hardships in his life anymore. He could no longer find comfort immersing himself in a world of monsters and adventure when he knew how real and dangerous such things were. He had the scars to prove it. He would never escape them. They would haunt him forever.

A light snowfall, the flakes melting on his exposed skin pulled him from his thoughts momentarily. It was peaceful at this hour. The gentle swaying of the boat as the water ebbed and flowed around it in little ripples was starting to lull him to sleep. He could no longer feel the biting cold anymore through his sweater and jacket – a good sign. Things were becoming hazier, his mind light for the first time since everything went to shit. He felt the faint trace of a smile stretch across his numbing face. It was almost time – no one could save him now. Not even Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington. The name made his heart ache even through the numbing effect of the drugs and alcohol. Nothing would suppress a pain like that. The pain of wanting someone so badly but knowing you will never, ever, have them. He’d known from way back in junior year that he had a thing for Harrington, but it was easy to ignore when their paths never crossed and Harrington was a dick. He just admired his beauty from afar. But ever since he’d been adopted into the trauma-bonded party, it had become impossible for Eddie to ignore him. The more he got to know him, the more he realized how wrong he was about him, and the more in love with him he fell. He tried hard to fight it, but he couldn’t help dropping the occasional hint – a lingering touch, a flirty comment he could laugh off if need be. Those were intentional, but discreet. Or so he thought. Buckley clocked him early on. Apparently, his pining was evident on his face. She was the one to break to him what he already knew – gently and with sympathetic eyes. He never had a chance. He could never have good things, and Steve Harrington was the very best.

Stop. He needed it to stop. He couldn’t wait anymore.

He stripped off his winter jacket to slip off the old battle vest underneath, exposing him further to the frigid air and biting snow he could no longer feel. He held the denim with numb fingers, clumsily running the tips over the assortment of patches crudely stitched by Eddie himself over the years; over the faded blood splatter that Steve never could remove before returning it to him after waking in the hospital what felt like a lifetime ago.

He was getting drowsy now, sight blurring around the edges – close to losing consciousness.

All those thoughts about Harrington must have been messing with his head more than usual because he could have sworn he’d heard Harrington’s voice calling for him, echoing in the distance. Wishful thinking. It was probably a figment of his imagination or a hallucination brought about by the combination of drugs and alcohol, but even if it wasn’t; he wasn’t worried. It was too late for him. Steve wouldn’t be able to play knight in shining armor this time.

Without much more thought, Eddie Munson crashed into the freezing waters of Lover’s Lake below, letting it envelop him in death’s embrace as he sank into its depths. It was peaceful, calm even, as his vision began to darken at the edges. He didn’t feel the cold or the heartache or the hopelessness anymore. He felt nothing but relief.

The peaceful serenity was violently disrupted when a strong hand wrapped around his upper arm and yanked him up to the surface.

“Eddie, no, no, no please. Not again, please, not again,” Steve blubbered, his eyes glassy with panic and unshed tears as he grabbed Eddie by the face and slapped his cheek frantically in an effort to keep him conscious. Eddie just watched on through eyes heavily laden with sleep, the whole scene feeling disconnected, just playing out from a distance; the cocktail of drugs and booze quickly dragging him further and further away like a rip current. Jesus, Steve was beautiful – he was selfishly glad he was here so that could see him one last time. What a perfect place to die – in Steve Harrington’s arms.

“Don’t do this to Henderson again…“ Steve begged, his voice breaking, and lowering his forehead to Eddie’s temple, “don’t do this to me.”

“Sorry, Stevie,” Eddie whispered, closing his eyes and feeling the darkness embrace him. “’s the last time…I promise.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #dustin henderson #wayne munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #hushbats #st fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fan fiction #hushbats' fanfic

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no--envies · 3 years

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Nightless City – An analysis of Wei Wuxian’s accountability

I’ve come across several takes about the bloodbath of Nightless City that don’t really sit well with me. Some people say Wei Wuxian is totally to blame, others that he’s totally blameless, and I personally disagree with both. I think that, like in many other events in the novel, what really happened is more complex.

(All the translations are by Exiled Rebels Scanlations)

First of all, the text shows us that Wei Wuxian wasn’t completely clear-headed even before going to Nightless City, which is normal considering what he was going through. His whole world had crumbled in just a few hours. Everything he’d done until that moment – the sacrifices he had made for what he believed was right – appeared to be for nothing. He ended up hurting the people most dear to him, and he couldn’t even protect those he had wanted to protect. When he could move again after the three days he spent in the cave immobilized by Wen Qing’s needle, for a while he didn’t even know what to do or where to go.

After he got down the mountain, he stood amid the bushes, catching his breath. Bent down, he propped his hands against his knees for a long while before he stood up straight again. Yet, looking at the wild grasses that covered many of the mountain paths, he didn’t know where to go.

Burial Mound—he’d just gone down from there.

Lotus Pier—he hadn’t been back in over a year.

Koi Tower? Three days had passed already. If he went now, it was likely that Wen Qing’s corpse and Wen Ning’s ashes were the only things left.

He stood blankly. Suddenly, he felt that the world had no place for him, despite how large it was. He didn’t know what to do either.

(Chapter 77)

It’s rare to see Wei Wuxian so utterly lost and miserable. What happened was too much for even someone like him – who always tends to look at the bright side of any situation – to be able to deal with it. Since he doesn’t know where else to go, he decides to go to Koi Tower to retrieve the Wen siblings’ ashes, but he doesn’t manage to do anything before he’s discovered and forced to flee. He wanders without purpose for a long time until he arrives at a city gate where he hears a group of cultivators talking about him with contempt, which triggers his anger.

The longer Wei WuXian listened, the colder his expression grew.

He should’ve understood long ago. No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced.

He was cultivating the crooked path either way, so what exactly did the years of persistence mean? What exactly were they for?

However, the colder his eyes were, the brighter the raging fire within his heart burned.

(Chapter 77)

We see him come to a very bitter realization: no matter his noble intentions and moral integrity, everyone has already made up their mind about him, he would be made into a villain no matter what he does. Before what happened at Qiongqi Path he had managed to keep a positive mindset, since he was doing fine in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants. It wasn’t an easy life, but they were safe, they didn’t starve and Wei Wuxian was free to focus on his research and inventions in peace, creating the Compass of Evil and the Spirit-Attraction Flag. He missed his family, but he also found another one. He had people who loved him and valued him, and whom he loved and valued in turn. All in all, he was content. He thought that as long as he didn’t actively seek trouble, the world would leave him alone. But he was wrong. Jin Zixun ambushed him accusing him of something he didn’t do, and everything spiraled down so quickly he couldn’t do anything to prevent it, until he lost control of his demonic cultivation and killed Jin Zixuan.

In this moment, Wei Wuxian feels completely alone. The Wen siblings are gone, his beloved shijie might hate him for killing her husband and the cultivation world as a whole can’t wait to besiege him. If it had been another time, he wouldn’t have beaten up those random cultivators. It’s not like it was the first time he heard awful rumors about himself. The fact that he reacts so violently here says a lot about the state of mind he’s in. Wei Wuxian is clearly looking for a way to vent his anger, so he takes it out on the cultivators who are speaking ill of him. His rage is justified: not only were they saying malicious things about him without even knowing the full story, but they were doing it cowardly behind his back. However, his reaction is somewhat disproportionate to their offense: one of them gets kicked in the face until he passes out from the pain, while another gets his legs broken for daring to speak up. Although he doesn’t kill them, he does terrorize them and in the end he leaves them there immobilized by the spirits he had summoned (if Lan Wangji hadn’t been looking for Wei Wuxian, who knows how long they would have had to wait to be freed).

After this, Wei Wuxian sees the announcement of the pledge conference and goes to Nightless City. I’ve seen people argue that he was only trying to protect the Wen remnants and that the people who were there had already pledged to kill him, so it was self-defense. But is it really the case? Personally, I don’t think what he did was self-defense. Sure, he tried to discuss first and didn’t attack until he was attacked, but defending himself and the Wen remnants wasn’t the main reason he was there in the first place.

The crowd flung curses at him, but Wei WuXian accepted all of them.

Anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart.

(Chapter 78)

All of his pain, desperation and guilt were too much to handle at once, so he tried to suppress them all with anger, and directed that anger at the people who hated him. Wei Wuxian didn’t go to the pledge conference to try to prevent the siege from happening (since he thought it wouldn’t change anything anyway) or to weaken the Sects’ forces. He went there to vent his anger and frustration. Wei Wuxian is not clear-headed here, as highlighted by this passage:

Wei WuXian spun around to dodge the attack and laughed, “Fine, fine. I knew since the start that we’d have to fight a real fight like this one sooner or later. You’ve always found me disagreeable no matter what. Come on!”

Hearing this, Lan WangJi’s movements paused, “Wei Ying!”

Although he shouted the words, any sane person would be able to tell that Lan WangJi’s voice was clearly shaking. However, right now, Wei WuXian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He wouldn’t be scared no matter who came at him. It wouldn’t matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.

(Chapter 78)

In this moment Wei Wuxian believes everyone hates him and there’s no use trying to convince them otherwise – there’s no use trying to reason with them in a diplomatic way because no matter what he says or does, his words will be twisted to fit the opinions of the crowd. He almost welcomes the attack because this way he can attack them back and vent all his pent-up anger. Wei Wuxian is not behaving like his usual self here. He can’t see Lan Wangji isn’t trying to hurt him because his mind is not lucid. This is why he loses control of his demonic cultivation for the second time, injuring Jiang Yanli.

His shijie is the only one who manages to calm him down a little despite his chaotic state of mind. He manages to stop the corpses from attacking everyone and waits for her to tell him what she thinks of him, if she forgives him or not. However, she dies to save his life before being able to say anything, and the whole situation becomes simply too much for him to bear. All of his emotions crush him at once, so in his already half-unconscious state he activates the Tiger Seal, effectively erasing any chance he might have had to redeem himself in the eyes of society.

The point of this analysis isn’t to blame or absolve Wei Wuxian. It’s very easy to empathize with his anguish in these scenes. What he was going through was incredibly stressful and the root cause (the ambush at Qiongqi Path) wasn’t his fault. Even Lan Wangji says he can neither condemn nor justify his actions, but he’s willing to face all the consequences with him anyway.

I told [Wangji] when I went to see him, Young Master Wei had already made a grave mistake, there was no use augmenting it. But he said… that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong, but no matter what, he was willing to be responsible for all of the consequences alongside you.

(Chapter 99)

Wei Wuxian isn’t blameless for what happened at Nightless City. I don’t think he’s proud of what he did and all the people he killed, either. The fact that he destroyed the Tiger Seal after returning to the Burial Mounds is quite telling. He definitely didn’t act in the most rational and clear-headed way, which resulted in a lot of people – including his shijie – to lose their lives, but the point of all this is that Wei Wuxian is human. He makes mistakes because no one is infallible, no matter how heroic, selfless and virtuous. Not even he can be totally immune to all the criticism and accusasions, even though he often acts like he is. Wei Wuxian is a fundamentally positive person, so most of the time he can ignore the bad things that happen to him and focus on the good, but this time his situation was simply too extreme for anyone to be able to stand it.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #wei ying #mdzs meta #nightless city

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fantasmalresplendent · 4 years

Text

Dean died at the ripe old age of 85.

In his lucid moments during the days leading up to his passing, in which Dean was just as sharp and as bright as he was fifty years ago, he remarked that people must think he’d robbed the cradle with a “hot piece” such as Castiel hanging around him.

“You don’t mind that I’m a wrinkly, senile, crotchety old bastard?” Dean had asked, more than once, but he had always said it with a smile. And Castiel would smile back, replying with the same answer the answer many times, in many ways:

“You’re not senile.”

“Old, but not a bastard.”

“I thought I was the crotchety one.”

“I don’t mind.”

Then Dean would smile, and it would light up the room, and Castiel would wonder again how he came to deserve the focus, let alone the affection, of such a man.

“It’s not about deserving, Cas,” Dean had said, half-whispered in the middle of the night a few short months after they had begun to share the bed they laid in. “It’s… fuck, well I don’t know what it’s about. But people don’t get what they deserve, not most of the time.”

Castiel frowned, furrowing his brows. “They should,” he grumbled.

“Well if people got what they deserved, they’d… I don’t know, Sam would’ve actually become a lawyer, stayed in school. Jo, Ellen, Bobby, they’d all still be here. I’d get mauled by a werewolf or something, go out with a bang, and Baby,” Dean said sternly, as though chastising the universe itself for such an injustice, “Would never get so much as a scratch on her.”

“You think that’s what you deserve?” Castiel’s voice was soft, not wanting to disturb the still of the night, but steely as he considered even the possibility of Dean’s violent end.

Dean registered that, swallowing, “I don’t know. I guess I just never thought I’d even make it this far. Hunters have the shortest lifespans of any human subspecies,” Dean cracked a smile, but his heart wasn’t in the joke. Castiel knew Dean was doing the math in his head. He knew Dean was mentally recalling how long it had been since Bobby left for heaven. Tallying up the number of people who were gone because of self-sacrifice, mistakes, pure dumb luck. Counting exactly how many years he had outlived his own mother.

Castiel had wrapped his arms around Dean then, embracing him, surrounding him, and they curled into each other completely. Burying himself in Castiel’s neck, Dean had never felt so close to him, and yet so far away. “You don’t have to follow the same patterns if you don’t want to, Dean,” Castiel stated, as if it were that easy. “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Get mauled by a werewolf?”

Dean sniffed in laughter, and that was answer enough.

Castiel found himself stroking Dean’s hair, an action he felt suited him. He thought for a moment in the stillness and in the space between their breaths. “Maybe it’s idealistic of me, but I still think people should get what they deserve. Even- no, especially you.”

Dean took his time answering, opening his mouth several times before actually saying, “Sometimes I don’t think I know what I deserve.”

“I guess we’ll just have to figure that out together then. We have time,” Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead and he sighed at the touch. “We have plenty of time. Heaven will wait for you, no matter how long.”

Dean looked up at him then with a pout, “You sound pretty confident in that statement for a dude who hasn’t shown up to heavenly chorus practice in a few years.”

Castiel smiled, “I’d rather be here with you. Always have.”

The man blushed. “Well, if I go… I mean, wherever I go… Where will you end up?”

“I could go with you.”

“Where?”

Castiel closed the distance between them fully, thumbing across Dean’s cheek as they kissed. “Anywhere. If you want me there, I will be there, whether it’s here or heaven. I’ll be there.”

“For how long?”

“For however long you want me to be.”

Dean kissed back, his fingers tangling in Castiel’s hair. “Yeah. Okay.”

Sam went not long after Dean. It wasn’t a surprise; it was his time as well. His children were grown, his grandchildren almost grown, Castiel knew they’d miss him but that they’d be all right. And they knew to call on “Uncle Cas” if they weren’t, even the little ones who didn’t understand exactly how they were related, or why Great Uncle Dean's husband was only about as old as their parents.

“I mean I love the little gremlins,” Dean had said, cracking open a beer after a long few days of babysitting Sam and Eileen's girls while the expecting parents were in the hospital. He was exhausted, they both were, but beaming from meeting the newest member of the Winchester clan: a healthy baby boy named Robert. “But have you seen Sam’s house? Goddamn mess in there.”

“You… don’t want to have some of your own?” Castiel had asked carefully, taking the beer Dean held out for him.

“You’re making them sound like trading cards. I don’t know, I- I guess I never thought too hard about it.” Castiel could tell this was a lie by the way Dean didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t know what to do with a kid if I had one.”

“Do you think you’d be a good father?”

Castiel had met John Winchester, in Hell. Well, he hadn’t exactly met him. He had really only passed by John’s cell, stole a glance at the infamous hunter on his way to retrieve Dean’s soul. He’d never told Dean what he saw, they were not close enough at the time. He wasn’t sure if Dean would even want to know. Castiel had almost spoken about it many times, but whenever Dean talked about John, “Dad,” a look crossed over his face, sometimes for only a second. A furrowing of brows, a tight smile, a quick transition to happier subjects.

The same look crossed over Dean’s face as soon as Castiel had asked the question.

“Wow. Um, loaded question there, Cas.”

He waited for Dean to meet his eyes before continuing, “I think you would be.”

“Do- wait,” Dean shook his head, trying to understand where Castiel was going with all of this, “Do you want kids?”

“I want you to live a normal life, Dean. I want to be able to give you what you want.”

“Okay, lots of stuff to unpack here. First of all, a normal life isn’t and never was an option,” Dean leaned back against the counter, “I think we can agree on that. Second of all, you didn’t answer my question.”

“...And third of all?” Castiel prompted.

“No, second of all first. Do you want kids?”

Castiel sighed, taking a swig of his beer, considering his words. “I’m an angel, Dean-”

“Is that so!” Dean raised his eyebrows, then squinted as if in deep thought, “Weird, somehow I never noticed.”

That deserved a well-placed eyeroll, but Castiel still had a point to make. “We don’t- I’m just trying to…” he set his beer down. “I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that I would love and care for a child, if it were ours. If we decided that was something we wanted, I would be so happy to raise them, with you. I’d be terrified,” Castiel admitted, “At the enormous and important responsibility, but I would love doing it, if… if it was with you. I just want you to know that, I guess,” Castiel shrugged, “I don’t want you to think it’s not an option for us, if you want it to be.”

