#RIGHT AFTER HIS DAD SHOOTS HIMSELF IN THE HEAD IN A SUICIDE ATTEMPT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaceyneedsabetterusername · 3 years

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Hayloft p.4

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, death, abuse, and sexual assault (depictions of none, though), alcoholism/ drunkenness, mentions of teen pregnancy, mentions of infidelity, murder

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Pretty lightly edited, just a warning

Read the Previous Chapters!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“Hey, hun, what can I getcha?” You leaned into your popped hip, pen and notepad in hand.

A man you hadn’t met before, clearly someone just passing through town, was sitting across the diner bar in a light blue button-up and suspenders. He was fairly clean cut save for the day-old scruff across his face. He studied the menu intensely before setting it down and looking up at you with a sweet-as-pie smile. “Can I please have coffee with some cream and the grits?” He asked with a southern drawl.

You scribbled down his order on the notepad, “That all?”

“Mhm, I think so. Thanks doll.” He slid the menu towards you before reaching for a newspaper that had been left on the counter beside him by the last patron. You turned around to pin the man’s order on the little turnstile for the chef when the little bell on the door rang.

Tucking your notepad back into the apron tied around your waist, you grabbed the pot of coffee from the counter and poured the man a cup of the rich black liquid. Next, you prepared a little ceramic cup of cream and walked back to set them on the counter in front of him. His polite thanks were only the background when you saw Arvin walk behind the man and shoot you a smile before settling down in a seat at the bar only a few seats away.

You walked over to him and leaned on the counter with a smile, “Well, hey there stranger. You on lunch already?”

Arvin nodded, looking to you hopefully, “Yeah ‘n I was hopin’ you might be too so I could grab a bite to eat with my favorite girl.”

“Shh!” You hushed him with exasperated wide eyes, like it should have been obvious that he needed to keep his voice down, because in your mind it was. You nodded your head to the other patrons in the diner. “Y’know word travels fast in little towns like this ‘n I don’t need my daddy findin’ out ‘bout us,” you whispered to Arvin who sighed in annoyed understanding. You knew he wasn’t annoyed at you but the situation was less than ideal.

He tapped his fingers on the counter and his knees bounced under the bar, “So is that a no for lunch?”

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the clock that hung on the wall. It was only eleven in the morning but maybe you could ask Charlene if she could cover so you could take an early lunch. “Let me double check real quick.” You held up a finger to excuse yourself into the back to find your coworker.

No more than ten minutes later, you and Arvin walked out to his car with two take-out boxes of burgers you had managed to swipe from the kitchen in hand. He slid into the driver’s seat while you planted yourself beside him in the passenger’s. You handed him one of the boxes of food before opening your own and

digging into the small handful of fries. “So how is your day going so far?”

Arvin took a large bite of his burger, covering his mouth with his hand has he tried to speak and chew at the same time, “Ain’t too bad. I got an engine to rebuild for an old Ford when I get back but nothin’ too terrible. How ‘bout you?”

“Ready to go home already,” you chuckled, popping a fry in your mouth, “But it ain’t too bad here either. Just would like to not be here.”

Arvin laughed a little beside you, “I know how that feels. Thanks for the burgers by the way. I appreciate it. I don’t want you gettin’ in no trouble for stealin’ food.”

You shrugged off his concern, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. If people don’t eat it, it just goes in the trash anyways. I ain’t gonna get in any trouble.”

He let out a heavy breath, resigning to your insistence, which he really just found an adorable confident stubbornness. A comfortable silence fell over the unmoving car as the two of you ate your lunches in the parking lot. When you finished chewing your bite, you looked over at Arvin, “How long you been livin’ with us?”

Arvin looked up at the brick wall straight ahead in thought, “Maybe five months now. Longer than I meant to-"

"I didn't mean it like that! I was just wonderin'...." you got awkwardly quiet for a moment, "Havin' you 'round has been the best five months in a really really long time."

"For me too. When I came into town, I thought I'd be livin' in my car. Didn't know how lucky I'd be gettin' to live with the most beautiful girl in the world." His hand reached over to your thigh, squeezing lightly.

Even after all of his sweet affections and compliments, they never failed to make your cheeks ache from trying not to blush and smile like a schoolgirl. “You really think flattery will get you somewhere?” you giggled teasingly, turning towards him and nudging his leg with your hand.

“Well it got me in your house so…” He teased back, something that he had been doing more often in the last few weeks. Arvin had never been the most humorous of people, aside from the occasional chuckle or hidden smile. That had been changing since the two of you had gotten closer though.

“Uh, no! It might get you kicked outta my house though if my daddy ever finds out.” It started as chuckle but the words faded into concerned worry as you realized how true they could really be.

Arvin sensed the shift, “You really think your daddy would kick me out if he found out ‘bout us?”

You nodded, “Without a doubt. Would probably throw me out too.” You shifted so you were sitting on your bent leg, suddenly uncomfortable.

He began cautiously, “I mean… would that really be such a bad thing?”

You whipped your head to look at him, “I ain’t got nowhere else to live right now. I been savin’ up for a year to move out but it ain’t enough to buy a place of my own yet.”

“How much you got?”

That number was in your head immediately, one that you kept a running total of with every paycheck. “$4,317.” It wasn’t enough, though, and you knew it. Even the old run down houses around town cost $12,000, which meant you weren’t even halfway to the fixer-uppers, not that you minded buying a fixer upper. “I don’t need a mansion or nothin’ but it ain’t nearly enough for even something small.”

Arvin chewed his lip, thinking about the box of cash he’d been stashing away with each of his paychecks as well. He knew exactly what it was like in your position, struggling to save up the money to get on your own feet. He hated relying on others and, even though he really liked you, he hated depending on your and your father for shelter. “You ain’t gonna be stuck in this ol’ town forever,” he promised you and it came out just like that. A promise. “You’re too good for this place.”

Another smile forced its way onto your face at his words of hope, “I’ll get outta here eventually…”

Suddenly, a familiar male voice yelled your name and you flinched. You turned towards the voice to see your boss, Harold, standing at the backdoor of the diner with his hands on his hips. He gave you a stern look and tapped the watch on his wrist before pointing at you then jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door.

“Shit! I totally lost track of time!” You scrambled to gather up the trash from lunch and stuffed it into the paper bag you’d brought it out in. “I’m sorry, I have to run!”

Arvin had nearly jumped out of his skin when your name had been yelled, the only person he’d ever heard calling you that way being your father. He crumbled up the paper wrapper for his burger and stuffed it in the paper bag for you. “‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to get you in trouble with your boss.”

“Nah, he’s fine,” you waved off the worry dismissively, “He acts all tough but he ain’t nothin’ but a softy.” You opened up the door and began to slide out when you stopped and took a quick glance around. Nobody was in the parking lot, or really anywhere in sight for that matter. In an impulsive swift action, you grabbed Arvin by the collar of his greasy shirt and pulled his lips to yours quickly before pushing him before anyone could see.

He looked stunned, big brown eyes wide and shocked by your courageous kiss. Your heart raced and your cheeks flushed with the exhilaration of actually sneaking a kiss to Arvin in public. It was a dangerous move but your dad was at work and there was nobody else around to see. You tried to hide your excited smile by chewing your bottom lip but it didn’t work. “Thanks for lunch, Arv.”

“Uh - y-yeah. Thank you for the burger.” Arvin stumbled over his words while you slid out of the car and closed the door behind you, leaving the poor boy struggling to make his brain catch up to reality.

“See you at home!” You waved one last time before turning. Arvin watched as you jogged back to the entrance of the diner, your little dress bouncing with every movement. You turned to give him one last glance before you disappeared behind the door.

Work had passed rather uneventfully for you. You put in the last few hours of your shift, went to the grocery store, and then headed home to start on dinner.

Arvin, on the other hand, the rest of his day at work had shaken the good feeling he’d had since his lunch break with you. He had found himself with a wrench in hand, trying to bolt back in the engine he’d been rebuilding for the last few hours. Grease smeared across his shirt, pants, and face despite how hard he tried to keep his dirty hands from ruining his clothes. Even if they were work clothes, he didn’t have that many sets of outfits nor the money to go out and buy more.

“My cousin lives o’er there with his wife. Said the sheriff up and disappeared for a while but they found him dead in the woods.”

Arvin’s head nearly hit the hood of the car that was propped up when he heard those words. He looked over his shoulder to see Davis and Fred, two of the other guys that worked at the mechanics shop, talking over two cans of beer.

“You hear anythin’ ‘bout that, Arvin?” Davis asked, sipping his can.

Arvin’s heart twisted in panic but he shook his head like hadn’t heard what they were talking about, “Hear ‘bout what?”

“Few months back, the sheriff in my cousin’s hometown turned up dead. Someone shot ‘im in the woods outside o’ some small town nearby. His name was like Lodeck or Bodecker or somethin’ like that.” Davis explained the story to both of the guys.

“Eh, pro’lly had it comin’,” Your dad came entered from the storage room with a handful of bolts, “I know I’ve met some sheriffs that deserved a bullet between the eyes.”

Fred rolled his eyes, “Yeah well you’re an angry drunk so I’m sure you’d say that ‘bout anyone who took a drink from you. I’m sure this guy wasn’t that bad. What kinda sick fuck you gotta be to shoot a sheriff? This ain’t no wild west movie where you go gunnin’ down the law.”

“Nah, I heard he was a no good son o’ a bitch. Guess his sister and her husband got murdered the day before. Found tons of pictures o’ them kissin’ on some dead guys. Some real sick shit, Fred. Sheriff might have been in on it too. Regardless, my cousin said he ran into ‘im one time with his wife and the sheriff really was a bastard,'' Davis shrugged off Fred’s comment, refuting the tragedy Fred was trying to make Bodecker’s death by tarnishing his name.

Arvin’s heart was racing and he began to feel dizzy. The images of those few days had haunted him since they had happened but he had found himself thinking about it less and less as the days passed.

“Arvin?”

Arvin shook his head out of the clouds and snapped back into reality, “What?”

“You came into town ‘round the same time all this happened. Did you hear anythin’ about it?” Fred questioned, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans.

The young man just shook his head, “Nah, I ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout it till now. I heard ‘bout the sister though. Sounds like she and her boyfriend were no good.”

“You know what I think?” Your dad began, picking up a wrench and pointing it in Arvin’s direction, “I think our man Arvin here did the sheriff in!”

Arvin stiffened up, “What? Why would you think that?”

“You come strollin’ along through town with nothin’ but a backpack and no backstory ‘bout the same time four people turn up murdered. Mighty suspicious.” Arvin tried his hardest to stand tall and not allow his fear to show but the tension in his jaw was bordering of painful now.

Davis swatted at your dad, “C’mon, leave the boy alone. There’s gotta be thousands of people in that area that coulda murdered them. Can’t imagine Arvin doin’ such a thing.”

Arvin was grateful for Davis’s trust. If only he deserved it.

“I’m only jokin’! Y’all a bunch of whiny little girls, can’t take a fuckin’ joke.” Your dad grumbled to himself, swatting his hand towards his coworkers.

“Ah, shut up.” Fred stood up from the table he’d been sitting at and laid back down on the dolley before sliding under the jacked up Chevy he had been tasked with. “Ain’t nobody ‘round here takes you seriously.”

Arvin watched as your dad walked past Fred, kicking him in the leg and earning a loud exclamation of annoyance, but it was as if he were disconnected from the whole scene. He had tried so hard to forget what had happened back in Knockemstiff and Coal Creek, though it seemed damn near impossible considering it had uprooted his entire life. This tiny town a few hours away was his safe haven, his new beginning. He never would have imagined that anyone this far away would have heard about the murders.

Hearing Davis and Fred bring up Bodecker’s name made Arvin’s blood turn to ice in his veins. What kinda sick fuck you gotta be to shoot a sheriff? Fred’s words played over and over in Arvin’s head. This was just what he was worried about. This was why he ran. Nobody would believe Bodecker was trying to kill him first. Self defense didn’t mean shit when it was against the law. The same with Reverend Teagarden. A man of the word? Arvin didn’t stand a chance if anyone found out what he’d done.

“Hey son,” Davis’s soft voice made Arvin nearly jump out of his skin, “Don’t take nothin’ that ol’ man says to heart. I’m sure you know since you been livin’ with him that he’s just a cranky ol’ drunk who don’t know when to shut up. You’re a good kid, Arvin. Ain’t none of us actually think you did it.”

Arvin looked down at where Davis’s hand rested on his shoulder, the same way his dad used to touch his shoulder when he was reassuring him. He forced a small appreciative nod and a strained appearance of being unbothered, “It’s alright, Davis. I know he’s just kiddin’ ‘round. I ‘ppreciate it though.”

Your father arrived at home before Arvin, much to your dismay. Elvis Presley’s Blue Hawaii album was spinning on the record player when he came into the kitchen, kicking his boots off by the door.

“Hey, daddy! How was work?” You asked, mashing a bowl of potatoes for dinner.

He made a line directly to the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping the tab off with no effort, “It was alright. Damn Gilligan blew out the transmission on his truck so I been stuck fixin’ that up all day. Lookin’ forward to this right here.” Your father lifted up the beer bottle and sipped it with satisfaction. Yeah, I’m sure you were, you thought, rolling your eyes with your back turned to your dad.

“Well, if you wanna get cleaned up, dinner should be ready in about twenty minutes. More than enough time for a shower,” you offered with a cheerful voice. Lunch with Arvin today had made your day good in a way that was hard to ruin.

“Yeah, I might go do that. What’s for dinner?” Your father walked over and peeked over your shoulder to see what you had cooking on the stove.

“Mashed potatoes, green beans, and chicken.” You cut in a few slices of butter and added them to the bowl of mashed potatoes, sprinkling some salt, pepper, and garlic powder to taste.

Expecting some words of discouragement like you usually earned from your father, he just nodded contently and disappeared out of the kitchen towards the bathroom. You turned to watch him walk away, your mouth fallen open in pleased surprise at the fact that you just had a semi-pleasant interaction with your father for the first time in several weeks. You turned back to mixing in the now melted butter into the mashed potatoes when the front door opened yet again.

You looked back to see Arvin walking in through the living room, “Hey, Arv!”

His hands were shoved deep in his pockets and judging by the way his eyes shot up to you, as if he hadn’t expected your greeting, he had been staring at the ground when he walked in. “Hi,” he answered low and short with no emotion one way or the other.

Your brows furrowed, “Everythin’ alright?” Leaving the food on the counter and wiping your hands on your apron, you walked out into the living room towards him.

Arvin visibly took a step back and his eyes widened a little, his shoulders squaring up, “Yeah, ‘m good. Just wanna take a shower.”

Before you could get the words out, he had already begun walking away. “My dad’s already in the bathroom,” you called out after him, finally getting him to stop.

Arvin didn’t turn back to you though, only half glanced over his shoulder, “Oh, alright.” He turned back to continue his walk back to his room.

“Dinner will be ready soon!” You attempted to add, only earning a small thanks in response and the sound of Arvin’s door closing. “O-oh… okay.” You stood alone in the living room, the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and Elvis Presley’s voice filling the room but not loud enough to drown out your concern.

Dinner went by just as uncomfortably. You poked at your mashed potatoes, keeping your gaze stuck down at the food on your plate except for when you glanced over at Arvin who seemed to be actively looking anywhere except for you. This only made you roll your eyes out of frustration and stare back down at your food.

Your dad talked about his day, mostly grumbled complaints, “I don’t get nearly ‘nough respect ‘round here. Damn Fred and Davis callin’ me a drunk. What? A man can’t enjoy a damn beer without being called a drunk! Damn prudes.” When you didn’t respond, he reached over and tapped your arm, “Hey? You even listenin’?”

“Hm?” You tried to make yourself focus on what he was saying this time, “Sorry, long day. What happened?”

“See? I ain’t get no respect at work and I can’t even get no respect at my own damn house from my own damn daughter!” He grumbled, the feet of the wooden chair scraping against the ground as he stood up forcefully, swaying a little side to side but bracing himself on the wall to walk out of the room.

You didn’t even possess the mental capacity to care about his little tantrum. Your mind was swimming with confusion and, honestly, anger, at Arvin’s little unexplained silent treatment. “Okay, what’s wrong?” You asked, leaning towards Arvin.

“Nothin’.” He answered simply, taking a sip of his water. His voice was low and he still refused to make eye contact, despite nothin’ being wrong.

“That’s a lie. Everythin’ was fine this mornin’ and now you’re suddenly not talkin’ to me. Won’t even look at me! What the hell, Arvin? Did I say somethin’ wrong?” Thinking back, there wasn’t anything you had said earlier that you could imagine warranting such a negative response from Arvin so your confusion and concern had quickly turned to frustration.

Arvin shook his head, “No, no, you ain’t did nothin’ wrong.”

“Then what is it?” You practically begged him to tell you. You hated being upset at him when clearly something was bothering him but this felt like he was just playing some broody guessing game with you, something you got enough of from your dad.

Stress shone through Arvin’s eyes and he met your gaze finally, if only for a second, before looking away again. You could see there was a flicker of something you hadn’t seen in him before but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Whatever it was, it was really bothering him and you felt guilty for being upset. You just couldn’t understand why you suddenly were being ignored for something that apparently had nothing to do with you.

“I can’t tell you.”

Arvin’s admittal just made you more upset. “So you’re not mad at me but you’re ignoring me and can’t tell me why?”

Arvin hadn’t seen you look at him this way. At your father, yes, but he was unaccustomed to that raised eyebrow and frustratedly desperate crack in your voice being directed towards him. He hated it. He hated knowing that he was causing you to feel upset and helpless when he was supposed to be your escape from those exact feelings.

But he couldn’t bring himself to tell you the truth. You’d think he was a monster. You’d hate him. He’d lose the one good thing he had in his life because-

Arvin shook his head, “‘M sorry.” He looked anywhere but at you because he couldn’t stand to see the way your face fell, though he could practically feel your heart fall from across the table. He didn’t need to see it. He knew.

“Fine.” You stood up and grabbed your plate, scraping the rest in the garbage and setting the plate in the sink. Your appetite was gone and your patience had snapped, not that you had been the most patient thus far anyways.

Arvin watched as you stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed your coat off the coat rack by the front door, and walked out of the house. His head hit his hands. No matter how hard he tried to protect those he cared about, he only seemed to hurt them more.

You hadn’t expected Arvin to find you here so when the door opened to the old barn, you turned around in surprise. You were curled up in your coat, sitting on an old wooden crate that had been untouched in this unused barn for God knows how long. A large window looked out over the large field that had once been the family farm but was now practically a glorified dirt lot. Your coat was wrapped tightly around your body, held in place with one hand while you held a lit cigarette with the other.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Arvin took a few steps in, his hands shoved guiltily in the pocket of his denim jacket.

You blew out a large plume of smoke that you had been holding in and looked away, “I don’t too often.”

Arvin closed the barn door behind him as he approached you and you had to fight the urge to get up and leave but you knew that made you no less immature than the way you felt he was acting.

“‘M sorry. I really am.”

You took another drag and turned to him, the moonlight illuminating his features - somehow so boy-like but so rugged - and it was hard to stay mad at him. “I am too. I don’t mean to be dramatic but I just… I don’t understand, Arv. If somethin’s wrong, you can tell me. This whole silent treatment BS with zero explanation doesn’t cut it.”

Arvin let out a heavy breath. While doing the dishes from dinner for you after you stormed off, he had had time to contemplate what to do. And he had decided. “If I tell you, it’s gonna change how you look at me.”

Your head tilted up at his cryptic opener but you said nothing, only urged him to continue with your eyes.

With a deep shaky inhale, he started his story, “I ain’t a bad man but I’ve done some bad things. Things that I thought I could run away from. I been livin’ a lie for a long time, actin’ like I ain’t hurt nobody, but it ain’t true.” Arvin paused for a moment to gauge your reaction and all he saw was fear in your eyes, just as he had feared.

A million thoughts of terrible things people were capable of ran through your head as you tried to figure out which one Arvin could possibly be guilty of, though they all felt so out of character for him. Was it murder? Assault? Rape? Thievery? The man you had come to care for so deeply now swam in a murky pool of doubt and distrust. Arvin saw all this and more in your deep, worried eyes.

“What did you do?” Your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be, cracking with fear. Until today, you hadn’t imagined Arvin capable of doing anything that could real harm to anyone, maybe aside from a stupid fight in high school or something along those lines, but you could see it in his eyes that whatever it was he was trying to confess to really was that bad.

Arvin lost his ability to speak for a moment. He had resolved to tell you everything before even coming out here to talk to you but the fear shining in your eyes already had his heart breaking. It was as if every new line of moonlight reflecting off the growing whites of your eyes was a new stain that he managed to tarnish your view of him with. Arvin had to look away because he couldn’t bear to look at you when he finally admitted his crimes, couldn’t stand to watch your face contort in fear when you realized what a monster he was.

“Y-you remember that preacher I told you ‘bout? The one that hurt my sister?”

