#In the same sense that Steve can drive even though his doctor won’t sign off on him getting his license since he can’t go 6mo seizure free

[morganbritton132]

Eddie is walking around what he thinks is an empty house while he live-streams. He walks passed the living room, pauses, and then turns around.

Steve is in the living room. He is in the living room with Max. Eddie dropped Steve off at Max’s house over an hour ago so, “How did you get here?”

Steve: Max drove me

Eddie:

Eddie:

Eddie:

Eddie: Max doesn’t have a license

Max, not looking away from the tv: It’s never stopped me before

[thatsbucknasty]

she used to be mine (x) waitress au

summary: Inspired by the broadway musical. Y/N Beck is a pie baking force to be reckoned with. She’s pregnant with her lazy ass husband, Quentin Beck’s baby. As everything around her turns upside down, Doctor James Buchanan Barnes charms his way into her life.

pairing: Y/N x Bucky

tags are closed

chapter 10: I didn’t plan it

Two months pass and I realize it’s only a matter of weeks before I meet my baby girl. I’ve been working hard to save more money but I’m still not even close to the amount I’m gonna need for the birth AND the divorce. It’s been really hard to put my pride aside and accept the help my friends offer, I guess I’m used to being left to my own devices since I was very young. But I love my little family. Bucky and Sam drive me home every night after closing and Wanda has been bringing me gifts for the baby. Nat’s contact will be handling my divorce and she said they would give us a payment plan so that it won’t be so difficult to pay all at once. I still don’t understand how that’s gonna work but I trust her. She’s being very strange though, but Natasha’s one of those people who deal with issues on their own and compartmentalizes everything. Still, I’m worried about her. I guess I can’t judge her, we’re the same in that department.

Old Nick hasn’t been around much lately, says he’s taking care of his health. Guess my pies aren’t the healthiest meal for an eighty-something year old man. Maybe I should start adding more vegetables to my own diet, I’m creating life inside of me after all.

-

“Hey boys, what can I getcha?” Wanda flirts with Steve at the counter and Bucky laughs, he seems to be getting used to their corny, slightly inappropriate conversations.

“Oh I don’t know, sweetheart. What’s the special pie today?” Steve flirts back at her.

“Well, Y/N made her famous ‘Slutty brownie pie’ today and if you want, I could make it even sluttier-”

“Guys! Not in front of my salad, please!” Sam scolds them and Bucky’s just laughing at Steve’s red cheeks. Wanda rolls her eyes at him and motions Steve to follow her away from the group.

I come out of the kitchen ready to leave and see Steve and Wanda making out in the far corner of the counter, while Bucky and Sam talk about an AC/DC concert they both attended back when they didn’t know each other. Sam’s also taking care of his diet it seems, but Bucky’s stuffing his mouth with my brownie pie. I don’t actually understand how he can eat so much and still look absolutely stunning.

“Guys! Keep it in your pants. It’s movie night, we’re leaving!” I scold them and Steve’s blush has reached his ears and neck at this point.

“Thank you! I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thinks those two are such horny teenagers”. Sam throws his hands in the air and hangs his apron, ready to go.

“I think they’re adorable, but I’m tired and hungry, and I don’t want any more pie today so let’s go, where’s Nat?” I look around trying to find the redhead.

“She said she needed to be alone tonight but she’ll be at the party tomorrow”. Wanda says and we share the same worried look on our eyes.

“Oh, okay. Shall we?”

We get to Bucky’s apartment and today’s pick is on Steve cause tomorrow’s his birthday. He chooses 1986’s Labyrinth. We order pizza and sushi and enjoy the magical spectacle on the screen.

I can’t stop thinking about my divorce and all the bills that are waiting for me in the future. Raising a child isn’t cheap. Bucky holds my hand at one point, under the blanket that we’re sharing. I guess he senses my worry and tries to make it go away. I’m glad he does. Lately I’ve just been letting myself fall for him because fighting against it it’s a lost cause. He’s the sweetest guy, brings me home safely anytime he’s able to, he cares about my friends and most importantly, he’s patient and doesn’t rush me to do anything I’m not ready to do. His parents raised him right, what’s a girl supposed to do?

-

Next day is organized chaos, thanks to Wanda and her frantic need for everything to be perfect. She really loves Steve and he’s a good guy. They deserve each other, truly.

Nat’s helping Sam hang decorations around Wanda’s backyard. It’s a mixture of 4th of July colors and Happy Birthday signs. We’re not doing the whole fireworks thing, since Wanda’s birthday present for Steve wouldn’t like the noise. But there’s a flatscreen set up to watch them on tv.

I’m in the kitchen, chopping some tomatoes for a pico de gallo I’m making. Bucky’s setting up the barbecue outside and I can see him from the window. He keeps messing it up and starting again, making the funniest, exasperated faces. I told him Steve could do it in no time but he insisted he’s the birthday boy and should just enjoy this day.

Speaking of Steve, he’s on his way. It ain’t a surprise party but we still wanted to set everything up before he got here.

-

We’re all enjoying the cool summer breeze, watching football on a projector Wanda set up in the backyard, we have hotdogs and guacamole and chips, the guys have beer which of course I can’t have, but Bucky was kind enough to make me an entire jug of pink lemonade just for me. I’m not really interested in the game, to be honest and my bladder is full so I separate myself from Buck and look around to realize Natasha isn’t here. Since this is not my house and I need to find the restroom I ask Wanda for some help instead and we enter the house together. 

She points me to the toilet and I open the door to find Nat and Sam wrapped around each other, half naked.

“OH MY GOD! What’s happening here?!” I immediately cover my eyes and close the door.

“Y/N, you’re okay? What is it? Don’t tell me you found a rat cause I hate them so much, Gosh I told Steve we should’ve done this at my place, is way cleaner”.

“I- I- no- um. It’s not a rat it’s a- um. I’m sorry-”

“Y/N! Let me explain-” Natasha comes out the restroom with her blouse half buttoned up, makeup almost completely ruined.

“I don’t- I don’t need you to expla- can somebody please lead me to another bathroom or something? I’m about to piss myself!”

“Sure, honey, let’s go”. Wanda grabs me, she apparently understands what’s going on, looking at Nat’s disheveled state and brings me upstairs to another room.

-

“What’s going on? I heard the girls yell”. Bucky enters the house and sees Sam and Nat cornered in the kitchen, looking like they’ve seen a ghost.

“Nothing, man. I think it’s time for me to leave. Say happy birthday to Steve for me”. Sam kisses Nat on the cheek and leaves the house.

“Wha- Natasha, are you okay?” Bucky stands there awkwardly, trying to break the tension.

“I’m fine, but the girls and I need to talk privately. Would you distract Steve for us? He doesn’t need to hear about this. Tell him we’re talking about pregnancy stuff with Y/N or something”.

“Oh-kay? Are you sure you’re alright though, you seem-”

“I’m fine, Bucky. Now go talk to Steve, he’s out there alone on his birthday”.

“Well, he looks fine! He’s watching the Patriots destroy the- Okay got it, see you later”. Bucky awkwardly scurries down to the kitchen and grabs a couple more beers and brings them outside.

-

“Knock-knock”. Natasha enters Steve’s bedroom and sees Wanda sitting on the bed.

“Hey”.

“Hey. Y/N still peeing?”

“I don’t think so. But I think she’s crying”.

“God she’s always so dramatic”.

“Hey! You should’ve told us! Do you know how worried about you we’ve been? We thought you were sick or something! Not wanting to hang out with us. We were supposed to plan a baby shower for her by now but you’ve been M.I.A.”.

“ I know, and I’m sorry”. Nat sighs and knocks on the bathroom door.

“Y/N, come out. We know you’re done so let’s go. We need to talk”.

-

I wipe my tears. I don’t know why I feel betrayed. Sam and Nat are my best friends, I should be happy for them. Damn hormones making me cry like a little baby every time something’s out of place.

“Hey”. I sniff and open the door to see Natasha rolling her eyes at me.

“Why the hell are you crying?”

“Oh I’m sorry for being a hormonal mess but seeing two of my best friends, one of them who’s married by the way, making out like horny teenagers would definitely cause me some distress!”

“Uh huh, and how is this any different to you and Bucky holding hands and making eyes at each other every single minute? May I remind you, you’re still married too!”

“Oh my God, Natasha, you did not! I’m getting a divorce, you know that!”

“Yeah, I know. And I understand and not make a fuss about it, until you decide to judge me for the exact same thing you’ve been doing!”

“Why- ah. Sorry, I know I’m looking like a complete hypocrite right now. It’s just- you guys are my friends and you’ve been acting so strange lately, it had me so worried and I feel like I could’ve been there for you, just as much as you’ve been there for me. You guys are my sisters”.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But Sam and I wanted to figure out what we wanted first and you know how I am. I fall down the rabbit hole and I keep it to myself cause I’m too proud to admit I’m weak”.

“Natasha, please. You’re anything BUT weak. You’re the one who’s always showing us how strong we really are!” Wanda chimes in and holds both mine and Nat’s hands in hers.

“Okay girls, listen up, from now on we need to make a pact that whenever one of us starts to close off from each other, we will make an intervention for that person and keep ourselves accountable for our shitty ways to cope with men, and life, and money problems, and cleaning obsessions, is that clear?” Nat kisses the top of my head and Wanda laughs at her declaration.

Somehow I feel like everything’s about to change, hopefully for the better.

-

chapter 11: she used to be mine

[itsallavengers]

Impact Radius

The words would haunt Tony for weeks after. 

“Sir, it appears Captain Rogers has been involved in a car accident.”

He blinked and looked up from his work, the blood freezing in his veins. “Huh?” He asked, sitting up straighter. “JARVIS, what do you-- what do you mean?”

The AI had explained hurriedly: a vehicle had hit Steve’s car after it had run a red light at an intersection on 5th Avenue, and now JARVIS was unable to get a response from the car or from Steve himself, probably due to the damage caused. JARVIS didn’t know how bad the situation was because of this. Neither did Tony. 