“Okay…” Dean was thinking, swirling the beer around his glass. He pointed the mouth at Castiel, “You’re still avoiding my question,” Castiel really rolled his eyes this time, “But I don’t really think it’s for me, all that white picket fence stuff. If you really wanted a kid, I would definitely hit the library and read all those, I don’t know, fucking parenting guides, and take the Mommy and Me classes, whatever. And I think you’d be a good father, better than me, I’d just let them eat gummy worms and shoot slingshots.”

“Children love gummy worms. They listen and will behave better when offered gummy worms,” Castiel knew this for a fact from very recent personal experience, “I don’t see how gummy worms could pose an issue. Slingshots, however-”

“Okay so maybe I’m overestimating your abilities a little,” Dean held up a hand, “But still, I… I like this,” he gestured to the space between them and around them, “I like us. I like waking up to a clean kitchen and sleeping in on weekends. I like not having to ask more than one person whether or not I can take a drive by myself or crank my music really loud at midnight. And I fucking hate Paw Patrol.”

Castiel smiled.

“Sam and Eileen always need babysitters. That’s good enough for me right now.”

“You’ll tell me though, if this is something you really want,” Castiel insisted, “If you think about it and decide something else.”

“Sure.”

“Promise.”

“Okay, fine, I promise,” Dean took a step forward and leaned in for a kiss then. Castiel could taste the beer on Dean’s tongue and sighed. Dean smiled against Castiel’s lips, lowering his voice to a comical level, “We could, uh, you know, try and make some babies,” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Castiel pushed Dean’s laughing face away, but grabbed his hand, turning towards their room.

They hadn’t spoken about it again, not seriously anyway. They got a dog. Dean opened a vintage car garage. Castiel learned how to bake. They took long road trips to the beaches in California, wandered through roadside attractions like Carhenge in Nebraska and Cadillac Ranch in Texas. They bought decidedly way too much merchandise at Oklahoma’s National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum. And maybe they killed the occasional vampire, the wayward poltergeist, but the occasions became less and less. There were younger, more spry hunters on the road now, always welcome at the bunker to look through their library or ask advice on a particularly troublesome spirit. Sam even coerced Dean into holding what became a yearly “conference,” “What are we, a tech startup?” for the next generation of hunters to learn from the legendary brothers.

So maybe they spent more time at home than on the road, but home suited them. Routine suited them like Castiel never could have predicted it would. It wasn’t a white picket fence, but it wasn’t a lonely highway either. Dean would joke about how “boring” they’d become, but Castiel reveled in the repetition. The three hundredth time Dean brought Castiel coffee in bed was just as lovely as the third. The five hundredth time Castiel cooked dinner passed without fanfare, though Dean hugging him from behind, chin hooked over Castiel’s shoulder as he whisked, felt like fanfare enough. The one thousandth kiss they shared was in their bed, lazily breathing each other in as the first beams of sunlight shone through the window after a week of straight rain. Home, a thing he and Dean had never known in their youth, held the majority of their most precious, most banal memories. But still, Castiel always looked forward to those moments speeding down a desert highway when Dean would reach for his hand, turn his head to meet Castiel’s eyes, and smile.

Time took its time with them.

It seemed the opposite with Sam’s children, who grew up faster than Castiel could keep track of. And as they grew from waddling toddlers to full-fledged human beings, Castiel was fascinated, enamored, but Dean was simply proud. He attended their tournaments, their decathlons. He went to their graduations, weddings, barbecues, and Castiel went with him. They took the kids to concerts and movies, parks and shooting ranges, and Castiel never got tired of the smile on Dean’s face when they threw their small arms around Dean’s neck and called him their “Cool Uncle.” “Hear that, Cas? That means you’re the No Fun Uncle. The No-Funcle.”

And as the crowned Cool Uncle, he teased Sam mercilessly about his minivan and his “#1 Dad” mugs, but Castiel knew how proud Dean was of him too. How glad he was that Sam got the future he wanted, and how grateful he was that that future included him.

The brothers still fought. They still bickered, pranked, and glowered. Sam complained that Dean let his kids use power tools too young when they visited, and Dean complained that Sam’s kids were too old to have never heard “Stairway to Heaven.” The usual, the routine, many times over. But they never lied to each other, at least not about the important things, not anymore. And Castiel was welcome in Sam and Eileen’s house and lives, an honor he felt he didn’t deserve, but as Dean said, maybe it wasn’t about deserving.

It was Eileen who noticed Castiel first as he entered the hospital room the day he'd been informed that Sam Winchester was finally coming home. He didn't have to tell Eileen; she saw it on Castiel's face. They’d already spoken, he’d prepared her for the eventuality a few days prior. Eileen smiled, looking back at her husband, teasing him lightly, but Castiel knew she was holding back on her usual snark because Sam looked, well, tired. Turning away from Sam, Eileen signed, “Are you here for him?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, but someone will be here soon.”

“You mean they haven’t given you reaper duty yet?” Sam joked from his horizontal position, speaking and signing with his usual quick wit, but not with his usual articulation. Castiel had seen him argue with Dean for fifty years like it was his job, he was accustomed to the precision with which Sam had always wielded his words. Not today.

“I don’t think I’d be very good at it,” Castiel stepped closer so that Sam wouldn’t have to crane his head, “I’m not very persuasive.”

“No kidding,” Sam shakily clasped Castiel’s hand and grinned. “I’m surprised Dean even went with you.”

“It took less persuading than you’d think.”

“How is he?” Eileen asked, but she was smiling, so she knew the answer.

“He’s good,” Castiel smiled back, “Getting what he deserves.”

Sam smirked, but his head sunk back into his pillow as if relieved. “And I bet he’s complaining about it non-stop. Asshole never knew how to take a vacation.”

“Neither do you,” Eileen levelled her husband with a fond look.

“We’ve taken vacations!”

“You always wanted to go somewhere exotic and then you’d just end up in the library. Remember Berlin?”

“They had… well I wasn’t going to find those editions in America, and-”

Sam and Eileen bickered for a bit, and Castiel did end up backing Eileen’s points more often than not, so eventually Sam recognized that he was outnumbered on this particular case.

Castiel bid his goodbyes just in time as the nurse entered the room to check Sam’s vitals. Her tone was cheerful, but Castiel could tell that she too knew what was coming.

“Well… I’ll see you soon, buddy, huh?” Sam smiled at Castiel as confidently as he could muster for Eileen’s sake, but Castiel knew behind those laugh lines Sam wasn’t so sure of himself. Castiel supposed that worry wasn’t to be unexpected from a chosen one of Hell, Lucifer's vessel, the boy Castiel had once called an “abomination.”

But Castiel smiled, giving Sam’s shoulder one last firm squeeze. “You will.”

When Dean died, at the ripe old age of 85, he knew what to expect.

He’d visited heaven before. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Not an exciting place, but exciting wasn’t necessarily good. Hell had been exciting, and he was in no hurry to return there. Purgatory had been exciting in a different way, years later he swore the stench still lingered on his skin. Sometimes, when he would lose himself in his “senior moments,” he thought he was back in that bloody in between. Or back in hell. Or had gone to heaven. “Times and places are difficult to navigate when your brain’s turning into gummy worms,” he told Cas once. He didn’t remember saying this a few hours later, but that didn’t make it any less true.

His brain was sure full of them gummy worms now as he clung to his body and to his life. He wasn’t completely sure where he was. Bobby’s? The bunker? His childhood home? Sammy had come to see him earlier, at least the kid had looked like Sammy… No, fuck, that was his grand-nephew, Cas had reminded him of that. Sam, his brother Sam, was in the next room. That's right, he’d told the asshole to give him some space, stop smothering him. He sort of wished he was here now though. And Cas, Cas was here, he knew that, but only because the angel was right in front of him. Cas, his friend, was holding Dean’s hand, talking about what their grand-nieces and nephews were doing in school. Dean could swear he already knew these things, but they still sounded new when Cas said them.

Dean looked over at him, and Cas was smiling.

He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Cas helped him swallow some cool water. Dean cleared his throat, “Bet you’ve been waiting for this for a while.”

Castiel cocked his head, the smile fading. Fifty some odd years and he still had that same confused look. “Waiting for what?”

“Me to beef it, finally. I know this hasn’t been easy, watching me… seeing me like…” Dean took a shallow breath. “No matter where I go next, at least I won’t be a senile senior citizen.”

“Dean,” Cas said, rubbing the back of Dean’s liver spot-covered hand, “Please listen to me very carefully.”

“Got my hearing aids in, go ahead,” Dean joked.

Cas smiled softly again. “It has been the greatest privilege of my life, my existence, to watch you grow old. I feel honored that you allowed me to experience that. Time’s different for me too,” Cas kissed Dean’s hand, “Space and time were never precious to me, not in the stretch of infinity. Not until you. Not until I was able to see you live your life and live it well.”

Tears welled in the corners of Dean’s eyes. He furiously tried to blink them away, but Cas was already there, dabbing carefully with a handkerchief. “I’m… I’m scared, Cas. I know I shouldn’t be, I’ve seen it all. I’ve beefed it a few times already. But maybe that’s why I’m scared? Because… I know what comes next. What could come next. And this is it, right? No more resets?”

Cas nodded.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. “If I don’t end up in heaven-”

“You will.”

“If I don’t, that’s fine, maybe it’s what I deserve, and that’s fair. But… will I see you again?”

“Dean,” Cas said sadly, but with his trademarked firmness, “You are going to paradise. And if for some reason, a completely incorrect and insane reason, you don’t? I dragged your soul out of the flames once, I will do it again. I would do it as many times as I needed to.”

Dean shook his head slightly, “Not fair.”

“It’s not about fair. It’s about the truth. Whether you believe it or not, ET goes home.”

Dean chuckled weakly. He was tired. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to let go so badly.

He felt the bed move as Cas climbed under the covers with him. The angel curled around him, enveloping him. Dean could swear he felt the brush of feathers cradling him and pulling him closer, but he couldn’t muster the ability to reach for them, stroke them like he used to. “Sleep, Dean. I’ll be here when you wake up. Wherever, whenever here is. That’s where I’ll be. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”

“Swear?”

Castiel kissed his forehead. “I swear.”

Dean opened his eyes.

The phrase, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” popped into his head, but he suspected, greatly, that he was, in fact, in Kansas. The blowing fields of wheat tipped him off to that.

No, wait. That wasn’t a field, it was a… sandy beach. It looked kind of like that beach he and Cas had stumbled upon driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, what was it called? The one where they’d had to hike down from the lookout point? The one where after they’d trudged back up the trail, they’d sat in the car and looked out over the sea as the sun set? The one where Castiel had smiled at him and the light glinted in his blue eyes and Dean had kissed Cas for the first time ever because he just couldn’t stop himself?

Muir Beach, Dean remembered, blushing at the memory.

But just as soon as he’d reached the end of that thought, it wasn’t the ocean anymore. It was a lake. On the lake was a pier. He’d seen that pier before, couldn’t remember exactly where though.

Then without warning, but without alarm, Dean saw someone standing on the end of the dock. A young man with light brown hair and a sweet smile Dean would recognize anywhere.

Jack waved, walking up casually, “Hey, Dean.”

Dean grinned and pulled him into a solid hug. “Jack. I missed you buddy, how have you been? Where, uh… are we in…”

Jack chucked, “I think you know where we are.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know know, this could… I could be dreaming or some shit, and I guess even in a dream you could say whatever I wanted you to say, so-”

“Dean,” Jack stopped him, “This is heaven. You are in heaven.”

A relieved but small smile spread over Dean’s face. “Cool…”

“I’m not usually here to meet people who pass on, but we weren’t going to miss your arrival.”

“We?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around. There was Cas, beaming at him.

“Cas…” Dean reached to embrace him too, only now noticing that the hands that reached out were not as wrinkled as they’d been when he last saw them. He hugged Cas tightly, relieved more than he wanted to admit. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Cas’s hand went to Dean’s cheek, holding him in a kiss. They separated, foreheads resting against each other. Cas’s eyes twinkled, “We had an appointment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean took a step back, seeing Jack grinning out of the corner of his eye. “Is, uh… is anyone else coming? Or is this the welcoming party?”

“They’re all waiting for you,” Cas put his hand down, and as he did, it was stopped mid-air, as if resting on something solid. Dean blinked, and there was Baby, new as the day she was made, parked on a long, long road that stretched far out of sight. “Any time you’re ready,” Cas tossed something in Dean’s direction, “we can go.”

Dean caught the keys on instinct, they jingled on the simple ring.

Any time you’re ready, we can go.

He twirled them around the end of his finger a couple times, a thought itching at his brain. Or a couple dozen thoughts.

Cas gave him a look, then turned to Jack, “Could you give us a moment?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get everything ready,” Jack blipped out.

“Get what ready?” Dean asked.

“Dean,” he turned around to face Cas whose brows were knit in worry, bright blue eyes narrowed, “Are you okay?” Dean realized he hadn’t seen Cas clearly for a few years, not since before the cataracts. He’d never gotten completely used to that piercing gaze.

Dean blinked. “Yeah, I… I just… I’m here. Really here.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“And… you’re here.”

Cas gave him that look like he was being patient on purpose, “Yes, Dean.”

“And… fuck,” Dean stood at sudden attention, “I left Sam down there, is he okay?”

Catching Dean's hands in his own, Cas rubbed comforting circles into Dean's skin. "Sam is fine. He was there when you left. That's why I was a little late, Eileen had only just gotten home and I didn't want to leave before she could be there beside him.

"Okay," Dean took a deep breath, concentrating on the physical contact, grounding himself in Cas’s movements, "Okay. I mean I know he's gonna be fine, he was always fine without me," Dean said, almost to himself.

"And you'll see him soon."

The abrupt return of Dean’s panicked look made Cas smile a little, shake his head, "Not that soon, Dean. Don't worry."

"Right. Of course, yeah,” Dean looked around, down the road, the back to his car, out past the waving grain that had returned inexplicably. “Well,” Dean flashed what he thought was a very convincing smile, letting Cas’s hands go as he tossed the keys once and caught them, heading towards the car, “Time to hit the road, huh?”

"Wait,” the suspicious squint was back as Cas caught Dean’s arm, “Something else is bothering you."

Dean turned around, and the ocean was back. The ocean he’d taken a trip to see, had selfishly insisted Cas come along for the ride for.

He sighed. "I just…” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “I don't know, I guess it just don't sit right that I’m… I'm gonna see Mom and Bobby and Jo and Charlie and… everyone. How am I going to look them in the face and not feel guilty that I got decades that they’ll never have? And what did I do with that time, sit on my ass? Judge local car shows? Go to freaking baseball games?"

Cas nodded slowly, simply listening. He then hopped up and sat on the hood of the Impala, shoes and all. Dean shot him an offended look.

“She’s a memory of a car, Dean,” Cas rolled his eyes, “She isn’t going to dent.” He patted the spot next to him.

Dean hesitated, but under Cas’s stare, relented. When he was settled, Castiel laced their fingers together.

“I’ve been trying to convince you for all the time I’ve known you that you’re worthy. That you deserved to be saved. That you deserved to rest.” Cas looked down at their entwined hands, “I don’t think I ever really succeeded.”

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

“You don’t have to apologize. I know you’ve been doing a thankless job ever since you carried Sam out of your burning home. Shit, even before that,” Dean cocked his head, Cas hardly ever cursed, “you were always trying to be the hero for your mother. Some people are at fault for that,” Cas’s eyebrows furrowed briefly, “but it’s human nature to be hard on ourselves and praiseworthy of others. You, in your limited experience, could not possibly know all of the things that you’ve done that have made a difference. But we’re-”

Jack suddenly blipped into existence, giving Castiel two big thumbs up, then blipped out again.

Dean turned, looking from the space Jack had stood back to Cas then back again, “What-”

Cas shook his head with a smile, “I could never tell you exactly what you’ve meant to the world. But we had a, uh, few volunteers that wanted to show you.”

“Cas, could you quit monologuing for a second and-”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw movement. The endless sea became endless plains which became endless trees, the landscape changing at a rapid rate.

Dean looked back to Cas in confusion, but he didn’t look alarmed. He gave Dean a timid smile, kissed him behind his ear, and whispered, “Just watch.”

Dean watched. For a moment, the scenery couldn’t seem to decide what it wanted to be. Then, it decided not to decide. Grains of sand took the form of towering trees, a picnic table, a bench. Green lake water formed the shape of a small boy, hunched over and scribbling on the table. Lastly the wheat twirled and spun and became an all-too-familiar-looking young man wearing a jacket too big for his frame, walking over to the bench and sitting down across from the kid.

Lucas. The name came to Dean from deep in his memory, he was that quiet kid who drew Dean pictures of the ghost in the lake. The grain animated Dean’s smile as he talked, the figure of Lucas showed Dean his sketches. Their forms dissolved as the scene changed and Dean's form was pulling Lucas out of the water, the sheriff having paid his due.

The figure of Dean left, but Lucas stayed and was joined by his mother, Dean remembered her too. They embraced, and the figure of Lucas grew, changed into a young man, a husband, a father. Soon a half dozen figures were standing there, waving to Dean, and then they disappeared, melting back into water. Lucas was the last to go as he was the first to arrive. He signed a phrase to Dean, and Dean knew the words: Thank you, Dean Winchester.

Then the sand reformed into a schoolgirl, the shapes in the green water plaguing her with images of mirrors and Bloody Marys until Dean stepped in front of her, holding a mirror of grain in front of the cruel, refracted specter. It dissolved, and Dean’s form bade goodbye, but the girl remained. She grew too just like the boy did, becoming a professor, graduating with honors, writing dozens of books, and changing dozens of lives. She smiled, and waved, and dissolved as well.