You nodded, “Y-yeah…”

Arvin swallowed hard and he gripped his thigh tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Well few weeks after we buried Lenora, a police officer came up ‘n told me the coroner had found out she was havin’ a baby. None of us knew before. I don’t know how but I just knew it was that no good preacher. I didn’t have any proof though so I started followin’ ‘im ‘n found out he was worse than I thought. He was no good to his wife ‘n I saw him out takin' advantage of another girl in town who was even younger than my Lenora was. He was doin’ nothin’ but hurtin’ people ‘n I… I killed im.”

Your mouth fell open, “You- You killed him?”

Arvin looked down at his feet, “I shot him.”

It was silent as you processed the information. This preacher sounded like a terrible man, abusing young girls and leading one to commit suicide. The infidelity to his wife was a moot point against his other indiscretions and even that was unacceptable. It honestly sounded like Arvin had done a service to the world, taking this monster out of it, but it was still difficult to look at him the same after knowing that he had actually shot someone.

When you didn’t respond, Arvin had decided to continue, not thinking he could cause much more damage, “I ran. Left a note for my grandma and uncle and disappeared. I tried hitchhiking my way out of town when I got picked by this couple. They seemed nice ‘nough at first but the husband, he started actin’ real weird. They pulled us way off the road. Said he wanted to take some pictures but then I saw him pull out a gun and then he tried pullin’ me outta the car. I-I panicked and I kicked the door into him ‘n I shot ‘im before he could get me.”

Arvin’s voice was cracking as tears began to fall down his face. It was one thing to replay the memories in his own head but it was another thing entirely to actually confess his sins to someone he cared so deeply about, knowing the truth would most likely hurt you. “The wife, she pulled out a gun and pointed it at me ‘n I pointed mine at her. I begged her to put the gun down. I-I didn’t wanna shoot her. I really didn’t. I was so tired of killin’ but then she apologized ‘n I knew she was gonna pull the trigger. We both shot at the same time. I got no clue how she didn’t shoot me. I fell out the car without a scratch but I when I got up, I realized I got her through the neck 'n she was gone. I panicked ‘n searched the car. Found all these pictures of her all naked and huggin’ up on some naked dead guy ‘n I knew… I knew I was gonna be next.”

Your brain sprinted a mile a minute to try and keep up with the trauma Arvin was confessing and you didn’t know whether to hug him and let him cry on you or run as far away as possible.

“Then-”

“There’s more?” You wanted to beg him to stop talking, to stop telling you about the blood on his hands, to stop telling you about all the suffering he had been through. You sounded shocked and heartbroken and yet none of these tragedies were yours.

Arvin hiccuped and sniffled in a failed attempt to hide a sob. Red had taken over his features, both physically and metaphorically. Obviously distraught by his past and now your reaction, he felt like he was beginning to spiral down that hole of darkness that he had tried so hard to claw his way out of. There were nothing but snakes down there, ready to bite him and poison his mind with the words he had fought so desperately to keep out. Murderer. Stalker. Liar. Sinner. All of these and so many more.

Yet, he nodded, feeling as if he’d still be lying if he didn’t finish telling you everything. When he nodded, you made a small squeak of disbelief.

“I-I ran,” He sniffled out, “I hitchhiked my way back to my old hometown. I didn’t know why at first but I just needed to go home. Felt like maybe I could fix what had been broken there. Went there to find it all burnt down but then this sheriff came lookin’ after me. Turns out he was that lady’s brother - the one who shot at me and had the pictures of the cut up dead guys. He was all angry and wanted to kill me for shootin’ his sister. I tried… I tried to tell ‘im that she was no good and that she was gonna kill me but he didn’t wanna listen. He was shootin’ at me and… and… I ain’t had no choice.”

It was silent, aside from the ambient bugs chirping outside. You had tried so hard to focus on Arvin’s face but you had long since zoned out visually, only able to focus on the words he was saying. How could he have gone through all of this? How could your wonderful, amazing, beautiful Arvin Russell have survived so much suffering and been forced to murder people? Murder.

“Please say somethin’.”

Your lips quivered as your vision came back into view and all you saw was a tearful, fearful, remorseful boy before you on the brink of falling apart. Arvin’s hair was messy from having run his hands through it, his eyes were red and puffy from the tears, his breathing was shaky from remembering. There were no words.

You threw your arms around his neck and held him tightly to you. You didn’t know what else to do. How does someone respond to information like this? There was so much trust that Arvin needed to put in you to tell you - you couldn’t freak out.

“You don’t hate me?” His hands flew to your arms, prying them off his neck so he could see your face.

Your head shook, “How could I hate you for what you did?”

“I murdered four people.”

“You took out a disgusting predator who practically killed your sister and was harming who knows how many other girls. Then you killed a couple of murderers who pulled guns on you first in self defense. And then, yet again, you were put in a life or death situation with a sheriff who was shootin’ at you for killin’ his murderin’ sister. Three of those were self defense and I’d dare say that first one was a public service. You have nothin’ to be sorry for. You have nothin’ to regret. You did what you had to do to survive.” You squeezed Arvin’s hands tightly, running your soft thumbs over the lightly calloused skin of his knuckles.

Arvin looked down at your hands on his, hands that were so much smaller than his own but right now felt so encompassing and comforting, as if they wrapped his own in a blanket of protection. He couldn’t believe you were okay with this. He was barely okay with it. “I don’t regret it but I didn’t wanna have to do it. If I coulda let that lady go, if she only woulda listened to me ‘n put the gun down I wouldn’t o’ had to pull the trigger. I coulda let the cops deal with it. Same with the sheriff. If only he woulda listened… I only wanted to shoot the preacher. I was okay with havin’ that on my conscience. But I had no idea how outta control that day was gonna get. All those cold dead eyes starin’ up at you, watchin’ the life drain from someone’s face ‘n knowin’ you’re the one who caused that... Even if they were real fucked up people, it ain’t a sight that’s easy to see.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like, Arvin.” Your hand slid up his arm to rest on his bicep and you leaned your forehead onto his shoulder. His arm snaked around your body and held you close but cautious, like he was scared if he held you too tightly that you’d be scared he’d hurt you too. Of course, you weren’t. The thought did cross your mind that perhaps it was unwise to trust a man who just admitted to killing four people but that wasn’t Arvin and you knew it. “You may have killed people but that does not make you a killer. You’re just someone who was put in some really hard situations and had to make some tough choices.”

You pulled back and put your hand on his cheek, slightly scratchy from not shaving that day, and you spoke gently, “You are wonderful, Arvin. You are caring and hard working and loyal and willing to stand up for what is right. You are everything good in this world-”

“I hurt people-”

“You protect people,” you corrected, “‘N if some bad people had to get hurt to keep the good ones safe, well maybe they shouldn’t have been such bad people.”

Arvin could have melted into a puddle at your feet, and likely would have if you hadn’t been holding him. Never had he expected to tell anyone his terrible deeds and in every imagined scenario in which he did, it had never ended well. He had imagined you running for the hills, screaming at him to get out, maybe even threatening him physically out of fear that he’d hurt you now (which he’d never dream of doing).

But you didn’t do any of that. Gentleness and understanding were far from the reaction he’d expected or even felt like he deserved but nevertheless here you were holding him and reassuring him that he wasn’t the monster he’d called himself for so many months.

“I love you.”

His admission surprised you but Arvin felt fully confident in his words. He had never known what love felt like - romantic love at least - but this was damn near the closest thing he could imagine to it. You occupied his thoughts every waking moment, your face and your voice swimming around his imagination in a beautiful ocean of warmth and kindness and goodness that he would gladly drown in. You were strong and responsible and understanding and oh so beautiful. Much like him, you’d been handed a shit hand by life and struggled each day to make the best of it. Arvin cared about you so much it scared him because he had not felt this compulsion towards anyone since Lenora had passed. After losing everything he’d ever loved, he was scared that if he admitted that he loved you, life would take you away from him as well. If there was one thing that you did, though, it was take away Arvin’s fear.

“I love you too, Arvin.” He pulled your body flush against his when you responded, a heavy sigh of relief leaving his chest. Much like Arvin, you hadn’t known what real love felt like. You’d even started believing that maybe you weren’t meant for such a luxury.

Now you and Arvin felt like the richest people in the world, despite having almost nothing to your names. As long as you were in each others’ arms, you had everything. You were each others’ trust, honesty, comfort, compassion, and protection.

_______

Taglist:

@peterswebshooters

@thisisparadisemylove

@justapurrcat

@tomsirishgirlx

@peterswebshooters

@femmme-xxx-fatale

@kittyformannn

@aidinniram

@minejungwoo

@mathletemadison

#arvin #arvin russell #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel imagines #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel x you #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #the devil all the time #tdatt smut #tdatt fanfiction #tdatt imagine #tdatt x reader #hayloft

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windless-hurricane · 3 years

Text

Sparks

Chapter Four: A World Where We Can Grow Old

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Here’s the fourth chapter! While things are a bit slow right now, the story’s really going to pick up after this chapter!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

TAGLIST: @lovethemilkteasis @grayxblaze @theyoungblood13 @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @hanabihwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb @bleepop @miinnttyy @1-800-thanos @lovelime @usernamehere91

SPARKS MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

You and your brother stood beside each other as a stream of smoke poured into the sky. You wondered where it came from, how it got there, why it was there, and your questions were answered once a colossal, red hand slung itself over the wall and grabbed onto it.

You flinched uneasily as your eyes widened in fear.

What’s happening? What’s going on? What is that? Is that… Is that a-

Then, a large, skinless face peeked over, its teeth clenching and its gaze terrifying.

It was. It was a Titan, but how...how could it be that big? It was impossible.

Your body trembled as you reached for Viktor's hand. He met you in the middle, gripping your hand back tightly. You could feel the heat and sweat from his skin, showing just how mortified he was.

“V-Vik-tor, I…” you stuttered, but you couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Your mind was going wild and you could feel your heart clenching in your chest.

What-what do we do? Where’s the Garrison Regiment? Where’s Jannick? Where’s dad?

Anybody?

Then, a sudden force shoved you to the ground as the Titan kicked through the wall, sending chunks of it flying.

People screamed, pushed past each other, and ran for whatever time was left of their lives. However, you couldn’t. You were frozen.

Everything was a blur and your ears filled with static.

What should I do?

However, you didn’t have time to ponder that question as a boulder headed straight for you.

This is it. I’m gonna die.

“(Y/N)! Move! (Y/N)!”

__________________________________________

“(Y/N)!”

You gasped yourself awake, sitting up in a panic.

You were panting heavily with sweat dripping down your forehead. You barely managed to wipe it away with your shaky hand. Matter of fact, your whole body was shaking.

“Are you okay,” Sasha asked, gazing at you with worried eyes. Admittedly, no. Your heart was still beating out of its chest and you felt your head begin to pound. However, you couldn’t dwell on something that has already happened. It’s over.

“I’m fine,” you responded, but the hoarseness of your voice didn’t match your words.

“Are you sure,” she pushed. “Because you don’t look like it.” She gestured to your hand and you were surprised to see that you had been clenching your blanket so tightly that the whites of your knuckles were showing. You hadn’t even realized that you were gripping it.

You let go, your knuckle cracking in the process.

“Yeah,” you nodded and you were about to relax until a new form of panic arose within you. “Wait, Sasha. Are we late?”

“Uh, well…” she trailed off. “We’re about to be.” Your eyes widened as you immediately threw yourself off the bed.

“You should’ve said that to begin with,” you exclaimed, shuffling around for your uniform. “We can’t be late for combat training!”

__________________________________________

You and Sasha made a run for the training grounds and were lucky to see that the rest of the cadets were still waiting for Shadis’s instruction.

You sighed a breath of relief as you lined up beside her, not noticing Reiner standing on the other side of you.

He unconsciously looked you over and noticed your disheveled appearance. You had a bad case of bed hair and a few buckles of your uniform had come undone. He also noticed the sheen of sweat covering your face and how you were breathing a little heavier than normal. Either you just woke up late or something else had happened. He wasn’t sure which.

As Shadis made his way up to the speaking platform, all side conversations came to a halt and he turned to face you all with a hard gaze.

“Alright, maggots,” he shouted, making your ears ring. “Today, we are engaging in combat training! While some of you may think this is unnecessary as you obviously can’t use hand-to-hand combat against a Titan...” You and a few cadets snickered. “Shut up!”

You smirked as he continued on. “As I was saying, if you’re lucky enough to make it into the Top 10 and join the Military Police, you won’t be dealing with Titans. You’ll be dealing with people, criminals, thugs. Likewise with the Garrison Regiment. Therefore, it is important to know basic fighting skills and how to defend yourself in any situation… Do your meager minds understand?!”

“Yes, sir,” you all replied in unison.

“Good, now listen for your partners!”

“Sir, if I may ask, why can’t we choose our own partners,” you asked suddenly, causing your peers to gape at you like they did at orientation. However, you were unfazed, even after Shadis shot you the same death glare as before.

“No, you may not ask, Bauer,” Shadis growled and you attempted to suppress your smile. “Now, run laps until I’ve finished. Afterwards, get your ass handed to you by Braun.”

“Yes, sir,” you saluted, shooting a glance at Reiner as he smirked at you. “If he can even beat me,” you countered, speaking so quietly that only Reiner could hear you.

As you jogged past him toward the dirt track, he watched you with amusement.

You certainly weren’t like the other girls in the Training Corps. You somehow managed to be sweet, fiery, and so sure of yourself all at once. You always spoke your mind and were seemingly fearless, choosing to mess with the scariest person there without a care in the world. Finally, you were awfully kind, taking care of your brother whenever you could and indulging in his own mischievousness, even if it meant the both of you potentially getting trouble. He even saw you do the same with Sasha and Eren.

You truly were something else.

He grinned faintly as he found you smirking back at him.

“We’ll see about that, hotshot,” he murmured.

__________________________________________

Once Shadis had finished announcing everyone’s partners, you jogged over to Reiner, panting slightly.

He raised his eyebrows at you as you came to a stop a few feet in front of him.

“How was the jog,” he teased and you scoffed in response.

“Nothing compared to the swimming I had to endure on the first day,” you admitted, clearing your throat.

“Why do you always annoy him when you know full well what he’s going to do?” The question would have sounded condescending coming from anyone else, but you could tell he was more amused than anything.

“I don’t like him,” you stated bluntly. “And…” your eyes began to soften. “I think we ought to have some fun while we’re here.”

“Huh,” he breathed, taken aback by your answer.

Fun? In times like these, he thought to himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you chuckled. “Fun? In times like these? I know. The world is so dark these days, but I think we need to be reminded that we’re still alive. We need to laugh, smile, feel happiness. Most importantly, be human and how could we do that if we’re scared or in grief all the time? I still don’t like him, but if you all are entertained along the way, fine by me.”

He gazed at you admirably, unsure of how to process your words. He felt...conflicted more than anything.

“You really are one of a kind, (Y/N),” he commented, his voice coming out smoother than how he felt on the inside.

Your cheeks blushed faintly as you grinned.

“If I didn’t know any better, Reiner, I’d say you were flirting with me rather than trying to fight me,” you cooed and he let out a chuckle through his nose.

“And what if I was,” he suggested with a glint in his eyes.

“I'd still say to fight me.”

You raised your arms in a fighting stance and he quirked his eyebrow at you.

“I haven’t seen a stance like that before,” he observed, putting his own arms up. “Where’d you learn it?”

“Enough talking!”

You charged at Reiner with a plan already in mind.

I’ll go for a punch towards his face. Once he decides to either block it or pull away from it, I’ll sweep his legs right from underneath him.

You went for your punch, but he unexpectedly didn’t do either. He instead grabbed your fist tightly, not allowing you to pull away, and twisted your arm behind your back. He pulled you against him and your face heated up as his chest pressed into you.

“I don’t think you expected that, (Y/N),” he whispered, his breath fanning your cheek. “I thought I wasn’t going to be able to beat you.” You honestly thought so too, but you were overconfident. It made sense that he was able to stop you. He was confident too, but just the right amount. He also knew how to fight.

Although your arm was starting to hurt from his grip, you still smirked with excitement.

“The fight doesn’t end until one of us is pinned down,” you stated, stomping down on his foot.

He groaned as he released his hold on you and you threw your head back, coming into contact with his chin. As a result, he lost his footing and you took the opportunity to crouch down and swipe your leg underneath his. He fell to the ground and you threw yourself on top of him. You bent your right leg at the knee and dug it into his thigh, holding his other leg down in the process. You used your left foot to keep one of his arms down. Then, you pinned his wrist with one of your hands and used the other to keep his head against the ground. You smiled, letting out a quick exhale.

“I pinned you.”

“Let’s make a deal,” and you gaped down at him in surprise. Why did he look and sound so nonchalant despite his position?

“What?”

“Whoever’s pinned down last has to do something for the other,” he explained.

“If you can even-“ Before you could finish, he propped his knee up from under you and your foot slid off his wrist. He gripped you from your collar and threw you over, causing you to land on the opposite side of his head. You went to do a kip up, but he grabbed you by the shoulder of your jacket and dragged you until you were within straddling range. He got on top of you as he smiled faintly.

“That’s what we have to find out.”

After that, you both spent the next half hour pinning each other down until Shadis told everyone to stop.

You gasped for air as you pinned Reiner’s wrists above his head and used your knees to keep his legs in place. He was breathing heavily as well, his stomach on the ground and his cheek pushing against the dirt.

“I-I win,” you announced, tightening your hold on him as a reminder.

“I can see that,” he strained, barely looking at you from the corner of his eye. “You win.”

You sighed in satisfaction and let him go, finally standing up. You wiped excess sweat and dirt off your forehead, watching as he turned over and sat up with a grunt.

“You’re an impressive fighter, (Y/N),” he complimented. “I think you’re as good as Annie.”

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” you admitted. “I haven’t had a fight like that in awhile.”

“So, then,” he started. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” You blushed slightly as you scratched the back of your head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead… What did you even want?”

“I wanted you to answer a question of mine,” he revealed, a darkness creeping on his cheeks.

“Just a question,” you asked in disbelief. “All of that for a question? What is it?”

“Why'd you join the military?”

“That question again? Well, I guess I never answered you to begin with,” you remembered. “Silly, you could’ve just asked me instead of letting me beat you up.”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up again without it seeming weird,” he confessed and you shook your head.

“It wouldn’t have. I like talking to you.”

You extended your hand out to him and the moment his fingers brushed yours, you felt what could only be described as a jolt of electricity running through you and you took a step back.

You looked down at him and he stared back at you with a similar expression - utter confusion.

Did he feel that too?

“Um, sorry,” you apologized, laughing slightly. “It must’ve been static.”

“No worries,” he assured with a chuckle and you stuck your hand out once again.

He took it graciously and thanked you as you hoisted him up. You nodded, gazing at him right after.

“I joined the military because I want to live in a world where the only concern is growing old,” you finally answered. “I don’t want us to worry about walls, Titans, or whatever the hell else could be out there. I just want us to be happy and have the freedom to live our lives to the fullest... Does that...sorta answer your question?”

It did, it really did. So, why did Reiner still feel a pang in his chest? Why was he hoping for a more selfish answer? Why did he want your answer to not be as noble as the one you gave? Why did he want you to be...less human?

In the end, he knew the answers to all these questions. He didn’t want to feel guilty for what he had done and what he was going to do...but everyone was making it extremely difficult. (Y/N) especially.

As you both smiled at each other, one question plagued his mind.

Why were the Devils of Paradis…so human?

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finaledenialist · 4 years

Note

Not to be that person, but watching season 7 Dean admit that he's suicidal after Cas' death (plus post-cage Sam's issues) really makes you think about his 'chosen' death by rusty nail huh...

warnings: su*cide is discussed here

I must admit I don’t remember exactly how it went in season 7 for Dean: I know he was spiraling and he even admitted to Eliot Ness that he would give up hunting if he could, there was also Bobby’s death and all BUT

yes, if I, for the sake of this discussion, pretend that the finale exist, then the only way I could make sense of it is Dean jumping on the first case that presented itself after Jack didn’t bring back Cas after bringing back everyone else with maybe not a plan, but a hope? A whatever will happen will happen attitude?

Because Dean probably assumed that:

if bringing Cas back was possible Jack would have done this the second he brought back anyone else (because it was Jack for god’s sake, and Jack loved Cas);

if Jack, the new God, the most powerful being in the world, couldn’t bring Cas back then it must have meant that bringing him back it’s just simply impossible;

if it’s 100% impossible and Cas will never be back... Well we all have seen season 13, right?

So, the case presents itself, some stupid vampires, whatever. Dean kills some of them, sure, but he lacks the spark that he has always had, he lacks motivation because what is there to fight for, what is there to live for anymore, right? What is the point? Add his lifelong issues to that and when he saw the opportunity to just... go AND make it look like an accident (because he knew Sam would have been wrecked if he figured out that Dean did this on purpose), he just let it happen.