Steve had only been heading over to the supermarket. For groceries. 

He was out of the workshop, out of the whole fucking tower in the suit and he hardly even realised it. His mind wasn’t working. Nothing was working. When his parents had died, they’d asked him to identify their bodies. Pulled away the sheet and shown Tony the mangled remains, beaten and bloodied from where the car had collided, head on with them. There hadn’t been a chance of survival, Tony had seen it in their injuries. Brain contusions. Broken bones. Punctured lungs. Cars did damage, cars were fast-moving metal death-traps and Tony always fucking drove for a reason, at least then he was in control, at least then he was safer--

But even Steve, with his superhuman reflexes and amazing sense of spacial awareness, had not been able to stop himself from getting into a wreck. 

Oh God, he could be dead. Tony’s husband could be dead on the road in 5th fucking avenue on a trip to buy Avocados-- no aliens, no terrorists, just a car and a hit and an unlucky injury. 

No, no no no no. Not again. Tony couldn’t do this again. No, no, no. 

His knee landed on asphalt, too fast, it hurt, he didn’t care. He saw the car. People were looking at it from the sidewalk, stood there, watching and doing nothing, Jesus fucking Christ his husband was in there--

“Tony?”

He jumped wildly, locating the voice. 

Steve. 

Stood on the sidewalk to his right, phone in one hand, confused expression on his face. “Tony, what are you-”

Tony was out of the suit in an instant, letting it stay on parade rest in the middle of the road, which he didn’t give a shit about. He didn’t look right to check for oncoming traffic which he knew was there, just hoped it’d stop, too relieved to care about his own safety. Steve yelled at him as he ran across the road, calling out something or another while the car to the right of him skidded to a stop and blared its horn ferociously at him, but all Tony heard was Steve’s voice, alive alive alive, he was alive, Tony wouldn’t have to identify his body too, wouldn’t have to see his corpse and realise he’d lost another part of his family to a car on a road and bastard who’d drank too much.

He reached Steve and grabbed his shoulders, looking him up and down. There could be injuries he couldn’t see. Internal. Steve was good at hiding things, but Tony knew him, he’d be able to tell. His hands were fisted into Steve’s t-shirt, too tight, his fingers hurt with the strain, he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t. “Are you--” he tried, the words failing him half way through. He looked at Steve, his healthy face, totally fine, and tried again. “Are you okay?”

It was only then that he realised Steve had already been speaking, looking down at him in worry as his own hand had come to rest on Tony’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” he said with a nod, “I just said that, Tony, what are you-- it was only a knock, I swear- bit of whiplash, car’s ruined and I think my wrist is broken, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m just calling someone to collect the car now. You don’t need to panic, I swear.” He frowned and looked over at the suit. “You nearly got fucking run over, Tony, why did you--”

“We need to get you to hospital,” Tony muttered, seeing Steve’s wrist lying limp at his side. “Might be more, you don’t know.”

“Tony, sweetheart, I’m fine, you really didn’t need to-”

“That’s not up for discussion, Steve,” he snapped, and shit, he was shaking so hard. Steve was alive though. He was okay. It was just a small accident-- one that had just so happened to hit in the right place to cut off the sensor JARVIS tracked and stop him from being able to communicate with Steve. He hadn’t been in danger. 

They’d tried to fight for a little bit, the doctor had told him, 21 and looking at the face of the man who had tried and failed to save his parents, but the injuries they’d sustained had been too severe. Your father was dead before he reached hospital and your mother died just as she reached my ward. I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.

“Tony,” Steve’s voice- the deeper, firmer one that he used when he was on the field, when he needed orders to be followed- called out to him. “Tony, breathe.”

Ah, shit, he’d forgotten about that. 

He looked at Steve and took a wheezing lungful of air. Steve nodded and squeezed his shoulder, knocking their foreheads together. His skin was warm. “Breathe,” Steve murmured again, “I’m okay. Just a little break. It’ll be healed by the morning. I promise you, I am fine.”

Tony looked up at him, and Jesus, there had to be a dozen phones trained on them right now, filming Iron Man have a freakout about a small little car accident on 5th avenue. This was a disaster. He needed to compose himself. 

“Please let me take you to the hospital,” he said desperately, “please, Steve.”

Steve didn’t argue, or sneer, or deny him. He just nodded. “Okay. Okay, let’s go. Can I hitch a ride?” His gaze turned to the suit, which was being beeped at by a handful of cars while angry New Yorkers attempted to drive around it.

Tony nodded. Told himself to stop being such an idiot as he pulled away from Steve. He didn’t let go of Steve’s good hand, though, and Steve squeezed him comfortingly, looking him deep in the eyes. “Thank you for coming to check on me,” he said in his earnest voice, leaning in and kissing Tony’s forehead, breath warm on his skin. Tony sighed shakily and shut his eyes. Steve was okay. It had just been... an overreaction. Not enough sleep, too short-notice, a lack of information. It had all led to a small spiral. Steve didn’t really need to hospital, Tony could see that objectively, had seen it in the first second of landing, if he was being honest. The car hadn’t sustained enough damage, and Steve showed no signs of trauma. 

Tony was going to take him to the hospital anyway.

And so take him to hospital he did-- fretting and worrying over whether the suit was going to hurt Steve’s hand, sitting in the waiting room with a leg that wouldn’t stop fucking tapping- it was too long to wait, and Tony hated waiting. Steve suggested they just go home a few times, but Tony wouldn’t have it. It had taken his mom and dad thirteen minutes to be airlifted to a hospital, and in that time, his dad had managed to die and his mom had followed quickly after. 

They could wait here for a little while longer. 

They eventually got seen, and, surprise surprise, Steve was fine. The doctors bandaged up his wrist and tried not to act too fanboyish around Captain America & Iron Man, and then after telling them how to wash it and when to take it off (which they both already knew), they sent him home again. Steve suggested a taxi, and Tony declined, instead calling Happy and telling him to swing by in one of his own cars, a reinforced model able to withstand 5 times the impact of an average vehicle. 

Just in case. 

God, the worst thing was that he knew it was stupid. He knew it was all irrational, but he never was fucking rational when it came to cars. He loved them for their speed, their looks, but only when he was the one at the wheel. Only when he could control it, when he knew what it could withstand. Steve’s car wasn’t a Stark model that Tony had designed, it wasn’t able to withstand the same force. It could have been crushed. Just like his mom had been. Tony was gonna have to go home and upgrade everything again, now. Better brakes, stronger exoskeletons. And Goddamn it, Steve had a motorbike too, those were even fucking worse, 1 in every 3 people had a serious accident on a motorcycle and most times Steve never even wore protective leather. How had Tony been letting him go out like that all this time? What kind of a fucking husband was he--

“Tony,” Steve told him gently, taking his hand and pulling him closer, “Tony, you’re shaking again. What’s wrong?”

“We need to buy you bike leathers,” he blurted, “or-- not, scratch that, I’m making them, store-bought won’t be as good. Do you even wear a fucking helmet? God, Steve, do you know how... no, no, right, I’ll put it on my to-do list-”

“Tony, love, I don’t need a-”

“You could’ve died!” Tony whipped his head up and glared at him frantically, the mere words sending a shudder through his spine. “You could have... and that would have been the fourth person I lost to a car accident, okay, fucking... Mom, dad, Jarvis, you, fuck, no, you need some fucking bike leathers if you’re going to be riding around in that deathtrap, Steve, I swear to God-”

“Okay, hey, hey. Alright. That’s fine,” Steve’s voice soothed its way over his fraught nerves, his eyes distressed as he looked down at Tony. “I’ll wear whatever you want me to wear, okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t think... I forgot about what happened to your parents.” His good hand came up and settled against Tony’s face, warm and reassuring. Both of them were sat in the back of one of Tony’s cars, one of the models that had been designed with Maria Stark in the back of his mind the whole time, and it was one of the most durable vehicles he owned. Bulletproof glass, reinforced tires, the whole deal. “But just know that my reflexes are a hell of a lot faster than most- I’m stronger and fitter and more aware than an average Joe, and I’m always careful on my bike. Always.” He smiled, looking down and brushing his nose over Tony’s. “I have to come home to my husband, don’t I? Couldn’t be getting in car-wrecks all over the place.”

Tony sighed and leaned into his side. “You damn well can’t. That’s an order.”

“Okay, well maybe this once I’ll listen,” Steve chuckled and looked out of the window, squeezing Tony’s hip. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he muttered, “next time you’ll be the first one I call. Promise.”

Tony wished he could say something like ‘it’s okay, you don’t have to’. Wished that he could be brave enough to just fucking relax about it all, for one single fucking second. But the truth was, the thought genuinely soothed him, and the idea that Steve would let him know that he was okay and safe and well was one that might just let him rest a little easier tonight. 

“There’s not gonna be a ‘next time’, you hear?” Tony muttered, before flipping onto the next train of thought, “I’m gonna find that asshole’s license plate and arrest him. And punch him in the fucking face.”

“Please don’t. I didn’t get his plate number anyway, so an arrest seems unlikely.”

“I’ll just hack the nearby cameras, no worries.”

“That’s illegal.”

“So is crashing into Captain America’s car. It evens out.”

Steve laughed softly and kissed his forehead, his lips the shape of a smile. He was fine. The broken wrist would be gone by the end of tomorrow. This wasn’t a date he would need to remember for the rest of his life like he did for December 16th, 1991, 12:41 am. It was okay.

They drove home, Tony’s head on Steve’s heartbeat.

like my work? Donate to my kofi!

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 37

AO3 link here

“You need to go collect the children.”

“Peggy?” he asks, though he knows it is. But her voice has a particular tone of calm in emergency that he hasn’t heard in years, not even last month when Rose tripped coming up from the basement and cut her head open so badly that she had needed a half dozen stitches and they’d taken turns scrubbing the steps with bleach.