The shapeshifters appeared next, the sand in the form of Sam’s friend Zach, his sister Becky, and even Dean’s false shifter form, but the true form in the too-large jacket blew them all away, leaving Becky waving goodbye. She too welcomed a family that appeared by her side, and they all looked so happy and grateful to have each other.

Again and again the scenes changed. Green waters showed the cities he had passed through, the homes that were kept from destruction, entire communities that were healed. The water formed and reformed into smiling faces and waving hands. Some of the people, Dean had known on Earth. Many of the places, Dean had remembered driving through. Most of the people and places, however, were foreign to Dean. He lost count of the number of strangers who appeared, the cities he’d never been to. He struggled to keep track as they cycled faster and faster, as numerous as the grains of sand and droplets of water they were made of. It seemed that a whole generation of people, all over the world, would-be victims of an apocalypse they never even knew was happening, knew him. Through words and cheers and song, they retold the tales of Dean and Sam Winchester, the tales they had only learned once they had passed on.

Throughout all of this, Cas pressed his shoulder to Dean’s, his presence grounding but not distracting. Dean’s grip on Cas’s hand grew tighter and tighter. Cas did not let go.

Eventually, the images and figures departed. The sand blew away, the waters swirled and dispersed, and the landscape made its final decision. Only a simple field of golden wheat remained, waving and rippling in the wind.

Only in that newfound silence did Dean notice he was crying. He shook his head, wiping the tears away furiously.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, and Dean turned to face him, vision blurred, Cas looking at him pleadingly. “You sacrificed so much for so many for so long. You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to be strong ever again if you don’t want to. You have done enough.”

Castiel wiped an errant tear from Dean’s cheek, holding his face between his hands firmly, tenderly.

“You are, and always were, enough. Your job is done. Let. Go.”

Dean did.

Cas silently pulled Dean into his shoulder as he sobbed. Dean didn’t even know why he was crying, didn’t know what for. Maybe he was happy. Maybe he was grieving. Maybe he just felt… relief. He wasn’t sure the last time he felt such relief. He wasn’t sure he ever had truly felt it.

After some time, longer than he’d like to admit, Dean sniffed, wiped one hand over his face, and raised his head. Cas was waiting for him, looking at him with care. With love.

“I, uh… I don’t gotta sign any autographs, do I?”

Cas smiled, and pulled Dean in for a kiss. They stayed like that for a bit on the hood of the car, feeling the breeze, breathing in the fresh air. Dean thought he could hear music coming from somewhere, realizing that it was the car’s radio playing softly from the cab. He knew that any time he wanted, he could hop down from the hood of his car, slide into the driver’s seat with the love of his life on the passenger’s side, and carry on his wayward way. Down the road, through the endless fields, towards the ones he had loved and lost. But not yet, not quite yet, because he had time. Maybe in the end, time was all he had ever really wanted, even if he could never allow himself to ask for it.

Infinity stretched out in front of him like the fields of grain. It wasn’t an exciting infinity, but it was his. It was a long road, a family that waited for him, a shoulder to lean on. It was, at long last, a place to lay his weary head to rest.

#destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fix it #destiel fic #like fields of grain #this is on ao3 but i know if I post an external link tumblr will nuke it so #if you can't tell #I'm taking canon hostage and forcing it to pay reparations

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

The R Drug part 4

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! I got swept up in bingos and lost motivation for it along the way. But it’s here now, and I hope you all enjoy it ❤

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Tags: alcoholism, mentions of alcohol poisoning, a lil bit of a steamy make out, but that’s it

Words: 2114

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @beardsanddetectives @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31 @objection-argumentative

Year 1:

Sonny hardly contacts you. You go weeks with nothing from him, only to wake up at 4am with a phone call and a very drunk Sonny.

“Sonny? It’s 4am here—”

“Doll…I’m so—” you can hear how his words slur, and you can also hear that he’s crying— “so sorry, doll. I shoulda neva touched ya like that—”

“Dominick, are you drunk?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, worried and annoyed at once. “So—sorry…so sorry…” and then he hangs up. You fell back onto the bed, concerned about him; Genoa was only six hours ahead of Manhattan. He was drunk at…10am. That wasn’t healthy.

Unable to fall back asleep, you shot him a text, making sure he was okay before you got in the shower. But he never responded. Sighing, you call his mom; you still had her number since Sonny called her from your phone, and you had been growing close with his parents.

She tells you that she’s worried he’s drinking away his problems, but every time she offers to go to Genoa, he shoots her down, telling her he needs time alone. You’re just worried that time alone means him sinking further and further into the bottle.

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

Year 2:

You saw when your phone lit up, Sonny’s number flashing on your screen. You glanced around the precinct before answering your phone, heading for the on-call room for privacy. It had been three months since you had a drunken call from him, and you were going to lay down the law with him.

“Listen, Sonny, I can’t listen to your drunken ramblings while at work—”

“Ah, shit, ya at work, huh?” he asked, cutting you off. But he sounded lucid rather than drunk. “I’m sorry; I forgot the time difference. I just wanted ta talk, let ya know…I’m not drinkin’ anymore. Look, I’ll let ya go; text me when ya free so we can catch up…please.”

You felt bad for assuming, but with your only contact for the past year being drunk Sonny, it had become habit. “Y—yeah, I’ll see if I can leave early, okay? But don’t stay awake for me.”

“Don’t get in trouble fer me,” he replied, making you chuckle. “I’ll talk ta ya soon…and I’m sorry, fer the past year.”

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

You were no longer with SVU; it had been too hard working there, especially without Sonny. But you also couldn’t deal with the stares, even from your squad. So, you transferred to Homicide instead. And your boss thankfully let you leave early.

You texted Sonny the moment you were home, and instantly he was calling you.

“First, I wanna say I’m sorry fer the drunk calls—”

“Dominick Carisi Jr. If you say the phrase “I’m sorry” one more time, I’m going to fly to Genoa and smack you,” you replied, cutting him off.

He fell silent for a moment before he let out a laugh. “Yeah, I bet ya tired of hearin’ that, huh? Well…After ya left here, I—I spiraled. Hard. Turned ta the bottle, if ya couldn’t tell. But I hit the bottom, and I’m startin’ ta work my way back up.”

“What happened? What bottom did you hit?” you asked, breathless. You were happy he was telling you all this, because you had been so, so worried. But you also didn’t want to pry into his personal life or make him uncomfortable.

It took him a moment to respond. “I…it was 5am when I woke up, shakin’ fer a drink. I remember the first three shots as I made a cocktail, and then…. I woke up in a hospital bed, my stomach pumped. I guess I dropped ta the floor when I lost consciousness, and my downstairs neighbor heard it.”

“Oh my god, Sonny! Are you okay now?” you asked, wanting nothing more than to give him a hug, hold him to you.

“Yeah, I’m good now. I had my stomach pumped and part of my liver cut out, but I’m okay. I no longa have the urge ta drink, and I dumped everythin’ I had. But please, tell me what’s goin’ on with ya; how’s life at the precinct?”

You spent hours talking to Sonny that night, even though it was getting later and later for him. He had so many questions, wanting to know everything going on with you. He vaguely mentioned that he got a job at a grocery store as a cashier, but otherwise, he was focused on you.

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

Year 3:

You and Sonny talked almost every day, falling back into your habits before all this mess happened. You joked around, sent funny pictures to each other, ranted about your days; it was almost as if nothing ever happened. Almost.

From the pictures, you could tell that he was getting tanner, and he started growing out his hair and beard, making you swoon. Not that you’d tell him that; you weren’t sure if he’d be okay with you flirting yet.

But you were happy that things were getting back to normal with you two. It had been almost 4 years since the club incident, and it barely crossed your mind anymore. You had dated since Sonny was in Genoa, but no one seemed to be working for you. At least you could make out with someone without having flashbacks, so you called it a win.

You knew why it wasn’t working out for you, though; you were in love with Sonny, had been since the moment you met him. You were able to move past the club, but you couldn’t move past him. That’s why you had hated yourself so much, and that’s why you felt terrible leaving him behind in Italy. When he kissed you outside the airport in Genoa, you had thought that maybe he had felt the same way about you. Then that first year with drunk Sonny happened, and you weren’t sure about anything anymore.

You were still close with his family, too. Ma Carisi often invited you over for dinner, and you met Sonny’s sisters. You were the emergency babysitter for both Mia (who didn’t think she needed a sitter, until she met you and had fun with you) and Bella’s little girl. And Pa Carisi enjoyed having debates about laws with you, plus the odd sports talk. Slowly, you became one of the family, and you loved them all like your own.

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

Year 4:

Ma Carisi called you, inviting you over for dinner once again. You accepted, telling her you’d be there in thirty. You had to park on the street with all the cars there; the Carisi girls were home for dinner, as well. You smiled as you made your way up the path to the front door, then knocked. The door opened, but instead of Ma Carisi greeting you with a warm smile, it was Sonny.

“Hey doll,” he said, eyes lit up with amusement. You froze for only a moment before you were crushing him in a bear hug. You heard the huff of air as you took the air from his lungs, but you didn’t care; you had missed him so much. You had pinned his arms next to him, so he couldn’t even hug you back.

“Doll…ya crushin’ me…” he gasped, and you finally let him go. Though, you kept your hands on his arms, not believing that he was there, in front of you.

“Are you back for good?” you asked, your voice hushed. You were waiting for him to deny it, for him to say he was only visiting.

“I’m back fer good. Already got my apartment—” He was cut off again as you hugged him, burying your face in his chest. You couldn’t stop the tears that appeared, so happy to have your best friend back. He rubbed your back, murmuring that it’s all okay now, and you had the sudden urge to kiss him. You fought the urge, not wanting to complicate things.

Instead, you ran your hands over his back, then leaned away to look at him. “Have you been working out?” It was true that he was deliciously tan, his hair coifed, and his beard trimmed neatly. He was already so much more attractive than you remembered, even with the pictures he had sent.

He barked out a laugh, a gleam in his eye. “I have, yeah. Whenever I felt the urge ta drink, I instead went to work out. I’m not a body builder or anythin’, though.”

“I’m proud of you, Sonny,” you said, and you meant it. You had gone through hell after the club incident, but Sonny didn’t have a walk in the park either. And you were glad he had found himself.

A pink tint appeared on his cheeks as he smiled at you. He took your hand, kissed your knuckles, and you swooned.

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

After the surprise greeting at the front door, he brought you into the house. Ma Carisi and all his sisters gave you a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Pa Carisi patted your shoulder; the normal greeting from the family. But now that Sonny was there, too, the energy was truly alive. Everyone was smiling and laughing, having a fantastic time together. The talk was loud, happy, and energized. It was almost as if Sonny hadn’t been hiding in Genoa for four years.

After the talk had finally died down, it was time for you to go home. Sonny offered to walk you to your car, and you agreed, not wanting to leave him quite yet.

“I’m so glad you came back, Sonny. I’ve missed you,” you said as you stood by your driver’s side door.

He grinned at you. “A promise is a promise. I told ya I’d come back once I was…better.”

“And are you better? Did you date at all in Genoa?”

His smile faded, and you worried you offended him. You were about to apologize when he spoke. “I am and I did. But no one there was…it fer me, ya know?”

“Yeah…same thing here. I dated a few people, but no one felt right—the spark wasn’t there. At least I had no flashbacks; I hardly remember that night anymore, to be honest,” you said, looking into his eyes, trying to gauge his reaction.

Sonny simply nodded. “Me either, really. It was so long ago…plus, I bet the drinkin’ didn’t help. But I do remember you, showin’ up outta nowhere on a random street in Genoa. Talkin’ me through the worst time of my life.”

“And I remember you, comforting me during a thunderstorm when you didn’t have to do that. Your emotions were everywhere; I couldn’t imagine the turmoil I must’ve put you through—”

“No, no, look at me,” he muttered, his warm hand cupping your cheek. “No matter what happens—in the past or the future—I wanna take care of ya, make sure you’re okay. Comfortin’ ya, it was a slice of normalcy after I thought I’d neva have that again. I needed ya there, and I’m so thankful I had ya.”

You smiled up at him, melting into his touch. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, and you felt closer to him than ever before. “You know what else I remember, Sonny?”

“Hm?”

Slowly, you leaned forward, going slow enough that he had plenty of time to pull away. But instead, he also leaned in until your lips brushed against each other. You smiled softly before you pressed your lips more firmly to his. The hand still cupping your cheek tilted you slightly, letting him kiss you a little more forcefully, his beard tickling you as he moved.

There was the spark that was missing from all your past relationships; you had felt it in the airport, but it wasn’t the right time. Now, however, there was nothing holding you back from deepening the kiss, your tongues coming together in a beautiful dance.

Sonny gently pushed you back against your car, the kiss getting more heated. Your hands went to his shaggy, luscious hair, tugging softly and making him moan into your mouth. His hands dropped to your hips, pushing you back against the car as his tongue memorized your mouth.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from you, both of you panting hard. You were about to suggest he show you his new apartment when he muttered, “I wanna take this slow. Please.”

You shut your mouth, nodding. You’d do anything to make him comfortable and happy. “I can do slow. As long as I have you, Sonny.”

His eyes brightened and he gave you his signature goofy smile. “Ya have me fer as long as ya want me.”

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

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thefinalcinderella · 3 years

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 10 - Shooting Star (Part 1)

We finally made it...we’re in the endgame now...

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. My Grandfather’s Clock is a popular song written by Henry Clay Work in 1876. The 2002 version by Ken Hirai was especially popular in Japan

Previous | Next

January 3rd, 5 a.m.

Yuki was in a dimly lit room in the Ashihara Ryokan. He changed into his Kansei University uniform and jersey and picked up his bench coat.

Two hours had already passed since Yuki woke up. After breakfast and a bath courtesy of the ryokan that took place at a time that could be better called late night, Yuki returned to the room where he had spent the night once the food in his stomach digested properly.

It was a night where he wasn’t sure if he had slept or not. However, his mind was clear and lucid. Excitement and tension became sharp blades that pared his body, and he felt somewhat light.

My energy is high, Yuki thought. He had felt the same way when he passed the bar exam. He read the questions for the essay exam and wrote his answer. It was almost funny how the meaning of the questions soaked into his brain, and before he could even think about how to answer them, the answer sheet was filled with words; it was just like automatic writing. He had never been able to output so smoothly what had been inputted into him until that moment, as though his consciousness had become clear and his sixth sense was working.

He knew that the same moment of elation and focus was about to visit his body and mind.

The return leg of the Hakone Ekiden started at 8 a.m. Yuki would slowly warm up over the next three hours, in order to build up his energy levels. It was Yuki’s method to relax and relieve his nervousness for two hours, and then concentrate on warming up for the remaining hour. Ever since the time when he was confronting his bar exam, Yuki preferred to increase the intensity of his concentration at this pace.

The six-mat guest room was completely occupied by the three futons laid out on the floor. Shindou, wearing his mask, was breathing faintly in his sleep. Yuki gently put his hand on his forehead and found it was still a little hot. The landlord was grinding his teeth as he slept soundly.

Yuki lightly folded his futon and put it in a corner so as to not wake them. Standing by the window, he quietly pulled back the curtains: the cozy garden of the ryokan was covered with a light dusting of snow, and ashy snowflakes continued to fall from the dark sky.

Yuki had never been skiing before. He didn’t understand going to the trouble of sticking boards to your feet in a cold place in a cold season. He thought it would be better to spend that time on one’s studies, and more than that, living with a single mother, they had no money to spend on fun.

Can I run down a steep, snow-covered slope? I can’t say I don’t want to run in the sixth leg at this point. Should I have at least experienced skiing if it’s like this?

The window was immediately fogged up by Yuki’s breath. The room was slightly warm from Yuki, Shindou and the landlord's combined body heat.

It’s not just me, Yuki reminded himself. In the past few years, there has never been snow on the roads of Hakone at New Year’s. Most of the runners—no, maybe all of them—have never gone down the mountain roads of Hakone covered in snow. Everyone lacks experience. I can run. I can run.

Chanting that in his mind as though to convince himself, Yuki picked up Kansei’s sash from the alcove. It seemed to still be damp from absorbing the sweat of the five people who had run in the outbound leg.

After carefully folding the sash and putting it in his jersey pocket, Yuki quietly left the guest room.

He walked through the corridor to the front door and saw the ryokan’s proprietress holding a newspaper.

“Oh, you’ve already changed?”

“Yes. I’ll be warming up from now on.”

“Outside?” Looking at the still-dark front of the building, the proprietress furrowed her brow in concern. “It’s minus five degrees right now.”

Yuki had planned to go outside, but he quickly changed his mind. He would have to wait until the temperature rose a little, or his muscles would stiffen up from the cold.

“May I borrow this space?”

He pointed at the empty lobby, and the proprietress graciously said, “By all means.

“Do you want to read the paper? I asked them to deliver it earlier today.”

While reading the newspaper, Yuki sat down on the floor of the lobby and began to stretch. He exhaled and began to relax his muscles and joints.

The paper had a big spread on the outbound leg of the Hakone Ekiden. Bousou University won the outbound leg by a narrow margin. It was a close race where it was impossible to tell if Rikudou University would make a comeback in the return leg, or which school would take the overall victory.

There was also a mention of Kansei under the headline “A Challenge with Only Ten People”. There was a photo of Shindou, unsteady and desperately trying to run on the mountain roads. Yuki opened his legs and brought his upper body down while reading the article.