He even went further than that: he prevented Sam from calling help when he didn’t die immediately, he used Sam’s shock and panicked response to focus on him, he gives him a speech about living and you go Sam, live your life, be happy, quit this hunting stuff and all.

In some tragic, twisted way at the very least that interpretation makes it Dean’s choice (a tragic choice and a terrible wrong message to send to the fans of the show, of course but a choice nevertheless): he stopped believing his life has a point, he just didn’t want to do this anymore, he was tired, he lost faith that he could ever be happy here (or at least the very little of this faith that he started to develop) and he thought that there is nothing worth fighting for anymore. And Sam will be fine, because he is different, he always had more faith and he is a grown ass man who, Dean realized somewhere along the way, doesn’t need him anymore the way he needed him almost all his life.

In a way Dean broke free from John’s orders to protect Sam with his own life (he couldn’t break free from this in life, on earth - this is established in canon, because 15 years have passed and in Dean’s mind Sam was always his little brother, dying was his tragic way of ending that cycle); and who knows: maybe he also hoped that he will meet Cas in the afterlife, because he surely wasn’t going to reunite with him in this life. But most probably he just wanted some god damn peace and to be free of all the responsibilities and of the life centered around killing and hunting, because this life is beyond miserable and he stopped perceiving himself as his dad’s killing machine because of what Cas said to him, but if he stayed alive he wouldn’t stop hunting and killing, he knew that living without it for him was just impossible, this was another pattern/cycle he wasn’t able to break while alive (he almost succeeded with Lisa, but the life eventually caught up to him, he also didn’t know another way to live than centering it around hunting and helping people).

Plus, he must have thought he was already too old to look for someone new to be in a relationship with and he must have known that

no one will know him as well as Cas and he wanted to be known, he wanted to be seen because we all want someone to know us and love us despite everything; what’s even more important though, Cas knew him without Dean actually telling him anything (and Dean sucks at talking), he could read him, he knew his soul, he could sense how Dean was feeling and if something was wrong without Dean having to talk about it; Cas saw him at his absolute worst (as a torturer in Hell) and decided to save him and help him and ultimately fell for him and in love with him; like, Dean must have known, even in his repressed 42 year old heart, that no one could ever compare to that, because no one could ever see and know him like that, because it was just impossible.

meeting someone new gave two options: a) unloading all of his life history to another person, risking being rejected, risking repeating this with a lot of people until he - and that is a maybe - finally found someone, b) pretending he was someone else (even if, hypothetically, Dean would get together with some other hunter who knew the lifestyle and heard legends about Dean), bottling everything up like he did all his life - and that choice ultimately also sucked.

So, having analyzed that he probably thought that it’s just not worth trying, you know. He also probably thought he was already older than he ever thought he would be, imagine how tired Dean must have been, and he just lost his, ‘reason to get up in the morning’. He spent the same amount of time on earth as in hell, in a way his soul was 80 years old. This man was mentally exhausted. But because he was still, somehow, full of love, instead of shooting himself in the head or driving off a cliff he decided, for the sake of his brother, to make it look like a hunt accident, one that he has talked about for years (that this would probably be his ending, it wouldn’t look suspicious, especially after he acts like the happiest person in the world on this Pie Festival or whatever that was), one that would even maybe have the effect of Sam leaving the hunting life and maybe making one more attempt at having a normal life.

Of course, none of that would happen if Cas was just brought back, because he was Dean’s cure to everything, and after that confession? Dean wouldn’t let go of Castiel’s hand, ever. Cas was his rock, solid. Of course this is a toxic thing to depend your life on someone else (you should learn to be your own happiness, accept yourself and so on, yes), but life is not perfect and we’re talking about a mentally ill person who found his light and a reason to go on in someone else, in someone who loved them unconditionally, which could, for them, be the first big step on self-recovery, and that person was brutally taken away from them.

For Dean, learning that Cas loving him and him being Castiel’s happiness was what ultimately got Cas dead?! This was one of Dean’s biggest fear, it hit right home, it was ‘I let down every god forsaken thing I care about’ and ‘The moment Cas laid a hand on you he was lost’ and ‘I am poison’ becoming his self-fulfilling prophecy. It crushed him.

I just hate that this makes sense.

#ask #anon #suicide tw #mental illness tw #dean studies #spn finale #Anonymous

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narutogwriting · 3 years

Text

I’m Sorry I Have to Go

Pairing: No romantic pairing, but interactions between Sakumo and Kakashi; mainly about Sakumo Hatake

CW: Suicide

Length: 3.8k+

TRIGGER WARNING! THIS FIC MAY BE VERY TRIGGERING TO THOSE WHO DEAL WITH SUICIDE OR SUICIDAL IDEATION. PLEASE USE YOUR BEST DISCRETION AS THIS FIC DEALS WITH SENSITIVE TOPICS

Inspired by my attempt to get in Sakumo’s head and to try and figure out what he was thinking. Also an attempt to help me process the suicide of my friend. Loosly inspired by a song I wrote about my friend’s suicide trying to get into his head when it happened.

“I’m going to do my best, you know?”

Sakumo sat at the gravesite. He didn’t know if there was any point to it, didn’t know if he believed in an afterlife, or if there was an afterlife, if she could even hear him.

Maybe he was doing it more for his own peace of mind. And if that was the only benefit that came from talking at her grave, well, that was okay with him. But just in case she could hear him, he wanted her to know.

“If only you could have seen him. He’s so tiny. I didn’t know anything could be so small.” He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I’ll be the best father I can be to him. I’ll set a good example, and love him so much. I’ll love him enough for the both of us. I’d do anything for him. Just you see…”

Sakumo was a phenomenal ninja, well known and well respected throughout the village. Even at such a young age, Kakashi could see that. These weren’t memories that Kakashi would remember as he got older, as much as he wished he would. But he remembered the feeling, remembered what it was like to have all eyes on them at all times, every time they went out.

Besides being a natural talent, Sakumo was kind. Kakashi remembered that well, and it was clear in the few pictures he had of Sakumo. Some people just had that kind of face. It was just another reason that Sakumo was so beloved in the leaf.

Sakumo was much prouder of his legacy for being kind than he was for his abilities. It was something he wanted, more than anything, to pass on to Kakashi. “Anyone can become a strong ninja with hard work and dedication.” He would tell his son before the young boy could even talk. “And there are lots of benefits to being strong. You can protect others, save them.”

He gave a crinkled smile as Kakashi grabbed his finger in his tiny little hand, teething on it. “But I’ll tell you something. It’s not knowledge that too many people have. But you can save people, too, by being kind. Being a good friend can save someone’s life just as much as being a good ninja can.”

Sakumo hadn’t become a ninja because he enjoyed fighting or killing; he became a ninja because he enjoyed helping others. Being a shinobi was just another way he could do that. Whether he was working on a mission or home in the village, Sakumo was always doing his best to help someone.

Despite how deeply he loved those around him, there was a distance between Sakumo and those in the village. He was revered and loved, but a heart like Sakumo’s was rare, almost too rare. The very thing he was loved for was what kept people from being able to get too close; they couldn’t understand him, the way that he thought, how he saw the world. It never bothered Sakumo too much, though, as long as those around him were safe and happy.

Sure, Sakumo’s life could feel lonely sometimes without those deep connections, but he had a purpose. And he’d had that connection with Kakshi’s mom. Though their time together was too short, way shorter than he ever would have imagined, he was grateful for it. And he could spend the rest of his life building that bond with his son.

Kakashi was always a quiet, serious child, though. He hadn’t inherited Sakumo’s natural affection or ability for seeing the best in people. That much had been clear when they’d met Might Duy and Guy for the first time. Sakumo had been baffled by the way Kakashi had so openly and blatantly questioned Guy’s worth and abilities.

While he’d put him in his place in front of the ninja, back at home, Sakumo couldn’t help but to bring it up again. He went to Kakashi’s bedroom, sitting on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi told his dad again, meeting his eye steadily. He always did own up to his mistakes. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, or to dishonour you.”

Sakumo shook his head, couldn’t help but sigh. “This isn’t about me, Kakashi.” He said, hands folded and hanging between his legs. “It’s not even necessarily about that boy, either.” He thought over his words carefully, wanted to make sure that whatever he said, it was something that stuck with his son.

“You know, I think Guy will grow up to be a great ninja, Kakashi. He has something you don’t have.” That got the young boy’s attention. “He has heart. You were born with your father’s natural talent,” He gave him a sly grin. “But if you don’t have the heart that Guy does, what’s your purpose? What is the use for all that talent?”

Sakumo patted Kakashi’s leg, not missing the skeptical look on his son’s face, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. The skeptic in him; that was all his mother.

“And besides,” Sakumo continued. “Even if he doesn’t become a great ninja, who cares? What does it matter? But do you know what does matter?” He paused, making sure Kakashi was really listening. “It matters how you made that little boy feel earlier. You know, I was proud to see you step in to protect him against those ninja… But I think that he would have rather let them beat him into the ground than have you look at him with such disdain, to look down on him because he didn’t know how to fight back. You don’t know what he’s been through, why he’s trying so hard to do something that he’s not naturally good at. You don’t know his purpose, or whether or not he’s hanging on by a thread. If the words you said to Guy were the last ones he’d ever heard, would you be happy with that?”

Getting up, Sakumo walked to the door slowly. Hand on the doorknob, he stopped. “You never know when you’ll see someone for the last time, Kakashi. You never know who needs a kind word. Whatever you do in life, make sure every moment counts.”

It was ironic, Kakashi would think to himself over the years. The philosophy that shaped the way Sakumo treated others could have been the same one that saved his life.

He knew his role as a shinobi. He knew everything that this mission meant, how much the Leaf needed him to succeed. But he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.

Sakumo would love to pretend like it was a hard decision, like he had even considered going through with the mission rather than saving his comrades.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t a question in his mind. The lives of his fellow shinobi were on the line, and in this instance, it wasn’t worth completing the mission at the expense of losing them.

And Sakumo knew, he knew that the decision would be controversial, knew that he would suffer the consequences. He was going to upset a lot of people on top, but it was worth it. Being a shinobi meant making hard decisions, and this was part of that. The importance of the mission didn’t outweigh the weight of his comrades' lives, and so he saved them.

And while he knew the backlash that would come from his decision, he never could have imagined just how viciously the village he loved, even the friends he saved, would turn against him.

Sakumo had seen a lot of evil in his life. So much violence and chaos, complete disarray. He’d see death and destruction, people dedicating their whole existence to hurting others. But it’d always been an “us vs them” mentality. It was much easier, he thought, to hate someone you didn’t know, who you had no connection to.

But these people, this village; they were Sakumo’s heart. His whole reason, his purpose for being. They were why he’d become a ninja in the first place. He’d only wanted to protect the people that he loved so dearly.

And they used to love him.

The silence on their way home was deafening. Sakumo didn’t miss the dirty looks his teammates were shooting him. He understood, in a way, but in others, he was so confused. He expected a sense of frustration, some cognitive dissonance. The mission failed, but they didn’t perish; there should be anger and happiness, shouldn’t there? At the very least, relief that they were alive.

But no. He could only feel the anger, the hatred burning within them.

Reporting back about the mission’s failure was even worse. He’d been prepared for the yelling, the way that it was hammered into him just how badly he’d screwed up. He didn’t know that there would be names thrown at him. Failure. Disgrace. Shame.

He’d left the office not even knowing if he would still be a shinobi after this. It was almost visible, the way he walked home with the weight of his actions on his shoulders. He walked slouch, tucked into himself. He would make up for this. He couldn’t regret what he’d done, not now, not ever. But somehow, he would make it right.

And he thought he could. He really did. Things had to get worse before they could get better. But they only seemed to get worse and worse and worse. Over the course of a week, word spread about what Sakumo did, and his life changed completely, seemingly irrevocably.

“Hello, Aiko,” he called to the owner of the fruit stand as he picked up a crown melon, observing the fruit for bruises or breaks. They’re his favorite, and he always bought them from the same lady.

But Aiko isn’t smiling at him, she doesn’t say hello back. He glances over to her, and his heart drops to see her glaring at him. “Thanks to you, we don’t have any new shipments coming in from Kirigakure, maybe for weeks.” She tells him angrily. “What am I supposed to sell then, huh? You want to ruin my life because you couldn’t complete your mission?” Sakumo buys her whole case of crown melons in an attempt to make up for it.

He has trouble getting any missions after as well. Every time he’s assigned to one, he’s kicked off. None of his fellow jonin will agree to be his teammate, and it kills him to know that they don’t trust him to be by their side. Not even the ninja he’d saved.

“They think you’ve lost the Will of Fire.” Hiruzen tells Sakumo after he finds out he’s been dropped from another mission. “You didn’t put the village first. You’ll have to earn back their trust, prove that the fire still burns strongly inside of you.”

But isn’t protecting his teammates important too, Sakumo wonders as he goes home, trying to keep his head from hanging too low. What is a village without its villagers? He thought the Will of Fire meant that Love is the key to Peace, and he loved his teammates. It’s why he’d kept them alive. Was a village more important than the people inside?

Things continue to escalate from there. Some shops won’t allow him inside to buy necessities. He could send Kakashi with money, but he worries even doing that. He doesn’t want Kakashi to suffer because of what he’s done, and now he wouldn’t put it past anyone to try and pick on his five year old son.

It hurts, not going on missions, not being able to frequent the places he’d once adored. But it’s not the worst part.

The worst part is that when he smiles, no one smiles back. When he chases after a person to hand them back the money they’d just drop, they turn on him. When he compliments someone on the shirt they’re wearing or how good their hair looks, he’s met with insults.

There are no kind eyes turned on him anymore. If anyone looks to him at all, it’s with disdain. Any words said to him are snubs, and the words said behind his back are even worse. Coward. Fool. Disgrace. Traitor.

The words chip away at him, little by little until Sakumo no longer wants to leave his home. The thought of it makes him sick. After three days in a row of vomiting every time he attempts to go out the door to get groceries, he finally gives up. Even though he doesn’t want to, he gives Kakashi the money to go buy food. He’s just a boy, after all, and he still needs to eat.

Sakumo spends more and more time in his room. He doesn’t shower, doesn’t eat. He hardly even brushes his teeth. With the blinds drawn and the door closed, he lays in bed, waiting for sleep to take him. It’s the only blissful moments he has anymore. In his dreams, people still smile at him. They talk to him, exchange gifts and pleasantries, and his heart is full. Nothing is worse than when the sunlight begins to trickle in through his blinds, waking him up and reminding him of the pain.

Because that’s what his life is now. Constant pain. He is alone and isolated, cast out by the people that used to revere him, and that he loved more than anything. He still loves them, wants nothing more than to once again spark happiness in their hearts.

And so, after weeks of not leaving his home, he tries again. He pulls himself out of bed. He showers, does his hair, brushes his teeth. He changes out of the stained gross clothes he’s been wearing endlessly and he tries.

He spends his money anywhere that will take it. He flashes a smile at anyone who will make eye contact with him, and holds open every door he can find. Sakumo compliments the flowers in the flower shop and the smell of the dumplings the vendors are selling on the sidewalk. He compliments the stitching of the plush animals and even buys a crochet hat despite never wearing them.

He’s trying, he thinks. He’s trying so hard, and he can’t understand it. He can’t comprehend how people can look at him the way that they do, how they can hate him so completely because he didn’t let people die.

No one will smile at him, and if anyone takes his money, it's silently. No one thanks him for holding the door open for them, and everyone else lets it close on him. “We don’t need your business.” He’s told at the flower shop, and behind him he hears snickers. “We don’t need him at all.”

So he heads back home as the sun begins to sink into the sky. Time will make things better he thinks half heartedly, but he doesn’t believe it. If anyone in the world is altruistic, it’s Sakumo. He doesn’t need thanks or appreciation. But if no one will even accept the kindness he has to offer, then what’s even the point?

And those words ring in his head over and over again. We don’t need him at all. And fine, if they don’t need him, don’t even want him, if his presence brings people pain, then he’ll stay away from them all. He only wants what's best for others.

But there’s still one person who does need him, he thinks. He has a son who’s only five, and as strong and smart and capable as he is, Sakumo still has so much he wants to teach him. So he’ll be there for his boy.

He’s rounding a corner, making a shortcut through an alleyway when he sees Kakashi surrounded by some boys older than him, and he stops. The boys are yelling at him, jeering him, and Kakashi looks as angry as Sakumo’s ever seen him.

“Why don’t you just go into hiding like your dad,” one of the boys is saying to Kakashi, and if it’s even possible, Sakumo’s heart drops even more.

“You’re probably gonna end up just like him.”

“A traitor.”

And then they’re pushing him, laughing and heckling him, throwing out insults left and right, telling Kakashi how horrible his dad is, how he shouldn’t even bother showing his face when he has such a vile creature as his father.

Sakumo doesn’t stay to hear the rest, and he doesn’t bother going to stand up for his son who he knows can handle himself. He can hear Kakashi taking care of them as he walks away, hands shoved in his pockets.

At home, he cooks the best meal he can come up with with the few supplies he has. He’s made sure to have all his money in one place, somewhere easy for Kakashi to find. He hadn’t realized the way Kakashi was being treated because of his screw up. He should have thought of it, though. How long had Kakashi been suffering in silence?

Kakashi comes home and Sakumo hugs him. He sits him down, gives him a big smile. Kakashi is taken off guard by it, surprised that Sakumo is even out of bed. He’d hardly seen him in recent weeks, and never with a grin on his face.

But he doesn’t question it, and though he doesn’t say it, Kakashi’s heart wells up. Does he have his dad back? If only Sakumo knew how much Kakashi had missed him, how hard it was for him to see his dad so sad. He didn’t care about the words of some people he didn’t give a second thought to. He only cared about his dad. Kakashi was still young after all, and he needed his father. He loved him so much.

And he doesn’t have the words to describe how he feels, doesn’t know how to express it because despite being so smart and so wise, he’s still only a child.

So he doesn’t say anything about it. He hugs his father, and he sits with him, and they talk. Sakumo tells Kakashi stories about his childhood that he hadn’t heard yet, and he gives him all his best fatherly advice. They talk about Kakashi’s future as a shinobi, and Sakumo tells Kakashi he knows he’s going to go far, that he’s going to be a better ninja than his dad ever was.

It’s the best night Kakashi could remember having as a child. Just being with his father and having his full, undivided attention. Sakumo makes sure to remind him more than once how much he loves him.

They stay up talking so long that Kakashi actually falls asleep, his head resting in Sakumo’s lap. Sakumo runs his hand over Kakashi’s head and thinks that Kakashi hasn’t looked so small and peaceful since he was first born. He tears up, because he loves his son, he loves him so fucking much, and he would do anything for him.

After he carries Kakashi to bed and tucks him in, he heads to the graveyard. It’s late, but the moon is high and bright in the sky, guiding his path as he sits in front of his wife’s tombstone.

“I did do my best, you know.” He says quietly at the grave. He doesn’t expect an answer, doesn’t even hope for something to come make it better. He’d give anything for some reassurance and when the wind blows through the still night, ruffling his hair, he closes his eyes, and smiles just a little, thinking of the way his wife used to ruffle his hair, and decides to believe it’s her, telling him she knew.

“I told you I’d do anything for him. I know we only want what’s best for him… I think this is for the best. He’d be better off without me…” And that’s what he truly believes with all his heart.

The village hates him, he’s been shunned and abused and turned away. And even with his broken heart, that would be okay.

But what’s not okay is for Kakashi to suffer for it. He shouldn’t have to bear the weight of his father’s choices, and for as long as Sakumo is around, that’s what will happen.

Sakumo loves Kakashi, and he knows that his son deserves a fresh start, the ability to make a name for himself without his father holding him back.

When he’s back home, he just sits and watches Kakashi sleep. With all the love Sakumo has always had, none of it compares to what he feels about his son. He loves him so much, all he wants is to see Kakashi grow up and be strong and be kind and be happy. He wants it badly, so fucking badly, that he almost loses his nerve. Almost.

But Kakashi is who he’s doing this for.

So finally he forces himself up to his feet. He touches Kakashi’s head one more time, bends down and kisses his forehead.

“I love you, okay.” He says, smiling down at his son. Kakashi is his greatest accomplishment. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I tried my hardest, though. I hope you know that. And I’m sorry that I have to go.”

His voice catches, and he’s trying not to cry. If he starts sobbing now, he’ll wake Kakashi.

“It’s just… It’s too hard to breathe. I can’t see a light. But I tried. I tried very hard. And I swear I love you more than anything. That’s why I’m doing this. So you can be great.” He laughs, and it shakes, and he can feel the tears falling. “I don’t want it to be dark for you, or for you to struggle to breathe. You deserve to live freely, so I don’t hold you back but I think…” He pauses, taking in his son one last time. “I hope that I’ll see you again. You, me, and your mother. Together again. Wouldn’t that be something?”