His keys, still in his hand from dropping Emma off at school (he’d just come in and had to run to pick up the ringing phone), seem suddenly weightier, sharp against his palm.

“Someone started following me,” she says. “About five miles from the house. I’m not sure who. I can’t be certain about how much they know or if they’re part of a larger organization.”

He starts, “Are—” but she cuts him off, still with that voice, low and precise.

“I didn’t want to tip them off that I’d made them; I went into a bank branch to deposit a check and I’m using the manager’s telephone. There’s only another minute before it will look suspicious.” She speeds up her speech only barely, still enunciated, meticulous. “I’ve called in to the office and they’re sending unmarked vehicles to intercept. Take the children, go ahead of me, and I’ll meet you when I can.”

“Peg—”

“I love you,” she says, and hangs up.

Steve almost puts the keys down on the counter as he hangs up the receiver. He shakes his head at himself, puts them in his pocket instead. “Okay,” he says aloud. “Okay.”

He calls the kids’ schools first, citing a family emergency. He stays on the line while they check that the kids are in their classrooms, insists on having them brought to the main office to wait. He’ll be there as soon as he can. Then he calls Bucky, his work number. Even as he quickly runs through what he knows and what will happen next, there’s a strange awareness in Steve’s mind of Bucky’s office, the cup full of pencils he always keeps on his desk, Gerry who works next door and always brings the smelliest sandwiches for lunch.

“I’ll call Ma, prepare her,” Bucky says, and Steve shakes himself and thanks him and goes to take care of the next step.

They’d planned for this sort of eventuality, laying out the steps. They’d even reviewed it and changed things when they’d moved from New Jersey, though the essence had stayed the same: check on the children, call Bucky (there’s never been any evidence of his being pursued since they got him back, but he’s something of a target too), drive up to New York, stop off at the motel for the night so they can turn back if it was a false alarm, stay in the Brooklyn safe-house for as long as necessary - presumably not long. He supposes, though, that he hadn’t truly believed that something like this might happen. They have had so many years with no real worry. He doesn’t have bags prepared, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He has to go pack them himself, climbing the stairs to the bedrooms with a feeling of strange unreality rather than the focus that used to come over him in moments of pressure, the ones that were once so much more common.

He puts together a small suitcase for each child, guessing at how many changes of clothes to include, adding extra underpants and socks into the crevices. He packs his own bag automatically, but Peggy’s he does with care, folding things fastidiously, taking the extra minute to decide between pajamas and a nightdress, in the end including both. Another sweep back through the kids’ rooms to pack books and games, coloring pages, whatever he can think of to keep them entertained on the drive.

He sets the bags by the front door, turning away quickly so he doesn’t really have to take in the sight of them there. In the kitchen, he stares into the refrigerator. He knows the pantry won’t tell a much better story; he meant to go shopping this morning. Thinking of his mother, he does what he can with what he has, packing up half a loaf of bread, lunch meat, throwing condiments on top, adding whatever canned goods they have, some softening whole fruits and vegetables, a knife and peeler.

At the last minute, he remembers blankets and pillows. The motel he and Peggy had selected to rest at might be only a few hours away, but it was better to be safe and make sure the kids would be comfortable even if they were driving for longer. Make sure they would have something familiar if it came to that.

He’s passing Nate’s room, arms full, when he spots Edward the bear sitting on the bookshelf, no longer a usual bedtime companion. Balancing everything carefully, Steve picks it up anyway. You never knew what familiar comforts you might want when pulled away from home.

His hand is on the doorknob, ready to pack the car, when the phone rings again. Picking it up, he finds his shoulders have braced even as he tries to sound normal.

“It’s alright,” Peggy says from the other end. “It’s fine.” But she doesn’t sound relieved. She hasn’t completely lost that tone of hers; it is, if anything, more brittle within her words than before. “I’ll explain when I get home and it will be a late night, but everything’s alright.”

“I’m glad,” he says. He finds that he understands her: he is still so tense with the possibility of things that relief cannot find its way through. He can’t relax, not even as he calls the school again, talks to Bucky again, puts everything back the way it was, to the perfect inch, unwinds the last twenty minutes as if they hadn’t happened. Except that they have, even without signs.

He does the shopping, because that was the plan, and because they need food, and because Peggy said it was okay. But he feels cut off from communication in a way he hasn’t in a long time; it’s been decades since he had the expectation that he should be able to be contacted at a moment’s notice. He keeps wondering what would happen if Peggy needed to update him now, what would have happened had he already been out of the house when she had called this morning, if he had been out and it hadn’t been a false alarm. He has the thought for what is, oddly, the first time, that if one of the kids got sick or hurt, he would have no way of knowing until he got home. Regardless of how much he loves his kids - and how well he knows the existence of the supranatural and the miraculous - when something happens, he is suspended in some sort of Schrodinger's experimental bubble, the event having already occurred and he unknowing of it.

It’s a distant hope that he’s gotten everything he needs as he goes to check out. He is too distracted, anxious to go back to an empty house where he’ll have nothing to do anyway but think himself into further worry.

The kids notice nothing when they get home, chattering over each other, filling up the house as usual. Steve feels as some sort of imposter self, clinging to the tracks of routine: homework first, preparing dinner, reminding Drea that it’s her turn to set the table. He tells the kids that Peggy has to work late tonight and they barely even acknowledge the words; it’s a common enough occurrence - just last week, she’d had to go out of town with only a day’s notice - and Emma’s telling a story about getting both bonus words right on her spelling test, and Rose is trying to talk about a girl in her class announcing that her mother was pregnant and how another girl has stood up and said, “She can’t be, mine already is!” The others laugh. Steve picks at his food and is quiet.

He forces himself to do the different voices as usual when he reads aloud that night, but he feels as if it’s someone else doing the reading, can’t really take in the words.

Perhaps they do sense that something is amiss, because none of them fight against bedtime. He thinks he would snap if they did, his worry and preoccupation bubbling over, transforming into something ugly and unknown to them, unknown even to him.

When he goes to check on Nate one final time, the last door on the hall, after the rest have gone to bed, his son sweeps a sleepy kiss against his cheek where he has knelt by the bed. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says, so dreamy that it’s hard to tell if he even realizes he’s said it.

I hope so, kid, Steve thinks to himself as he goes downstairs.

Peggy’s case, her jacket, the shoes she wore out of the house this morning, are sitting in their place by the entryway, but she isn’t in the kitchen or the family room and he would have seen or heard her had she come upstairs. He checks down in the basement. Coming up again, he glances through the window over the kitchen sink.

He closes the door to the back deck quietly behind him, then opens it partway again; his ears are pricked for any change in sound from inside the house. Peggy is sitting in one of the lawn chairs they keep out here. It’s been mild and clear this fall, and they haven’t needed to put them away. Seeing her posture, so straight, at angles as if determined by protractor, he approaches carefully (though not, perhaps, as carefully as he would have had her limbs been curled into herself, vulnerable).

"He was a former trainee," Peggy says, still looking out over the expanse of the backyard, trees and the slumbering beginnings of the garden here. "He passed the physical testing but failed the psychological, although he had not disclosed his previous diagnoses. I hadn't even realized he had come into headquarters last week demanding an explanation. Apparently as he was storming about, he caught a glimpse of the directions home for the driver who was fetching me from the airfield. Not our address, but enough to be waiting, watching for me. He hoped to convince me personally to give him a second chance."

"He'll get help?" asks Steve. He is over her shoulder now.

"There's a doctor in Michigan whom I trust," she says. "Both for ethical and security concerns, and the distance as well. His family has agreed to have him evaluated there. He will have support and treatment."

The words are Peggy's but he can barely hear his wife in them, barely hear even the agent he once knew. They are too even, carefully cut. Then her hand spasms on the armrest. She says, "I don't know how I could have done this," and there's a break, tiny, slivering, and it pierces at him.

"You didn't do anything," he says.

It is as if she hasn’t heard him. She is so deeply within her own mind. “It could have been anyone - a foreign government, Hydra, even a family member of one of our targets hoping to make some sort of trade for clemency or exact revenge.”

“But it wasn’t,” he tries. “It was one person, and it was handled.”

"I trust you to take care of yourself," she says. "But I chose to allow the children into our lives. And they—"

"They can take care of themselves too," he reminds her. He leans over her shoulder to indicate the yard where she teaches them self-defense. "Better than most kids their ages. Even many adults."

"But that's just it." She wrenches her face toward him, and he is surprised to see, as her eyes catch the light from within the house, that she has been crying. Her voice was so clear of it. "The only reason they have to be different than other children is because they’re mine." The wind picks up a bit, adding some chill to the air, but she doesn’t press her arms against herself. She waits for the rustle of the leaves to die off, as if she really wants him to hear her, and then she says, “If I could go back, I wish that I had never—”

“Stop.” He steps away from her. Even if he knows what she is trying to say, knows that she feels guilty for the target she believes she’s painted on their family, understands entirely the terror of it, he cannot listen to her express this particular sort of regret. Words spoken low into the space between them, he says, “Those are our goddamn kids, Peggy. No matter what you might be feeling right now, they’re ours, and I can’t—” He turns away. “I’m going to bed. Maybe we can talk about this in the morning.”

He lies there in their room and doesn’t sleep, and it’s because Peggy still isn’t lying in the bed with him, and also because her almost-spoken words are.

In the morning, he knows without opening his eyes that she is beside him. It is early, before the rising of sun or children or world. He turns over and watches her. The moments stretch. Eventually she wakes, rolls onto her side and sees him there. Her eyes meet his. They breath the same rhythm.

“I love our children,” she says, and hearing the quiet words, he is struck by how they are only for him, relayed with heads placed close and the rest of existence far outside of them. “I love being their mother. But I cannot stand how dangerous the world is for them, and how my work makes it even more so.”

He does not suggest that she give up her work. Instead he says, “And you’ve made it less dangerous too. It isn’t as if we went into this thoughtlessly. We’ve planned for whatever added danger there may be. We’ve prepared as much as we can. And it feels overwhelming now because it’s the first time that we actually had to act on the theory, but we had steps to take and we followed them.”