“With only ten members, Kansei University unexpectedly put on the brakes in the fifth leg. They dropped down drastically in the rankings and ended the outbound leg in eighteenth place. However, with ace runners such as Kurahara, a freshman, and Kiyose, a fourth-year, in the return leg, there are still plenty of opportunities for a comeback. All eyes will be on the development of this small team’s great challenge.”

At the end of the article, there was a signature (布). It’s Nunoda-san, Yuki thought. The reporter Nunoda, who had come to Lake Shirakaba during summer vacation, had continued to keep an eye on Kansei.

There are still more than enough opportunities. We believe that, but it’s reassuring to have a third party say so as well. Yuki put the newspaper on the rack in the lobby and silently worked on stretching.

It was 6 when Shindou appeared in the lobby. He was wearing Musa’s bench coat and a mask. “Good morning,” he said in a hoarse voice, and pushed on Yuki’s back to help him stretch.

“You should be sleeping.”

“I asked Musa to give me a wake-up call because I knew you would be thoughtful like that.” Shindou sat down next to Yuki. “It’s snowing.”

“Yeah.”

The two watched the fluttering snow through the lobby window.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. What about you?”

“I’m feeling much better.”

Yuki began doing sit-ups. Shindou lightly held his ankles still.

“To tell you the truth,” Yuki murmured, “I’m getting uncomfortably nervous. I want to run away, if I could.”

“I was the same way,” Shindou laughed under his mask. “Why don’t you try listening to some music? I took it from your luggage without asking.”

Yuki took the iPod Shindou gave him and put the earphones in his ears. He listened to his favorite songs for a while, but today, the world of sound was no comfort to Yuki.

“It’s no use.” Yuki tore out his earphones. “When I’m running, it feels like music I don’t like is playing through my head incoherently and endlessly. And it’s music that you can’t even get into! Like My Grandfather’s Clock (1) and stuff like that!”

“You hate it?”

“I don’t like irritating things.”

“I think it’s a good song, though,” Shindou said, and Yuki stood up with a “hmph.” Looking up at Yuki, who was rotating his ankles, Shindou made a suggestion.

“No matter what song plays in your head, you can always arrange it so it’s up-tempo.”

“Shindou, you’re amazing.” Yuki was deeply impressed. “I’m filled with worries. All I can think about are bad things like, what if I fall down the slope, or what if my shoelaces get torn off.”

“Yuki-senpai, you can even aim for the sectional prize.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’ve always accomplished what you said you would do. Whether it’s the bar exam or the Hakone Ekiden, you said you’ll do it, and you did.” Only Shindou’s eyes were smiling. “So say it this time too. That you’re aiming for the sectional prize.”

As though pushed by Shindou’s quiet force, Yuki said, “I am.”

“Yes, then it’s fine now. You will definitely run a good time.”

Yuki looked down at Shindou, who was nodding in satisfaction, and couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know how useless I was yesterday,” Yuki said. “I knew you were experiencing this pressure before the race, but I couldn’t support you like this.”

“No matter how much support I get, in the end, I’m the only one who can bounce back from the pressure.” Shindou also stood and prompted Yuki. “Let’s jog.” The two put on their shoes at the door and went outside. There was no sign of the sunrise anywhere, but birds were singing in the mountains. The fine snow felt dry against their cheeks.

“But yesterday, you stayed by my side until the very last moment before I started running, Yuki-senpai. That gave me a lot of strength.” Shindou pulled down his mask and breathed in the cold air. “That’s why, I’ll stay with you today. I’ll stay with you until you start.”

Yuki didn’t have any words to respond. He was simply happy, and watched Shindou put his mask back on.

“We’ll freeze if we stay in one spot. Let’s run.”

“By the way, how’s the landlord?”

“He said he’s going to take a morning bath.”

“He’s in a sightseeing mood, that person.”

“His nighttime teeth grinding was very loud, wasn’t it?”

They chatted about trifling things as they jogged, and Yuki and Shindou's white breaths flowed shakily along the dark, snowy lakeside path.

---

Kakeru was feeling restless.

Kiyose was acting strange. When Kakeru invited him to go jogging after breakfast, he refused, saying, “Go ahead. I’ve got a lot of calls to make.”

It’s definitely strange that Haiji-san didn’t do his morning jog. He didn’t seem to sleep well last night either. I wonder if his leg hurts.

After running around Yokohama Station for about thirty minutes, Kakeru decided to go back to the hotel. He could still warm up at the relay station. He had never cut a jog short before, no matter how sick he was, but right now he was worried about Kiyose. He wondered if he was planning on pushing himself too hard. As if spurred on by a bad premonition, Kakeru ran back to the hotel.

In the lobby of the small business hotel, Jouji was opening a sports newspaper while watching the weather forecast on TV. Noticing Kakeru running across the lobby and pushing the button for the elevator, he came up to him and said, “You’re early.

“Your jogging time was unusually short today.”

“Where’s Haiji-san?”

“I think he’s in his room. Prince-san and Hana-chan are organizing their luggage together. I was chased away. I can sense that he’s trying to keep me away from Hana-chan.” Jouji pouted in dissatisfaction, but Kakeru wasn’t listening anymore. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor. “What’s going on?” Jouji asked as he followed him.

Kansei had three rooms: Kakeru and Kiyose’s room was at the far end of the corridor, Jouji and Prince’s was next to theirs, and Hanako’s room was near the elevator.

After exiting the elevator, Kakeru passed a man in the hallway. He was in his late thirties and carrying a large black bag in his hand. Thinking that it looked like a house call bag, Kakeru turned around with a start. The doors to the elevator the man got into were just about to close.

That wasn’t a guest just now. That was a doctor. Kakeru had a hunch. He must be the doctor who came to examine Haiji-san’s leg.

“Haiji-san!”

Kiyose was sitting by the window near the two beds. He looked up in surprise at Kakeru’s menacing attitude, and Kakeru sprang at him.

“Let me see your leg, let me see it!”

Kiyose fell down onto the bed, pushed by the momentum. Kakeru didn’t care and tried to pull up the cuff of Kiyose’s track pants.

“Just calm down, Kakeru! I’ll explain!”

Jouji was standing in the doorway of their room, watching in amazement as Kakeru and Kiyose grappled with each other. Noticing the commotion, Prince and Hanako came out of the room next door.

When Hanako asked, “What’s this all about?” Jouji tilted his head to the side.

“Uh, I have no idea.”

Kiyose finally pulled Kakeru off of him and beckoned everyone in the doorway to come in. The group that had stayed in Yokohama gathered in the room and sat down on the beds and chairs of their choice.

“Haiji-san, there was a doctor in this room a while ago, wasn’t there?” Kakeru sat on the bed and questioned Kiyose.

“There was,” Kiyose admitted as though he could see that there was no way out of this. “It was the doctor who always examines me. I asked him to make a house call and he gave me some painkillers.”

“The leg you said you injured—did it not heal?” Prince asked in shock. Jouji and Hanako had never even heard that Kiyose was injured, and they looked at each other in disbelief.

“What are you going to do?” It was all Kakeru could do not to let his voice tremble.

“Of course I’m running.”

“Are you okay with being so reckless?”

“If I’m not going to be reckless now, then when?”

“If…” Kakeru hesitated to put it into words. He was afraid that if he said it aloud, it would become reality.

“What if you can’t run for the rest of your life because of your recklessness today?”

He saw Jouji gasp and Prince hanging his head. Hanako didn’t move, only watching the course of Kiyose and Kakeru’s exchange.

Kakeru stared fixedly at Kiyose and waited for a response.

“It would be very painful,” Kiyose’s voice was quiet, and Kakeru knew that he had been thinking about that for a long time already. “But I won’t regret it.”

There’s no stopping him, Kakeru thought. If he were in Kiyose’s position, he would still choose to run.

Kakeru made up his mind. If that’s the case, then there’s only one thing I can do: to put as little burden on Haiji-san as possible, I should gain as much time as I can in the ninth leg.

The silence that enveloped the room was broken by Kiyose's phone ringing. He hung up after a short conversation.

“That was Shindou. The final entries were announced at Lake Ashi. Just as expected, Rikudou put Fujioka in the ninth leg.”

Jouji looked at Kakeru with both anticipation and worry in his eyes. “Okay,” Kakeru murmured. Blood was rushing through his body, and his heart was beating with joy and a fighting spirit; the day had come when they could finally compete in the same place. At the TSU meet in spring, he had only chased Fujioka’s back, but it was finally time to test how fast and strong he had become since then.

“Kakeru, don’t lose the race,” Kiyose said. Kakeru nodded determinedly.

It was past 7 in the morning.

They had to leave the hotel now. From now on, they were to split up: Kakeru and Jouji were going to the Totsuka relay station; Kiyose and Prince were going to the Tsurumi relay station; Hanako was going to Otemachi, the finish line.

“Are you okay with Jouji attending you? I can go with you, if you’d like,” Prince asked Kakeru, but he didn’t understand the intention of his question at all.

“Why? It’s fine as we planned.”

Even though his generous consideration was turned down, Prince didn’t seem offended at all, instead laughing and shaking his head lightly as though to say, “Good grief.”

When they reached the Yokohama Station premises, Kiyose said to Kakeru, “About what you said earlier.

“The situation isn’t as serious as you think. The painkillers are working, and I’m not beyond recovery.”

“Is that really true?”

“Have I ever lied?”

“Quite a lot.”

Kiyose frowned at the sky for a few moments, seemingly recalling his past acts.

“Don’t worry. I’m telling the truth this time,” he smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing you run at Tsurumi.”

He felt like he wanted to say something to Kiyose—his gratitude, worry, and determination. But they were feelings that would never take shape no matter how many words he spent on them, so Kakeru only said, “I’ll hand you the sash not a second late.”

The group raised their hands a little to say goodbye, and then headed up the stairs to the platform to go to their respective places.

---

8 a.m.

As the starting gun sounded from Lake Ashi, the Bousou runner started running first. One minute and thirty-nine seconds later, the Rikudou runner followed.

One after another, the runners from each school left Lake Ashi with their sashes, with a time difference reflecting the times they had finished at Lake Ashi in the outbound leg. This time, the return leg of the Hakone Ekiden was beginning, heading for Otemachi, Tokyo.

Schools with more than ten minutes of difference from the outbound leg leader, Bousou, would start together ten minutes after Bousou began the return leg. In this year’s race, five schools had to start at the same time: the federation selected team, Eurasia University, Kansei University, Tokyo Gakuin University, and Shinsei University.

Kansei had a time difference of eleven minutes and fifty-three seconds with Bousou. Even though they would start the race simultaneously after ten minutes, the extra one minute and fifty-three seconds would not be discarded and would be automatically added to their overall time. Because of the simultaneous start, the visible order in which the runners were running and their orders by their times might differ from each other for the return leg.

In the return leg, especially for lower ranked teams, the competitors must not only look at the race’s development before their eyes, but also keep in mind the complicated time calculation, and try to fight calmly to raise their actual rankings as much as possible.

I’m made for this, Yuki thought. Rather than competing against others, he preferred to think about how to achieve his goals by developing countermeasures and how to show off his abilities while doing that. The sixth leg of the Hakone Ekiden, the mountain descent, suited his personality; he didn’t have to be misled by the apparent rankings, he just had to use his skills to run down the winding slope against the invisible enemy called time.

Just as he had declared, Shindou stayed by Yuki’s side the entire time before his departure. He helped him stretch, massaged his calves to prevent them from stiffening up in the cold, and conversed with him casually. Thanks to him, Yuki was able to calm his mind and focus on the race.

When the time came to set off, Yuki took off his bench coat and left it with Shindou. The temperature at Lake Ashi was minus three degrees Celsius. There was still powder snow in the air. The road surface was covered in snow and the ruts were frozen. Even with a long-sleeved T-shirt under his uniform, there was no way to prevent the cold from pressing down on him. The lack of wind was the only saving grace.

Jounan Bunka University was the last team that was able to start according to its time difference with Bousou. After being called by the staff member, the teams hurriedly lined up at the start line to start simultaneously.

Yuki looked at the crowd of people next to him. Shindou was almost swallowed up by the waves of spectators, but he was watching Yuki firmly.

“We’ll meet at Otemachi,” Yuki said. It might not have reached him, having gotten lost in the cheers, but Shindou was nodding.

Ten seconds after Jounan Bunka, the runners from the five teams started running at the same time on cue. Yuki’s glasses immediately fogged up from his body heat, but he soon regained his clear vision thanks to the cold wind blowing.

The road surface was covered with a thin layer of snow, making it nerve-wracking to even walk on flat surfaces, but running on it, there was no time to check your footing. Every step he took, the sherbet-like snowflakes bounced off his legs. Even the lightest shoes with the latest features couldn’t prevent the soles from slipping slightly as they kicked the surface.

The first four kilometers from the lakeside road to the highest point of Route 1 were mostly uphill. Of the five teams that had started at the same time, Eurasia was in front and Yuki didn’t hesitate to follow him. When he checked his watch at the first kilometer, his pace was less than three minutes and twenty seconds.

On the way up, he was a little too fast considering the poor road conditions. But if he didn’t go all out here, then there was no way Kansei would be able to improve their ranking in the return leg. Besides, Yuki thought, among the runners assigned to the sixth leg, the Rikudou runner was the only one who has a record of twenty-eight minutes for the ten-thousand meter. In other words, the runners in the sixth leg don’t put much emphasis on speed.

From the highest point to the town of Hakone-Yumoto, almost the entire sixth leg was downhill. Even if your time on flat surfaces wasn’t good, you could still go fast on the downhill if you gathered momentum. What was important was the dexterity to change your running style depending on the ups and downs, a sense of physical balance, and the boldness to run downhill without fear.

Even if he entered the first uphill slope at a somewhat fast pace, he would be able to conserve enough stamina. With this judgement, Yuki didn’t recoil.

They left the lakeside and headed up the path towards the mountains. There was one small up-and-down right before the highest point. As they approached the first descent, Yuki looked at his watch again. Kiyose had instructed him to run at a pace of three minutes and twenty seconds per kilometer on the way up, but he was now going at a pace of three minutes and fifteen seconds per kilometer.

I can do it. He was convinced. His body felt light and he was able to asjust his footwork according to the ups and downs without even thinking about it.

Tokyo Gakuin University and Shinsei University were already about to be shaken off from the lower-ranked group, which was now composed of six schools as it had absorbed Jounan Bunka, who had departed ahead of them.

All Yuki could think about was overtaking as many schools as possible in front of him. The cold didn’t bother him anymore. He climbed to the highest point in one go.

The downhill slope, which stretched for nearly fifteen kilometers, awaited him, meandering on and on beyond the falling snow.

---

“Isn’t he going too fast?”

Watching the portable TV, Kakeru arrived at the Totsuka relay station with Jouji. The screen showed Yuki and the others passing in front of the main gate of the Flower Center, the five-kilometer marker.

“But I heard that the normal pace for the sixth leg is five kilometers in around thirteen minutes?” Jouji said in his usual carefree way, but it didn’t ease Kakeru’s concerns. It was the pace after you got into the descent in earnest—it was hard even for a runner himself to hold back his speed once he was completely going downhill. Once your body got into the rhythm of the descent, it wasn’t impossible to run down a hundred meters in fifteen seconds. In the sixth leg, despite the long distance of 20.7 kilometers, the speed in some places was comparable to that of a short distance run.

However, even though the first five kilometers were uphill and the road conditions weren’t good, he was running in sixteen minutes. Even with Yuki’s running ability, it seemed to Kakeru that this was clearly an excessive pace.

“I’ll call Haiji-san.”

Kakeru took out his phone from his jacket pocket.

“You worry too much,” Jouji said, shrugging a little.

“Yes, this is Kiyose.” The phone immediately relayed Kiyose’s voice along with the bustle from outside. It seemed that he had already arrived at the Tsurumi relay station.

“Are you listening to the radio?”

“Prince’s phone has a TV function. He also found out about it just now. We’re watching it. It’s amazing what you can do with a cell phone these days.”

“Yes. No, not about that…” Prince’s slow pace and Kiyose’s hopelessness with technology made Kakeru feel dizzy. “Isn’t Yuki-senpai running a little too fast?”

“Yeah. I would call the landlord, but there’s no point—the coach cars don’t stay close to the runners on the mountain roads of Hakone.”

“What should we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do. The rest is the descent. It would be foolish to slow down now, so we can only pray that Yuki doesn’t slip and fall,” Kiyose let out a light laugh, as though he had gotten over all his worries. “Anyways Kakeru, make sure to jog and warm up properly. I have to get in touch with Nico-chan-senpai and King now, so we’ll talk later.”

The call ended, and Kakeru let out a sigh.

“I told you it’s fine,” Jouji took the phone from Kakeru. “You need to trust us a little more.”

“Trust, huh,” Kakeru began to rotate his ankles and prepare for a jog. “Come to think of it, Katsuta-san said that too.”

“H-Hana-chan?” Jouji immediately turned red. “Why are you bringing up Hana-chan?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Are you doing that on purpose or are you really that airheaded?” Growing impatient with Kakeru’s pointless reply, Jouji turned to him again. “Hey, you know, I like Hana-chan.”

“I know.”

“You know!? How?”

“Nico-chan-senpai said it on the phone yesterday.”

Even when we’re apart from each other, we can still be overheard just as well as when we’re in Chikusei-sou, Jouji grumbled.

“What about you, Kakeru?” He asked the question he wanted to ask the most: “Is it okay if I confess to Hana-chan?”