And with that he leaves Kakashi’s room, makes his way to his own bedroom. He won’t make it messy, doesn’t want to leave the boy completely traumatized. If he looks like he’s only asleep, then that shouldn’t be too bad, should it?

So he lays down, taking the poisoned herbs in his hand, and he tries not to cry anymore. He doesn’t want Kakashi to suffer, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to have to suffer anymore either. Sakumo has always been a strong ninja with a weak heart, and the past few months had been too much for him. It was better this way for everyone--the village, Kakashi, himself.

“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers to the picture on his night stand, a beautiful brunette woman with her hand on her baby bump. “I think I do believe that I’ll see you again. That will be more beautiful than anything.”

He takes a breath before shoving the herbs in his mouth. He chews them down, swallows. Maybe it’ll just be like going to sleep, he thinks as his eyes flutter closed. Yeah, just like going to sleep. That doesn’t sound too bad.

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chubbybuckydumpling · 4 years

Text

A Daughter’s Tale

words: 3.6k

pairing: Bruce Banner x desi!daughter!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, people being in love, Valentine’s Day

A/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! I hope everyone enjoys this and has an incredible day. This is part 2 to A Doctor’s Tale

My Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your hand hits the edge of the pool and you push your head up to gasp for air. The wet hair clings to your head, some droplets of water rolling down your forehead. Your chest moves in time with the heavy breaths you take in, the tight nylon adjusting to your body. The daily morning swims quickly became part of your routine. It wakes you up and helps you relax before your busy schedule sets in.

You’ve come to enjoy living with your father in the tower, but you spend most of the time studying or working next to Bruce in his lab. Tony’s equipment is far superior than your own devices back in Kolkata and yet your father keeps reminding you how impressed he is with you and how proud he is - all the things he couldn’t say in the past decade and a half.

You don’t really interact with the rest of the Avengers. You’ve met them, of course, but they make you feel shy. They’ve saved the world multiple times, it’s intimidating. Most of your days are spent with Tony, Natasha or your father. They worry about you, but you’re mostly fine.

The water sloshes against the tiles when you heave yourself out of the pool. Your feet pad against the warm floor, leaving little trails of liquid on your path. The soft material of your towel feels nice against your skin, a warmth spreading through your limbs. Your stomach rumbles in yearning for breakfast, the cool air flowing over any exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in its way.

The warm water of the shower relaxes your muscles, hot steams rising through the air. Puddles of shampoo land on the floor as you scrub away to get the chlorine off. The smell of flowers and spices fill the space, a gentle reminder of your childhood. You feel calm when you exit the gym, exercise usually makes you feel good. The elevator doors close, “Good morning, Miss Banner. How was your swim?” You smile at the ceiling, “It was just fine, Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y”

Once you arrive on the floor your father and you are sharing, the smell of pancakes fills your nose. You trudge into the kitchen to find a stack of the food, a small sticky note next to them. ‘Good morning shona! I hope you’re doing well. I am working on a project with Tony, feel free to step by. Love you, daddy’, it reads. “Aww, dad”, you mumble, smiling while you put his memo into your sweatpants pocket.

The pancakes are fluffy and you can’t help but grin. Bruce has been trying really hard to be a good father, making sure you eat and drink enough, that you’re happy and satisfied. His efforts left you with a light heart and a fluttering feeling in your chest. This is exactly what you have craved all for all these years, you just wished your mother was still alive and with you.

Thinking about her still makes your heart ache and you immediately long for a hug. Tears cloud your vision and you take in a shuddering breath. This sudden sadness makes you go back to the elevator, your father did say you should visit him, right?

The door to the lab is closed, the shimmering, milky glass stopping your vision. You step forward, ready to enter, but the door doesn’t budge. You reach out to open it yourself, but no matter how hard you push, you can’t come in. “Uhm, F.R.I.D.A.Y, why can’t I go in?”, you probe the AI, the confusion obvious on your face. “Mr Stark asked me to lock the doors to the lab, Curious Kitty Protocol”

You raise an eyebrow, Tony’s antics never fail to both fascinate and irritate you. “Well, can you ask if I may enter then?”, your voice taking on a teasing tone. “Will do, Miss Banner”. After about half a minute the door bursts open and you take a step back, hand on your heart, “Gee, dad, what’s wrong with you?”. Bruce’s face is red, forehead sweaty and lips pink. He pants heavily, his chest moving and falling rapidly.

“Uhm, are you okay?”, you question, sounding slightly scared. He holds out a hand, the other one resting on his thighs as if to support his weight. “Daddy?”

“I’m okay”, he gasps, “what’s up, Shona?” This moment Tony turns the corner, equally sweaty as Bruce, but a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, little miss Banner, come on in, the magical den awaits you”, he bows down, throwing a subtle wink in your direction. To his dismay, you hesitate, making him throw an arm over your shoulders and pulling you inside, “We don’t have all day, hurry up”

Tony pushes you into a chair and dramatically walks up to his desk, his hips swinging with every step. “Tony!”, hisses your father and walks over to you, his eyes shining with worry. “Shona, are you alright?”

In your confusion, you can’t form any words, mouth opening and closing helplessly.

The lab is chaotic, empty mugs littered everywhere and the robots are standing with their faces to the wall.The floor-to-ceiling windows are darkened, leaving the room under a shadowy gloom. A weird smell is lingering in the air, a strange note of pineapple the most noticeable.

“What are you working on?”, you ask the men, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “A project”, Bruce answers quickly, averting his gaze. “What exactly?”, you retort warily. “Top secret, sorry not sorry”, Tony chimes in. He is now sitting on the table, legs dangling through the air carelessly, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Okay?”, a confused whisper leaves you. Whatever is going on is highly suspicious. “Now, why did you come up here?”; Bruce’s voice is much calmer now. “I really wanted a hug, but you look really sweaty and I just took a shower”, you state, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. He pouts at you, fluttering his eyelids, “You don’t want to give your old man a hug?” He spreads his arms for you to fall into, to which you comply. Reluctantly. “Gross”, you mumble.

The air smells like lemon, the air perfume keeping it present, a wish you quickly opened up about when you first arrived here. It reminds you of home. A wave of spice reaches your nose from the kitchen where Bruce is cooking. He has been trying hard to recreate the Indian dishes he remembers. They’re not quite your mum’s cooking, but they’re good. Unique, just like your father.

“What are we having, dad?”, you shout. A heavy chemistry book lies in front of you, the pages filled with exercises. Your father insisted that you continue school. “It’s a surprise. It’ll be delicious, Shona, don’t worry. I’ve got this”, he shouts back, “I hope”, he mumbles afterwards. You smile at your father. Aarohi told you about this, how Bruce often doubts himself even though he is doing just fine. You’ve noticed this quite often, sadly.

“I’m sure you’re doing great, Dad”, you yell in hopes of cheering him up, “I love you!” His reply comes immediately, “I love you too, Shona” Your heart flutters, just like whenever he tells you these words. You’ve missed this for so long and now that you can have it, no matter when or where, it makes you feel giddy.

Time flies by and when you’re next called, dinner is set on the table. “You’ve made Aloo gobi! Oh my, dad, you’re the best, I can’t wait for this”, you smile and run to hug your father. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, a warm feeling filling your body.

The food is delicious and you have to force yourself to eat slowly, “Dad this tastes so good”. The man grins at your words, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you. I’m glad you like it”. Bruce is twirling around with his fork, not really eating much. “Are you okay?”, you ask, concerned. “I’m fine, don’t worry”, his voice sounds quiet, subdued even, “But we do need to talk after dinner. Nothing bad, don’t worry”.

The rest of the meal is filled with tension, tight and uncomfortable. A flood of worry rummages through your body, fear in your veins. Nothing good ever comes out of a ‘don’t worry’, right? You wipe your hands on your legs, sweat covering the surface, a sign of your nerves that you inherited from your father. Once the food is gone you offer to do the dishes, but Bruce stops you, mentioning he’ll do it later.

The two of you sit on the couch, avoiding eye contact. “So?”, you start in an attempt to overcome the fear, “Are you okay, dad?” He sighs and places a hand on your thigh, “I’m fine, I promise. I just…”, he interrupts himself. His eyes look cloudy. “Promise me that whatever I’m going to tell you, you won’t hate me”. Time seems to still as your fingers twitch anxiously, “What, dad, of course not”

You reach for the hand on your leg and wrap your own around it.”You can tell me anything”, you hope to reassure him. “Okay then, here goes nothing”, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “You know how Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, right?” You cock your head subconsciously, “Yeah?”

“Well, I have a date”, he says and looks away directly after, his hands really cold. It feels like your head is spinning, his words not registering. You feel your breath quickening and rip your hands away, quickly getting up from the sofa. “What?”, you plead, voice quiet. “Hey, Shona, please calm down, I know this is scary, but-”

“NO!”, you shout, “What about mum? Do you not love her anymore?” Tears are shooting into your eyes as you become more and more upset for every second that goes by. “How could you betray us like that! Don’t you love us?” Bruce gets up as well, his eyes misty too. “Of course I love you and your mother, nothing could ever change that” He reaches for you, but you shy away. “But how can you be with someone when you love mum? That doesn’t make sense!”

A sob wrecks through your body and you hug yourself, turning further away from the man. “Please, don’t say that. I love your mother so much, that will never change. But I can’t control how I feel. You have to understand, please”, his voice sounds pained and it makes your heart ache, but an overwhelming sense of irritation overcomes you and you lose control.

“So you’re just going on a date, huh? Are you trying to forget mum?”, the accusation silences him as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks. You grab a hoodie that lies on the couch and rush to the door. “Please don’t leave”, Bruce whispers and you slow down to a halt.

“I still love you, dad. I just need a minute. I’ll be back soon”, you whisper, not raising your eyes from the floor. Your vision is blurry as you run through the lobby and out the doors. The air is dry and cold, snow piling up on the sidewalk. Its crystal structures are clearly visible, beautiful and unique forms that usually fascinate you leave you feeling blank now.

The freezing temperatures leave you shaking as you mindlessly sprint through the streets. Suddenly you run over a patch of ice and slip. Your arms wave through the air as your body rushes down to the ground. The impact leaves you breathless, pain rushing through your back. You violently close your eyes and curl together into a small ball.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you sob helplessly. The temperature sinks into your flesh and bites at your bones. “Shit”, you whisper, the energy leaving your body as the adrenaline wears off. “Well, what are you doing on the floor, Y/n?”, a voice asks. You turn your head to come face to face with Natasha, her vibrant hair a strong contrast to the snow.

“Nat?”, your voice sounds croaky. “Come on up, I’m bringing you home. Don’t want you to freeze now, huh?”, she speaks softly and begins to heave you up. Her arms are strong and she is warm, so you nuzzle into her chest. “Now, why did you run away into this freezing cold?” You sigh and rub your arms to create some more warmth, “Did you know dad is dating someone?”

“I did”, she replies. You nod and stare at the floor, “It just came as a scare to me, I guess. It hasn’t even been a year since mum died” Her hand glides over your shoulders gently, “I get that. But your father is really struggling too. This hasn’t been easy on him” You shrug, but guilt slowly creeps up on you. “He tried killing himself, you know?”, her voice is careful, but her words shock you, making you stumble.

“What?”, you ask, desperation seeping into your voice. “He felt so guilty for leaving you and your mother, he wasn’t in a good spot. Tony helped him to become better, but Aarohi’s death set him back quite a bit” Tears stream down your face, silent and in agony. “Are you going to talk to him?”, her voice is stern. She seems to care for him a lot. “Yeah”, you mumble, still shocked at her confession.

You spend the rest of the way in silence, words and sentences floating through your head, a repetition of your outburst playing over and over again. You feel shameful at your childish behaviour. You should not have acted that way, that’s not how your mother raised you.

The warmth of the lobby envelopes you and you release a relieved sigh. You didn’t realise just how cold you are. “Nat?”, the woman turns to look at you, her posture as graceful as always. Your voice is raspy, throat hurting slightly, “Do you think mum would be happy for dad?” The woman grins at you and brushes a hand through your hair, “From what I’ve heard? Definitely” Your lips twitch, “Yeah, I think so too”

The woman accompanies you to the elevator and pulls you into a hug, “You’ve got this”, she whispers into your head. You take a deep breath to calm down, a determined glimmer in your eyes. When you enter the floor you find your father hunched over on the couch. Tony sits close next to him, one of his hands rubbing circles over his back.

“Dad?”, you whisper, the nerves crashing back down on you. His head whips around and his eyes find you. They are red like he’s been crying. You figure you look similar. Bruce gets off of the sofa and runs over to you to engulf you in an embrace, “Oh, shona, I was so worried”, he cries, “You’re so cold! Come on, let’s warm you up”

“No, dad, I have to apologise, I totally overreacted.I’m so sorry”, you stutter, voice breaking, “so, so, sorry” Tony coughs in the background, “I’ll fetch you some warm clothes, Y/n”. Your father pulls you even closer, your wet clothes staining his button-down. “It’s fine, Shona. I know this is hard on you” You cry into his chest, tears seeping into his clothes, “That doesn’t give me a reason to yell at you. I’m so sorry”

“I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re back again”, he whimpers. Being in your father’s arms floods you with a comforting calm. “Dad?”, your voice is barely a whisper, “Are you happy? With your date I mean”

Bruce presses a kiss on your head, “I am”, he answers, “I really am”.”That makes me happy too. Do I know them?” A loud sigh leaves his mouth, “You do. And I promise you I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make sure this works out before I drag you into this”

“You’re scaring me, dad”, you whisper, pulling out of the hug slightly, “Who is it?” Bruce’s big hands grasp your elbows gently, his face swollen from his crying, “It’s Tony” your eyes widen, “You’re dating Tony Stark?” The tone of your voice is unbelieving, as if he told you he is dating Bigfoot. “The one and only, billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist”, the voice of the mentioned man rips you out of your trance and you blink.

Taking a step back, you shake your head in disbelief, “This is insane. For how long has this been going on?”, you question, but then stop, “No, you don’t have to tell me. Really. I’m just glad you’re happy dad”

Bruce smiles at you, the skin near his eyes crinkling. Tony takes a step towards you, some warm and thick clothes in his hands, “You should probably change. I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to heat up the bathroom for you”. You accept the familiar clothing and force a weak smile on your face, “Thank you, Tones. I’m really exhausted, I’ll probably go right to sleep” Your father hugs you once more, “I love you, Shona”.”I love you too, dad”

Tony was right, the ensuite is comfortably warm, just perfect to thaw your body. The jumper is big and soft, just like the thermo leggings you pull over your legs. You use the loo and brush your teeth before you retreat into the bedroom. Your father is already sitting there and once he sees you he lifts your weighted blanket so you can slip right under. The feel of your bed makes you relax immediately, letting your eyes fall close.

“Shona, you know I could never forget your mother, right? She was an incredible woman, so confident and sure of herself. I always admired that about her. Aarohi was my first love, you know?

Once I saw her, dark circles under her eyes, dirty work clothes and all, I knew that she would be the one for me. And she was, for such a long time. She gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for. You, of course.”, his voice sounds far away.

“And even now that she is gone my heart still beats faster when I think of her. But it does so when I think of Tony too. He doesn’t show it that often, but he is very caring. He helped me through hard times, always staying by my side. A real sweet guy. He takes good care of me”, Bruce smiles, but when he looks down at you, you’re already asleep.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Sleep well, Shona. I love you” With a last loving look he stands up and heads for the door quietly, turning off the light on his way.

“No, you have to dress up a little. Come on, it’s Valentine’s Day”, you sit on Bruce’s bed, giggling at your father who is currently in a horrendous pair of underwear, a half opened button-up on his torso. “At least put on some slacks, a pair of nice suit pants” He turns to you, an anxious look on his face, “I don’t know what to do”

You jump up, gracefully landing on your feet, “Don't worry, daddy, I’ve got you” You eye the closet critically, taking out pieces that you deem worthy, “You’ll look good in blue”. The navy slacks with the matching blazer look expensive, perfect for a date with a billionaire. “Button-up, buttercup”, you tease and present your choice to Bruce.

“I guess I’ll try it on, Thank you, Shona, for everything. My hair has never been this pretty”, his deep voice is already less anxious. “Well, duh”, you retort playfully, “Once you stop sweating it stops being greasy. Now, put on the suit” You point into the direction of the mirror and then skip out of the room.

All of a sudden the elevator door opens and Tony walks in. He wears a dark suit, his typical glasses sat right on his nose, “Good afternoon, kiddo”, he grins, one of his hands holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “Where’s Daddy-O?” You raise your eyebrows and pretend to widen your collar, “Wardrobe malfunction”, you whisper.

Tony’s mouth takes on an ‘O’-shape and he nods in understanding. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. Is he actually nervous? The sound of footsteps behind you sound through the room and you turn around to see your father come out of the room. The suit hugs his body nicely, almost making him look like he’s glowing with confidence. “Woah, Bruce, you look-”, Tony pauses to gesture at the other man in astonishment, “really handsome”.

“My dad’s a real catch, nothing new”, you chime in, smirking. “Y/n!”, Bruce hisses, but Tony shushes him, smiling, “No she’s right” Bruce walks closer to the man until he holds out the flowers, “For the prettiest man” After saying these words, Tony looks at you, mouthing “You did not see that”, to which you raise your hands in surrender.

Your father takes the bouquet, “I’ll just put them in a vase. Thank you”, But before he can move you snatch the flowers, “I’ll do it, you two head out” Tony smiles at you appreciatively, “You heard the woman, let’s go” Bruce takes the man’s hand with a blush and grins coyly.

“Goodbye, Shona, take care”, he mentions before following his date out the door. “Goodbye, have fun!” Once the lock clicks you put the flowers into some water and smile. This is a weird adjustment, but you’re ready to compromise. Your father has tried everything to make you happy, so you will do the same. And if that means accepting his relationship, you’ll have no problem achieving it.

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#Bruce Banner #Bruce Banner x Reader #bruce banner x desi!reader #bruce banner x daughter!reader #bruce banner x daughter #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #hulk #hulk x reader #marvel #mark ruffalo #father!bruce banner #father bruce banner #dad!bruce banner

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

There is Good in the Dark

Chapter 2---Ever Had an Itch?

AO3 Link

Peter shifted nervously, eyes glancing around in suspicion as he pulled his hood tighter over his head and adjusted the bag looped over his shoulder. His hair had been on end all day, leaving him horribly tired and weary as he'd scoped out a few SHIELD buildings. Tony had said that he'd be doing the same for Squadron Tower, and the teenager had believed him, but he'd seen the billboards while he'd been swinging around the city.

'Elusive Supervillain Iron Man Strikes Against the Squadron Supreme in Manhattan!'

Because of course he'd gone after the Squadron. Peter wasn't sure if the fight had been intentional or not, but it still irked him that the older villain hadn't invited him. He could have helped! He was a great fighter--and didn't Tony trust him?

Peter shook himself, crinkling the plastic bag clutched in his hand nervously as he glanced around once more before slipping down the steps of a boarded off subway station. The stairway quickly faded to dusty darkness that would've stumped anyone else but the teenager peered through easily, icy blue eyes glowing in the shadows.

Every footstep was an echo as the teenager stepped over to a dusty, broken down subway train. Only the front of the train and half a carriage were visible from the tunnel. Windows were broken and paint sprayed in illustrative colors that had worn down from the years in the dark. The door to the head of the train was hinged open into its dark, cramped world.

Peter stepped through, grabbing the lever and pulling it down. When he let go it snapped back up, the base of it glowing blue. Peter stabilized himself, shifting on his feet, as the ground underneath him lit up in a bright blue circle. It twisted with a click, shifting and circling down until the train had disappeared and the teenager stood in a cylindrical high tech elevator. It was the color of bleached bones.

The teenager stepped out of the elevator the moment the doors slid open, finally allowing for his hood to fall off in the safety of his home. Well, more of a secret lair, but it was home to Peter nonetheless. For years with his dad.

"Play it again," echoed a voice only his enhanced ears could hear.

Speaking of.

He tiptoed through the halls of his and Tony's underground mansion, searching for where the man was. There was a lot to search. Most of the home shared the same bone white walls and floors, and he always had to screw up his eyes after a few hours at the brightness of it. Arc reactor blue lights lined the shiny pillars and doorways rather than traditional light placement. All in all the place was eerie, not at all homie, but it was still home.

Following the uneven heartbeat of his dad and the muttered muses of discontentment, Peter finally came across the room Tony was in. He stood in front of a wall of holograms, arms crossed and back straight. His leg tapped like it always did when he didn't understand something.

"Again," Tony ordered, unaware of the kid padding up behind him. Peter glanced at the screen disinterestedly before stopping and staring at the figures displayed on it, his eyes narrowing in confusion. It was all of the world's most wanted, save for him and Tony of course, but--weird. Peter didn't really have words to describe them. Stupidly bright, maybe? Clearly, Tony was having the same problem. "Ever had an itch you just can't scratch?"