“And if that isn’t enough?”

He draws closer to her. “I don’t know.”

“That isn’t precisely encouraging.” She leans into his arms, the skin of him.

“It’s the truth, though. We’ve done our best, we’re doing our best, but I have the feeling that this is one of those parts of parenting that just has no answers. It’s impossible to protect them from everything that’s out there, whether you’re director of SHIELD or not. If you quit your job tomorrow, if you had never been involved in the first place, there would still be dangers - and some of them would come from who our kids are, not who their mother is. And so we’ll keep doing what we can, and have to live with the doubt.”

“I don’t like it very much,” she says. Her cheek is against his shoulder.

“I don’t either. But it’s what we have.”

And they hold each other into the morning, and don’t know, and don’t know, and will not know, and must only hope.

More chapters here

[themissingmarvel]

Tell Him (Part 2)

((A/N: Ok so like... as usual Endgame spoilers galore. I can’t make a one shot right now so here’s part two of Tell Him. If you want to catch up, I’ll link you ‘cause why not.

Part 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x powered!Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3k ))

“Where’s here?” You piped up, putting away your phone and earbuds into your pocket and getting out of the car. The people around you looked... average. There wasn’t anything special about them or the venue.  The men were silent as they began what felt like a somber walk towards the doors. You were desperately looking around for a sign of what was going on but there was a pit in your stomach that this wasn’t entirely ok. Was it?

Inside was well lit and there were folding chairs in a circle. Sam and Bucky sat down and you were getting a sense of what was happening. Some folks were getting coffee in the back and some were talking as you took a seat beside your metal armed friend.  Leaning in to whisper you frowned, “Buck, you have to tell me what this is,” you quietly demanded.  He glanced at Sam who only nodded before he turned back to you, “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t come. It’s a support group for those who were dusted. Sam and I come out here so we don’t run into anyone we know. But it’s been good. I think it’ll help you.”   For a moment you were offended. How dare he. How did he know what was best for you? And you were doing just fine, damnit. Just fine.  Standing up abruptly but keeping your voice quiet you glared, “I don’t need to be here. I’m not like these people. I’m over it, ok? I don’t even remember what happened.” Grabbing your arm Bucky yanked you back into the seat, “Bullshit, Y/N! You’re not ok. And you do remember. We all do. You need this. I know you still go through it. You beat a punching bag until you bled and broke a glass because you couldn’t keep it together. There’s no shame in it but you need to stop pretending like everything is fine while you fall apart.” You got quiet as you sat, watching people walk, some talking. You remained quiet as you stayed in your seat.  For Steve.  “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for being here today.” A middle aged man spoke, dressed in a business casual attire. He looked important.  Everyone sort of nodded and took their seats, looking around with an eerie quiet you couldn’t place. The man who had spoken looked at you and smiled. It wasn’t an average smile, though. It looked almost... solemn.  He clasped his hands together and leaned forward a bit, “Looks like we have a new face. Would you like to introduce yourself?” He was kind. He meant well.  Rubbing your arm nervously you looked at the floor and stayed quiet a moment before looking back up, “I’m Y/N. I was... dusted, I guess. I’m not sure why I’m here.” Everyone murmured a welcome and the man who had spoken nodded, “Thank you for coming. I know it’s not easy to open up about this. I suppose none of us know why we’re here. Part of why we come.” You were a bit shocked at his response, looking around at the people in the circle who nodded and murmured just as they had when you introduced yourself.  “How have you been since coming back?” He asked sincerely. He wanted to know. They all did. You could feel Bucky’s warm hand on your back as a reassurance. You knew you needed to talk. You didn��t want to but you had to. You wanted to tell Steve but you weren’t ready. He wouldn’t get it. How would you begin? “Hurt.” You looked down.  “You’re hurt?” He chimed up.  “Yeah I mean... I was gone for a moment but that moment was five years, you know? The world moved on without me. People moved on without me. People I loved. I missed birthdays and holidays. I missed hugs and connections. I feel that separation every time I see someone who wasn’t dusted and I see that damn guilt and pity on their faces.” It was spilling out now, watching as people nodded their heads in agreement. They understood.  Taking a risk, knowing the two men were with you, you continued, “What pisses me off most is I dusted in the... forest (Wakanda) with my friends (the Avengers) near me. There’s this guy though. Always had a thing for him. Even as I was slipping away I wished I’d told him I loved him. Now that I’m back I still can’t. He’s not with anyone or anything like that,” you waved your hand, “but I just feel like so much has changed. It’s not like it was before. I want to tell him but I can’t and it pisses me off.” You’d been clenching your fists, letting go once you realized what you were doing.  A female voice chimed up and you looked over. A woman in her mid thirties was looking sad as she spoke, “When I came back, my daughter didn’t know who I was. My husband had remarried and this little seven-year-old I had called my own didn’t know who I was. My husband had moved on but it had been seconds. The world moved on and left us behind to pick up the pieces.” She looked you in the eyes and suddenly you felt seen. 

From there stories came forward. There was a teen who had watched his friends age and knew that once they decided to finally go to college, he’d be five years behind them. He’d lose them. There was a man who had lost his daughter as she’d developed cancer, but the doctor’s and researchers had dusted and she’d been left without proper care. Thanos thought he had the answers but halving everything meant literally everything. The best and the brightest went out at the same rate as the average folks. People that were needed vanished without a trace.

When the meeting ended people stood and milled, but the woman who had spoken after you approached, kind features and an aged sweater around her shoulders, “You should tell him, you know. What if he feels the same way?”

It was a surprising comment from a total stranger, and you were shocked, “I- I mean I guess. It’s complicated.” You frowned.

She smirked, “It’s always complicated. There’s never a good time. But you’re getting a second chance at living a life. Don’t waste it.” Briefly she patted your arm before turning and walking away leaving you to watch as she left.

Turning back to Bucky and Sam you nodded, “Let’s go home.”

The three of you chatted in the car, more casually, and you had left out your earbuds. You were in the back with Sam driving and Bucky sitting shotgun. The group had been admittedly good and it had felt oddly relieving to sit with a room full of people all remembering their final moments that had been years for some and yet moments for them. It hadn’t occurred to you that people had simply vanished in their sleep or what others would miss in their time gone. You all had lost something, even those left behind.

Walking back into the Tower, deciding on staying in the city while Strange and Stark did a Wakandan tour, the three of you were greeted by an overly excited Peter Parker, “Hey guys! I didn’t know where anyone was so I just came in, Mr. Stark gave me the password and stuff. Mr. Stark says I can do training here when I’m done with my homework. I hope it’s OK but I made a sandwich. Am I talking too much?” He took a breath and you smirked.

Bucky rolled his eyes and Sam grinned, the two walking away as you ruffled Peter’s hair with a playful smirk, “You always talk too much, Parker. Did you finish your work?” You watched as he fixed his hair and made his way to the table in the living room where an empty plate sat with two closed books. The TV was on and there was some news on mute.

Peter had been this kid you’d taken a liking to when Tony had taken him under his wing. He was like a little brother to you and you couldn’t help but feel a sort of protective stance about him. He seemed to like you as well, however, but you were his second when “Mr. Stark” wasn’t around, “Yeah like… an hour ago. But I don’t know where the gym is and I don’t wanna get lost. Hey! Wanna go a few rounds? I won’t use the suit or anything we can just fight!”

It felt a little heartbreaking, seeing him with a smile, as you remembered. It was years ago but you were the one asking Natasha to spar with you, telling her no powers I promise! Just show me those awesome kicks! Now he was asking you to train and who were you to deny him the chance? He was good. He was small and he was agile as hell. Stark had rightly pointed out that he relied heavily on his webbing and abilities and had reminded him that it wouldn’t always be there. Tony had learned that the hard way.

You listened to Peter go on and on about how school was going and an upcoming trip he had planned. He talked about MJ as usual and you remembered what it was like to have a crush. Now being an adult just meant being in love with a man who probably just pitied you at this point.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? Worried I’m gonna win this time?” Parker bounced ahead of you a bit, walking backwards as you realized suddenly you were frowning.

Forcing a smile you shook your head, “You’re 0 for 10 at this point, kid. And I’m fine. You won’t be when we’re done, though,” Peter watched as you grabbed at him, snatching the poor child’s wrist, yanking him forward, and essentially clotheslining him to the floor with a knee to the chest.

He looked shook as all hell, staring up at you, “Lesson one, I know I know. Never let your guard down.” Peter adjusted himself as you let him up, helping him to his feet. It was a nice distraction to be able to help Peter and know you’d do some training. He had some gear here, now that Tony was taking a closer liking to the kid. He’d always liked him, you knew, but he had a second chance now. Wasn’t that what the woman had said to you…?

Walking into the gym you had changed before Peter, aware the poor kid was probably maneuvering in whatever getup Stark had put out for him. You were wearing sports leggings, dark grey, and a form fitting sport tank top. Your feet hit the floor, surprised a bit to see Steve then going to town on one of the reinforced punching bags Tony had set up for him. He was covered in sweat and you could tell he’d been here for a little while. He didn’t seem to train the way the rest of the team did, but he was always down for a group fight.

“What’d that punching bag ever do to you, old man?” You walked over to Steve, feeling your heart racing in your chest but pushing forward.

He stopped, panting a bit and smiling as he saw you, “Sure didn’t call me old man, for starters,” his smile turned into a grin.

You blushed and shook your head, “You should practice with Parker when he gets in. One New Yorker to another, you know?”

Steve stepped away and smiled at you, “I’d rather go at it with you, to be honest.”

Your face turned scarlet. So did his. His eyes widened and he held his hands up, “Oh! No no, not like that! I mean, not that I wouldn’t- I mean, no, shit!” He was cursing and you were red. You both were.

It was almost comical to watch Peter walk over with his own gym clothes on looking at both of you as though he’d just missed the punchline, “Woah, Cap! Mr. Stark said you don’t like that language!”