Why do you need to check with me for that? It seems that the residents of Chikusei-sou are convinced that I like Katsuta-san. Kakeru, pondering up to that point, felt a jolt to his heart like the feeling of falling during the first stage of sleep.

I like Katsuta-san.

It was partly because he was so dense that he couldn’t even laugh at the twins, but it was a feeling that had been in his heart so quietly and naturally that he hadn’t been aware of it until now.

Kakeru had always kept Hanako’s figure carefully in his memory. The color of her scarf on the night they walked together. The profile of her face when she watched them train under the sky where summer clouds were rising. The first time he saw her, her thin back as she pedalled her bike through the shopping district.

Kakeru was looking at Hanako. And all that time, her eyes and thoughts were solely on the twins.

“Now I get it.”

Kakeru was shocked at his feelings that had finally become clear.

“…What are you talking about?” Jouji nervously asked, seemingly thinking that it was creepy how he had suddenly zoned and then nodded to himself.

“No,” Kakeru shook his head. “I think you should just confess to her.”

It wasn’t an act of bravado, but a feeling of clarity. He was sure that Hanako would be happy to know Jouji’s feelings. Perhaps she would be equally pleased with a confession from Jouta, and there might be a quarrel there. But that wasn’t Kakeru’s business.

This wasn’t a competition. Hanako’s heart belonged to her. Jouji’s heart belonged to him as well. It was the same as how Kakeru’s heart only belonged to him. It was a domain that was free from all standards and measures, something no one could steal or bend.

It was satisfying to know that there was a gentle but strong feeling within him that had nothing to do with speed or victory or defeat. Hanako, who taught him those feelings, seemed more and more important to him. Kakeru would be happy if her love was realized.

Also, I’m used to long-distance running. I’m good at patiently waiting for an opportunity. Even if Hanako has feelings for the twins right now, you can’t state definitively that it’ll be forever.

“I see, I guess it’s better to tell her. Uwah, what should I do, I’m so nervous.”

Jouji was determined to confess his feelings to Hanako without any hesitation, not realizing that Kakeru, who was patient when it came to the important things, was chewing on his first realization of love like a ruminating cow.

---

Yuki was smoothly descending the mountain.

In the beginning, he tried to run on the ruts because he was afraid of slipping on the frozen snow, but then he couldn’t steer a good course through the turns. Too much concern about slipping would cause him to put pressure on his muscles, which would make it all come to nothing. In the end, Yuki decided to run and take the course as usual.

Running downhill is fun, Yuki thought. To be able to feel such acceleration with my own body. His speed was so fast that even the soft snowflakes hitting his face from the front hurt like pebbles. While balancing with his whole body, he followed the slope as it led him forward. His fear of falling down didn’t cross his mind at all in the face of the pleasure of speed.

The front of Kowakien was the ten-kilometer point of the sixth leg. It was also a TV relay point. Even though the weather was bad and it was early in the morning, there were spectators along the roadside cheering for them. Following the Eurasia runner, Yuki turned to the right, and he could hear the watery footsteps of the Shinsei runner right behind him.

Yuki, of course, had no way of knowing, but the announcer and the commentator Yanaka were watching the live feed and commentating on the running of the athletes from each school.

“The footage of the lower-ranked teams at the ten-kilometer mark is coming in. What do you think, Yanaka-san?”

“They’re going at quite a fast pace. I thought that the section prize for the sixth leg would go to Manaka, who is steadily improving their rank from twelfth place, but there is a possibility that it will go to one of the lower-ranked teams.”

“According to the data at hand, except for Tamura-kun of Rikudou, all the runners in the sixth leg have an official record in the twenty-nine-minute range for the ten-thousand meters.”

“When it comes to the mountain descent, the time on flat surfaces is not that important. If you can run ten-thousand meters in the twenty-nine-minute range, then the rest is all down to guts.”

“Guts, you say?”

“Yes. The speed and incline the runners experience is much more than what you see on the screen. It’s like pedalling a bike down a steep slope with both hands free. And today, the footing isn’t good. It’s crucial to calmly keep your balance and have the guts to keep your momentum going.”

“Which of the lower-ranked teams do you think is closest to the section prize?”

“I still don’t know yet, but I like Iwakura-kun of Kansei. He has a very stable lower body. His upper body doesn’t sway unnecessarily, and he doesn’t flinch from running down bad roads at all. He is an excellent example of how to run downhill.”

“I see. The rest would depend on their persistence when the road becomes flat after Hakone-Yumoto. They've passed the ten-kilometer TV relay point.”

As they descended in altitude, the snow turned into sleet mixed with rain and the road became covered with a sherbet-like muck. Yuki realized that he had crossed the width of the crosswalk in two steps.

The current crosswalk was probably four meters wide. If he had crossed it in two steps, then that meant he had gone two meters in one step. Yuki was once again shocked at himself—his acceleration was incredible. He had gained momentum and was literally running as if he were flying, and his stride was widening as a result. He glanced at his watch: for the past five kilometers, he had been running downhill at a pace of two minutes and forty seconds.

One kilometer in two minutes and forty seconds. It was a time Yuki couldn’t achieve on flat ground. As far as he knew, the only person who could sustain such a pace for five kilometers on level ground was Kakeru.

The branches of the cedar trees on the roadside were piled with pure white snow. The trunks were black and wet, and the mountains had been transformed overnight into a beautiful, monochromatic world. As soon as they appeared in the corner of his eye, they streamed backwards, smoother and faster than in a movie.

So, this is the world Kakeru normally experiences. Yuki had a lump in his throat.

Kakeru, you’re in a very lonely place, aren’t you? The wind rumbles loudly in your ears, and all the scenery passes by you in an instant. It feels so good that I never want to stop running, but it’s a world you can only experience alone.

For the first time, he understood why Kakeru was so devoted to running, sometimes to the point of overdoing it. If Yuki were allowed to run at such a speed, he would certainly indulge in it like an addict. He wanted to see the world in quicker, even more beautiful instants. Perhaps that was a momentary experience, almost like an eternity. However, it was too dangerous—it was a world that was too beautiful, too harsh to challenge with a flesh and blood body.

Now I’m just looking at the gate that would lead me there from a distance, with the help of the mountain roads of Hakone, Yuki thought. He knew that he wouldn’t get any closer.

Dragged in by Kiyose’s enthusiasm, Yuki’s life had been centered around running for the past year. But that life was coming to an end today. I have my own way of life. I don’t want to aim for momentary beauty and exaltation, sharpening my mind and body day after day. I want to choose to live among people, even if I’m covered in filth. That’s why I passed the bar and am trying to become a lawyer.

Today’s the end. But I’m glad I experienced this speed for the first and last time. Yuki smiled slightly as he sped along the mountain road. Kakeru, don’t go too far. What you’re aiming for is a beautiful place, but it’s lonely and quiet. So much that it doesn’t suit a living person.

It would be nice if there’s something to tie Kakeru’s soul to the earth, Yuki thought. In people’s lives, in people’s joys and sorrows. It’s only by planting his feet on the ground that Kakeru would definitely become even stronger. Balance was essential. It was the same as running down a snowy mountain road.

As Yuki entered the Miyanoshita Hot Spring Village and passed in front of the Fujiya Hotel, he saw something unexpected and let out a short cry.

“Uwah!”

In front of the hotel, there were many guests waving Hakone Ekiden flags. Some of them were dressed lightly in yukata and padded kimonos, shouting their voices hoarse even as they shrank back from the cold. Among them, Yuki saw his mother, his younger sister who was only half related to him, and his mother’s second husband.

“Yukihiko!” his mother shouted loudly.

“Onii-chan, do your best!” His young sister leaned forward, and his stepfather, who was holding her, nodded firmly.

“This is so embarrassing…”

He passed by the hotel in a few moments, but Yuki ran for a while with his head down. Did my family elegantly spend the New Year’s at that hotel? Yuki snarked inwardly to cover up his embarrassment. They probably knew I wouldn’t be able to come by even if they invited me, so they planned to surprise me by not saying anything. Even so, it’s too bad for my heart. I hope the TV and radio didn’t pick up the voices and figures of Mom and the others. Nico-chan-senpai would definitely make fun of me if he knew. Well, he should only have a radio, so I think I’ll be fine.

Yuki suddenly felt happy. That look on Mom’s face just now. She looked desperate and tearful, like she was the one running.

Yuki didn’t remember his biological father. He had died in an accident right after he was born, so his only memories of his father were in his mother’s words and photos. Since his father’s death, Yuki had only lived with his mother, and he treasured her very much. His high school girlfriend had once said to him, “Yuki, you’re a mama’s boy, aren’t you?” Of course I am, Yuki thought. A son who doesn’t take care of his mother isn’t a good son.

Perhaps because he grew up watching his mother work late into the night, Yuki set his sights on his goals early on. He wanted to get a steady job so that he could make his mother’s life easier. Fortunately, he had confirmed during his school life that his brain wasn’t half-bad. If that was the case, then it would be easy to aim for the bar exam, which was called the strongest qualification. He thought that being a lawyer, where he could work between logic and emotion, would be suitable for him, and more importantly, it seemed to make a lot of money. As soon as Yuki entered high school, he began preparing for the exam on his own. He studied hard and worked on his stamina. He thought that he should be well-versed in the inner workings of relationships between men and women, so he went out with girls.

However, something happened that made Yuki’s efforts all come to nothing: his mother remarried. Her new husband was an office worker who earned a decent wage, so his mother didn’t have to work anymore. She loved her new husband and seemed to be very happy. His stepfather was easily able to do more for her than Yuki had ever wanted to do for his mother.

Yuki couldn’t help but feel devastated. He had his pride, and when he decided to do something, he had to finish it, so he didn’t give up on passing the bar exam. However, it was all in vain now. The following year after his mother remarried, she had his little sister. This was also a situation that made Yuki, who was in his late teens, feel awkward and uncomfortable. When he got into university, he left home and rarely came back, even at New Year’s.

Seeing his family cheer him on made the trivial pent-up feelings he had melt away. As though to match that, the snow had completely transformed into rain.

Both his stepfather and his sister had always cared for Yuki as a member of the family. And most importantly, his mother was happy. That’s all that matters. That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted. It would be childish of me to keep sulking about the fact that my mother became happy in a slightly different way than I envisioned.

Yuki laughed, unnoticed by anyone else, in the midst of his white and billowing exhalation. Before he knew it, he caught a glimpse of the Teitou University runner's back at the end of the turn. He couldn’t sense anyone behind him; he seemed to have pulled away from the lower-ranked teams he had started the race with.

He looked at his watch and confirmed that he hadn’t slowed down his pace at all. His mind and body felt light. He could go the rest of the way downhill at this pace. What was important was whether or not he could keep up this running for the last three kilometers of flat ground after Hakone-Yumoto. Kiyose had given him advice yesterday.

“After a downhill slope, even flat ground feels like going uphill. That’s when the real battle begins.”

I think I’ll be okay, Yuki answered in his mind. I have no intention of losing today—to the battle between me and my body and mind.

---

The drums were still beating at the Odawara relay station. In front of Kazamatsuri Station, there were many people crowded into the kamaboko company's parking lot, waiting for the arrival of the sixth leg athletes.

“Did you see that, Jouta? Yuki’s face was there just now!”

Nico-chan had directly witnessed the scene in front of Fujiya Hotel with the TV function of his cell phone. It was only when Haiji called him earlier that he realized he could watch TV on Jouta’s phone as well. Even Nico-chan, who was knowledgeable about computers, only used his phone for calling, and Jouta only used his for texting. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t interested in the evolution of machines that he could be satisfied with the rundown apartment.

“Yuki-senpai’s mom is young and beautiful,” Jouta said, biting into a rolled omelette. “By the way, he’s going to win the section prize at this rate, isn’t he?”

“Yuki doesn’t seem to be aware of that fact, though. The Manaka guy is just as fast as him, so it's hard to tell.”

“Ugh, I’m so frustrated! I want to tell Yuki-senpai his time.”

“How?”

“I’ll use willpower or telekinesis or something,” Jouta put the omelet he was partway through eating away in his sports bag and began to look at his phone intently. “In less than twenty minutes, it will be Nico-chan-senpai’s turn.”

The screen showed Bousou in the lead, and Rikudou chasing behind with a difference of about one and a half minutes. They were about to finish their descent and head towards Hakone-Yumoto Station. The Manaka runner, aiming for the section prize, had improved his position and was now in eighth place. His pace hadn’t slowed at all.

“How’s Yuki?”

“He’s not on the screen. Until they go out to Hakone-Yumoto, the lower-ranked teams won’t be shown much.”

Nico-chan told Jouta to keep an eye on Manaka’s time and began his final adjustments. He ran lightly in the parking lot to loosen up.

Nine o’clock in the morning. The Bousou runner arrived at the station in the lead. His time was sixty minutes and forty-six seconds. Rikudou and Yamato were the next to receive their sashes. Nico-chan hurried back to Jouta, who was near the relay line.

“Amazing!” Jouta was excited. “Even on flat ground, his speed hasn’t slowed down. Keep going, Yuki-senpai!”

On the screen of his phone, he could see Yuki sidestepping the Teitou runner at the crossroad with New Hakone Road. Kansei, in fourteenth place, had a clear view of TSU in front of them.

“Yes, that’s it!”

Nico-chan took off his jersey. Now it was time to see if Yuki could get the section prize.

“Manaka?”

“We'll be able to see them with our own eyes soon.”

Jouta raised his head from his phone. “They’re here!” he shouted.

The red uniform of Manaka, running along the railroad tracks, was just about to turn off the road and enter the relay station. They knew he was a candidate for the section prize, so the cheers were even louder. Manaka’s sash was handed over.

“What’s his record!”

“Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds.”

Jouta read the information on the TV screen on his phone out loud. It was a good time for running on snowy roads. Even Rikudou’s Tamura, whose ten-kilometer time was in the twenty-eight minute range, had a time of sixty minutes and forty-eight seconds.

At the relay station, the schools relayed their sashes one after the other. The TV screen showed that Yuki was almost there.

Yuki, just a little more. The staff member called Nico-chan to stand at the relay line. All that was left was a race against time. Next to him, the TSU runner received his sash and started running. He could hear Jouta’s voice as he timed Yuki on his watch.

“Sixty minutes and seventeen seconds, eighteen, nineteen…”

Yuki entered the relay station. He was gritting his teeth and holding the unfastened sash in his right hand. He might have learned Manaka’s time from the spectators along the road and was trying to summon up all his strength in the final stretch.

“Yuki!” Nico-chan howled. “Sixty minutes and twenty-four seconds,” Jouta screamed. There was a stir from the spectators. The sash still hadn’t been passed to Nico-chan’s hand. Yuki was a step short of the section prize.

But at that moment, Nico-chan forgot about the existence of times. Yuki’s eyes were looking straight at him. He wasn’t thinking about the section prize at all, he just wanted to give the sash to Nico-chan as soon as possible. That was the only thing he was thinking about as he made it through the last three flat kilometers. Nico-chan understood that. He could see that in Yuki’s fingertips, which were still hot and damp despite being exposed to the cold wind.

“Good job,” Nico-chan muttered.

“I’m tired. I’m leaving the rest to you.”

Yuki clapped Nico-chan on the back, managed to step firmly on his trembling legs, and prevented himself from falling over.

“Yuki-senpai!” Jouta snatched a towel from a staff member and ran up to Yuki to support him. “It's disappointing, but you were incredible!”

“Disappointing? What is?” Yuki drank water from a plastic water bottle and finally found his voice.

“The section prize. Yuki-senpai’s time was sixty minutes and twenty-six seconds. If you had been two seconds faster, you would have tied for the section prize.”

“Really.”

Two seconds. Yuki laughed. Only two seconds. Such a short amount of time that passed in a single breath. Did I miss out on being the best in this leg by such a small margin?

“Oh well,” Yuki said. “Those two seconds were like an hour to me.”

Jouta almost cried when he saw Yuki’s soles after he took off his shoes. The blisters at the base of his big toes had peeled off and there was blood welling up, even though the skin on his soles had grown so thick over the past year. He realized just how hard it was to run down the mountains of Hakone.

“Of course it was enough. You were so cool, Yuki-senpai.”

After patting the tearful Jouta on the head, Yuki looked at the road leading toward the town of Odawara.

I’m leaving the rest to you, Nico-chan-senpai.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

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teenage-mutant-ninja-freak · 3 years

Text

You already know how this one ends

Mob! Mikey x gender neutral reader

Warnings: Murder-spoken about in detail, alcohol mentions. Summery: It’s been such a lovely evening, your boyfriend has taken you out to the movies and dinner and now you’re having a lovely starlit stroll around the park. How could anything be better?

(Authors note: This is a very dark fic, like very dark. It involves a detailed description of someone dying, please read at your own discretion.)

The breeze is cool as you walk arm in arm with Mikey around the park. It had rained earlier, while you were at dinner, and now the damp air is filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and wet concrete but, it wasn’t unpleasant. Looking around, the trees danced in the slight wind and stars could be seen between the few clouds that loomed over you, casting shadows from the almost full moon. It was quiet and serene, just you and him. You hugged your coat a little bit tighter. It was a beautiful one, not cheap either, that he had bought for you; made of alpaca wool, a caramel sort of brown and fluffy. It went down to almost your knees and you loved it very dearly. You called it your ‘teddy bear coat’.