"I cannot itch, sir, but watching you refuse to sleep is a close second," Friday responded humorously. Peter smiled, but refrained from laughing, placing a finger to his lips and glancing at the ceiling. Thankfully, the AI didn't say anything.

"Keep the attitude up and I'll give you an itch," Tony warned playfully. "Slow the recording down and play--"

"ATTACK!!!" Peter screeched, shooting up from behind Tony and grabbing him in a mock chokehold. The man froze with a rather unvillainous yelp, practically jumping as he shook the kid off and swung around, a gloved hand shooting out. The teenager grinned as Tony went from tense to practically drooping with relief.

"Kid."

"Hey, Dad. How was the Squadron?"

"Peter, please. I have a heart condition."

He stepped forward, shouldering the older man playfully. "I'm not the one who attacked Earth's defenders today."

"I didn't plan on it."

"Didn't really look that way."

"Well, I didn't," Tony protested. He glanced down at the plastic in Peter's hand. "What's with the bag?"

"Oh." Peter glanced down, lifting it higher. "Dinner! I got Japanese. From a place across from the newest SHIELD hideout."

"Did anyone see you?"

"Nope."

"Great."

Tony ruffled his hair, and Peter ducked away with a displeased grin, dashing towards the table that held Tony's headpiece in the middle of reconstruction, clearly having been damaged during his fight today. The boy set the food down, taking out the cartons of fried rice and the sushi. Tony grabbed his own box, picking up a pair of chopsticks and twirling them around elegantly.

"How'd you pay for this?"

Peter stuffed a piece of sushi in his mouth with his fingers. Tony scrunched his nose up at him in playful disgust. "I took your card."

"No stealing?"

"From a local business? We're villains, not bastards."

Tony laughed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you act like one. Don't eat sushi with your hands, you absolute animal."

"I can't figure the chopsticks out! They're too complicated."

"Oh, so you can build a bomb to escape SHIELD when you're ten but you can't eat sushi right?"

"That about sums it up, yeah," Peter quipped, taking a sip from a Gatorade he'd grabbed from a bodega. Tony rolled his eyes humorously. "So what's with the video? Is the Captain joining the US military or something?"

"He does look it," Tony agreed. "But not as far as I know. You know that red stone Mr. Sorcerer-From-Another-Universe has?"

"Uh, yeah? We've been trying to get it for months, Dad. I know what it is."

"Just checking." Peter stuck his tongue out at Tony, who blew a raspberry in response. "Anyway, I hit that thing earlier. It did this."

His adoptive father nodded his head toward the screen. The footage backed up and allowed Peter to watch the recording from the suit as Tony's repulsor blast hit Beck's glowing palm, the red waves that split the sky bursting from it, and the changes that fizzled between the waves. Peter squinted at the screen as the video came to a close.

"What do you think it means?" Peter asked, turning towards the man, who had focused in on the video once more, his face deceptively calculating.

"That's the itch," he pointed out, staring at the screen for another moment. "Quiz Time." Peter groaned, stuffing another piece of sushi in his mouth rebelliously. "Relax your teenage angst, kid, it's not bad. Hulk?"

"Radiation experiment gone wrong," he said immediately as if reading off a flashcard. "An attempt on what made the Captain, well, the Captain, by Bruce Banner. Dr. Banner's gone now that the Hulk's overtaken him. He's not smart, less wanted for villainy and more the destruction he causes and what he can provide militaries. Danger level: High."

"Black Widow."

"Superspy gone rogue. SHIELD tried to contain her but she killed every agent sent her way. No known motives but can take down countries overnight. Danger level: High."

"The Falcon."

"Deranged war hero. Was sent on an unknown suicide mission with his friend, he survived and the friend didn't. Motives are mostly against US military missions--good for him--and warmongering politicians. Danger level: Medium."

"Thor."

"A badass."

Tony gave him a look. "Try again."

Peter sighed. "A Norse God thrown out from his home with a super cool hammer. No known motives, likes to start shit. Danger level: Super-mega-ultra high."

His dad rolled his eyes with a crooked smile. "Hawkeye."

"A circus runaway. SHIELD attempted to recruit him but he betrayed them. Targets SHIELD, gangs, and wherever he can get a quick buck. Danger level: Meh."

"And the Captain."

"The creation of Howard Stark and Dr. Abraham Erskine. He was meant to be the Allies' savior, but he defected to Hydra. He ended up frozen in ice for like a million years before being thawed out by SHIELD and breaking away from Hydra. There's only been three confirmed sightings of him over five years. No known motives. Danger level: High."

"Good job, you passed. Barely."

"Barely!?"

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, waving a finger accusingly. "Stop fanboying over Thor. He could kill you in an instant."

"Pshh. I could take him."

"No you couldn't."

"Or I could just woo him into being my new dad. It worked with you."

Tony gasped, placing a hand over his arc reactor. "You little--" He cut himself off, fake offended. "You're a little shit, I hope you know that."

"I know, Dad," Peter laughed, bumping into him gently. Tony rolled his eyes, graciously pulling the teenager into a half-hug. "So, what are we gonna do about Fashion's Most Wanted?"

"I've got a theory. And a plan."

"Really. A whole plan?"

"Ehhh, 12% of a plan."

Peter huffed, "Fun. When do we start?"

A dark figure was crouched, held tight against a building. A deep black and red shield was clenched on their arm, its shine the only thing visible in the night. Steve Rogers was a professional of stealth, accustomed to the ebony and arctic of the night.

Footsteps echoed in the emptiness of the building, and Steve tensed by the doorway where he was flattened against the dark bricks, his shield at the ready. A shadow in the night, he stood completely still until a figure stepped innocently through the door. Quick as a rattlesnake and silent as a mouse, he struck.

The man toppled. Steve caught him before he thudded to the ground, dragging him across the dirty cement and slipping the SHIELD agent behind a dumpster. He didn't bother to tie him up. Steve knew he'd be quick enough.

The Captain shifted through the doorway, every footstep light, and into the dusty light. As best he could, the soldier stuck to the shadows, thankful for the way the lights dimmed and flickered. The SHIELD building was old, but its information invaluable. The thought of what he might find spurred him forward to where the hallway was even brighter.

People were in that hallway. Two. They talked importantly, voices low, towards Steve. He ducked behind the doorway and out of the yellow light that shone from the hall, drawing his shield off of his forearm with a metallic sheen. He took a step forward, his maroon boot interrupting the golden light and the women's conversation.

They froze, looking up at him in terror before drawing guns from their hips. They didn't catch more than a glimpse of him before he'd thrown the shield. It bounced off the floor and zoomed around the ceiling. The dark red and black took the light with it as it shrouded the hallway in darkness. It returned to Steve seamlessly.

"We know you're there," came a voice. "Show yourself."

Silent, he threw the shield again. There were two thuds against the ground.

Steve dashed through the hall. And he brawled through the building.

Every hallway was the same. Agents, unaware and caught by surprise, left in the darkness and alone as he took the cameras out with his shield as well. Bodies dropped, gunshots flew, and in every room Steve was left unscathed. His reputation--the myth, a whisper, unknown--was well earned.

In barely six minutes, every floor had been cleared. Almost every floor.

The Captain slipped into the hallway of the last floor, leaving the dark and chalky stairway behind. The hallway itself was almost as dark as the stairwell, save for the light that trickled from underneath a closed door. He stalked closer, footsteps light and shield outstretched threateningly. He stopped outside the door and waited, listening to the murmured voices.

"...what was with that energy surge in New York?"

"Nobody knows. News cameras were wiped, all they showed was Iron Man wreaking havoc."

"Smart. A controlled narrative. Then again, that's all the world is now," snipped a voice. Steve furrowed his brows, searching for where he recognized it, but nothing was found. "Any news on the kid?"

"He's been at the fake SHIELD bases in New York, but the illusion's only been up for a few weeks. All things considered, he's been pretty tame. No burglaries or break-ins like the other 'villains.'"

"He knows?"

"We broke free," the woman responded as an answer. Her voice was familiar too.

"We weren't on Earth when it happened," the man argued.

"But the illusion still doesn't affect us while we're here."

"Well, at the very least, whatever happened effects him less than the others."

Steve's thoughts were racing, confused and trying to keep up with uncontextualized conversation. Illusion? Not on Earth? And what kid? Most strangely, his heart gave a painful tug at the mention of Iron Man, and he didn't know why. It almost hurt. Scratch that, it did hurt.

The super soldier shook his head, breaking free of the thoughts. His eyes flashed icy blue. He just had to get what he'd come here for and leave... What had he come here for? He furrowed his brows. There'd been a reason, he remembered he'd cared a lot about it, but now that he was here--the Captain was strangely lost.

He took a step back, hesitated, and then barreled through the door.

The metal hinges crunched underneath his force, creaking and groaning loudly but unable to cover the sound of guns clicking to action. He raised his shield to his face, crouching behind it for a moment as gunfire rained, clinking off of the metal harmlessly. There was a panicked yell of, "Fall back, Fury!!"

Steve threw his shield in the direction of the yell, diving behind a pile of crates at the familiar motion of the vibranium jumping from his forearm. It bounced with a schwing! knocking down the woman and zipping back to him. It sliced into a crate just above him, and he plucked it off of the splintered wood.

A gun cocked. Steve dared a glance around the crates.

The man was tall, dark, and intimidating. The way he held himself told Steve all he needed to know about what he could do, forcing him to duck behind the crates again in caution. He readjusted his shield with two thoughts: This man is dangerous, and, This man is familiar.

He didn't appreciate either of them.

"Steve?" the man dared, his voice hard. "If that's you I swear to God when we get out of this I'm taking that shiny shield of yours."

Steve hesitated. "You know me?"

"Yeah. You know me?"

His eyes flashed blue. His voice turned robotic. "You're Nick Fury, head of SHIELD. Tyrant do-gooder."

"Sure. I'll take it. Do you know who you are?"

The blue in his eyes dimmed to its natural darker color, warm instead of icy. Confusion, but not quite realization. "The Captain. And I'm here for something, so if you don't mind--"

"I mind," Fury interrupted. "What are you doing in Ireland, Rogers?"

"A mission."

"On what?"

"None of your concern," he answered shortly. He wished he knew.

"See, I think--"

Steve didn't think anymore. He swung out an arm and his shield flew off. There were gunshots, slowing the shield off of its course as Fury dived. The soldier jumped, gripping the shield as it bounced back, landing atop Fury. He buried a heavy foot on the man's leg, holding his shield out, ready for the fire of Fury's gun pointed upward.

Fury licked his lips. His words serious, his tone daring. "Are you gonna kill me, Rogers?"

The Captain stared down, his eyes narrowed. Killing Fury would be logical. SHIELD was his enemy. SHIELD was the enemy. All the missions, all the years spent fighting and tracking--the Director of SHIELD was the endgame... Wasn't he?

Fury took his silence as an answer.

"If you are, I'd hold off for a minute." The man nodded towards his left. Steve glanced.

There was a screen, portraying Iron Man, a bright explosion behind him. The video shifted, waves of red and blurred figures hidden from clear view. He squinted. Another tug, confused and--

Lonely.

"We're counting on you, Rogers."

"You shouldn't."

Against everything he'd ever known, Steve stepped off the man, lowering his SHIELD. Fury opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was, he didn't stick around to find out. The only traces that Steve had ever been there was an open window on the seventh floor and the two high-level SHIELD personnel he'd left alive for some reason still unknown to him.

A duffel bag thumped against the floor next to a cheap hotel bed. The springs of the mattress creaked as Steve sat down on it, running a hand through his tussled, damp hair and clicking on the news on the fizzled old television. The shower had been refreshing, but not relaxing. There were still so many questions left unanswered, leaving the man more exhausted than he'd ever been. His whole body ached with confusion and that haunting feeling of loneliness that had tugged when Iron Man had been mentioned.

The feeling had died down some since he'd escaped from the SHIELD base a few hours ago, but it had yet to be smothered, and despite how much it hurt, Steve was grateful.

He didn't know how long exactly, but everything had felt murky for a while. Distracting. Foggy clouds of muddled memories and feelings and motivations. Why had he gone to that SHIELD base? Why did he go to any SHIELD base? Why did he let Nick Fury go? Why did he avoid his home in favor of destroying people and places he didn't know?

There were answers, but they weren't the ones that he wanted.

He went to SHIELD bases because they were the enemy, Hydra had taught him that. And he didn't go back to Brooklyn because the entirety of the United States was prepped to kill him. But why?

Why be loyal to Hydra? Why hurt others who didn't deserve it in the slightest?

His head told him everything Hydra had ever told him, his life had ever told him, about loyalty and values and justice--but his gut said different.

"...another warrant and surge of military power has been shifted to deal with the threat of Iron Man," commented a news reporter, catching the soldier's attention. Steve looked up from where his face had been pressed into his clamped hands to stare at the television. The pang that had been fading gave another strong tug as a picture of Tony Stark was flashed on screen. "This comes just after the villain's most recent attack on the city of New York and the world's mightiest heroes, the Squadron Supreme."

Steve almost laughed. The public worship of the Squadron Supreme never failed to amuse and baffle him. Their name was particularly dreadful.

"Mysterio, also known as Quentin Beck, Earth's resident sorcerer from another realm, assured the public in a call with the White House earlier today, that in response they will take more whale methods to assure this detrimental threat is taken care of. Here is a clip of that call."

The screen changed. In the middle was black, ready for the transcript of the call, while on either side of the screen sat the dignified faces of the president and the sorcerer.

"As the head of the Squadron Supreme," the president started. "What are your plans to fix this blight on our peaceful American ideal?"

"Certainly the team is still conferring, as we don't operate on just one view, but the general consensus is to get to Stark before he can start attacking anywhere or anywhere else."

"Will that work?"

"It will," Beck assured. "My team is the best there is, and Stark is barely anything. We've been holding back, trying to exercise some tolerance and take him in so that he may face the justice of your great world, but I believe we've reached the point where his danger is too great and there can no longer be any doubt on taking him out." Steve's eyes narrowed in anger. He paused, confused at the defensive response, before shaking his head and tuning back in. "This goes for a lot of other terrorists that have been so graciously tolerated."

The president let out a shocked yet dismissive huff. "You can't possibly expect to take down all of the Most Wanted."

"Within the week, I can promise you that, Mr. President. Starting with Iron Man and all the way to even the Captain."

There was a noise as the president moved to say something, but the last of the clip was cut off, returning to the news anchors. Steve muted the television, staring at the wall above the crackling box. His brows furrowed. He just-- he didn't understand.

The TV flashed, catching his attention. Steve glanced back down, his heart skipped a beat at the image on screen. It was Iron Man and Spider-Man. It was a photo of the two, clearly taken while they had been attacking something or other. Stark's mask was off, showing off his shiny blue eyes and dazzlingly sharp smile. Spider-Man's mask was on, but the man's posture told him everything he needed to know. He was excited, and he was safe, even with guns pointed at him.

Stark and Spider-Man were a family, and, looking at them on screen, a little bit of his lost feeling was taken away.

Steve glanced down at his bag and then back at the television. Quick footed, he grabbed it and left without another word, searching for the first flight to New York.

// Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 //

#Iron Man #spiderman #captain america #tony stark #peter parker #steve rogers #stony #superior iron man #villain au #villain tony stark #villain peter parker #villain steve rogers #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

Text

The Way Our Horizons Meet: Chapter 4

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Summary: Carlos' perspective through the aftermath of T.K.'s shooting. Follows the events of episodes 1x08-1x10.

A/N: I had a few requests to write T.K. and Carlos’ conversation about what happened in New York. Hopefully I did it justice!

CW: Mentions of past drug use, overdosing, suicide (just mentioned, not attempted)

Read Chapters 1-3 on AO3

Carlos woke slowly in the morning. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains and he frowned trying to get his bearings; usually he was up before the sun, even on his days off. He liked to get a workout in early, before the day had really started. He shifted in the bed, wincing when he realized his left arm was full of pins and needles.

Blinking his eyes open fully he came face to face with T.K.’s sleeping form. Carlos’ mouth slowly curved into a smile. It had been a long time since he’d woken up to someone else in his bed. Even longer since it had been someone he really cared about.

Carlos watched him for a moment, just taking it all in. T.K. was lying on his back, mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling slowly. Last night had been…perfect, was the word that came to mind. There had been nothing between them anymore, nothing standing in the way of their feelings for one another, and they had spent many hours making that clear.

His arm was trapped underneath T.K.’s pillow, hence the numbness running all the way up to his shoulder. He didn’t want to wake his sleeping boyfriend (wow it felt good to call him that), but his arm was starting to tingle painfully. Slowly he attempted to ease it out from under T.K.’s head. Despited his best efforts, T.K. immediately began to stir, inhaling sharply and opening his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep as he rolled onto his side to face Carlos, allowing him to free his arm completely.

“Hey,” Carlos said fondly, flexing his fingers as feeling began to return. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay.” T.K. smiled sleepily.

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Mhmm,” T.K. said as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Carlos’. “Did you?”

“It was…the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while,” Carlos said honestly.

“Well,” T.K. grinned lazily at him, “we were pretty enthusiastic when we got back here last night. You were probably exhausted.”

Carlos grinned back, running a hand down T.K.’s side, resting it on his hip as memories of the night before flitted through his brain. They’d had to get a little creative considering T.K.’s stitches situation. He didn’t seem any worse for the wear though. “I think I was.”

T.K. looked a little more awake now, his eyes glinting with that look he got when he wanted something. Carlos liked that he knew what so many of T.K.’s different looks meant now. “Are you still exhausted?” he asked, voice low.

His fingers trailed slowly down Carlos’ spine, causing him to shiver. “Not in the least.”

“Good.” T.K.’s mouth was on his in an instant, hungry, searching, and Carlos lost himself in the kiss as they picked up where they’d left off the night before.

It was an hour later that they both lay in the bed, T.K.’s head pillowed on Carlos’ chest. “I like waking up with you,” he said quietly.

T.K. didn’t say anything for a long moment and Carlos felt the certainty and bliss of the last few hours stutter in his chest. He thought they’d finally been on the same page, but maybe…

His hand fell back to the bed as T.K. abruptly sat up, determination on his face. The sheets twisted around his waist as he crossed his legs and looked seriously at Carlos. “I want you to know what happened in New York.”

Carlos pushed himself up on his elbow, reaching his free hand out to touch T.K.’s knee. “You don’t have to. There’s no pressure. You can tell me now or never, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know,” T.K. cupped Carlos’ face in his hand and stroked his thumb across his cheek, his gaze fierce. “And that’s why you deserve to know. If we’re going to give this a shot, you should know everything.”

“Okay,” Carlos said softly, mentally bracing himself. Based on what little he did know, he didn’t think this would be easy to hear.

T.K.’s eyes fell to the bed as he collected his thoughts. “I had only been clean again for about six months when I met Alex. I was at a friend’s birthday party, testing my sobriety in a way I probably shouldn’t have been. Someone introduced us, and we hit it off right away. I realized later the whole thing was a setup. But I was okay with it because Alex was charming and fun and I was so desperate to get my life back on track. He was stable, had a good job, knew where he was going in life; he was everything I wasn’t.

“We were together a little over two years and it was good. We didn’t fight or have problems. I just…didn’t see who he really was until it was too late.” T.K. swallowed hard and twisted his fingers into the sheets. “I loved him. I really did. I wanted to marry him. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.”

He laughed ruefully and shook his head. “My dad never liked him. My mom did, but my mom likes anyone I like. My dad…he didn’t say anything outright but I could tell. And even if he had said something I probably wouldn’t have listened. I’m uh, I’m kind of stubborn.”

“I’ve noticed,” Carlos said with a smile.

T.K. smiled sheepishly. “Yeah well, sometimes it’s for the better and sometimes not so much.” His face fell a little. “I had it all set up. Dinner at this fancy place, I was going to propose right before dessert. So cliché, but that’s what I was going to do.” T.K. gave a humorless laugh. “And when he got there I got so excited and I just couldn’t wait. I pulled out the ring and started to get down on one knee and he stopped me. Grabbed my arm and told me to sit down.”

T.K.’s jaw worked and Carlos could tell tears were near the surface. “Hey,” he said, sitting up so they were eye to eye. “Take your time.”

T.K. nodded gratefully and blew out a shaky breath. “He’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor. They were in love. Now I wonder if the spin instructor was even the first. There were times he seemed distant, and then a couple months would go by and he would be all attentive and sweet again. I think there might have been others, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

“I had never felt so stupid. Like it was my fault. If I had just been better, done more then he wouldn’t have had to cheat. And I should have seen it. I just wanted so desperately to tick all the boxes that proved I was doing the right thing in my life that I didn’t see any of the warning signs until after the fact.”

T.K. rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, no longer able to meet Carlos’ gaze. “I knew where to get pills fast. So I left the restaurant and I picked up some Oxy and went home. I didn’t even try to stop myself. I just did what I do best in a personal crisis: completely self destruct.”