Rubbing the back of his head nervously Steve looked away, “I uh, I should go. Raincheck on the sparring,” he turned quickly and made his way out of the gym leaving you and Peter standing.

“Hey, why’s your face all red?” Peter looked at you curiously.

You took a breath and rolled your head back to look at the ceiling, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“I was in love with a woman, back before everyone vanished. She had this smile, you know? A smile that could light up a room. And she was gorgeous, funny, sweet, brave… she was everything. But I never told her how I felt. I always thought I’d have time. We all thought we had time.” Steve had opened up to his support group years ago, back when it was in its infancy. He had opened up about you to people who had no idea who you were. Maybe he could have told Bucky, or even Sam, but his two closest friends were gone and Natasha had more pressing business now.

As Steve made himself dinner, hours after his awkward encounter, he remembered one of the galas that Tony had thrown before Thanos was even in the picture. He’d been dragged to it by Wanda who insisted he’d enjoy himself. Truthfully his driving force was knowing that you’d be there. A friend, a good friend, you’d been a support to the man who often felt out of time and out of place. He was glad that Tony had recruited you after seeing you help in the Battle of New York. Well. Recruited you after you’d run to him for safety from Hydra.

He remembered watching as you walked through the door, dress hanging off your body as though it was created just for you, hair done up, makeup not too much but enough to accentuate your already perfect features. He remembered staring as you smiled over at him and he remembered falling, tumbling, stumbling his way into love with you. All it had taken was a gentle wave and a casual stroll and he knew that he was done for.

The timing had never been right, though. Always some battle, some fight. Always something to stop him from taking your hand. And here he was, five years after he lost you, and he was struggling to find the words. Your pain was palpable, and he wanted to take it from you, remove it from your system and chuck it out the window. Holding you as you cried was the best he could do, but if it helped, he swore to himself he’d do it every damn night if he had to. It had been clear, then, why he had to stay with you. When you’d vanished with Sam and Bucky he’d wanted to ask where but knew enough to respect your privacy and theirs. Besides, you’d come back looking almost relieved. Wherever you went it had clearly helped you.

Looking up, Steve was snapped from his thoughts as he watched you wander in, clothes changed and looking perfect as always. He was biased.

“Hey, Y/N, sorry about before I uh… I don’t know what happened,” he looked down at the antipasto salad he was making.

You smiled, saddling up beside him as you watched him make dinner, “No worries, Steve. It happens.” You shrugged and took a piece of his salami without asking, knowing that you at least had the rapport to do something like that.

Steve liked seeing you this way, more at ease, and it was different than you’d been before, “How’d training with Peter go?” He turned his head and began adding more food, making more for you without even being asked.

You shrugged and turned so you were facing him now, leaning against the counter, “Fine. Kid has talent. I worry about him out there on his own and stuff, but he seems OK. Tony told me his suits are pretty durable and meant to protect him. I still think a lesson with Captain America would help, though,” you grinned and went to take another piece of food.

Steve poked your hand with the fork and you withdrew feigning hurt, “I think he’s got a pretty good teacher already.”

He smiled at you, sincerely this time, and you smiled back.

Tell him! He’s right there!

“Steve, I wanted to talk to you about something, actually. Do you think-“

It was then a ringing noise went off, coming from your pocket, wincing as it did. It was Stark’s ring, of course, and there was a look of disappointment on Steve’s face as you stepped back from the counter. Pulling out the phone you placed it on the counter, watching as Tony’s head ‘appeared’. He had his sunglasses on, of course, and a look of smugness you found oddly endearing, “Is Rogers… making food?” He squinted.

You rolled your eyes, stepping in the way of poor Steve who sighed heavily and shook his head, “What is it Tony? Calling to make sure your place isn’t burned to the ground? I promise we’re keeping New York safe.”

Steve listened to you and Tony banter, Strange’s voice occasionally rising in the background. He made his food quietly and made a plate for you which he left on the counter, knowing you’d turn to see it. Silently he made his way out of the kitchen, wondering what it was you’d wanted to talk about. He had hoped for what it could be and wondered if maybe you had felt the same. He wished he could scoop you into his arms and as he walked into the living room, resigned to eat alone, he could only think, next time… tell her next time.

( @skymoonandstardust @spookydefendordreamer @little-red-83)

[willidleaway]

Doctor Who, series 12, episodes 1 and 2

In short: I love two-parters and I’m glad Spyfall was a two-parter. The conclusion wasn’t entirely satisfying, parts of this felt like a retread of old favourite story elements (including from The Curse of Fatal Death—seriously!), and I think there was a bit of disjointness between the two parts, but this is still a very good start to series 12, and I’m 90% sure I’m not saying that just because he’s back.

In slightly less short, still without spoilers:

—Positives: good tension throughout part 1, including the cliffhanger (hangar?); loved seeing historical characters tag along and interact in part 2, in one of the better attempts of Chibnall!Who at being educational; strong performances all around from heroes and villains.

—Negatives: part 2 has me fearing for a regression from some of the positive aspects of series 11; the villains weren't really fleshed out enough, especially in their motivation.

Verdict: Go watch Doctor Who and the Curse of Fatal Death. It’s quite funny.

Oh, you mean about this two-parter? It’s good. Could have been great, though—almost should have been with its set pieces—and it didn’t strike me as great.

In less short, with spoilers:

OK, so I don’t even have much to say about part 1 because it really is all setup. We’ve got weird higher-dimensional ghosty things, they’re attacking spies all around the world and swapping their DNA out with something else, except they either won’t or can’t attack Yas and send her instead to some weird alternate dimension. Yas and Ryan go off to find out that Google are involved [0] in some sinister fashion because their CEO is totally in league with the aliens and is himself 7% alien, but it turns out the real mastermind is ... the Master! Dun dun dun. Very much the Dark Water reveal, right down to the gender swap.

So at the end of part 1, the situation is that the Doctor is in the same realm that Yas had ended up in, and her companions are in a crashing plane. So how is this all resolved?

Well, the second one is easy. It’s a time travel show. Do the Blink gambit! [1] Just go back in time after everything’s done, plant some signs and a recording on the plane, and they can land completely unscathed! In Essex! (I’d say ‘unscathed/Essex: pick one’, but obviously Graham feels differently.)

This is fine, but ultimately the companions don’t ... do much from there? It’s the series 3 finale thing again where they’ve got to go off-grid, except in series 3 where Martha is planting the seeds for, well, that conclusion. But she’s at least got some kind of agency in the story. Here, Graham and Yas and Ryan are ... chased? I mean, it did give us Graham laser-tap-dancing his way out of those situations, and I will be forever happy that that was a thing that happened, but overall they had so little to do other than have villainous speeches and antics spouted at them. Frankly, from a purely logistical point of view, it would have made very little difference if the Doctor had just picked them up on the plane before it crashed, because of course the Doctor had sorted everything out about the Silver Lady and the Kasaavins and all.

So I found that fairly unfortunate, especially given Yas and Ryan’s crucial actions (and their rather excellent performances) in part 1.

Resolving the Doctor’s cliffhanger seems a little trickier, and it leads to some of the disjointness I was talking about at the start between parts 1 and 2. In part 1 we’re led to believe that these pointy-hat white ghosts [2] are alien spies spying on Earth’s spies today. Here it turns out that, no, actually, they’re also spying on the Who’s Who of Earth computing and telecommunications.

This includes Ada Lovelace [3]—why she was also known as Ada Gordon is baffling to me given she was Lord Byron’s legitimate daughter and it’s not like Gordon was Byron’s surname (not blaming the show, just baffled at the apparent historical fact)—and later Noor Inayat Khan, the pacifist SOE hero with expertise in wireless telegraphy. It was really good to learn about them and their contributions, however briefly (although I have mixed feelings about the episode avoiding discussing Noor’s ultimate fate).

Thankfully they also get more to do than the companions—Ada hijacks a gun and fights off the Master while he’s distracted, while Noor hides Ada and the Doctor from Nazis and later feeds information to the Nazis to trap the Master. They then both go out and track down the Master’s TARDIS (although given his hubris it turns out to be not so difficult). That’s way more than laser-tap-dancing and being rather ineffectual otherwise!

My main gripe is how the Doctor wipes both their memories at the end—it’s not like the Doctor’s wiped the memories of Dickens or Shakespeare or even Queen Elizabeth! Anti-STEM discrimination, this is.

But overall I very much liked the Doctor in this power trio of women, although I think Ada got the short end of the stick out of the three of them. I suppose it may have been difficult because her abilities are relatively abstract—computer science is a bit more difficult to get across on screen compared to telegraphy and disinformation, so she has to make do with a gun instead.

So: strong companions in part 1 (although not so much in part 2), strong Doctor and historical figures in part 2. All fine and dandy. But let’s talk about the villains, because of course that’s the meat of the story.

OK, first off: that’s Lenny Henry?! God he’s unrecognisable. Goatee suits him, though. He looks sharp.

Daniel Barton, though, seems not so sharp, and not terribly interesting either. First off, he has all the information in the world yet can’t seem to be bothered to run a face recognition routine on Yas and Ryan when they’re undercover in his office as journalists. (Maybe he’s wilfully ignoring it. Maybe he just wants attention.) Then it turns out he’s 7% non-human, which is intriguing at the start but gets rather casually dismissed towards the end of part 2 as just him test-driving the DNA replacement idea.

But the real trouble was that I never found it terribly clear why Barton would have been interested in joining forces with the aliens to wipe out humanity. Did he just find the idea of using seven billion humans as data centres really appealing? Maybe, but what’s the use of all that data? Barton is most powerful as the head of basically Google, and all his data becomes utterly useless without the civilisation that actually needs it, surely.

Oh, then there are the Kasaavins themselves.

At first, their basic plan seems like it’s to wipe out Earth’s intelligence network, which makes sense as a step in an invasion. But then it turns out the ultimate point of their invasion is all about ... computers? And disk space, basically???