He, Mikey, had taken you to see a movie and then out for dinner at the most lavish place you could imagine. “It’s a special evening” he’d told you but never given you a reason as to why. Now you were walking through a park only a few blocks away from the restaurant and he was pointing out constellations. It was marvellous when he was like this, attentive and sweet and lucid. He had a bad habit of getting locked up inside his own head and becoming distant and irrational. That warm feeling comes over you like a tide in how quickly it rises but less forceful, like air in how it fills you but more tangible. You love him and he loves you, he’s told you hundreds of times before. Maybe he’ll forgive you.

You have a secret, you’re not actually a part time pre-school teacher but, in fact, a detective in the NYPD and you’d been sent to observe him, find out everything you could. It had been thrilling at first, but as it always seems to happen in the movies, you fell for him and fell hard. He kept you out of business, said it was too “unsavoury” for a delicate thing such as yourself so you hadn’t really learned much about it. Of course you tried but, any questions were expertly side stepped or ignored all together. You had, however, spent a lot of time with him- retreats to the country side, trips to Paris or Italy, nights at the theatre and stunning parties at houses bigger than you could ever dream to afford. You had also spent many nights in his bed with him. You had no significant other to return home to so on that first night, the first time it had happened, when he took you in his arms for a passionate kiss and lead you by the hand to his bedroom, you had no objections. He was an excellent lover and you don’t regret a single moment you spent with him.

Tonight was the night, however, that you had to come clean.

Mikey dropped your arm for a moment to reach into his pocket and pull out a flask and raise it to his lips to take a long swig of what you assumed was whiskey. He edged the flask in your direction as an indication that you should do the same. Your fingers brushed his as you took it from his grasp and the cool liquid stung as it travelled down your throat to heat your belly. You would need all the courage you could muster and liquid courage is as good as any. Handing the leather bound container back to him, he placed it securely in his breast pocket. You sighed. Would it still be like this after he knew the truth?

“And that one’s Orion’s belt. Good story that” he continued.

It had only just occurred to you that he’s been talking for a while now, you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to listen.

“I haven’t heard that one, tell it to me” you said, now returned to reality and interested in the tale. He was always a good story teller.

“Well Orion was boasting one day to the goddess Artemis, she’s the god of the hunt, you know, and her mother Leto that he could kill any beast on this earth. “Bring it before me and I will lay it down!” he’d said. Very full of himself that guy. I suppose all the gods were, even though he was only like 3/4 god I suppose. So anyway, the earth goddess overheard and devised a plan. a test of sorts. She sent a scorpion to him and the scorpion stung him on the ankle and he died. That’s only one of the stories of it though. Everyone argues about how it actually happened- if he was saving Leto from the scorpion or trying to force himself on Artemis and she sent the little critter. Either way it doesn’t really matter, the outcome is the same. He gets stung and-”

“I need to tell you something!” You weren’t sure where it came from but the words erupted out of you. You couldn’t wait any longer.

“what is it? There’s nothing I don’t already know about you” he stopped walking now and turned to you, putting his hands on your shoulders as if you steady you. You had seemed quite distressed to burst out like that.

“I- well its....Look I love you. I really do” you began

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.“ he laughed. His smile put you at ease. Those perfect teeth and plump lips curving into a half moon shape towards his eyes- eyes that you could get lost in and often did.

“Hey, just listen. You know I told you that I’m a part time teacher over at saint Johns? Well, that’s not exactly the truth. I’m. Well...”

“you’re a cop” He added

“Exactly! And I’d wanted to tell-. Wait. How did you know that?” you were taken aback. How could he have known? How long had he known? As if he had read your mind, he answered.

“I found out yesterday, talked to my brothers about it.” his voice was lower now, more sombre as if it brought him great sadness to even think about it.

“Where does that leave us?” you asked

There was a long pause, he didn’t look at you but instead behind your right shoulder, staring off into the distance. He seemed quite pensive. Another breeze rolled though the air making you shiver and a bird called out in a far off tree. You were suddenly all too aware that no one was around. It had occurred to you before, made the evening seem more romantic but, now that this information was out in the open it scared you a little. You could see the handle to Mikey’s gun peering out of the holster beneath his blazer. After what felt like minutes of silence, he finally spoke again.

“You already know how this ends” His tone was dire and it sent a chill through you.

Before you could respond and ask what the hell that even meant, a leg, Mikey’s leg, sweeps underneath you- knocking you to the ground. The force of your impact sends a huff of air out of you and the ground is cold and still wet from the earlier rain beneath your form. Before you have time to register what’s going on, he’s on top you you.

His hands go to your throat and tighten dramatically. Surely you think surely this isn’t really happening? He loves me, I know he does. This isn’t really happening. This thought it short lived, however, as your vision is already beginning to dot and you can feel your face reddening and growing hot from the lack of blood and oxygen. His face is contorted above you into a pitiful look and you feel something drip onto your face. Is he crying? You try your best to take a better look and it sent a second chill through you. He’s crying because he has to kill you.

It may seem daft, lying on your back in an empty park with your lovers hands strangling you and it only just occurred to you, now, that you’re going to die, but everything had happened so quickly and you still loved him, even with his hands around your neck, so much that you didn’t immediately think of that. This sparks something wild in you. Your own hands go to his face, slapping and clawing at him as best you can with limited air and in this position- doing anything you can for another sweet, sweet breath of air. It’s all to no avail, spots are becoming bigger and more frequent in your vision, your arms are tired and your lungs burn from the deprivation of oxygen. Within a minute or so they fall to your sides, slapping his thighs on the way down and you look up at him one final time.

“I’m sorry” you manage to strain and gargle out. Had you know this would be the last thing you’d say to him, or ever, you might have picked something better. Nonetheless, this was fitting. You were sorry. Sorry for lying, sorry for agreeing to the job and sorry for ever moving to New York in the first place. Somewhere in the back of your mind the image of a scorpion climbing onto a frogs back appears- an old fable your mother used to tell you before bed. They’re half way across the river when it stings and the water is dark and angry as they both get pulled under. “It is in my nature” was the scorpion’s response. This is how you felt about Mikey., you could not hate him for it, as much as that would be the easiest emotion to conjure up, as he was simply doing what he knows. What he does best. What’s in his nature.

Your vision slowly begins to vignette until only a pinprick of sight is left. He is still crying, still straining to choke the life from you as quickly as possible- you suppose that’s the only mercy he can give you right now. A quick death. With all that’s left of your vision, you look up. The stars are still beaming up above you and Orion’s belt is shining in all it’s glory. Of all the things you could notice right now, the stars were probably the best one. You blink slowly, a small wheezing sound escapes your lips and before you can think of anything else, the world goes dark.

________________

He stays like that for a few minutes after your eyes close, making sure every last string of life has been well and truly drained from you. He’s still crying as he does it. Eventually he will raise himself up, wipe the tears from his face and take a quick look around. The park is still empty, still dark and for the first time this evening he is alone. It does not feel good. He looks down at his hands. Hands that were toughed by work and age, hands that had done unspeakable things that he couldn’t admit to himself let alone to you.

Slowly he will walk home, close the front door behind him and lock it. “Is it done?” His brother will say to him, he forgets which one. “Yes” he will reply. They will say something else, but he isn’t listening. That night he will drink himself stupid, until there are no more thoughts of hands and throats and eyes looking into his that are lit up by the stars above. It’ll become a fever dream and nothing more.

Tomorrow a paper will be placed in front of him, the headline will say something about a dead NYPD officer. He will not read it.

The End.

#my fic #you already know how this one ends #Mob! AU #mob au #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #mob! Mikey #mob mikey

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uponrightful · 3 years

Note

If this is greater than 500 or been asked before I'm sorry !!

But what about from Wolffe's POV:

“Please. Look at me.” Unencumbered by the modulator, that low voice sounded clearer than ever. Not even in her dreams could she hear that constant burr all the clones had. Especially Wolffe. Weakened by his command, she tilted her gaze up.

The girl broke into a loud sob.

Bi-colored eyes stared deep into hers, searching past her watery eyes with a fierceness that left her hands fumbling for purchase. On anything. Anywhere. And after a few seconds, her heart decided on his face. Her cries deepened, as she pulled herself closer to him. Burying her face to his exposed neck, all in weakness of seeing that beautiful scar over his face. She saw that golden glitter in his eye, and the soft expression she’d dreamt of over and over again. She felt the heat of his skin against her face, bringing her even closer to the lucid dreams she’s spent the past years of life in just to get one more night of feeling him.

“You found me.” She moaned into his neck, releasing fear-filled cries against him. She just hoped it was real. That he was truly back, and not under that evil influence that had terrified

her for so long. “Please, don’t hurt me again.” She pleaded, gripping harshly at the edges of his armor, pulling him impossibly closer despite her fright. “You found me.”

It was too much all at once. His smell, his voice, the sound of his heart, his arms suddenly wrapping tight around her waist as she fell further into him. She remembered that strength, holding her in the early morning hours, securing her to his bare chest like there was nowhere in the galaxy he’d rather be. Protecting her, and silently loving her even while asleep. Now, down on her knees in the snow, it was all she could do to hold onto him. All she knew was that she’d found him. And whatever it was telling her she was safe, this time she was certain she could trust it. Hearing him say speak so softly… it was all she could take.

“I found you Wolffe.”

Their reunion just really got me 😍

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*Send one in here*

Oh my 🤍🤍 This one makes me so happy 😍😍 Let's get into it!

***

Wolffe hadn't heard Mando'a apart from Rex for years. And even then, Rex wasn't the most habitual with it. Only muttered phrases, or using it as a reassurance of sensitive information when they weren't sure who was listening in. Being Bounty Hunters meant that the pair heard a lot of languages, but nothing sounded quite like Mando'a. They'd met thousands of people traversing the galaxy hunting targets for petty pay-outs, all of them with particular voices, and lilts that set them apart from everyone else. But... there was one voice that Wolffe wanted to hear so badly, listening for her everywhere, all the time.

So when he heard that sweet voice, that soft burr of Mando'a, Wolffe felt like the entire galaxy has stopped spinning. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he felt fearful that it was just another false alarm. That his mind was playing another cruel trick on him for being so kriffing hopeful all this time. But he couldn't chance it, and turned around to see his entire world standing right there before him like she'd never left. Wolffe had spent so long looking that actually seeing Pup felt like a dream. There was a mirage-like effect that kept him from speaking her name, or even realizing that his appearance was probably not a welcome one.

He tried to say something... anything. But nothing but a failed choke could be heard over the blustering snow and wind around them. He saw her flinch, the way her whole body shied away from him then. In that moment he recognized a shocking fear; One that came from seeing a man in armor, and of what they could do when their mind wasn't their own. Wolffe didn't know what to do. He did want to keep her from running, but by the way things were going already, his chances didn't look good. He opened his mouth to try and speak again, but before he could get anything out she utterly collapsed.

"Please don't hurt me."

It cuts Wolffe down to the bone to hear her say those words. They echo painfully in his mind and he feels the weight of his incompetence and broken promises to her fall in a fiery crash all around him. All he ever wanted was to keep her safe... Protect her from the things he'd spent his whole life fighting to ignore and suffering through nightmares because of. Her cries were painful, and attacking his heart in a way that was too excruciating to ignore. Wolffe knew he'd been absent, and he blamed himself wholly, but he couldn't resist from trying to reassure her that he wanted nothing more than to hold her again.

Note: Wolffe is a man of action. He's not good with words, and often they just fail him completely. And when I drafted the first cut of this chapter, I didn't use Wolffe's point of view because I wanted to focus on Pup's first sight of a clone in general. I wanted you to experience that fear alongside her, and although you knew it was Wolffe all along, she doesn't know that. And even if her mind had allowed for it, she still would've been wholly fearful of him anyways.

Note: Wolffe's blame isn't well-founded. He has a skewed idea of what is really his fault and what isn't because he remembers everything he did under the influence of his inhibitor chip. Although he couldn't fight it, Wolffe still holds himself to such a high standard that he honestly believes that he just wasn't good enough to fight against it. This is part of his weakness as a character, and more so as a man in general. He thinks strength is something he has to possess all the time; That showing weakness is a sign of his inability to perform the tasks he was created for. (And aside from loving Pup, Wolffe is very harsh on himself when that standard isn't upheld to the fullest.)

Every movement was deliberately slow. Wolffe could see her terror, and for once in his life, he thought that maybe showing her his face might be the only thing that would put someone at ease. The one part of him that he hated most was the only proof that he was still the man she'd been so kind to love in the first place. The same scar and eye that Pup had so softly fawned over, and loved like it had always been a part of him. Her eyes were bloodshot and overflowing with fat and heavy tears, darting everywhere but at his visor... It broke his heart, and he wanted to help it stop, but she needed this to be done right. And that meant slowly. The second she shied away, Wolffe felt the first pinch of his own emotion beginning to take over. His chest burned and pressure started building behind his eyes. His baby... His precious girl was so terrified that she couldn't bear it.

"Please. Look at me."

Wolffe knew his voice wasn't enough. And his plead was desperate, begging for her to take a chance that she had every right to ignore. But something in him was adamant. Maybe it was knowing that he was this close and it was up to her to decide whether this could go any further, or maybe Wolffe just needed to see her face again. It'd been so long, and he'd not forgotten a single detail, but there was nothing that compared to seeing her somewhere other than his dreams.

It was instant recognition, and Wolffe was utterly torn apart with relief when she lurched towards him. It was galaxy-shattering to feel her hands on him, and see that fear instantly transition into shock that matched his own. Her fingers were frozen, and Wolffe finally began to take in the first signs that Pup was actually not in the best health in that moment. But he couldn't pay proper attention to it with her cold nose and hot panting breath fanning his neck.

She's really here. I can hold her again. I don't have to keep looking anymore... hurting anymore. She's safe. My baby is right where she belongs.

"You found me."

He's been trying not to move too fast, but she's holding onto him too tight; Practically climbing into his lap to get closer. And Wolffe is a patient man, but he can't resist from wrapping his arms around her and hauling her as tight to his chest as he can. She's fucking shaking, from the immense fear and shock, but from this nasty weather that's made her coat almost rock-hard from frozen sweat and body heat. Wolffe knows she's in danger of over-exposure, and now that he's certain she's safe, it takes almost immediately takes priority.

The first thing Wolffe does is cry.

It's not a soft relief of tears, nor is it the quiet kind that soldiers hide beneath their helmet when they're afraid of showing their humanity. These are the kind that hurt. The ones that make your chest feel like it's being cracked open and your head is being pressed by a vice. Wolffe cries like the day his chip was removed; And despite not remembering that day, he couldn't care less that an entire outpost of people are watching him cling to this little woman he's wailing over. It's the rawest emotion Wolffe has ever felt in his life, and for all of the loss and guilt he feels, that's a fucking statement he's not surprised by in the slightest.

Pup is his motivation. She's always been his light at the end of the tunnel, and his reason to keep going when he didn't feel like he could physically do it any longer. He spent his whole life believing that he wasn't worthy of anything good, or wholesome. And right when he's at his lowest, someone -or something- decides that what he needs is a woman with a soft voice and a love for him that is unmatched and limitless. Wolffe clings to that with everything in him, just to have her ripped away again. Now he's holding her. Soothing her at her lowest point, and wondering just what he did to have another second chance and falling apart with gratitude and pure fucking love for this woman because even after all this time she still found it in herself to love him.

So Wolffe cries like never before, because love is the most painful thing he's ever felt before. But he would've have it any other way.

***

Thank you for the request my love 🤍

I tried to focus more on Wolffe here than on my own thoughts while writing. I don't get to write from his perspective often anymore and I really loved getting the opportunity to do so! So thank you for letting my give Wolffe some much-deserved love!

#welcome company #commander wolffe #wolffe #pup #commentary track #uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites

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alonely-dreamer · 3 years

Text

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 23 (Part 3)

Summary: Brooke and Eric have work to do.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Words: 2688

Masterlist

Tags: @parabatai-winchester

To say that Brooke and Sookie were having a hard time was an understatement. Sookie, after killing Debbie and having Pam turn Tara into a vampire, was judged and hated by all, and she had come back from work a wreck, and had dove into the cabinet were gran had always kept the alcohol. She turned on the stereo, and the loud music woke Brooklynne up.

She had spent the entire day in bed, and even though she kept waking up and kept having the worst lucid dreams, she stayed under the covers until way after sunset.

Not only the music was loud, but Brooke could hear her sister’s devastating thoughts. She had cast Bill away from her mind, she had enough humans judging her for her to worry about the traitorous bastard her vampire ex-boyfriend had turned out to be. She was so drunk she couldn’t hear Brooke think really, really, loudly that she wished she’d turn down the music a bit. Perhaps Sookie didn’t even know her sister was in her bedroom upstairs. She rarely were anymore.

Lafayette called. He had found Sookie’s car destroyed against a tree, and wanted to check on her. She was fine, apparently, she had jumped out of the car at the right time, and had even found it funny. She must be really drunk, Brooke thought.

She heard another train of thoughts approach the house, but his smell told her who he was before she could even hear anything. Sookie was waiting for another well deserved scolding from the werewolf but was surprised to hear Alcide had told Debbie’s parents some lie about how the Alpha from their pack had slept with her then killed her. Good. Because if Alcide had told the truth and Sookie had been sent to jail, not much would have been left of the werewolf after that night.

She tried to tune out the party that was going on downstairs, but it was either listening to Alcide and Sookie’s drunk thoughts about each other or thinking about her own issues. And she really didn’t want to think about Eric at the moment.

When Sookie and Alcide started to make out on their grandmother’s couch, she thought about leaving the house, not only to give them some privacy but also because she really didn’t want to hear any of it.