Carlos’ heart picked up its pace. He knew where this was going, knew that this story ended with them here, together in bed right now, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

T.K. cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I just…wanted it all to go away. The thought of being left, of not being enough…it eats away at you until it’s all you can think about.”

He shook his head. “I took a few and when that wasn’t enough I took a few more and then a few more. And the next thing I knew I was on the floor, puking my guts out, with my dad and his crew picking up my pieces. It wasn’t my first overdose, but it was the closest I’ve ever come to…if they’d been even a minute later…”

Carlos felt his throat growing tight. He’d come so close to losing T.K. before he’d ever even known him. The thought made him oddly protective. He wished he could somehow reach into the past and keep T.K. from ever knowing such incredible hurt.

“My dad didn’t report it, not the way he should have. If he had I would have been fired,” T.K. said, his voice breaking a little as he spoke. “He basically took control of everything and told me to pack my stuff. Because of me he uprooted his whole life and dragged us here.”

He looked up nervously, trying to judge Carlos’ reaction. “You know the rest.”

“You were right,” Carlos said softly. “That is messy.”

“It’s a lot, I know,” T.K. said quickly. “I just…I want you to understand why some things might be hard for me. I fell so hard and so fast last time and I can’t take risks like that again. My dad, he needs me, now more than ever. I can’t do anything to put my sobriety in jeopardy. And I realize this,” he gestured to the disheveled bedding and their naked bodies, “doesn’t exactly look like going slow, but as far as feelings and stuff like that go…”

“Hey,” Carlos put a hand on his knee, “I will never pressure you into anything you don’t want. We’re in this together.” He looked T.K. directly in the eye. “And I want to be really clear here; you can trust me. Always. It’s going to take time for you to see that, for us to build that trust together, but you can. And any mistakes I make along the way are mine and mine only, not a reflection of you.”

T.K. looked at him for a long moment, a hand coming up to softly touch Carlos’ face. “You’re so ridiculously perfect.”

Carlos shifted, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“Well it must be true then,” T.K. said with a smile.

“That is…incredibly sweet,” Carlos said. “But if this is going to work, you can’t put me on a pedestal like that. The only place for me to go is down.” He slid his fingers between T.K.’s. “You and I are the same; flawed, human. I am not some…god among men, now matter how much I might want to be. I have my stuff too. Which I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

“You can’t possibly have baggage like I do,” T.K. said, leaning back against the pillows.

Carlos shrugged. “Yours might be more obvious, but mine could be worse. You have to watch out for the quiet ones, isn’t that what they say?”

T.K. raised his eyebrows and smirked. “You certainly weren’t quiet last night.”

Carlos threw a pillow at him, which T.K. easily deflected. Carlos shook his head, but he smiled. “That is not what we’re talking about.” His face grew serious. “If this is going to work you have to love me for who I am, not some idealized version of me.”

T.K. blinked at him for a moment. “Love you?”

Carlos’ cheeks flamed and he rushed to take back the word that had slipped off of his stupid, besotted tongue. “I didn’t mean—I—“

T.K. laughed. “It’s okay, Carlos.”

“No, I’m sorry. You just poured your heart out and I can’t keep my damn mouth shut—”

“Carlos,” T.K. leaned forward and kissed him, effectively cutting off his apology. “It’s okay.” He traced his fingers down Carlos’ cheek. “I may not be ready to say that word yet. But I am ready to be with you.” He brushed a kiss over Carlos’ nose. “And I like you,” he kissed his cheek. “Very,” his ear. “Very,” his neck. “Much.”

They were falling back into the bed again, limbs tangling, lips finding bare skin. They clearly had so much more to talk about, but for now, what they’d said was enough. If this was love, it would find them the time to take care of the rest.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #T.K. Strand #Carlos Reyes #1x08 #1x10 #The boys are having some feelings #And sexy times #As per usual #The Way Our Horizons Meet #Chapter 4

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signed-yours-truly-the-whale · 4 years

Text

Thoughts/Observations on Joker, part 1

AKA I Spent 7 Hours on This, I Will Die if it Gets Less Than Three Notes

I could rave for hours about this movie’s cinematography. Literal hours.

Nobody talks enough about Arthur’s full-fledged dedication to his clown craft. Man is working 60+ hours a week and does not break a sweat. I also fucking love this clowny face he pulls here. The first shot we see of Arthur in full. Holy shit is it beautiful. God bless Joaquin Phoenix.

These two shots together are incredibly important to me. In a split-second we see Arthur’s disbelief that he cannot control the whirlwind of emotions inside of his own head, not even being able to produce a smile, and then his resignation because it’s just another day. Heartbreaking.

Awwww shiiiiit

Gotham City is such a dump but I’d be bullshitting myself if I said I didn’t love the grimy aesthetic of it. It’s technicolor trash.

Arthur loves his job so much. He genuinely enjoys being Carnival. That hurts a lot to think about in hindsight.

This man just got his ass handed to him and he is STILL SPRAYING THE FAKE FLOWER ON HIS VEST

YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT DEDICATION

This opening card is so imposing. Not only does it take up the entire screen to the point of running off the edges, but it’s shielding Arthur from view. Arthur is invisible in light of Joker in Arthur’s own movie.

I screenshotted this by accident but I felt a need to put it here because he’s just so adorable. Even right before an episode.

E y e s s s s s

E Y E S S S S S

I desperately want to know what got Arthur sent to Arkham the first time. A suicide attempt? A public breakdown? I really want fanfics of it.

There’s a really, really good fanfiction on AO3 by Arthur_Fleck about Arthur slowly recovering and meeting a girl called In the Major and Minor Arcana

I highly, highly recommend it

Okay. Joaquin’s immersion into his characters -- all of them -- is absolutely incredible. But Arthur is just ... off the charts, man. No two of his characters are the same and he embeds himself so deeply in their skin, but Joaquin buried himself so deeply into Arthur’s brain that it is so hard for me to see any of Joaquin at all. God, he’s incredible and this shot makes me emotional because this just is Arthur.

ARTHUR WOULD BE A GREAT DAD AND I DO NOT ACCEPT ARGUMENTS

It really speaks to how shitty Gotham is that this man is having a full-fledged screaming/laughing breakdown on the bus and nobody is batting an eye

I adore how the cinematography paints Arthur as so small to his own environment. He’s a speck of dust. A fleck.

Babie is wincing :((((

I have been trying to figure out the layout of this apartment for months and my inability to, even with a floor plan, is driving me insane

I just found out that the Budweiser beer jingle Here Comes the King is on the soundtrack and plays when Arthur comes home and that made me go feral

I A M M U R R A Y , K I N G O F A S S H O L E S

It is second nature for me to do this stupid pose every time I watch this scene

Arthur blending into the crowd here makes me ... so happy. He looks so happy.

This is Arthur’s best laugh of the movie, fuck you. I am incredulous that I was the only person laughing when I saw this in the theater opening night.

This is one of the few moments I really see Joaquin shine through Arthur. I don’t know why, but this lighting and his voice and his intensity gives me visceral flashbacks to watching a little boy Joaquin in Parenthood. God, I love this man.

It really is a testament to Penny’s (lack of) parenting that Arthur is day dreaming about receiving affection and validation from a parent figure when his own mother is literally right there

GOD DAMN THIS MAN IS GORGEOUS

But also big bruise :(

Yes, I shall trust you, man named Randall smiling down at me in low angle light

Why was Hoyt not informed that Arthur got his ass beat on the job? As Arthur’s employer he should’ve literally been the first person to know so he could make a note of it. Either he wasn’t told or he gave so little of a fuck that his consciousness astral projected to another plane of existence while he shoved the white powder down his throat and forgot Arthur existed at all.

Literally fuck Hoyt. I hate him even more that his office is the coolest shit in the world

ARTHUR KNOWS THE CUSTOMER SERVICE SMILE

Joaquin dislocated his knee in this scene, the poor boy

I could write a full damn essay about why the misleading advertising of Sophie as a prominent character was the greatest twist of the whole movie. Literally I am still speechless how the movie did that.

I am not kidding when I say my sister has this same color scheme in the bathroom of our house and realizing that made me werewolf

Also Arthur being the son Penny doesn’t deserve warms and breaks my heart

The complete lack of reaction to Penny’s “Don’t you have to be funny to be a comedian” makes me laugh and cry internally

This shot? Gorgeous. His face? Deadly. That jawline? Cutting diamonds. Hotel? Trivago.

I really, really want a Joker 2, but at the same time I do not want a Joker 2 because Joaquin Phoenix has a baby who needs him now and he cannot be pulling shit like losing 52 lbs for a role

Also I REALLY need to discuss how much this brass ballet reminds me so heavily of Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. Holy fuck, I got actually chills in the theater

Like holy fuck

And then this shot reminds me so heavily of the opening of Fedddy vs Jason with Freddy Krueger laughing over his newspaper collage of missing children. Holy fuck I love this cinematography.

Guys. G - Guys, his name tag says Dr. Carnival, can you hear me s o b b i n g

This part is so Chaplinesque, the way he slides the gun into his coat again

These children look so afraid of him for dropping the gun and wowie, does that really hurt

Was this asshole supposed to be modeled after Eric Trump? Because I get really douchebaggy Eric Trump vibes (minus the jacked teeth) from this ringleader

I don’t have much to say here except I am in love with the way Artie’s hair sticks straight up in bottle curls when the clown wig slides off

Also if you decide it’s a good idea to mess with a man dressed as a clown laughing maniacally on the subway of one of the most dangerous cities in the world, you are asking him to shoot you and I will not feel sorry for you

I will never not be in love with this image. I fell in love with it in the teaser trailer and almost went feral in the middle of the mall when I saw this was the poster they used to advertise the movie with. My friend described this movie as “chaos, beautified,” and nothing sums it up as well as this picture.

JOAQUIN AND TODD MADE THIS ENTIRE SEQUENCE UP AND I AM IN LOVE

Hello, handsome

#joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck #joaquin phoenix

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wontshutup · 4 years

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Worry|| Five Hargreeves x reader

Honestly, I’ve been really uninspired lately writing wise, it’s just I have had a lot going on lately, however, I do have a couple of ideas often and I really do want to put them down into text.

It might not be the best I can write but this are things that I still want to share out here, so here it goes.

Description: reader has already had an encounter with the Handler and has been over the whole “Commission” assasins deal with Five (season 1 events). Now in 1963 and reunited with Diego after three years of struggling in there, Diego and Five take her to settle in with them at Elliott’s, soon enough they get to discuss where was Diego previous to reuniting and why, worrying reader.

Warnings: contains spoilers, mild swearing, mentions of death, other than that, none. Probs bad writing tbh.

Notes: this was not requested, this comes from a whole on narrative I already have in my head and ideas pop and here we are. Idk how to age reader in here.

I´m just looking for very specific x reader content, if I don’t find it I will create it. ( not too specific actually hehe)

“How could you do THAT?!”

You couldn’t believe it, well, actually you very much could, this was Diego we were talking about. Yet you knew how dangerous it was.

“How could I not? This is a presidential assassination we are talking about Y/N. Knowing and doing nothing makes us accomplices!” he declared leaning closer to you, raising his tone with each declaration.

“IT MAKES YOU A FUCKING TARGET!” you caught your breath in an attempt to steady your voice.“If you go and try to save the president like that it’s like walking with a fucking shooting target painted all over you” you swallowed harshly, remembering how you felt when you realized that you were alone in a completely unkown time. “I-I can’t lose you, Diego, not again” the last part you said almost inaudibly, yet, Diego could hear your every word.Your eyes glossed over threatening to tear any second.

You looked at him directly in the eye and noticed his confusion, he was processing what you said as if evaluating if to ask why should you lose him or why should he listen to you, trying to form a clear idea of whoever was it that could come for him if he saved JFK, yet you could see that in his confusion you hadn’t really talked him out of this suicidal purpose of him.

“She’s right” Five walked into Elliott’s living room, a cup of coffee in hand. He took a seat beside you and across Diego so that you both were now confronting him.

“Oh really? how so?” Diego´s voice was defiant. You knew that since he had set his mind on something there was no way of making him change it.

“Well…Five?” You looked at him for support, you just couldn’t explain how the whole “Commission” business worked to Diego. He either wouldn’t buy it and try to save JFK or believe it, but be his stubborn self and still try to save the soon to be death president.

“It’s complicated. The one thing you need to know is that there is an order in the time, place, and events that go on in them that shouldn’t be altered” He said as if explaining the reason to a child. A very dumb, hard-headed child

“Not even in the slightest” you added with seriousness looking at him in the eye.

“All right mom and dad” he sighed out rolling his eyes at you two as he got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

You knew that didn’t change his mind in the slightest, but at least you tried. Five must have known this too as he scoffed with fake disbelief.

“He will get himself killed” you thought out loud looking at where he went.

“They would be doing us a favor” Five answered nonchalantly, looking into his cup, thing which earned him a glare from you, he noticed.

“Hey, you know I wouldn´t allow anything bad to happen to my family,” he said staring forward into Elliott’s papers, then he turned to look at you with a tenderness you hadn’t ever seen in him, not that you had actually seen much of him in the three years you spent alone in an unknown time.“to any of you” he said holding your gaze.

Did that meant he considered you family? You thought that was the sweetest thing the man could bring himself to say to someone who wasn’t his siblings, not even to them, to anyone actually.

“Awe, you two look so cute!” Lila’s voice broke the silent connection between you.

Five rolled his eyes, then gave you an apologetic look.

“That’s my cue” and with that he dedicated a deadly glare towards Lila and blinked away, leaving you slightly disappointed about the interruption.

“Ow, sorry” Lila said shrugging with a sheepish smile, then skipped her way towards you, taking the seat Five had just left.

Unlike Five, you didn’t precisely hate her as much as he had expressed, yet, you didn’t really trust her, she gave off a vibe you didn’t like, she made you feel uneasy, as if she was observing all of you and so, you did the same. You knew Diego wasn’t of the best judgement and Five was too judgemental and you? you thought that maybe you were being paranoid but many times you had proven yourself that ignoring your gut was not the best, it never has been.

You dedicated her a smile “Don’t worry....coffee?” you suggested as to take both your minds off what had happened between you and Five.

“That would be lovely!” she accepted and so, you got up to brew more only to find that Five had already brewed what seemed to be a single extra portion of coffee.

#five hargreeves #tua #the umbrella academy #tua x reader #five hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves #lila pitts #tua imagine #sorry i still simp for five

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

1x14: Nightmare

Then:

Previously on All My Ghosts

Now:

We open the episode with a man pulling into his garage and promptly getting suffocated by car fumes when his car starts on its own and the garage door closes on its own.

It was actually one of Sam’s visions! The boys hit the road despite Dean’s skepticism about it all.

They get to the man’s house, but it’s too late.

Sam and Dean talk to the local onlookers and one woman fills them in that it was suicide. She can’t imagine what the family is going through --as we watch a bereft woman and son talk with the cops.

Sam wants to know why he’s having these visions, if he can’t stop them.

The next morning they head to talk to the grieving family.

For Forgive Me Father, I Have Sinned Science:

They talk to the widow and learn that her son, Max, found the body. Sam offers to go talk to him. Dean tries to see if the house is haunted by asking the widow roundabout questions about the house. She doesn’t bite. Sam talks with Max and sympathizes with the kid for losing a parent.

Dean heads upstairs to do a little investigating.

That night they discuss the case and can’t find anything odd about the house. Sam then gets another vision. This one is of the victim’s brother and a pesky window that won’t stay closed.

Until it slams down on his head, decapitating him.

The brothers rush to Roger’s apartment and find him just as he’s getting home. They chase after him but he wants nothing to do with them.

They race to the back of the building and start climbing the fire escape. There’s a lot of stairs. Will they make it in time???

The brothers think that whatever’s happening is attached to the family like a curse. Sam wonders if Max is in danger. He also says their own family is cursed. (IF YOU ONLY KNEW SAM!)

Dressed as priests, they return to Max’s house. Sam tries to puppy-dog-eye emotional truths out of Max, but the kid won’t budge. Everything’s fiiiiiine. The Winchesters ditch the priest costumes (RUDE), then head out to interview the neighbors. (Why yes, I AM picturing Dean grouchily taking off his costume and shoving it back in the trunk.) The neighbor reveals that Max’s father abused him. Mid-interview, Sam develops a massive headache.

Sam passes out, and our scene jumps to Max confronting his stepmother over her failure to protect him and his brother. He lifts a knife with his BRAIN and jabs it through her eye.

Suddenly we’re in the Impala, and Sam explains to his brother that he’s seeing Max killing people. Dean’s ready to kill Max in order to save lives, but Sam believes that reason will win out and they can talk him out of killing his stepmom.

The Winchesters break into Max’s house mid-murder-attempt, and convince him to step outside with them. Unfortunately for them, Max spots Dean’s gun jammed into his waistband and slams the doors shut with his mojo. Sam tries to get him to talk it out.

Sam tells Max that he knows about his killings because...HE’S PSYCHIC TOO. They were meant to help each other! Max lets Dean haul the stepmom upstairs, and Sam starts his counseling session with Max. Sam “Sheltered from Abuse by his Brother” Winchester is appalled to see that Max is still abused - and is even now covered in parent-inflicted bruises and cuts.

Sam’s therapy session gets derailed when Max mentions some VERY FAMILIAR FACTS. His mom died in a fire in his nursery - pinned to the ceiling. Sam is VERY SHOCK MANY SURPRISED but he tells Max that the same thing happened to him too. They must be connected! Sam puppy dog eyes Max ONE more time, begging for him to let his stepmom go. Alas for Sam, his soulful looks FAIL and he gets jammed into the hall closet and a piece of furniture drags over to block the door.

Max heads upstairs, where he showboats his psychic powers and threatens Dean and his stepmom with Dean’s gun.

Max shoots Dean right through the head!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DAMN YOU SHOOOOOOOOOOW!

Season one Sam feels the same way about this vision of his brother’s death. He reaches deep inside himself and moves that X-wing - I mean - large piece of furniture blocking the closet door. He stops Max from killing Dean, but he doesn’t stop him from turning the gun on himself. Max hears Sam’s “murdering everyone won’t fix anything” plea and decides that means he should kill himself, instead. Max falls to the floor, dead. Welp.

As the Winchesters leave, Sam blames himself. If only they could have saved him! “We’re lucky we had Dad,” Sam concludes.

I swear to fucking god, show.

“A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting...and then we would have Max’s childhood.” Dean sniffs in reply. (I stab my John Winchester voodoo doll a few times to feel better.) “All things considered, we turned out okay. Thanks to him.”

“All things considered,” Dean agrees while my brain EXPLODES AT DEAN’S PARENTAL ROLE IN SHELTERING SAM FROM HIS FATHER AND THE WORLD.

Back at their motel, they chat while packing up. Sam stews over what the demon who killed their mom was after. He also has one more bombshell to drop on his poor brother. He escaped the closet back at the house by...moving furniture with his BRAIN.

Dean being Dean, he holds out a spoon and orders Sam to bend it. DEAN, Sam has to be distressed or high on demon blood to achieve that...and later on it’ll be written out of the show entirely! Anyway, Dean’s not worried. Sam won’t go darkside because he has something Max doesn’t have. Sam...has Dean.

Quotes Love Dressing Up:

If you're gonna hurl I'll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery

You’re...dark

“Dean I've been thinking.” “Well, that's never a good thing.”

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 1x14 #nightmare #supernatural season 1

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Black Dog - part six Word count: 5100± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part six summary: The huntress tries whatever she can to outrun her past. Now that it’s midnight, the shadows are out to get her and threaten to take Dean down as well. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

No wind, not even the slightest breeze. Evergreens stop whispering, night animals seem to have vanished in the deepest holes of the forest. Whitehorse Mountain has turned into a dead rock in a matter of seconds. No tree can grow, no life can live, only pure evil lingers in these woods now.

Dean looks around in disbelief, his eyes darting to detect anything that moves as he adjusts the backpack hanging from his shoulder. He has seen many things over the years, but the poison that has affected the entire Cascade Range is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. The temperature was already at freezing before midnight struck, yet now it’s so cold, he reckons it’s minus twenty. A shuddering breath leaves his cold lips, when the trees around him begin to crack and moan. Frost crawls up from their roots, covering the trunk with a layer of ice that eventually reaches the branches, causing the remaining leaves to fall. “What the fuck is going on?” he questions, whispering, afraid that whatever stalked this land is listening in on his words.