Why did they attach themselves to people like Ada Lovelace and Alan Turing and Steve Jobs? Was it to influence the evolution of computing in ways that made today’s computer architectures more vulnerable to ... whatever it is the Kasaavins later do through the Silver Lady and all of our modern devices? Sure, Ada Lovelace’s notes on computing engines were prescient and unquestionably influenced her spiritual successors like Turing, but I would personally have said more in the abstract. You'd definitely want to go after people like Woz, doing design on microcomputers much closer to our modern laptops and phones. I guess they figured it couldn’t hurt, anyway.

What exactly were they going to do with all that disk space? Why don’t they have their own massive storage devices? Why do they need to overwrite human DNA? Can’t they just build more DNA?

I dunno, maybe I’m overthinking it. I thought they were building towards a Matrix-style thing where all of human civilisation was going to just be someone’s cloud computing instance—but no, it’s hard drive space. It seemed a bit weak.

I think the Kasaavins suffered mostly for being in the same story as the newest incarnation of the Master.

The good thing about the Master, at least, is that he needs little motivation. He’s just mad. If he wants to wipe out all of humanity and the Kasaavins needing storage space happens to mean there may be a common interest there, the Master can just do that. That’s how the Master works.

He cuts an imposing figure at the start, I suppose—maniacal slick sort of fellow, shades of Simm’s incarnation in series 3 but still his own thing. But the way he works in this episode is just ... goofy. I mean, really? He just keeps tracking the Doctor through time? Can’t be bothered to keep tabs on whether someone’s trying to sabotage his master plan?

And then there’s the way the whole situation with the Nazis gets resolved.

I really thought he was going to go ‘seventy-seven years ... in a sodding twentieth century ...’, à la Jonathan Pryce’s excellent Master from Steven Moffat’s Comic Relief special. You know, the one from all the way back in 1999 where for the first half-ish, the Doctor and Master basically try to outwit each other through increasingly ridiculous time-travel hijinks, ending up with the Master having to crawl out a sewer for over nine hundred years.

Totally unlike this story, where the second half-ish involves the Doctor and Master trying to outwit each other through time-travel hijinks, and the Master ends up having to crawl out of his predicament for almost eight decades.

I’m not sure that’s a complaint, myself, frankly. For one thing, of course, when a show has gone on for over half a century, it’s difficult to avoid new stories running into old ones. But for another thing, saying something feels right out of a Comic Relief special isn’t necessarily a, erm, fatal flaw for Doctor Who. I prefer it when Doctor Who isn’t taking itself too seriously, just seriously enough.

Still, when you look at the big picture and look at all the retreads, I can’t help but think we’re heading back into the worst excesses of past new!Who.

For all its faults, I really enjoyed series 11 for how the narrative focus returned to the companions after much of the Moffat era’s obsession with ridiculously overpowered characters—Clara as the impossible girl, the Doctor as the Hybrid, the Doctor as literally where we get the word ‘doctor’, and so forth.

Well, now we’ve got the Master back and he’s gone and destroyed Gallifrey (negating the big winning moment of the 50th anniversary special, to boot) and it’s all because of some mysterious lie and it involves the Timeless Child that was mentioned for a hot five seconds last series??? It smacks of past new!Who arcs, especially under Moffat—and at least in my eyes those arcs have never gone terribly well. Those arcs have come at the expense of good companion characterisation as well, so overall it has me a bit concerned about series 12.

Sure, all these aspects of pre-series 11 Who returning to the show—the Daleks last year, and now the Master—maybe makes the show feel more like itself, much like how having a functional rebel force that’s not just confined to a single light freighter makes a Star Wars film feel more like Star Wars. I just worry that it’s a instinctive reaction against some of the mixed reactions to series 11, and that ultimately it’ll be an overreaction.

Good start, though, this two-parter. I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be the best story that series 12 gets.

Footnotes:

[0: Sure, they’re called Vor in the episodes, but first off they’re clearly meant to be Google, and second off it’s very awkward talking about ‘Vor’ being everywhere on the Internet and on everyone’s devices ... so for the purposes of this write-up I’m going to call them Google.]

[1: I know that in Blink, the Doctor and Martha are trapped in the past and have to plant the message in DVDs to get someone to get them out of trouble. But you know what I mean. Timey-wimey out-of-order rescue plan.

Maybe I ought to call it the Arrival gambit, after the excellent film from a few years back.]

[2: Makes them sound like alien Klansmen, doesn’t it?]

[3: What’s the opposite of née for the purposes of distinguishing maiden and married names in time travel stories? I guess mariée is as good as any ...]

[mostfacinorous]

Bucky goes down in the plane, not Steve (preferably just Avengers movie, but do what you want! I love your writing and I trust you to make it great!)

Whoo boy the ripple effects on this one. 

So Bucky doesn’t fall on the train, he goes down in the plane instead- I’d like to think, as Steve gets his kiss with Peg, Bucky makes the jump for it. 

“Too slow, Rogers!” He crows, and Philips hits the brakes just in time to keep them from careening off the edge of the cliff in the Red Skull’s “what does compensation mean”-mobile. 

Bucky fights the skull, and even though he’s not the man, the myth himself, it goes down nearly the same. The skull still grabs the cosmic cube, still vanishes. The cube burns a hole in the floor. 

Steve and Peggy are on the other side of the microphone, and when it comes time, Peggy lets Steve be alone with Bucky, lets them say what they need to. The plane goes down, and history whites out for Barnes. 

They search, but the likelihood of his survival is slim to none. Between the fact he couldn’t fly, the payload, the altitude… they have no idea where he went down and there’s no sign of him. So, eventually, the search tapers off. Steve and Peggy get their dance, but it’s bittersweet. They end up married, Peggy still founding SHIELD and Steve working through the end of the war, still pushing on, despite his losses. Captain America still doesn’t get time to grieve, and, when the war’s over, he sure as hell isn’t allowed to be shell shocked. 

He might technically still belong to the army, but there’s nothing they need him for right now. You don’t drive tanks down the street if you aren’t at war. 

But Steve stands up, and continues standing up, all through the years. Every movement for the oppressed, Steve is a part of. And while Peggy’s aging, Steve… isn’t. He’s getting tired of always fighting, but he looks the same. He seems to be frozen in time. Howard brings his kid around, sometimes, and that’s a surprise every time– he’s actually pretty good with the boy. He still drinks a little heavily for either Steve or Peggy’s liking, but Maria and Anthony have been good for him. And Howard can spend hours building with toys probably too advanced for a toddler, but Tony hardly seems to mind.

The years march on. They win some fights and they lose some. People urge Steve to run for various offices, but he declines. That was never what he wanted, and he doubts he’d be any good at it, with his bluntness and his temper. 

He and Peggy stay married, even as it starts looking like she’s his mother, or grandmother. No one bugs them about it; everyone knows their story. Steve hated that, but at least it affords Peggy some peace. She cries, a few times, tells him she sees other women looking at him, can practically hear them thinking what a waste it is that he’s with her. He just shrugs and tells her he never notices- he’s only got eyes for her, now or ever. 

He’s there when Peggy steps down a bit, takes a demotion- still remains on as one of the higher ups at SHIELD, but she doesn’t run it full time anymore. Around then, one of their operatives, a guy Steve’s had a few beers with and likes, named Clint- he goes rogue for a few days, ends up bringing in the assassin he was meant to kill. And when they arrive, it makes sense why. She’s just a little girl. 

She comes home with he and Peggy, once it’s clear she’s not going to murder anyone in their sleep, and Natasha ends up filling their family out perfectly. They never had a child because they were too afraid of how vulnerable it would be; the first would-be kidnapper who comes after Captain America’s adopted daughter is delivered back to his boss in pieces. The howlies are delighted; Steve makes her sit through one of SHIELD’s ethics and morals in killing classes.

Slowly, the people Steve has known for years start dying off. It’s hard, and he hates that his face doesn’t show the slightest sign of keeping up with them. 

Around the millennium, Steve spends an awful lot of time in court, arguing for his own bodily autonomy, and finally working with Howard and one of his best lawyers to copyright or file a patent or something- Steve doesn’t really understand- on his blood, so that the army stops trying to take it from him. 

It doesn’t stop them from trying to replicate him in other ways, though, and he heard about Doctor Bruce Banner’s accident. He even help hunt him down until he realizes what they’re trying to do to him. He calls Howard for that, too. 

Howard’s business is going well, but he becomes obsessed with immortality, and takes a step back, leaving running things to his partner, Obidiah, and putting Tony in charge, again, maybe too young. That leads to problems, and Tony ends up being taken hostage. Howard comes to Steve in a panic, and their team goes haring off, just like in old times.They figure out where he is, just as Tony comes barreling out of a cave in a giant metal suit. 

They pick him up, take him home, and he and Howard work to develop a way to keep him alive long enough for their medical division to figure out a good way to get the shrapnel out of his chest. 

Weapons tech disappears from the Stark industry catalogs, replaced by medical technology. Obidiah splits off, takes the patents that are under his name, and starts up his own company, which ends up exploding in a tragic accident that may or may not be terrorism. No one is quite sure. It’s a nice funeral, though, and Howard’s got his family around him for it.  

Around the time Howard passes, one of his expedition teams finds something. Someone. Bucky. Steve’s glad they recovered his body, at least, not that he’d miss Howard’s funeral for it, but––but it’s worth missing the funeral for when Bucky ends up being alive. 

Whatever they’d done to him before Steve bailed he and the rest of the 107th out, it had made him heartier than he had been. He thawed, and there was no frostbite, no damage they could find– he opened his eyes, and there was Steve, looking just like he had ever since Bucky had gotten off that table. 

“Thought you were taller, punk.” He says, and Steve laughs. “Where’s everyone else?” He asks next, looking around for their team, or at least his folks. 

Steve sits down. “I’ve got some news for you, buddy. You wanna guess how long you’ve been asleep?” 