But then she heard his voice. Or rather, his thoughts. Bill was standing right there, outside of their house, watching the werewolf and the fairy take each other’s clothes off. A creep until the end. Brooklynne felt like fighting, and he had just given her a reason to beat his ass.

She sped out of her house, wearing nothing but a tight shirt and silk shorts and went straight to Bill whom she pushed away with supernatural strength. The King of Louisiana landed in the cemetery near the house.

“What are you doing here?” she asked as if he were still standing right in front of her.

It took a couple of seconds for him to get back on his feet and return to his spot.

“You know, I am still your King.”

“What are you gonna do?”

Bill sighed. “I get that you’re mad, but…”

“But nothing. Leave my sister alone.”

“I didn’t come here for Sookie.”

“What then?”

“I told him to meet us here,” Eric said as he appeared beside his King. “Granted, he could’ve picked a better spot.”

“Weren’t we supposed to go with Alcide?” she asked, remembering the plan. “He’s drunk now.”

“Clearly,” Eric mumbled.

“Let’s sober him up,” Bill said, and Brooke had no doubt he was more than happy to put a stop to the party.

***

Alcide took them to Doug, the employee that had found the hole in the parking lot. The werewolf had been smart not to ask about the obvious tension between the vampires while they drove in his van to the site.

Doug was a chubby man almost as tall as Alcide. His hair was longer, and so was his beard. He seemed shy and squeamish, and didn’t feel comfortable with whatever was happening. They had taken them to Russell’s former resting place where fresh cement had been poured to cover the hole. Brooklynne asked Doug to hold her hand and close his eyes and focus on that night, on what he saw. He had been glamoured by the vampire who had dug up Russell and it was harder for her to get any useful images from his mind.

“It’s a woman,” Brooke said. “She’s digging up Russell with her hands.”

Russell appeared like a bloody overgrown baby with no skin and the memory made Doug start to shake in fear.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks as if he were living it for the first time.

“Wait,” Brooke squeezed his hand harder as he tried to step away. “It’s Nora,” she breathed out.

“That’s not possible,” Eric said, trying to ignore Bill’s ‘I told you so’ look.

“She has the same necklace.”

“It could be any member of the Authority, then. Do you see Nora’s face?”

“No, just the necklace.”

“So we don’t know for certain it’s her,” Eric insisted. “It’s not Nora, it can’t be. She thought Russell was dead. She risked her life to free us.”

“Can I go now?” Doug asked.

But they were far from done.

The woman, whom according to Eric was not Nora, had Doug scoop Russell up like a baby and take him into an abandoned facility at the other end of town. That was their next destination.

In the van, Eric and Bill kept arguing about Nora while Brooklynne, helped by Doug’s blurry memory, led Alcide to Russell’s location.

“She’s a traitor and a liar, just like her brother,” Bill spat at the sheriff who showed fangs at the insult. Bill followed suit.

“Take that back,” Eric growled.

But the fight was cut short as Bill’s phone started ringing. Brooke couldn’t help but listen.

“Hello?”

“Hey, guys. It’s Molly. Remember me? Giving you a shout-out to let you know your countdown has started.”

“Our countdown?”

“Yeah, your iStakes are set to activate at dawn. Bummer, right?”

“There must be some kind of mistake.”

“No, I’m launching a test. Is your iStake glowing?”

Brooke took a look at the two vampires at the back of the van. Eric opened his jacket and a red light was coming from under his shirt, right where his heart was. iStake. It sounded stupid, but scary. That was what she had felt the previous night when he had held her against his chest. And that stupid but scary thing would kill Eric if they didn’t find Russell before the end of the night. She looked up at her maker with a heart and eyes full of worry. They wouldn’t have time after all. She wouldn’t have time to forgive him. And as he stared back at her, she saw in his eyes that it was okay. That he knew.

“Yeah, they’re glowing…”

“Cool. Means we’re good to go. Good luck. And if you don’t make it, it’s been rad serving you. Peace out.”

Brooklynne wanted to tear that Molly apart for the total indifference she showed at her maker’s True Death. But she had bigger problems. They all did.

Doug was reluctant to enter the building, but all Alcide wanted was for it to be over, so he dragged him in and started looking.

“Wolves have been here,” he sniffed.

“They come with Russell,” Bill said with a sigh, wondering which would kill him first, the iStake or a werewolf.

The building was an abandoned asylum. Brooklynne would find it ironic that Russell would hide here but she was too anxious to find it even remotely funny.

They dragged Doug, or rather Doug led them, through Brooke, down to the morgue, walking pass freshly severed hands and other dead bodies being eaten by rats.

“Well, at least we’re in the right place,” Eric said.

“The morgue,” Bill thought aloud as they walked pass the indications on the wall. “How convenient.”

Helped by a flashlight, Doug and Alcide followed the vampires into the darkness of the basement. Hearing, or perhaps sensing something Doug couldn’t, the vampires revealed their fangs as Alcide said:

“We’re being watched.”

Doug had reached his limits and let go of Brooklynne before he ran away. Knowing it was a bad idea to leave the human alone in this abandoned asylum where a three thousand year old psychopath was hiding, Alcide went after him. It was only when Doug started screaming that the three vampires followed him.

They found what seemed to be Russell’s pantry, where over a dozen humans were hanging from hooks like pigs in a butchery. A man started begging for his life, begging for them to take someone else, anyone else but him.

“Where do they take the prisoners?” Bill asked him.

“Down the hallway. There’s screaming and then there’s not!”

“What do we do with them?” Brooke asked.

“We’ll come back for them after we’re done with Russell,” Eric said before turning around and exiting the room, followed by the rest of his suicide squad.

Stakes in hands, they made their way to the end of the hallway where they found Russell lying on a hospital bed. He looked pale and sick, even coughed a few times. He looked almost human. Almost.

“Ah, miss Stackhouse. I see you’ve joined us,” he said with an eerie smile.

“We came here to finish what we started,” Eric told him as he approached.

“Well… give it your best shot.”

Russell’s smile grew bigger before Alcide, who was still standing in the hallway, behind Brooke, got jumped by a wolf.

“Eric!” Brooke shouted as a wolf launched itself at her maker.

She went to help him but was stopped by Russell who positioned himself between her and the Viking.

“Mmh, you’re just what the doctor ordered,” he smirked. “I’m sure becoming one of us just made your fairy blood even stronger.”

He trapped her against a wall and as he aimed for her throat she used her light to push him away. His back hit the wall at the other end of the hallway and he collapsed on the floor painfully.

“Yeah,” he cackled like a maniac as he sat up and leaned against the wall, “there is that aspect of you which I loathe.”

Eric killed the wolf that was after him then sped towards Russell. He crouched to get to his level then seized his face and made him look away from Brooklynne and directly at him.

“Look at me. I want to be the last thing you ever see,” he growled as he directed his stake towards his heart.

But before he had the chance to make a big mistake, Bill had his own stake aimed at Eric’s heart.

“He dies, we die. Most certainly. But if we take him back alive, maybe we don’t have to die.”

“Unlikely.”

“But not impossible.”

“Eric! Please,” Brooke begged. “He’s right!”

Eric snarled but eventually let go of his stake and put his fangs away. Russell used this short moment of weakness to pick up the disregarded weapon and attack the Viking. In less than a second, Eric was on his back, Russell on top of him, the sharp tip of the stake on his heart. Brooke moved fast and once again used her light to push Russell away from the man she loved.

It all happened really fast, and Brooke barely had time to register what was happening, as a group of heavily armed soldiers came in. Half of them had their guns pointed at Russell and the other half at her own heart.

“Freeze!”

Russell surrendered without protest, the red lights now aiming at his chest. One move and he’d be a pool of blood.

A tall, black man all dressed in black, from his shoes to his cap, joined them and stared at Brooklynne like she was the worst thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Eric quickly positioned himself between her and the man who was obviously the one giving orders here.

“What is this?” he asked with a strong accent.

“She’s mine,” Eric growled.

“Yours?”

“My progeny.”

There was no hiding anymore, no lying anymore. They had seen it. The light, the speed. It was useless to deny it, they were damned either way, and if they had to die tonight, they were at least going to be honest about it.

“What is she?”

… Well, half a truth was better than a complete lie…

“She’s a vampire.”

Russell chuckled.

“Lie,” the commander hissed.

“I turned her myself.”

“I suppose we will see what Guardian has to say about… this,” he said, looking around at the room where two dead werewolves were lying naked next to Bill. “Wolf and human are here,” he continued as Alcide appeared behind him, buttoning his jeans. “Why?”

“Doug led us here,” Bill started to explain. “Nothing that a little glamouring won’t take care of.”

“Do it,” the commander agreed before he exited the room.

After thoroughly glamouring Alcide, Eric made sure he got out safely and wasn’t stopped by any of the soldiers that the Chancellor had brought with him.

“He’s fine, he got in his van and is driving home,” Eric told Brooklynne as he saw the worried look in her eyes, though she didn’t worry about Alcide, she knew the werewolf would be okay.

Eric sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he cupped her cheeks with his hands. “This is what I wanted to keep you safe from.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead before bringing her to his chest. He rested his chin on her head as she hugged him back. Still, no word came out of her mouth.

***

Chancellor Akinjide seemed impressed, and though he wouldn’t let Brooklynne go, he had stopped looking at her with disgust but rather with curiosity.

“No one thought you two would actually be able to deliver Russell Edgington,” he told them as he led them out of the building and into a van. “Guardian will be extremely pleased.”

“Pleased enough to not execute us?” Eric asked as he sat next to Brooklynne.

“Only Lilith knows that.”

“As only she knows all,” Bill replied with a smirk.

The chancellor didn’t reply as he closed the doors of the van, trapping them inside the vehicle.

“Who’s Lilith?”

“Enough with this religious bullshit already,” Eric sighed. “Lilith can fucking blow me.”

“No, she certainly cannot!”

Bill chuckled.

“Lilith is like the God of vampires,” he explained.

“And why are you suddenly so into it?” Eric asked his King.

“I’m just covering my ass.”

“Are you telling me the Authority is a religious government?”

“It could be worse,” Eric said. “They could take the word of the Vampire Bible literally.”

“The what? The what?!”

“At least the sanguanista aren’t in charge…”

“Who…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eric told her as he took her hand in his. “I’ll explain on the way to New-Orleans.”

“New-O…” she stopped. “Are we… are they… Are we going to die tonight?”

She caught his eyes and saw. They were most probably going to be executed tonight, and she would be questioned and experimented on and maybe they’ll use her blood to give the sun to all vampires… And everything he had done to keep her safe was crumbling down on him, breaking him apart as this voice inside of his head screamed at him that it was his fault and that he should have known better.

He wiped a tear off her cheek and took her chin between his fingers. He tried to give her his most sincere smile as he said: “I love you.” And he didn’t wait for her to say it back because hearing those words coming out of her mouth would kill him before dawn. So he kissed her forehead and rested his cheek on her head, hoping, praying to whatever God there was that he hadn’t just sentenced the woman he loved to death.

#true blood #Eric northman #oc #reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #Eric x oc #eric x reader #Sookie stackhouse #alcide #sookie #bill #Sookie x bill #alcide x sookie #Eric northman x oc #Eric northman x reader

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Note

AND LISTEN TO HALLEY'S COMMET- BILLIE EILISH IT'S LEVIHAN IN LOVEBUG

I just had to write something because this song made me imagine a scene.

Note:

Set at the end of Chapter 6 of Lovebug after Hange spoils Levi on PnP.

Light Zekehan smut so I’m gonna hide it under the cut.

Zeke had always been a gentleman.

In public, it was expected. Even late at night though, just the two of them in the room, he always found a way to make Hange feel precious.

He went through the motions slowly and patiently. He asked her the right things, easing her through it with questions weaved into one another so smoothly, it could have been story telling.

Does it hurt? Does it tickle? Do you want me to continue? He always opened up the privilege of choice to Hange.

Those nights were always about her. She would decide when a little fondle of the breasts could develop to his hands scurrying over her stomach, then down underneath the folds. She would decide when he could insert his fingers a little deeper. With every shift of movements, he always whispered little reminders and she was never left unprepared.

When the blood would rush to Hange’s face, sometimes she would let out a louder breath than usual. And Zeke always noticed it. He would press his palms against her cheek and the heat radiated more brightly, licking into her cheeks like a weak flame.

That day was no different. He went through the motions like it was his life’s work. He had years to learn, it would have been strange if he didn’t.

Hange had those years under her belt too. She ran on instinct and naturally, she knew which way to sway as he nuzzled his mouth onto her chest.

He bit and he started to suck. There was a mischievous tickle as his tongue traced shapes on her neck. Every now and then, a light stinging pain would follow. Late nights though, alone in the room, it was an unpredictable stinging sensation most others would welcome.

After all, it just made everything happen all the more quickly, it added some color at least to something so routine. By some primitive instinct, Hange’s body knew the exact moment to fall back on the bed. She spread her legs open, reached out her hands, offering some support Zeke probably didn’t need.

He was as coordinated as she was. Either way, he still took her hands, in some attempt to humor her maybe? He climbed over her.

Cheeks flushed. Breathes ragged. She was more than ready and they had years of practiced intimacy to read signs and gestures. The motions leading up to it were methodical, he didn’t tease her for any longer.

He thrust it inside her and Hange swayed to that same rhythm.

Predictable. When the rhythm was slow, when his movements were as gentle, Hange had to admit, it was terribly boring, predictable, tedious. So monotonous, she was coming up with every other word in the dictionary to describe it as they swayed.

Zeke had finished before she did. By some strong sense of obligation, Hange let out a sharp breath clipped by a soft croak.

Maybe Zeke had fallen for it anyway. He pulled out, slipped off the condom and fell to the side of the bed. “You okay?”

Or maybe he didn’t fall for it. “Toilet,” Hange said. She slowly and subtly reached for the side of the bed, she quickly pulled it towards and pressed it close. Just in case he’d ask why she’d have her phone with her.

Somehow, just the prospect of him noticing the phone had her hair bristling. He shouldn’t mind. Bringing a phone to the toilet wasn't too suspicious of a scene. It was three in the morning, he was exhausted and Zeke didn’t look at all interested. He had turned to his side, towards the window, and his breathing was slowly evening out.

Still, Hange was careful the whole way to the toilet. She couldn’t subdue that hyperawareness. The dim lights of the lamp, the stale darkness that made the other corners of the room seem like some abyss. She knew she had the early morning peace and silence on her side.

But her mind continued to race. Would she have been able to respond with something so casual?

Calming herself down was a matter of discipline. She took a deep breath, focused on the plush floors beneath her feet. She counted the steps towards the bathroom.

Their bedroom was large, a small two bedroom apartment for most people. Enough to occupy two bedrooms with a bathroom. For Hange and Zeke, their large large bedroom was enough for two closets, a sofa bed, a TV, and a few bookshelves.

At night, it was a maze. Hange was clever though and she memorized it long before. Even with just one dim light from the lamp, Hange knew distance, she knew direction. If she kept her steps small and soft and followed that same direction to the light, she would count twenty steps.

Twenty excruciating steps when she was fighting the blood rush, her sporadic breaths and just the possibility that Zeke might ask how she is again.

Why are you so jumpy? Hange asked herself. There were only so many ways to respond in the infinitesimally small chance that Zeke did ask her how she was.

Toilet. Tired. Sleepy. Hange didn’t like to lie though, she didn’t like to answer questions when she herself was in that strange in-between state between knowing the answer and just hating it enough to choose not to understand it.

She closed the door behind her with a click, relieved it didn’t come off as a slam. She took great pains to silence her phone. Nervousness had her neglecting to turn on the light. She wasn’t in any hurry though. She basked in the superficial security that came with complete darkness and her phone at the dimmest and the softest setting.

She opened her inbox to see the two names right on top of the other.

Zeke Jaeger

Levi Ackerman.

Hange’s movements were quick. She clicked on Levi’s contacts, then she hovered her hand over the call button. Her thumb stopped a hair's breadth from the screen.

Would Levi have appreciated a very early morning call from a random business partner? No, he wouldn’t.

Her thumb moved briskly. She closed the messaging app and turned on the Love Alarm. As expected, it didn’t ring. Hange was almost tempted to take Zeke’s alarm just to check for herself.

The possibility of the alarm not ringing again was a glaring thought. Just imagining waking Zeke up only to show him that it wasn’t ringing had her heart pounding in her ears. Stealing her husband’s phone would never be worth it.

But Levi had said to her the day before, the love alarm would still be gathering data, even when the alarms didn’t ring.

Hange left the toilet with one text sent.

5/15 3:23AM. Check my body heat, serotonin levels, dopamine levels…

Levi probably wouldn't be checking messages until early in the morning. Would he check it early in the morning? In the afternoon? Would he call or would he message her back?

Alone, hunched on the toilet, Hange felt a rush of guilt as she checked the time again. She spent ten minutes thinking about Levi. She shook her head, and took a big gulp of air.

By the time she made it back on the bed, Zeke was snoring peacefully. Careful not to wake him, Hange pulled her side of the bed slowly and gently and she willed herself to say some words just for him.

“Zeke, I love you,” she sang softly. She pulled the blanket over her.

Just for him? Or maybe for her.

“Love you,” she whispered again when she was right in front of him.

He didn’t wake. And soon, Hange realized, she was just as exhausted as he was.

Maybe dreams were born from instinct. Maybe they were born from something else.

Whether she had appreciated it or not though, she could have sworn that night, she had dreamt something clear, almost lucid.

Not of Zeke, but of one clean freak.