Zoë backs out, the snow crunching under her boots, nervously shining the flashlight over the shadows which seem to close in and swallow her whole. All she can hear is the sound of her lungs heaving a breath, Dean’s respiration providing her a harmony in the silence. Heart beating loud and fast against her ribcage, she looks over at him, tears glistening in her eyes but she doesn’t reply to the question. “You can still run.” “No chance in hell,” he returns, determined, pushing down the fear that his surroundings are surfacing. Zoë huffs. “Funny you mention that…” “Would you just answer my question, Zo? What the fuck is happening?” he repeats, his eyes flicking left and right, frantically trying to pick up on anything that moves. “It wouldn’t matter if you know, Dean,” she whimpers. “It wouldn’t matter if you stayed either. You can’t save me! It’s - it’s too late! If you go now, you might still have a chance,” Zoë exclaims desperately. Dean stands a little taller, despite that he begins to realize that he’s in way over his head. “I’ll take my chances right here.” “Then that will be the end of it! You’ll never see your Dad again, you’ll never see Sam again!” she shouts at him in an attempt to get through to the hunter. “We’ll see about that,” he returns, despite the thought horrifying him. After all, with Zoë clearly panicking, he needs to be the calm and collected one. “I'm not letting you go down without a fight.”

He takes his shotgun, engages the breech lever, opens the break action and discards the empty casings. Then he picks two shells from his pocket, pushes them into the barrel and brings it back up. The soldier is ready for battle, and this is him offering protection until the very end. Zoë swallows down a lump in her throat, trying to hide the emotions that his gesture brings to the surface. Although she wishes he had chosen differently, she has to appreciate his courageous decision. “Now for the last time, answer me,” he calmly demands, trying to keep a hold on the situation. “What are we dealing with?”

Zoë sighs deeply, finally deciding to tell him. Perhaps he will let her be if she tells the truth, and it will finally click in his stubborn mind that she’s a lost cause. But before Zoë can answer, a howl echoes through the valley. Both are startled by the sound and look at each other, eyes widened. “That ain’t no coyote,” Dean gulps.

Chills run up and down Zoë’s spine as she listens, horrified, as the call is answered by several more of its species. She knows the stories, it’s the last thing you hear before getting ripped to pieces. This is the final warning, announcing their arrival. They are coming for her.

The howls repeat several times, seeming to come from all directions. Frozen on the spot, she scans the area, shivering in fear. The silence returns, the calm before the storm.

Then she sees it.

Her gaze stills and she inhales sharply, focused at the top of the ridge. Dean observes her big terrified eyes and follows them, but he doesn’t see anything. Whatever is there, it’s invisible, at least for him. One thing is clear as day, though; the huntress can see it just fine. Trying to figure out their options, he glances over. But before he can take action, Zoë reacts by doing the one thing Dean didn’t expect her to do; she flees.

Caught off guard, the hunter stares at her running figure for a split second, when he hears the howl again. He might not see what Zoë is running from, but right now might be a good time to get moving himself.

As if they are both being chased by the Devil, they rush down hill through the forest, trying to avoid collision with trees and rocks. The hunter monitors Zoë constantly, not letting her out of sight as she appears and disappears between the evergreens several yards ahead of him. Without hesitation, she skillfully jumps down a ridge, breaks her fall with a somersault and continues her desperate escape attempt. Dean halts at the edge of the cliff and looks down at a stream which has carved itself through the mountain. Whoa, that’s deep! Before he jumps, he glances ahead and spots a small hunter’s cabin. “Smart girl,” he comments.

Dean leaps over the gap, hurting his knees with his fall, but not enough to slow him down. He continues to run down the slope as fast as he possibly can, trying his very best not to trip over roots as he goes. “If you’re not gonna tell me what these motherfuckers are, at least tell me that I can shoot them!” Dean shouts as he jumps over a fallen tree. “Not with salt or silver!” she returns. “Torch them?!” “Won’t work!” “Just fucking great!” Dean curses.

As fast as their feet can carry them, they bolt towards the house on the hill. Zoë reaches the small open space in front of the cabin. Dean watches her as his lungs burn in an attempt to keep up with her. Almost there. Almost th--

Out of nowhere, Zoë slams to the ground. At first Dean thinks she has tripped, but within a fraction of a second he realizes that she just got tackled by the creature that is still invisible to him. Desperately the huntress tries to fight it off, but she doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tries to get to her as fast as he can, but has to watch in horror how the monsters drag her away and tear up her leg, pulling a chilling, agonizing scream from her.

“NO!!!” he roars.

“Dean!!” Zoë cries out between frantic squeals as she claws at the icy soil, despairingly trying to hold on to something before she disappears into the shadows. Crimson poisons the snow underneath her, disrupting the black and white picture.

Not wasting a moment, Dean racks the shotgun and shoulders it. He skids down the slippery hill, the snow allowing him to slide towards her fast while leveling with the ground underneath them. He needs to be positioned low in order to take the shot if he doesn’t want to load her face full with rocksalt.

The skilled hunter aims while still in motion and fires, pulling a loud yelp from whatever creature is on top of her, and for a brief moment Zoë seems to be freed from her ambushers. Quickly, Dean hoists her up and unceremoniously drags her onto the porch and inside the cabin. He pushes the door closed, the heavy iron latch falling shut. It’s good that he wasn’t a second slower, because a strong force rams against the wood from the other side. “Son of a bitch!” he groans, using all his strength to stop the creatures from getting in.

Suddenly, the hinges stop rattling and the violent barking and growling behind the barrier ceases. Vigilant, Dean stands by the door, holding it with both hands flat on the timber, but then notices the line of black dust on the doorstep by his feet. Realizing Zoë just laid down the line of gunpowder-like particles, he turns around, perceiving the smear of blood on the wooden floor. When he follows the trail, he finds the woman who he barely saved, crawling to the opposite wall. As the monsters outside start circling the cabin, her focus darts from one window to the other, completely terrified. There’s no way they could come in, though. Every possible entry of this little cabin is sealed with the black dust, which apparently holds enough power to keep this evil out.

Dean realizes this isn’t the first time Zoë has been here. She made sure she could return to this place if things went south. The fact that she had a back-up plan doesn’t surprise the hunter one bit. What does, is that she is currently curled up into a ball, hiding in the far corner of the room like a scared little animal. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood on her cheeks, as she anxiously keeps an eye on the windows, breathing irregular and rapidly. “Zo? Easy, it’s okay now.” The hunter rushes over and kneels down next to his injured companion, takes off his backpack, then his leather coat and his denim jacket. The last one he folds into a ball and presses to the wound in order to staunch the bleeding. He needs to keep pressure, but he can tell she’s losing the battle with her anxiety. “Hey hey hey... Look at me, take a breath,” he tries, while attending the disturbing injury. “I’m right here.”

He takes the sleeves from the blood-stained jacket and uses them to tie the bundle of clothing to the wounds in order to have his hands free. Zoë doesn’t respond to his actions despite the pain it must inflict, the terrified young woman having other issues to deal with. Breathing for one, because she seems unable to fill her lungs with oxygen.

The hunter looks up from his work after tightening the knot. She’s restless, her chest heaving fast. Upset, she keeps searching for a possible other way for the bastards to get in. When one of the creatures outside howls like a wolf in the night, she almost jumps out of her skin and can’t help but to cry. He doesn’t need to be a psychologist to determine that she’s having a full-blown panic attack. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Zo,” Dean hushes, carefully laying one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “It’s gonna be alright. They can’t get in.”

Frightened, she tries to find protection with him and Dean answers her by pulling her into his chest. She crawls closer to find shelter in his arms, a sob wrecking her. Her entire body is shaking, yet when he presses his cheek against her forehead, her skin feels clammy. Dean knows Zoë is anything but affectionate these days, so he’s stunned by this 180 degree flip compared to the fearless woman he ran into in Rochester two weeks back. These things really scare the fuck out of her. Dean never imagined that the huntress - an absolute force to be reckoned with - could turn into the fragile girl he is holding close right now. Yet here she is, quaking in his hold, struggling to breathe.

“You’re okay, easy breaths, alright?” he whispers into her hair. “I won’t let them get to you, I promise. You’re safe.” While waiting for the anxiety to pass, Dean keeps soothing her by running his hand up and down her back, trying his best to calm her down. Her entire body continues to tremble, but eventually her respiration becomes more even. After finally being able to take in a deep inhale, Zoë creates some distance between her and the hunter. Concerned, Dean dips his head to make eye contact, but she’s avoiding his gaze. “Don’t ever tell Sam this,” she chokes out, wiping her tears and runny nose with her sleeve. “He’ll laugh his ass off.”

Dean smiles; she’s back. He keeps her steady to make sure she has retaken control over her fear, when she flinches. Both direct their attention to her injury and Dean gets on his feet, only to crouch down by her extended leg again. He folds the soaked fabric away, revealing the damage. Through the denim of her jeans he can see the torn flesh and puncture holes, blood flowing from the wounds. Her combat boots prevented the creatures from crushing her ankle, so at least there’s that. He takes off his leather belt and carefully lifts her calf in order to slip the strap underneath.

“Y’know, I normally don’t remove my clothes on the first date,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. He earns a scoff and a glint of a grin. “Don’t think you’ve ever known a girl this long without taking your clothes off,” she responds, her voice still shaky. Corking his eyebrow, he shoots her a look with a smirk on his lips, wearing his mask well. Carefully, Dean pushes her torn jeans up a little so that he can work. “Nasty wound, Zo.” He makes a discontent sound with his mouth. “Nothing we can’t fix, though.” "Don't bother, it's no use,” she whimpers. “Haven’t you figured out what these things are?” “I have,” he says, remorseful to admit the truth. “Hellhounds.”

She swallows apprehensively and confirms with a nod. “What do you know about them?” “I know they are the gate watchers of Hell and that they collect souls who struck a deal with a demon,” Dean states. “Which gives you a fucking lot to explain.” Zoë blows out a breath, realizing she owes him that much. He just saved her life again, or at least postponed her expiration date. “What else do you know?” “Not much. Sam’s the nerd, remember?” he jokes. She smiles, only slightly, but Dean’s glad she is still able to. “Pull it,” Zoë orders, hinting at the belt.

For a brief moment he looks her in the eye, but then he tightens the leather strap just above the laceration. Although it hurts, she doesn’t make a noise. Pain she can handle. Hell; now that’s a whole different horror show. Once Dean has secured the improvised tourniquet, Zoë rests her head against the wooden wall behind her, still shaken by current events.

“This is useless,” she mutters. “I should just walk out and let them take me.” “Are you nuts? That’s suicid--” As Dean pronounces those words, he realizes that’s exactly what this is; suicide. She planned to give the hellhounds what they want, her soul. Suddenly their last conversation in Paragould makes perfect sense; she really didn’t expect to see him and his brother again. When she said ‘deadline’, she meant it in the true sense of the word. Zoë didn’t anticipate coming here and solving a case; she came here to die. The only reason why she moved to plan B was because he showed up at the final moment and was too stubborn to leave her side. Seeking shelter in this hideout would be the only way possible to grant his safety.

“That was your plan, wasn’t it? You were waiting for them to come and claim you,” he utters, stunned. She shrugs, careless. “A lot better than bleeding to death in here. I’m going to Hell anyway.” “Not if I can help it,” Dean says, determined.

He rises to his feet, pushing warm air from his lungs, which forms clouds in front of his face. A thin layer of ice is starting to form on the inside of the windows, obstructing the view. Staying still by Zoë’s side instead of running for his life has made him realize that they have another enemy to deal with; the cold. Now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping anymore, hypothermia is lurking around the corner. Combined with low blood pressure caused by blood loss, it can be a deadly cocktail. He needs to find a way for them to get warm.

Looking around the sober cabin, Dean clicks his tongue while going over his options. There’s barely any furniture, not even a dirty mattress. Only a wooden table and four chairs were left behind by the previous users, and a kitchenette in the corner remained as well. The hunter stalks over, opening the cupboard under the stove. The propane tank he finds will not provide them any heat; it has been empty for quite some time. Dean screws the valve closed again and curses under his breath. Then he glances at the fireplace on the other side of the room. He’s not sure if it’s smart to set it alight, because that shaft might actually be a way in for those fuckers if they aren’t careful.

“We can use it,” Zoë announces, understanding his thought process. “I mounted an iron pipeline filled with goofer dust around the chimney. They won’t be able to enter through there.” “Goofer dust?” Dean repeats, questioning. “It’s hoodoo,” she elaborates. “Keeps hellhounds at bay.”

Dean huffs, once again amazed by her knowledge and her ability to think five steps ahead. For someone who was so dead set on dying tonight, she sure did one hell of a job turning this place into a safehouse. About a million questions come to mind, but he holds back the interrogation for now. Everything at its time.

His eyes land on the remaining furniture, then flick to the wooden pillar that supports the roof, in the center of the space. A plan begins to form and he strides to the table, picks it up and places it on the side against the post, the tabletop facing the fireplace. Making quick work of gathering a few logs of birch and dry twigs that are stacked up against the wall, he takes out his zippo and begins to build a fire. Once the flames starts to lick at the bark, the inventive hunter gets on his feet again and turns back to his wounded hunting partner.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, leveling with her. When he intends to slip his left arm behind her back and the other under her knees, she protests. “Dean, I can stand.” “Na-ah, you’re not putting any pressure on that leg.”

Zoë grunts objectively, but allows the man who she has had so many fights with in such a short period of time to lift her up, simply too tired to argue. The hunter carries her closer to the heat, setting her down gently against the turned over table, the countertop functioning as a backrest. Being only six feet away from the flames now, she can feel the warmth radiating towards her. The sensation is welcoming, because she feels frozen to the bone.

Not even taking a second to slow down, Dean goes to get the backpack he dumped on the floor earlier and brings it back to her. He rummages through it until he finds what he was looking for and takes out an extensive first aid kit, one of the ten essentials David packed for him.

“Dean, let it go already,” she objects when she realizes what he intends to do. Perplexed, the hunter stares at her. He can’t believe her careless attitude right now. “Do you wanna die?” he questions, then corrects himself. “No wait, let me rephrase that. Do you wanna go to Hell?” “According to AC/DC it ain’t a bad place to be,” she scoffs. Narrowed green eyes warn her as he tilts his head. “Don’t get smart with me.”

Dean clearly doesn’t find it funny, so she tiredly sighs and avoids his penetrating gaze. “If they drag me down the pit, their job is done and they’ll leave. The killings will stop,” Zoë explains, her voice gaining strength. “Until that time, they are heat seeking missiles, they will slaughter everything that comes on their path, even now that my deal came due. Innocent people like the Clevelands and those hunters got torn to pieces because I’m too fucking scared to face what I started. What if others come barging up this mountain? They’ll end up dead!” she brings to mind.

“David will take care of that. Now that he knows he’ll make sure that no one will,” Dean states, seemingly certain. But Zoë doesn’t agree. “For all he knows he’ll hike straight up this mountain first thing in the morning to pick up what those things left of his family. He knows nothing.” “He won’t, he’s smarter than that. I'm sure he will call Sam for help before he does anything stupid,” Dean defends him. “What about you, huh?” she inquires. “You won’t be able to leave this cabin as long as I’m alive, not without enduring what actually I should undergo. And if you stay, you will either starve or freeze to death. Is that what you want?” “We’ll figure something out,” the hunter returns, hopeful, his voice a lot calmer and softer than hers. “One problem at a time, okay? Let’s patch you up first.”

He picks up the disinfectant from the kit and cleans his hands first, but before he tips it over while pressing some cotton wool on the opening, Zoë stops him. “Is there any saline solution in there? Hydrogen peroxide is way too aggressive, it will only slow recovery.” “Sure? We use this all the time,” Dean replies, doubtful. Zoë glares at him; did he really just question a former med-student? “Well, then you’ve been doing it all wrong,” she scoffs. “Use the saline if you don’t wanna destroy the fibroblasts. The tissue is gonna need those cells to heal.”

Dean holds a gaze for a second longer before he gives in. Fine. After all, she’s the one who knows about this stuff. And so he does as told, takes a bottle of water from the backpack and mixes the saline like it says on the description manual. Once the solution is ready, the hunter carefully angles her leg so he can flush out the wounds. The fluid doesn’t sting, but the damaged skin is sensitive. Zoë lets her savior take care of her, despite that he’s being naive, stubborn, and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She has to give it to him, though; the guy has good intentions.

Once the damaged tissue is clean, Dean takes out the stitching wire. Zoë watches him pierce the suture needle through the skin with his hands instead of with the tweezers or a needle driver, gritting her teeth to bite down the pain. When he knots the first stitch too tight and intends to use continuous suturing, she can’t help to stop him. “What are you doing?” she comments with a tone. “Sit still and shut up. I’m fixing your leg,” he replies, annoyed. Zoë scoffs. “More like scarring it. Who taught you how to stitch?” “My dad did, and he never complained once whenever I had to sow him back together. I said: shut up,” he urges warningly. It remains silent for a few seconds, but before he starts on the next suture, Zoë stops him again. “Why don’t you use interrupted sutures?”

Dean sighs and lowers the needle. He knew it was going to be tough the moment he pulled the first aid kit out, remembering that he was about to treat a top of the class med student. He wasn’t wrong. “Do you want this stitched or not?” he returns snappy. “The suturing technique you’re using now is quick and effective, great for battlefield treatment like in Nam where your old man picked this up, but for better cosmetic results interrupted sutures are better,” she assures. “Cosmetic results?” he chuckles. “What? If I have to parade through Hell it probably won’t be in long jeans, so I might as well look good,” Zoë jokes smartly.

She bends forward without putting too much tension on the laceration and gestures for the needle driver. Dean hands it to her, after which she shows him how to properly hold it. Then she gives it back to him. “Look, if you keep the needle driver between your thumb and your ring finger, like this.” she takes his hand and positions the needle driver between his fingers, “and now put your index finger on top to control it, like using a pencil.”

Dean can’t help letting his gaze wander to her face for a moment, intrigued by the skill set of the young woman. She’s twenty-five years old and yet she carries so much knowledge with her. He knows a little about a lot of things, enough to survive, but Zoë is truly something else. No wonder she managed just fine on her own for four years.

Her fingers touching his, draw his thoughts back to what the huntress is trying to teach him. “- now insert the needle in a 90 degree angle. Try to get the suture loop as wide as it is deep,” she says, flinching. After she leads him through the first two stitches, Zoë leans back and leaves him to it, trying to stay still, despite the pain that comes with suturing without a local sedative.

She corrects him a couple of times more, her remarks falling from her lips in a bitter manner, yet Dean holds his tongue, not wanting to fight with her. It takes him about a half an hour before the laceration and puncture holes are properly closed up. He loosens the tourniquet, relieved to see that the stitches are holding. The hunter puts back what he used into the kit, then takes out a non-stick bandage.

“Put some antibiotic ointment on it first,” Zoë says, although it sounds more like an order. Deciding against snapping at her, Dean rummages through the plastic briefcase until he finds what he’s looking for. “I should probably wear gloves for this, right?” “You should’ve worn gloves all this time,” the huntress sneers. Dean rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, but even that can’t prevent him from countering the woman he’s treating. “I didn’t even touch the wound directly. Stop being such a fucking bitch. I’m only trying to help.”

Annoyed by her judgemental attitude, the man who’s giving her first aid puts on a pair of latex gloves, encloses the tube with his first and squirting the gel on his index finger. When Zoë fails to shoot him a snarky comeback, he looks up at her, finding fresh tears pooling in her eyes. Regretting his sharp tone instantly, he carefully begins to apply the substance. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “No, you’re right,” she says, a small tremor in her voice. “It’s just - I’m not used to people giving two shits about me anymore.” “Well, get used to it,” he returns, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

Dean gingerly dresses the injury, wrapping the bandage over a sterile wound patch. With a pair of scissors he cuts the gauze, taping the end secure. Then he sits back on his haunches and looks at his work proudly. “Not bad, huh?” She nods, approving. “Not bad at all.”

After elevating her feet on the now closed first aid kit, Zoë rests her head back against the wood. She can hear the guy who she’s cooped up with getting up and walking away a couple of steps, then the crackling of leather. She assumes he picked up his jacket from the corner.

The temperature in the cabin isn’t close to comfortable yet, and after having shed his denim overshirt to stop her from bleeding out, all he’s wearing is a henley. Dean shrugs on his warm coat, trying to shake off the cold, when he notices Zoë has her eyes closed. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Dean sits down next to her, their shoulders touching. “Are you cold?” He asks because she’s still shivering, but she shakes her head. “Not really, just numb. Tired,” she returns, her voice barely a whisper. “Shock?” Dean assumes, concern knitting his brows together.

With an unsteady hand she presses her second and third digit against the radial artery on her wrist; it’s rapid. She notices the pale skin complexion of her hands and breathing is still difficult, too. Besides those issues, there’s also her mental state; she’s all over the place. Zoë can diagnose herself just fine and confirms with a nod, still trembling in silence.

Worried, Dean studies her. He’s not an expert, but he knows her going into shock can be dangerous. At least the bleeding is under control and they have a heat source, but he has to keep her awake for now. The hunter straightens himself, pulling up his legs and resting his forearms on his knees, getting lost in the flames before him. They pop and rustle playfully, the sounds soothing, but unable to diminish the apprehension.

“I’m so fucked, Dean.”