The rest of the conversation’s almost familiar, bittersweet, but Bucky’s pretty damn excited to be alive in the future, once he processes what he’s lost. 

And at least he’s got Steve as an anchor to get him through it. 

They laugh and delight in Tony bypassing his dad’s flying car and going straight for flying suits, and everything’s… almost right. 

Peggy’s still getting older, but she tells James she’s glad he’s shown up in time to keep Steve company when she goes. That hurts, but he gives her a line about always getting there just when the ladies like it best, and she smacks him. 

And when the aliens show up, when they take control of Clint, Steve suits up. Tony does. Natasha does. They fly in Banner. Fury, who’s running SHIELD now, equips them. Another alien shows up, and he’s apparently on their team, which is a nice change of pace. 

They make a pretty good team. A little rough around the edges, but nothing they can’t manage. Loki’s invasion lacks finger holds, and other than making the team question how much they should trust SHIELD these days, he can’t pull them apart. Not when they have injokes about Steve’s aftershave and know one another’s taco bell orders. 

They get Clint back; Bucky hits him over the head with the butt of his gun before anything gets too heavy, and he’s able to help figure out Loki’s plans. 

They put an end to them. It’s not a very good invasion– more like a cry for help, for attention. And big brother Thor is gonna make sure he gets it. 

Steve retires; it’s about damn time, and he’ll be damned if he moves Peggy into an assisted care home instead of taking care of her himself. Bucky comes over plenty, but it’s only for Steve about half the time. He’s always had a thing for red heads, and honestly, Steve isn’t sure which of the two of them he ought to be concerned for, but Nat’s always been able to take care of herself, and Bucky, well… he’s fairly sure she won’t kill him. They also spend a lot of time with Peggy’s niece, Sharon, and a handful of other recruits that are around their age. 

He can’t help but think of Bucky as much younger than him now, since he’s lived so much, and Bucky hasn’t. He hadn’t had seventy years of maturity added to him, and sometimes it eels lonely- like they’re missing one another without fully understanding how. But they do their best. And it’s fairly good. 

And that’s just how life goes, until SHIELD rots and it becomes time to assemble again.

[fanficwriter013]

The Ties That Bind (Part 10 / 11)

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Summary: Clint makes it his mission to win you over. He succeeds, but you don’t believe in marriage. Can the two of you stay together without the promise of wedding bells in the future? What about when the two of you are forced to go undercover as a married couple?

Word Count: 2092

Warnings: Civil War spoilers, sarcasm, it gets real dark and real angsty.

Author’s Note: One more part y’all.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / 

Your phone made a squawking noise, and you answered it without looking at the screen. “Yeah, Steve. We’re already on it. No, you don’t. You didn’t have to ask, it’s alright.” You say, cutting Steve off several times. You finish mixing the chemicals in front of you and take off in the direction of the compound. There’s a loud explosion behind you.

“What was that?” Steve asks you, clearly worried. “My cue, I have to go.” You tell him quickly, shoving your phone into a pocket in your suit. You drop down into one of the secret tunnels into the compound and make your way to Pietro’s room. It takes you seconds to lockpick the door, and you turn the handle.

“Pietro, kiddo. I’m so sorry.” You say as you walk into his room. He picks his head up off the bed, looking at you for a moment before he is in front of you hugging you tightly.

“It’s not your fault, (Y/N). You couldn’t have possibly predicted this when you left for a life of normalcy.” He says as you rub his back.

“Are you doing alright, otherwise?” You ask, and he gives you a subtle nod. “Then let’s go get your sister.” You tell him, and his answer is to pick you up and run you to the common living area. It’s not a feeling you're sure you could ever get used to.

The two of you make it into the room in time to see Clint slipping from Vision’s grasp and falling to the floor. You’re at his side in an instant, your hand on the small of his back as he looks up at Wanda, as she causes Vision to fall to his knees. She stands over top of him and then he’s falling through the floor and several of the floors below it.

“Hey, kiddo.” You say, giving Wanda a hug. Clint nods at Pietro. “Come on, we’ve got another stop to make.” He says.

You’d had to stop to pick up one Scott Lang, the actual embodiment of a puppy. He and Pietro sat and talked a thousand miles a minute, from the time you picked up the man. Clint had taken out his hearing aides after twenty minutes, and you wished that you could turn off your ears. But you were driving and that would have been a hazard.

Steve had asked you to meet him in an isolated parking garage, and you’d been sitting and waiting for a good twenty minutes before a teeny little beetle pulled up. To say that it was a bit like watching clowns spill out of a car at the circus would have been making it an understatement.

“So, that’s the beefcake boyfriend Steve was hung up on. No wonder why he wanted to find him.” You signed to Clint, and he chuckled. What you weren’t expecting was for the flesh and metal hands to start signing back to you.

“I prefer Bucky, thank you.” He signs finger spelling out Bucky. He holds out his flesh hand to you. You give him a sheepish smile and shook it.

“Sorry, should have known better. Been out of the game for a minute. Made me a little rusty.” You say, and Bucky shakes his head. Clint pulls open the door to the van, and Scott tumbles out still talking a mile a minute.

“What time zone is this?” He asks, giving you a look. You glance around for a moment. “I’d wager a bet that this is about the UTC time zone, so it’s GMT +1.” He looks from you around the people and pales as he sees Steve. He has an awkward fanboy moment, and you talk for a moment before an alarm goes off.

“Suit up,” Steve says, quickly going over a plan A and B for what’s about to happen. Basically outlining, that he’s going to draw out Tony and whoever else he roped into his side.

It started with Tony shooting the helicopter with an EMP of some kind. You’d been preparing for that inevitability, as the Iron Man suit swooped down with War Machine close behind him. Then the Black Panther jumped in over the helicopter. Stark’s team was just coming out of the woodwork, as Natasha joined in. For the moment, they were just trying to talk sense. But you could see the expression in Tony’s eyes from where you were waiting.

“Underoos,” Tony calls out, and there’s a red and blue blur that you hadn’t been expecting. From your intel, the Spiderkid was just that. A kid, a fifteen-year-old who had no business being here in the middle of this mess. Tony just kept getting more worked up, and if you ever got the chance to talk to him again. You were going to beat some sense into him. It seemed the only thing working on your side was the numbers.

Steve and Pietro went after the Black Panther, Cap throwing his shield. Pietro running past him and knocking him off balance. War Machine tried to take them over, and you lost track of them as you went to help Scott with Nat.

“Thought you were retired.” She says as she lands a kick to your ribs. You shrug as you sweep her feet out from under her. “We got tired of playing golf. You know how it is.” You say, as Pietro runs past and takes you with him.

You’ve all gathered back up to try and get to the quinjet when Vision makes his big entrance. Searing a literal line in the asphalt in front of the eight of you. It’s a general mess. There’s fighting everywhere, several times you lose track of Clint. Sometimes you wind up with him, fighting almost back to back. It’s clear that most of you will be caught, but you need to be able to get someone. Steve, and Bucky at the very least to take down this bigger threat.

Scott winds up reversing the tech on his suit and sizing up instead of down. You try your best to help out where needed, but you’re struggling. The fight is only getting worse, ramping up. Spiderling, Iron Man and War Machine are able to knock down Scott. Who knocks down, and out the Spiderkid. It’s looking better for your side, and the quinjet is taking off. But the fight isn’t over yet.

You’re forced to watch as Vision aims for Sam’s wings, and hits War Machine instead. He plummets, and you can hear through the comms the chaos going on. You quickly pull your phone, using it to tap into Tony’s helmet, just before War Machine hits the ground.

“Don’t touch him, Tony. I know you want to but listen to me. Don’t do it.” You plead, and Tony touches down seconds after him. “Remember what I went through. Don’t move him.” You say as Pietro runs you over to them. You hear Tony asking FRIDAY for his vitals, as Sam touches down with you. Tony is on his feet in an instant, aiming his repulsors as Sam, before turning them on you. Neither shot lands because of Pietro.

“Hey, the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask him, stomping over in front of him. “Did you forget that I shattered my L1 in Sokovia. These things happen in our line of work. It was an accident, and Sam tried to catch him, the same as you. Don’t take your fear out on us. Call Dr. Cho.” You say the last part to Vision, who’s now landed with the rest of your group.

You knew that you were in trouble, but you hadn’t been expecting to get the Ritz treatment of villains. They’d separated you from Clint and had taken his hearing aides so you couldn’t even talk to him. They had also made it abundantly clear that you were pretty much confined to your bed. When you had woken up in a straight jacket, with your legs tied down. You weren’t able to see much of anything except for the incredibly boring gray ceiling of your cell.

“You had a life outside of this Barton, with (Y/N). Why didn’t you think of that before you chose the wrong side?” Tony spits, and you let out a harsh laugh.

“Yeah, (Y/N) who they won’t let walk now. Threatened several times to take out the artificial L1 vertebra. Said it was government property, and criminals don’t get those kinda resources. You ever think about that Tony.” Clint hisses, saving you from having to do any talking yourself. They hadn’t removed it, but they certainly wanted to. You were the bottom of the barrel now, scum that didn’t deserve the multi-million dollar piece of equipment keeping your spine intact.

“Clint. It’s alright. He’s not worth it.” You say even though you know he can't hear you, as you hear footfalls making their way over to where you think your cell is positioned. “How’s Rhodey doing?” You ask, as there’s a buzzing noise, and then some scraping. The bed dips by one of your legs and Tony leans into your field of view.

“They’re moving him to Columbia Medical tomorrow.” He says before he leans down. “I’m going to try and talk them down from this. It seems a little over the top. Dr. Cho said that his injuries are more severe than your’s were.” He whispers into your ear.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I know what it feels like.” You tell him, and he moves his hands in a deliberate fashion. Showing you that he’s messing with their surveillance footage. Then he shows you a picture of a body in a bathtub.

“That’s the real doctor, and let me say this. I was wrong. Tell me where he is.” Tony says, and you shake your head, as you hear a snort.