#drabbles #drabble #fanfic

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olivemac · 3 years

Text

heartbeat | chapter seven | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | mild angst, coarse language, oral sex (m receiving), smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

Citation | Russo, J., & Russo, A. (2016). Captain America: Civil War. Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures.

A/N #1: The end is here. Let me know what you think. I'm considering continuing this through TFATWS, but we'll see what time allows.

A/N #2: Very, very minor spoiler (reference) for TFATWS episode 4.

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

_____

T'Challa contacts Steve to tell him of Zemo's arrest and to offer refuge in Wakanda for a while.

"He also says they may be able to remove the Winter Soldier programming from your head, Buck," Steve tells Bucky and Kate.

Bucky looks almost hopeful, if not a little uncertain. Kate reaches over and takes his hand in her own, squeezing it lightly. It's the first real interaction they've had since she cleaned his wounds when they boarded the Quinjet, and, as much as he hates to admit it, her touch makes his heart flutter. He just wishes she'd talk to him, tell him what she's thinking. Instead, she drops his hand and makes herself busy cleaning up medical supplies.

Steve sets the coordinates for Wakanda, and Kate keeps her distance from Bucky for the rest of the flight.

_____

Wakanda is more beautiful than Kate, Bucky, or Steve ever could have imagined. T'Challa greets them as they descend the Quinjet ramp and leads them into the palace.

"Tonight, you will eat and rest, and tomorrow we will see what we can do for your friend," T'Challa says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

_____

When Kate emerges from the shower, there are clean clothes and a plate of food in the room she's been given. She changes and eats, and then lays on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Tony hitting her with that stunning blast. She struggles to block out the ache in her chest that forms when she remembers the mixture of rage and grief on his face, but soon hot tears are rolling down her cheeks. She lays there for a while, crying until she’s sure she doesn’t have any tears left.

She can't remember the last time she felt so unmoored. For the last two years, her almost sole focus has been Bucky. First, finding him. Then...she shakes her head, loving him.What a fucking cliche, she thinks, falling in love with the ex-assassin who killed her parents. But she can't help that being away from him hurts more than the knowledge that he was there that night in December because she knows it wasn't him, it wasn't Bucky. HYDRA took everything from her. He was just the weapon they used.

Kate wipes her face and gets to her feet. Without another thought, she's in the hallway and knocking on Bucky's door. The urge to see him is overwhelming.

When Bucky opens the door, Kate's on him before he can fully process that she’s there, her arms around his neck and her lips on his. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off, but then he’s kissing her back, pulling her into him with his one good arm and letting the door close behind them.

Kate’s hands are hot on his chest, pushing his borrowed undershirt up until he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. She does the same with her own tank. When her shirt is off, she moves to kiss him again, but Bucky takes her chin in his hand and looks into her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, and her heartbeat is frantic. Kate's ferocious in her need for him, and it makes his heart swell with pride.

He drops his hand from her face and hooks his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him again and kissing her soundly. Kate's fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, and Bucky pushes them down his legs, along with his boxers, before helping her out of her own pants and underwear. She sinks to her knees in front of him and places a trail of kisses across his right hipbone, then the left. She moves her lips hotly across the thick shaft of his cock and runs her tongue over the vein that stretches from base to tip.

When Kate takes him fully into her mouth, Bucky lets out a groan so deep he thinks he can feel it reverberating in his toes. She works her mouth over him a few times before Bucky's hand caresses her cheek and guides her off his cock with a slick pop. He pulls Kate to her feet and kisses her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. They stumble to the bed, and Bucky lets himself fall backward, bringing Kate with him. She slides down the length of his cock so slowly he thinks he might combust, and when she sets a brutal pace, her thighs squeezing against his hips, Bucky's toes curl, and he has to take deep breaths to stop himself from coming too soon.

Watching Kate over him like this, watching her breasts bounce with each of his upward thrusts and her fingers dance over the place where they're joined, Bucky thinks this is the closest thing to salvation he might ever have. She comes quickly, clenching around him and falling forward onto his chest. Kate places a series of kisses across his scarred left shoulder. The Wakandan medical team removed what was left of the damaged arm and sealed his shoulder with a cap. But Bucky isn't thinking of his lost arm right now; he's only thinking of the fire in his belly that is catching, spreading down his legs and up his chest as he keeps rutting up into Kate's body. She pushes herself up again, leaning her hands on his chest and works him through his own pleasure.

Bucky comes with a roar and clasps Kate's body against his own. She presses wet kisses against his neck as they both catch their breaths, and when she lifts her head to look him in the eye, she's smiling brightly.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he returns.

She kisses him again, slowly this time.

"I love you," she says, her fingers grazing his stubbled cheek.

"I love you, too," he replies, "and God, Kate, I'm so sorry."

She watches him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face, before she says, "I know," and kisses him once more.

They settle across the pillows in the bed, Bucky on his back and Kate resting her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"I spoke to Shuri earlier," she tells him. "She seems optimistic that she can remove the Winter Soldier programming. But it might take some time. She suggested you go back into cryo while she studies your brain scans."

Bucky is quiet for a moment, then says, "I spent seventy years in and out of cryo, what's a few more?"

"I'll be here when you wake up," Kate tells him. "Whenever you're ready to see me."

"You sure, doll?" Bucky asks, looking at her, trying to find any apprehension in her eyes. He's giving her an out, a chance to walk away, but she won't take it.

"Always," Kate says, smiling. "I told you I love you, Bucky, just you. And whatever happened while you were the Winter Soldier, that's in the past. Zemo wanted to tear the Avengers apart with that tape, and he might have succeeded. Steve lost half the team, I've lost Tony, but...” she pauses, “I don't want to lose you."

“You won’t,” he promises, and he kisses the top of her head before they both fall asleep.

He wakes her up in the middle of the night to make love to her twice more because he can't believe she's here, in his arms, after everything, and he isn't sure what tomorrow will bring.

_____

The next morning Steve greets him in the hallway outside their rooms, and Bucky nearly chokes when Steve claps him on the shoulder and whispers conspiratorially, “Sounded like Kate forgave you last night.”

“Watch it, punk,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Just like old times. James Bucky Barnes gets the girl,” Steve laughs.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but secretly he likes that Steve still sees some of the pre-HYDRA Bucky in him.

Kate is already in the lab when they arrive, laughing with Shuri about something. She smiles at them both and takes Bucky’s hand in her own while Shuri goes over her plan for deprogramming.

When everything is prepped, Steve asks Bucky, "You sure about this?"

Bucky smiles softly. "I can't trust my own mind," he says. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody."

As the cryo chamber fills, Bucky focuses on the sound of Kate’s heartbeat just a few feet away. He wants that to be the last thing he hears before he goes to sleep and the first thing he remembers when he wakes up.

_____

Once Bucky is in cryo and they've thanked T'Challa and Shuri, Kate follows Steve to the Quinjet.

"You're going to get the rest of the team out, aren't you?" Kate asks, looking at Steve.

"I am," he says.

"You'll probably need someone who can hack into the prison security system," Kate tells him.

"I probably will," Steve says, smiling.

_____

Ten months pass quickly when you spend most of that time frozen. For Bucky, the haze of cryo is punctuated by brief stints of lucidness, followed by Shuri plucking the remnants of HYDRA from his brain. Wake up, remove some programming, back in cryo.

“It’s a gradual process,” Shuri explains.

When Ayo takes him to the woods and repeats the words to him – the words that controlled so much of his life – Bucky tries to remember the sound of Kate's heartbeat and the feel of her hand in his.

One morning, after he's completely freed from HYDRA, Shuri greets him as she always does, "Good morning, Sergeant Barnes."

"Bucky," he tells her again.

Shuri smiles. This routine has been going on for two weeks now, but Bucky likes it, likes the familiarity of it all, the sense of calm it gives him.

"There's someone here to see you," Shuri says, nodding over her shoulder.

Bucky turns to see Kate standing in the light of the early morning sun, looking as beautiful as he remembers.

"Hey, soldier," she says, smiling at him.

"Kate," he breathes. He takes three long strides to her and wraps his right arm around her tightly, lifting her off the ground. She gasps and laughs, and when he puts her down again, she kisses him deeply, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth, her hands cupping his face gently.

When he pulls away from her, he keeps his arm wrapped around her and her body pressed against his so he can feel her heartbeat next to his own, where it belongs.

_____

Fin.

_____

Lost Scene: The Club

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes romance

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Note

For the bad things happen bingo: Suicide attempt and 911 lone star? :o

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: suicide attempt - so sorry that this took so long, anon! hopefully you see this, and i hope you like it!

also written for two anons who requested 48 - “Hey! Hey, wake up! How many of these did you take, huh? No, no, don’t go back to sleep, you need to stay awake for me.” from this list

@911lonestarangstweek day 5: Mental health + “I’m so tired of feeling like this.”

trigger warning for: suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, drug addiction and drug abuse, overdosing - this is not a happy one folks, stay safe out there

ao3 | 1.9k

TK stumbles through the streets, one hand twitching anxiously at his side, the other clenched around the bottle of pills in his pocket. He’s getting strange looks from the few other people out at this hour, but he doesn’t care, he just - he just needs to find somewhere. A quiet place where he can lie down and let it all end.

He thinks he’s made his way out of the boundaries of Carlos’s regular beat now. He can’t be certain; he’s not really been paying attention to where he’s going, but he’s been walking for long enough, he hopes. If there’s one wish he has, one last prayer, it’s that Carlos isn’t the one who has to respond to this. TK knows he’s going to cause a lot of pain tonight, but if he can spare his husband this, then it’ll all be okay.

His wedding band rests heavy on his hand, it has for a while now. He’d contemplated leaving it at home, but he hadn’t quite been able to bear the thought of dying without it. It’s selfish, as is everything he’s doing, but TK doesn’t have it in him anymore to not be selfish.

Carlos will be okay without him. He’ll be better, even; after all, who wants a husband who can barely get out of bed most mornings and never wants to be intimate anymore?

He’s just so tired, and he knows that he’s hurting people. Carlos’s smiles are all forced these days and he has constant worry lines around his mouth and eyes, looking at TK as if he’s going to shatter at any moment. Captain Vega had told him in a gentle tone that still brooked no argument to take time off until he got his head back on straight, after a series of bad calls led to him breaking down in the middle of shift. His dad keeps hugging him, the tightness in his body when he does so telling TK everything he needs to know.

Even his therapist had said she was worried about him; TK knows that’s her job, but he still balked at the idea of being worried over.

It’s better this way.

For everyone.

There’s a mercifully empty alley to his left and TK ducks into it, pressing himself against the brick and sliding to the cold ground. He pulls the pills out of his pocket, turning the bottle over in his hands, the rattling cutting through the air like a knife.

It steals TK’s breath, his body starting to tremble. There’s a part of him, still, that doesn’t want to do this. Or, not like this, at least. There’s a part of him that wants to hold onto his sobriety, the one thing in his life that he hasn’t managed to screw up yet. But… But this is the easiest way. He’s an old hat at overdoses by now; he knows how they work, what to expect. It’ll be the peace he’s been craving for so long.

He feels weirdly calm as he shakes the pills into his hand, staring at them for a brief second before dry swallowing them, a couple at a time. The overdose probably won’t kick in for a while, but that’s okay. He can wait.

Time blurs around TK as he starts to drift, his mind wandering down the well-trodden paths of how he’s not good enough, how he’s a terrible husband and son and friend, how he should just go ahead and relieve everyone from the burden of him already.

I know, he thinks irritably. What do you think I’m doing this for?

His mind, of course, doesn’t listen. Figures.

His body starts to list sideways and TK doesn’t fight it, letting himself droop until he’s half-sitting, half-lying on the ground. Any other time, it would probably be uncomfortable, but it’s not like these things matter anymore.

It won’t be long now, he thinks. His brain has gone all foggy and it’s getting harder and harder to string coherent thoughts together. His eyelids droop, sleep tugging at him, and TK goes gladly towards it, sparing one last thought for Carlos, holding his face in his memory for a moment before he lets go for good.

He loves him, so much. He wrote as much, in the note that’s folded up in his back pocket - he hadn’t wanted to risk Carlos coming home from work and finding it, finding him, before it was time - and he just hopes that the words will be enough. Carlos will probably hate him for a while after this, but that’s okay, too; TK deserves no less for everything he’s put his husband through recently.

Distantly, as though underwater, he registers the slamming of a car door, too close to the entrance of the alley for comfort. TK prays they won’t spot him - he just needs a little more time - but then a light falls on him, and a voice he’d hoped not to hear reaches his ears.

“TK?” Carlos’s voice trembles, and a few tears slip down TK’s cheeks. He can’t see his husband, his back turned towards him, but he knows so well the expression that’s probably gracing his face right now. He wants to tell Carlos to turn around and go home, but his tongue feels like it’s made of lead, and Carlos wouldn’t listen to him anyway.

TK doesn’t hear him come closer, but suddenly hands are on him, turning him over and manhandling him until he’s lying in Carlos’s lap. Carlos’s face swims above him, appearing and disappearing as TK’s blinks turn slow. He looks frantic, speaking into the radio on his chest; the last thing TK wants right now is an ambulance, but he just has to hope they won’t get here quick enough.

It seems likely, as his eyes shut and he finds he doesn’t have the energy to peel them back open. Carlos’s hands on him are more like a memory now; he feels like he’s floating somewhere outside his body, drifting further away with each second, each breath.

“Hey! Hey, wake up! How many of these did you take, huh?” Carlos’s voice has risen in pitch, roughly shaking TK until he cracks his eyes back open. He’s never been able to deny Carlos anything, after all.

TK doesn’t answer the question - he couldn’t even if he was able to form words. Instead, he attempts a smile, wanting to reassure his husband that it’s okay, even if he can’t say it out loud. The smile barely lasts a second before it drops, his whole face going slack and his eyes sliding shut again.

And, this time, TK’s sure they won’t be opening again.

“No, no, don’t go back to sleep, you need to stay awake for me,” Carlos begs, something warm and wet hitting TK’s face. “Please, TK, the ambulance is nearly here. Just hold on, you’ve got to hold on.”

He can’t, though.

And it’s okay.

It’ll all be okay.

It’s been four days.

Once upon a time, Carlos had thought that watching as his almost-boyfriend was whisked off in an ambulance, bullet wound in his chest, would be the worst moment of his life. Then TK had been kidnapped, and Carlos had spent hours not knowing where he was, if he was alive or dead, and he thought - this is it. Nothing can top this.

But, having to perform CPR on his husband, having to hold him as he slipped away in his arms?

That was worse than even his nightmares.

At least, worse than the nightmares from before. His nightmares now are filled with that night, except this time, TK is already gone before Carlos gets to him. Every night, Carlos clutches his cold body to his chest, and every night he startles awake with tears on his face, fresh ones appearing when he catches sight of the empty space next to him in bed.

He’d sleep at the hospital if he could, but apparently there are restrictions surrounding the ward TK’s been placed in. Carlos doesn’t really understand it and the nurse had looked apologetic when she’d explained, but that’s just the way it is, Mr. Strand-Reyes.

He hates it, but there’s nothing he can do, save for being there as often as he can. He’s spent almost every waking hour at TK’s bedside ever since it happened, and it’s been excruciating.

It’s been four days, TK awake and lucid for three of them, but he hasn’t said a word. Carlos has tried getting him to talk, Owen too, but he just won’t. It’s wearing on them all, and Carlos has begun to hate the sound of his own voice, though he infinitely prefers it to the crushing silence that otherwise envelopes the room. He talks about anything he can think of - work, their friends, the soccer game playing on the television even though TK hates sport. The only topic he avoids is the future, because none of them have any idea what that future looks like anymore.

The doctors won’t even tell them when TK might be allowed to leave. Carlos gets it, he does, but it kills him inside.

He just wants TK to be okay.

“I’m sorry that you found me.”

Carlos’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at TK. His voice is empty and rough from disuse, his gaze turned blankly to the ceiling, but he - he spoke, which is something Carlos has been praying for for days.

“I’m not,” Carlos says softly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of upsetting whatever it is that’s caused this change. He reaches out hesitantly to caress TK’s face and is rewarded when he doesn’t flinch away, though Carlos isn’t sure that TK even registered the touch.

“You weren’t supposed to. No-one was.”

Carlos feels those words like a punch to the gut and he can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips, nor the tears that begin to obscure his vision. He’s done his fair share of crying over the past few days, but now he just wipes his eyes impatiently, desperate to keep talking.

“You’re going to be okay, TK.” He forces a wobbly smile, moving his hand to TK’s hair. “You’ll be home before you know it, and everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

“You can’t promise that,” TK fires back, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Then, just as quickly, he deflates, all the life going out of him again. “I’m so tired of feeling like this, ‘Los.”

Carlos’s already shattered heart breaks a little more, choking back a sob as he searches his husband’s face. “Then we’ll help you get better,” he asserts, trying to sound strong, like the rock TK needs him to be. “Me, your dad, the team - we’ll all help. I promise.”

TK slowly shakes his head. “I don’t want to get better. I don’t want to have to start all over again.” He curls up, turning on his side until his back is to Carlos, Carlos’s hand falling away to the mattress.

TK’s next words are muffled by the pillow, but they seem to echo around the room, lodging deep in Carlos’s chest.

“I just want it all to stop.”

And, when the silence returns, Carlos doesn’t try to get rid of it. There’s nothing left for him to say that means anything; nothing left for him to do, except watch over his husband, and hope that they can make it through this.

He’s not ready to let go yet.

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