The hunter breaks his eyes away from the fire and takes her in. The light in front of her catches the shimmering pathways that find a way down her cheeks. He wishes he could give her solace, but all he has are his words. “At least here we’re able to buy us some time. I know you turned over every stone, so did you find anything that gave even the slightest clue on how to kill these fuckers?” he offers. “I studied them for years, Dean, even before I decided to go on with it. Years. Why do you think I know so much? I tried every book, every spell, I worked all the mojo possible in that span of time. Nothing worked.” she states. Hopeless, she stares at her hands in her lap. Dean can see she’s telling the truth, she really pulled every string. “I’m usually not the one to give up, but this isn’t a battle I can win,” she claims. “Good thing you ain’t fighting it alone then,” Dean replies, nudging her softly. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

Zoë nods, but more to give the man next to her the answer he wants, than because she actually believes in a positive outcome. She admires his optimism, envies it even. Her future is grim, no matter how you look at it, and Dean’s isn’t much better. He doesn’t deserve this, but then again, neither does she.

After all she has been through, she wanted to redeem herself, to do enough good to block out the bad. She tried to enjoy the little things in life ever since she made the deal. Ride one more wave at the beach, have a drink on the pier while watching a sunset, roll down the highway on her Harley. Over the last couple of months, she had a lot of moments in which she realized it was going to be her last. She thought she was at peace with her fate and the consequence of summoning a crossroad demon, until it was ten to midnight.

It doesn’t matter, though. Being okay with the decision or not doesn’t change the path she has chosen to walk. The only outcome is a one-way trip downstairs. It’s a matter of time before the hellhounds claim her soul. They will never stop, not until there is nothing left of her. Not even Dean Winchester can save her now.

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part seven here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural series #STSS #Black Dog #1x03 Black Dog #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years

Text

Choice

Chapter 24: Blitzo goes back to work.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and an IMP death relating to hanging.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Welcome back, Blitzo!” Millie smiled from her seat atop Loona’s desk as Blitzo threw the door to the office open. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I’m sure it-”

“Millz, love you to death, but put a sock in it before I do it for you,” he growled, eyes narrow and fists clenched tighter than a politician’s asshole as he chucked his already-drained iced coffee cup into the trash. Loona shuffled in behind him and dropped on the couch, pointedly focusing on her phone screen.

“Geez, who whizzed in your cereal? Something happen?” Millie blinked, bouncing herself up a bit on her seat to keep at his eye level. “Can we help?”

Moxxie emerged from Blitzo's office, shuffling papers. “We’ve managed the cases so far just fine, but I need you to sign off on-”

“You can sign my-” Blitzo sucked in a deep breath, pinching his forehead before letting it out. “Fine, everything’s fine.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow. “I take it something went wrong. That, or you’re just sex-hungover. That can happen, you know-”

Millie cut him off with a click of her tongue, and his mouth snapped shut. “Moxxie, we don’t need the honeymoon story, I think somethin’s really wrong. He looks all slumpy, like a willow-weed in the r-”

“Can both of you lay off? I don't need the tag-team act right now.” Blitzo wove around Moxxie and his pile of paperwork to enter his office- the one that Moxxie shouldn't have been gallivanting in and out of. “You two deal with the client, I just really, really want to fucking shoot something, so tell me when the deal’s done, alright?”

Millie sucked in her cheek and Moxxie glanced over to her before his eyes flicked back to Blitzo, whose fingers twitched before he slammed the door in their faces.

_______________________

Three sharp knocks on the door. “Sir? It’s time to go, unless you want us to work by ourselves again. We’re more than capable-”

“No, I’m up, I’m up.” Blitzo scrubbed at his eyes- any attempts to fall asleep at his desk and make up for the complete lack of any kind of rest last night had been thoroughly thwarted by his brain going at a hundred miles an hour. (The coffee wasn’t to blame. Probably. He’d fallen asleep on way more than the piddly single one he’d downed in the past.) Mostly, it had been wanting to throttle Stolas mixed with wanting to throttle himself, and then imagining rapidly escalating scenarios of where he might be able to chuck the kid once they popped out. (Currently, he was at ‘trying to slingshot them up to Heaven just to see what they’d do with it.’ In all likelihood, it’d be crucifix batting practice.)

“It’s one that the client said might be suicidal, but she seemed quite self-important and thought that her boyfriend wouldn’t be able to live without her anyway, so I wouldn’t trust that.” The chair creaked as Blitzo got up, but if it was because it was a couple years old and salvaged from the back of the circus’s dump or because of the deadweight around his gut that had officially turned his shirt into a crop top was anybody’s guess.

As he entered the main room, Moxxie was rubbing a cloth over the musical note on the side of his gun, and Millie fussed with a length of rope while humming to herself.

“I’unno sugar, the client said he was kinda hefty…”

“We have other options if it breaks, and clients often exaggerate that sort of thing. Besides, it just needs to hold him long enough to snap the neck, or at least asphyxiate him. Then they’ll just assume it broke after he died.”

“I’m just saying, it’s more cleanup.”

“Well, this is the kind of rope they can usually get topside, so I say we- oh, good, you’re here.” Moxxie pointed to the paper piled up on the coffee table. “I already did all the hard bits, I just need your signature.”

“Right, right. Signature. Got it. Then we get to go kill something, right?”

Moxxie glanced over at Millie, and the look they exchanged passed way more information than Blitzo’d ever be able to parse. Must be a marriage thing. Must be nice, too. Being able to know what each other was thinking and shit. Real useful.

“Yeah, hun, then we can go kill something. Nothing like some good ol’ violence to get the blood pumping, right?” Millie smiled as Blitzo dashed off a loopy B on each of the papers. Most of them were bills, a few were paychecks that he’d probably just forgotten in the mess of the past few months since Moxxie would know better than to try and slip extras in since it would destroy the budget anyway, there was one approving the repairs for the fire, right, right, this was why he let Moxxie handle all the boring shit, at least it was easy to just sign the dotted line- there. Done.

Blitzo cracked his knuckles, tail snapping in mid-air. “Right! Let’s go fuck somebody up!”

“There we go!” Millie gave a little laugh, punching his arm as Moxxie picked up the Grimoire and opened to the right page before drawing the circle with his free hand. Loona was still settled on the couch behind him, nursing a sports drink from the fridge and half-watching the three of them, head tilted slightly.

Moxxie nodded to the portal, setting the book down on the desk. “Right behind you, sir.”

____________________

The guy didn’t even fight back when they woke him up and strung him up. What a wuss. Hangings were usually fun since they squirmed and made funny noises while trying to break free if the neck didn't snap when the chair dropped, but it wasn’t nearly bloody enough for Blitzo’s taste today. Oh, sure, he’d clawed at the rope that had manufactured nylon sharp enough to carve out blood from under his nails, but his face was purpling at a rapid rate, so they probably didn’t have to do anything other than let gravity finish the job for them, especially considering his kicks were starting to slow anyway.

“You want to go watch some wrestling death-matches when we get back home? I heard they’re bringing the Big Boar in, he’s some sinner who was a lucador back in life. That’ll get some of that killer instinct out.” Millie gave a playful growl as she rummaged around in the target’s belongings. Blitzo watched her hips waggle for a moment before she made a little ‘hmmph’ at a pin-up cowgirl calendar.

“Hmm… tempting, Millz, tempting.”

“Pride wrestling’s more like good ol’ fashioned blood sport, especially when they get the guys that can regenerate limbs!” She ground her fist into her palm with an intense look. Moxxie rolled his eyes as Blitzo leaned against the wall.

“Pl-ease… sa...ve..” the human wheezed out before Moxxie poked at his stomach, and he coughed up blood directly on the little imp before falling limp. Moxxie grimaced, using the man’s somewhat-sweaty bedsheet nearby to clean himself off.

“Perhaps you could invite his highness? I remember him saying something about-”

“Nope,” Blitzo snapped out immediately. “Not gonna fuckin’ happen.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow, dropping the sheets. “It was just a suggestion, sir. Had too much of him over the past few days?”

“You could say that,” Blitzo muttered, a hand resting on his stomach, and Millie's eyes softened.

“Aw, you could have said something. He ride you too hard?”

The fingers curled inwards, claws dragging above the surface and lighting it up red, forcing him away from his own skin. “Something along those lines, yeah. You two can drop this anytime, you know.”

“Well, at least the little one will be out of your hair soon,” Moxxie said. “Just a few more months, then I would imagine it’s just visitations now and then. You said that you’d already discussed things with him about custody, right?”

Blitzo swallowed, the hand raising up from his belly to rub at the back of his neck. “So, er, about that-”

The wood groaned as Moxxie took a step forward. “No. You didn’t.”

“Come on, Moxx, he was drooling over it, how the fuck was I supposed to know he wanted me to-”

Moxxie threw up his hands. “What have I told you? To think about what you’re doing! What do you do? Throw yourself-”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault!” Moxxie folded his arms. “What did I say when you were considering keeping it? That it was going to be a big responsibility! You barely can call Loona civilized and she’s somehow a legal adult, what in the seven rings would you fuck up if you had to raise an actual child?”

“Exactly! I don’t fucking want to!” Blitzo spat out with enough venom to make Moxxie’s fingers tighten on his arms. “That’s the point, I thought this was just going to be for a couple of months and then yeah, maybe getting to see them now and then wouldn't suck the worst ass if they turn out cool, but I’ve got other shit to do! I’m a busy guy, and I’d definitely fuck it-”

“Blitzo…” Millie reached out a hand before curling it into a loose fist in midair. “Hun, I’m sorry.”

“Yes. Thank you, Millie.”

“Although…” She gnawed on her lip for a moment, and he groaned.

“Don’t you start-”

“Why did you adopt Loona then? I’m genuinely wonderin’, that’s all. You love her to bits, why’s this different? If you hadn’t done that I wouldn’t be askin’, but… you like being a dad.”

“I…” He trailed off. There was a scuttering in the wall behind him, like a roach or some other grimy-grody pest, and a chill drilled down the vertebrae of his spine as a shiver ran through his bones. Why was the sweat dripping down his side cold, like condensation on the side of a frozen water bottle? Damned drafty house. “I wanted to be there for somebody, somebody that I chose to be, and that won't-" He cleared his throat, shaking his head to start over. "Anyway, she’s a good kid who's figuring her shit out and I like hanging out with her. I'm glad to be her dad. That's different."

“Why would this be so bad, then?” Millie repeated.

Blitzo scoffed. “ ‘Cause I got Loona when she was older and I had to go through a buncha bullshit to sign the papers instead of just getting nutted in and having it sprung on me? That was an active effort, and teenagers are basically an entirely different species from babies, I’ve only had to clean up her shit a couple of times-”

“Did not need to know that,” Moxxie muttered.

“-Shut up Moxxie, but anyway, point is, Loonie was already walking and talking and has her own tastes and shit, most babies are just worthless little parasites until they’re, like, ten. I was a fuckin’ miserable little thing to deal with according to literally fucking everybody, so why the fuck would I want to inflict that on myself when I can help somebody that’s already gotten through most of the annoying phase? Plus, her sense of fashion kicks ass. Babies can't pick you out dope outfits." His tail snaked up and tapped his shoulder. "Point to me, excellent reasoning.”

“She’s still your daughter, and you still have to deal with a lot from-” Millie tried to continue, but Blitzo held up a hand.

“Look, it’s just different, okay? The apartment’s crowded enough. I’ll figure this out somehow.”

“...If you’re sure,” Millie said, shifting her weight on the creaky floorboards. “How did the prince take it?”

“Ugh, you really think I want to get deep into his little wah-wah I-thought-you-knew bullshittery?” Blitzo snorted. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, he should have been upfront about the fact that I was going to be ruining both me and the squirt’s life instead of just being a fuckin’ incubator for cash. End of story.”

There was a nudge from inside of him that was much sharper than usual, and Blitzo’s eyes snapped down.

“Did you just fuckin’ bite me?”

#helluva boss #one time #shadow writes stuff #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo

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echotrinityme · 3 years

Text

You will be loved Chapter 17: Love The Way You Lie(Bad Ending)

Charles glared at Dominic and he grinded his teeth in anger, he kept his gun trained on Dom. He wanted to shoot Dom but how is he going to do it without hurting Henry in the process.

"Let. Him. Go." demanded Charles, he was pissed off as hell.

"Why would I? I'm his lover." jeered Dominic, he tightened his grip on Henry making him whine in pain.

"No, you are not!" shouted Charles, he was getting more angry by the second.

"Oh yeah says who."

" You don't deserve him! Not after all the bullshit you put him through! shrieked Charles.

"You treat him like a slave, you hurt him, you say stuff that lower his self esteem, and you made him hurt himself to the point of attempted suicide!" bellowed Charles.

Dominic didn't reply right away, he just stand there not moving. Henry was still quietly sobbing and trembling like he was cold, Charles needed a plan and fast.

"Your point will be?" answered Dominic, nonchalantly.

"Aaugh! You're insufferable! The point is that you are the biggest douche on the planet!" shouted Charles, it was like talking to a wall.

"Why thank you, that's the nicest thing you've said to me."

Dominic was actually smiling when he said that, he actually chirped in response because of it. He looked like a cat that just ate the canary, Charles wanted to punch the grin off his face.

"Look, I don't know who the fuck do you think you are but you don't treat the person you love like trash."

"Oh please, you're the last person to know about a relationship considering what happened between you and the idiot twin call Calvin."

Charles instantly froze from shock and anger but didn't show it, he was right but at least Calvin didn't hurt him or made him hurtful himself. He just manipulated him...admittedly that hurt no matter what.

"Yeah...well at least he treated me decently, he wasn't hurting me!" argued Charles, his voice wavered in sadness.

"Even though he lied to you about Henry." hissed Dominic, acidly.

Henry was watching the scene with confusion and shock on his face, Calvin manipulated Charles into a relationship? Why? How come he just heard of this now?

Charles didn't reply, he knew Dominic was tormenting him. Trying to get a rise out of him, he won't let him have it. Charles gave Dominic a glare to show defiance.

Henry was trying to figure it a way to distract Dom so Charles can help him, as he was thinking of a plan the door open again and everyone turned to see Rupert, Ellie, and Dave standing there with their guns pointed towards Dominic.

"Ok, this is getting old." said Dominic, he was about to head towards the exit until Rupert stepped in front of him, blocking his escape.

"Hold it right there, asshole." growled Rupert.

"Let him go!" exclaimed Ellie, Dave kept his gun and gaze on Dominic to make sure he doesn't move.

"Oh how sweet, I didn't realize you have so many friends to come save you, Henry." spat Dominic, sarcastically.

Henry didn't retort, his expression was blank. He thought no one cared about him but looks like someone does, he hoped Dominic doesn't hurt or kill them...that seems unlikely.

Rupert stepped forward to Dominic to put his gun on his chest, he was angry and annoyed at Dom's behavior. He grabbed Dominic's shirt and stared at him with malice.

"Let Henry go you arrogant, selfish, son of a pig or I'll blow your brains out." snarled Rupert.

"Ok." said Dominic, calmly. Which startled everyone, he was acting calm, too calm.

Dominic let go of Henry who was waiting for something to happen, everyone thought Dominic was acting strange. They all held their breaths while Rupert motioned Henry to come towards him.

Henry did as he was told, without hesitation. Charles was keeping an eye on Dominic to make sure he's not gonna hurt Henry or anyone in the room, they all prayed that Dominic would keep being calm and settle the situation with amicable terms.

He didn't.

In a flash, he pulled the trigger and shot Henry. Charles screamed in despair while Rupert and Dave shot towards Dominic to fight him.

Henry fell onto the floor, his stomach was bleeding. Henry kept his hand on the wound while Charles rushed to his side, Ellie followed him and she ripped a sleeve to stop the wound from bleeding.

"Hen! Oh God Henry!" shouted Charles, he was crying hysterically.

Ellie kept the rag on the wound but she was also crying, they both did their best to help Henry with his wound. Meanwhile, Rupert and Dave were struggling with Dominic, he was stronger than them and he was scrambling for the gun which he dropped.

"You bastard!" bellowed Rupert.

Dominic shoved Dave and he landed on the floor, he stared up Dom who was still struggling. He stand up and had a determined look on his face, "Ok, Dave you got this." he said to himself.

He snatched the gun that Dom was reaching for and he threw to the side, he got out his own gun and aimed at him. He was about to pull the trigger until a bullet whizzed by him into Dominic's head, killing him instantly.

Rupert let go of the corpse and saw that the Bukowski twins were there, Calvin was holding the pistol and it was aiming at Dom. He pulled the trigger to kill him and Konrad was shaking while he was holding his gun at Dom.

"Uh...good teamwork." said Dave, awkwardly.

"Come on, Henry stay with us." exclaimed Charles, his voice cracking and making everyone rushed towards them.

By now, Henry coughed up blood. There was blood everywhere, Rupert checked his pulse. It was getting weaker and his body getting more cold by the minute.

"S-Stop." croaked Henry, which made everyone stop for a moment.

"B-But Henry, you need help!" wailed Charles, Ellie nodded vigorously so did Dave while Rupert witness the scene with indifference.

Rupert knows that Henry was not going to make it and so did Henry.

"There's something I have to tell you and can you promise me this?" said Henry, his voice wavered and he coughed up more blood.

"I love you Charles and please be happy."

"I love you too Hen...I will."

When Charles said that, his voice cracked and he was sobbing loudly.

"Please Henry, don't leave me." pleaded Charles.

Henry was starting to loose consciousness, he began to close his eyes. His left hand that was holding Charles' hand went lip and his breathing slow to a stop, he moved no more.

Everyone watched in horror as Henry didn't move, they waited for a movement, for a sound but nothing. Charles shook Henry to get up but that didn't work either, he was dead.

"It's too late Charles, he's dead." said Rupert, softly but he was sobbing.

"No...he can't be" choked Charles.

"He just can't."

Rupert shook his head in sadness and he went to comfort him, Ellie was crying while Dave was holding her. Konrad and Calvin watched the scene and they also began to sob, Calvin was feeling immense guilt and sadness.

He made Charles lose Henry forever, Charles is never ever gonna forgive him and he deserved hatred from him.

Charles picked up Henry's body bridle style and without another word he walked out, the floor had a huge blood stain reminding them on what happened with Henry.

Charles walked over to the base still holding Henry's corpse, as got into the entrance of the base everyone was talking and gossiping with each other until they saw Charles carrying Henry's body.

Everyone stared at them with shock and confusion on their faces, however they all stand aside for Charles. Their faces became solemn and bowed their heads in sign of respect, they also took off their hats too.

The General was outside the tent talking to Terrance and Randy until a random soldier ran up to him, the General was about to ask what's going on when the soldier interrupted him.

"Sir, I think you should come see this." said the Soldier, his tone serious.

Galeforce raised an eyebrow and he beckoned the soldier to lead the way, he and Henry's dads followed the soldier hastily.

Victoria was trying to find Ellie when she saw a group formed into a circle, she went to the circle and was about to tell them off until she saw Charles carrying a body...Henry's body.

She gasped softly but before she can say anything, there was a large wail coming from the other direction. She turned to find the source when she saw Terrance on the ground, he was crying hysterically and Randy comforted him but he was also crying.

Galeforce sighed in mourning, he never expected to come like this. He went up to Charles and he silently took Henry's corpse away from Charles and he walked towards the two weeping men.

Charles' clothes was wet and a deep crimson, his face was blank, emotionless. He hadn't shown sign of movement, he just stood there motionless.

The others soon catches up with Charles and Rupert shook him by the shoulders but no response, Ellie tried to shake him harder but no budge.

"C'mon Charles, say something." pleaded Ellie.

"Oi! Charles, speak to us!"

"Charles! Charles!"

Rupert and Dave shouted at Charles but he didn't hear any of it, the voices sounded as if they were underwater to him.

Charles' whole body went cold and his heart was numb, he didn't realize that everyone was trying to get his attention until he felt a really hard punch into his face.

Out of no where, Terrance punched Charles and it made Charles snapped back into reality, he fell on the ground with a thud.

"Wha?" said Charles, finally speaking but his voice choked.

"You promise to protect him!" shrieked Terrance, his voice wavered and his eyes were red and glossy.

Randy had to hold him back and Rupert helped Charles up, he glared at Terrance but Charles stared at him with sadness and shame.

"Because of you! He's dead!"

"Terry, please calm down."

Randy hugged Terrance as he cried into his husband's chest, Charles couldn't blame him, he did fail to protect Henry.

His vision blurred and he felt hot liquid streaming down his cheeks, he finally started to sob. He ran to his helicopter, ignoring anyone calling him.

He got into his helicopter and went to a designated spot he brought Henry, the cliff was in sight and he landed. He walked to the cliffside and he admired the scenery with sorrow.

He sighed and his tears are now dried, he stared out at the sunset in awe. He gave himself a small sad smile, he now feels more alone than ever.

His life will be full of emptiness, Henry told him to be happy but how could he be happy without Henry?

He wouldn't be...

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