“Go to Hell, Stark. That’s where you’ll find him.” Pietro growls, and Tony clicks around on his watch again. This time shutting down the surveillance altogether. He unhooks your feet, and you circle them. Trying not to show any emotions.

“Go as a friend, or not at all.” You say, bending your knees and sitting up, now that he’s unstrapped your jacket from the bed as well. “Go ahead Sam, tell him.” You say as you take some time to stretch our your limbs. You know that he’ll have to strap you back down before he leaves, and you need to savor this while it lasts.

“I’m really sorry about this. But you know, when the system kicks back in.” Tony says, and you nod lying back down as he straps you back in. Sam tells Tony where to find them, and that’s the end of the visit.

Nothing happens, you’re still in restraints that are overkill for the fact that you’re just a mere mortal. They still have to feed you and make you feel like you’re just a blob of a human being. You can feel that darkness from before start to creep back in, you start to sleep more. There’s nothing that you can do when you’re physically unable to move. The waking world, the gray ceiling, too harsh for you.

“It’s time to get up now. I’m getting you guys out of here.” It’s Steve’s voice, but he sounds different. Tired almost. There’s another beat before a clattering noise. Then you see Clint’s face over yours, as he works with a desperate need to get you out of your restraints. The second you’re free, you throw yourself into his arms. Burying your face in his neck.

“Come on guys, we gotta get out of here,” Steve says, as Clint helps you to your feet.

“Where are we going to go, Cap?” You ask, as you survey the twins, Scott, and Sam. “Because, I need to say something that’s going to sound stupid. And you’re not allowed to judge me because you speak fluent idiot. I need to go speak with Tony.” You both say and sign, although your signing is slower than it used to be. Because your hands aren’t used to moving anymore.

“T’Challa has granted us sanctuary on Wakanda. We’ll drop you outside the compound on the way there. Then circle back to get you at a rendezvous point. Play this smart, (Y/N).” Steve says, his voice in full Captain America mode.

“Don’t worry, Cap. If this goes the way I want it too, we won’t need Wakanda.” You tell him, and Steve gives you one of the Captain’s curt nods.

[jarpadandjensenaremyheroes]

Home: Chapter 1

A/N: this is the first chapter of my fic for the wonderful Angel over at @whispersandwhiskerburn for her 2k follower celebration! This whole thing got a little out of hand, so I broke it up into 7 parts. Each one is less than 2k words, that way no one gets overwhelmed trying to read it all at once. I will try to upload at least 2 a week. If anyone wants to be tagged, just let me know! Feedback is very welcome and much appreciated! Enjoy my lovelies!

This whole storyline is beta’d by my amazing best friend, Tori. She didn’t want me to share her tumblr info though, so I’m respecting those wishes.

My song was Love Don’t Run by Steve Holy (italicized in the fic, but it doesn’t show up until chapter 2)

My original quote (created by Angel) was “I told you I would never give up on you. Did you think I was lying?” (bolded in the fic, but it doesn’t make an appearance until later)

Blanket warnings for entire series: FLUFF, angst, implied smut, canon-typical violence, cursing, drinking, implied thoughts of drunk driving (don’t ever do it in reality, it’s never worth the cost), reader panic attacks (only one is non resolved)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester x Reader (friendship)

Word Count: 1,530

Summary: The brothers rescues you from a group of Djinn.

Author: @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes

Italics are internal thoughts.

Chapter 1

“Dean I’m telling you, this is a Djinn!”

“Sammy this whole town reeks of rotten eggs. You can’t tell me it’s not demons.”

Sam is smart, but sometimes he could be a know-it-all pain in Dean’s ass. Especially when Dean was in the process of finding another pretty lady to warm his bed.

Sam and Dean had been going back and forth for two hours now about what kind of monster was taking people and killing them. In Dean’s defense, there hadn’t been any blue handprints on any of the victims so far. They were just drained of blood. But no bite marks, so they had ruled out vamps. The only other thing that made sense to Dean was demons using humans as sacrifices. Or just some crazy cult people. But that was unlikely.

“Dammit Dean! There is a Sulphur mine in between this town and the next!”

“Oh. Well why didn’t you say so two hours ago then?!”

Sam shook his head at his brother’s antics. He loved his brother to death, but sometimes he was a huge pain in the ass. “I did Dean. But clearly you were too busy trying to get the bartender’s number, that you didn’t hear me.”

Dean gave Sam his best bitch face, and simply said “Well then let’s get going. If this is a Djinn, these people don’t have much time left.”

12 hours later-Dean’s POV

After killing the 3 Djinn in the abandoned warehouse, Sam set off on the task of burning the monsters while Dean called in the locals to take care of these poor people. He went to each victim, checking for signs of life, knowing full well that they had lost way to much blood to wake up anytime soon. When he got to the last girl, after checking the other vics, he couldn’t help but stare. She was so beautiful. Breathtaking, really. With her long curly (y/c/h), and the little lines beside her mouth and eyes, the ones that tell him she laughs a lot. I wonder what her laugh sounds like? Dammit, no Dean. Now is not the time. Get her to safety, fantasize later! Just as he was finishing his thought, she started to stir. Suddenly, her (y/c/e) eyes shot open and her mouth let out a terrified screech at the man standing over her.

“Whoa whoa sweetheart, it’s okay! I’m not here to hurt you, the monsters are gone. My brother, Sammy, and I, we killed them. You’re safe now, I promise.”

As she continued panicking, he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around her as he pulled her into his lap and held her as tightly as he dared. Soon, her breathing began to slow and the sobs stopped coming.

Y/N’s POV

“W-Who are you?” You asked him. You were finally able to breathe at a somewhat normal rate and looked up into his piercing green eyes. If you hadn’t been in such a worked up state, you probably would’ve found him extremely attractive. Not that he’s unattractive…no, now is not the time Y/N. As if this strange man knew you, he brushed the tears away from your face.

“My name is Dean Winchester. You can trust me sweetheart, I promise.”

And in that moment, you felt like you could truly trust this man. You weren’t sure why, you didn’t trust anyone. This is why you were on your own and an easy target for your kidnappers.

“Do you know what day today is?” he asked you.

“I…I’m not sure…I was in and out so often, and it was always so bright in here with the floodlights on…I don’t know how long I’ve been gone. I was leaving the library late Wednesday night w-when they…” You started to choke up again, silently cursing yourself for not being able to pull your shit together long enough to figure out what had happened. Come on Y/N. Pull yourself together.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let anything hurt you anymore princess.”

A statement like that should have made you run for the hills. Who says that to someone they just met? But you stayed put, wrapped up in his large arms. You noticed, for the first time since he pulled you to him, just how fit and large this man, Dean, really is. And it only made you feel safer. While you were in your own little world, staring at this man’s body, you failed to hear him talking to you. Finally, as he moved his hand to turn your head towards his, you snapped out of it with a “hmmm?”

“I was asking you what your name is,” he said with a little grin. “And if you have a home we could take you to, to get cleaned up before we take you to the hospital.”

At the mention of the word hospital you could physically feel what blood you had left leaving your face. You hated hospitals. Of course, Dean didn’t know that. Or why you despised them so. He didn’t know you had lost your whole family, all in the same week. Or that a drunk driver had taken them all from you. First your mother, who died during surgery as the doctors tried to save her, but there was too much bleeding. Then it was your father, who survived the surgery, only to have a stroke a mere 3 hours later. Lastly, it was your brother. Your little brother, who you loved so much…he fought so hard. He was even awake for a whole day before the seizures started. Something about the pressure on his brain, you weren’t sure; the nurses spoke with a lot of big words. The doctors tried to fix it, but he had an aneurysm none of you knew about. You had come so close to being able to continue on with him, but he was ripped away from you too. His death hit you the hardest of them all. And you still, almost 10 years later, feel guilty for having walked away with only a broken arm and a few stitches here and there.

“Please! Please no hospitals! I’m okay…I-I’ll be just fine. Just please no hospitals.” You knew he heard the panic in your voice, and saw the fear on your face.

“Okay princess. No hospitals. I’m not a fan of ‘em either,” he told you as he winked. That made you feel a little better. “Can we at least take you home? You’re in no condition to walk anywhere like this…”

You told Dean your name, and agreed to let him take you home, and make sure everything was alright there before leaving you. Not that you really wanted this handsome, green-eyed man to leave you at all, but you would be fine. You’ve always been fine on your own. You felt yourself go stiff again as a door opened somewhere behind you, silently willing yourself not to have another panic attack.

“Sam, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my little brother, Sam.” You exchanged a small smile with the giant moose of a man standing across from you. Dean leaned closer to your face and quietly whispered, “but I call him Sammy. He hates it!” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your throat. And truthfully, it felt good to be able to laugh in the face of everything that had just happened. Sam proceeds to tell Dean that the Djinn are taken care of, and that we should head out before the locals arrive. Less than 5 minutes later, the three of you are driving down the road towards your home. On the way there, you managed to tell the brothers that you lost your family years ago, and how it’s just you now. They were sympathetic, telling you they only had each other now as well.

As Dean pulls the beautiful classic car of his into your driveway, you can feel the fear start to creep up. You try to shake it off, but with no avail. Dean senses your insecurity, and silently moves closer to you, putting his arm around your waist to support you. He takes the key from your shaking hand and unlocks the front door while Sam keeps an eye out for anything suspicious around your house.

Dean opens the door slowly, and you peer around him to see an absolute shit show. The place has been trashed. Couches ripped up, pictures and mirrors smashed, walls have gaping holes in them, and the kitchen sink is gushing water like a geyser. You can feel the tears prick your eyes and know that there’s no stopping them this time. Dean grabs you by the shoulders and turns you into his chest, petting your hair as he lets you sob. The last few things you had from your family, this house, the pictures….they’re destroyed. Gone in an instant. You lose control of your breathing, and as your vision goes black, you pass out in Dean’s arms from hyperventilation.

@quackerstheduck663057