#also them just chilling in the coma patient's room together

[lazybakerart]

house saying mad skills & wilson saying panty-peeler. they're made for each other.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hello! Interested in your encyclopaedic knowledge on this. Skim-rereading the VC now for first time since I was a teenager and have to ask - does Louis ever, like - do anything for Lestat? This prompted particularly by TOTBT which my god is so savage. I can’t believe he’s happy to just… let him die?!? He doesn’t lift a finger, he doesn’t even try to protect him? It’s IWTV all over again, only supposedly their relationship is much better by this point.

It got me looking for examples where Louis does anything whatsoever proactive for Lestat and I’m really struggling. At the end of QotD, it seems like lots of the other vamps are trying to look after traumatised Lestat a bit, but I don’t think Louis comes to him? He just wanders off to New Orleans? Maybe I’ve missed a bit though. He looks after him a bit in his coma? Although not moreso than anyone else. But in the end it is Lestat who ends up waking up to save Louis. Even that bit in PLaTRoA where Lestat is about to have his heart stopped - Louis sitting next to his coffin - but Lestat reaches out to take Louis’ hand, not the other way round. Aside from verbally saying that he loves him, other than being generally nice and calm and polite, does Louis ever do anything to show it?

Hey nonny!

(Not sure about the encyclopedic but I‘ll try 😅💕) I do see a lot of the mentioned events a bit differently, allow me to explain (this is gonna be long^^):

Soooo to address your mention of TtotBT first off, I personally do think Louis thought of Lestat first and foremost when he sent him away in that scene.

Louis was tempted. It's no surprise imho that Jacob really wants to do that scene with Sam, because the power dynamics are inverted of course, but it is also emotionally very raw.

I want to pause here and recall a quote from QotD here, which is important:

Louis, the watcher, the patient one, was there on account of love pure and simple. The two had found each other only last night, and theirs had been an extraordinary reunion. Louis would go where Lestat led him. Louis would perish if Lestat perished. But their fears and hopes for this night were heartbreakingly human.

Louis... would perish if Lestat perished.

For Louis to send Lestat away... is to resign himself to death also. I think that has to be taken into account for the scene you mentioned, where Louis decides that Lestat deserves to save his soul, before Louis himself deserves to save his own. His rejection of Lestat there is done in full knowledge that he condemns himself there to a very lonely, cold, and ultimately fatal existence. He rejects Lestat there, knowing he will lose his greatest love.

I wouldn't call that happy to let him die? And I, personally, don't see it as a parallel to IWTV either, though it might feel a bit like that for Lestat, but the Louis here knows how much this will hurt. He knows what he is doing. He is condemning himself, hoping it will free Lestat.

And, while we're on TtotBT, in the beginning of the book there is the mention of Louis coming by Lestat's, to 'Netflix & chill', to share space and spend time, watch movies (for example "Company of the wolves", just being there. Talk. Discuss. Being together. So Louis did come by, for Lestat. And Lestat visited Louis, in his shack, had his own chair there. They were in each other's lives.

And... in the end of that book - when David show's up? What does Louis do? He takes David in. Makes room for David in their old home in Rue Royale. Accepts David - for Lestat. Accompanies them, too. Honestly, given David is David... that is a HUGE sacrifice! He let's David, the new fledgling, into their home. Because he is Lestat's. Later on, in PL, he will do the same for Antoine, which is obviously something that had to grate quite a lot as well, and I have always seen that as a rather conscious decision to allow it. To allow Antoine into their lives, because he is Lestat's.

Louis also tries to protect Lestat before the concert.

I know a lot of people read that from Lestat's POV and are just happy with the reunion (and of course it is beautiful and I really want to see it on the show!!) but... it's not only that.

Louis comes, to Lestat, not only because he can do so. But he pleads for Lestat to stay safe, too, to not do the concert. Because he is afraid for Lestat. He wants to keep him safe, wants to keep him with himself, too. He pleads with him not to go on stage. Offers to talk, to make plans, to 'Let us have each other in this century the way we never did in the past'.

You mentioned the end of QotD, and... in their universe, all that happens right after this reunion. A few days, a week at most. And then Lestat hides himself away again, in a room, trying to cope. Because he has been used again, abused, too, in a way he himself can only cope with by reframing it as love.

Louis knows it isn't. Wasn't. And he knows that he and Lestat cannot talk freely with the others there. He and Lestat are not able to use the mind gift directly. And... he is deeply unsettled by Jesse's report, the report she gives Lestat. Claudia's ghost. Deeply, deeply personal and something they share, very painfully. They go by Louis' tombstone, and then they can talk. A bit. Louis trusts Lestat and in his new powers. Falls asleep in his arms.

And that... is a rather powerful statement.

Louis (admittedly begrudgingly) enters that "adventure" with Lestat, fully trusting in Lestat. Kissing, embracing. Sleeping in his arms. It's a statement.

A statement that, despite Lestat feeling changed, and alien, that Louis still trusts him. Trusts in him, too.

And it is Louis, who tries to take Lestat home in Memnoch, Louis who pleads, begs for Lestat to be released. Louis who cries out when Lestat is locked up. Louis is the one who saves the books, Louis is the one who tries to comfort Lestat. Louis is the one who holds the proverbial fort at Rue Royale, with David, for long, long years. Louis is the one who despairs, eventually, when Lestat goes back into that half-awake coma, his soul taken away by angels.

Though there is more to that, too. You say Louis did not look after Lestat more than others, and I'd beg to differ. Louis was the one in the chapel, guarding Lestat. Holding his ground with the ancients, and the riff raff that Armand hunted down (even once with Lestat later). Louis is the one who keeps Ruy Royale, and makes sure Lestat is kept clean during his episodes of stillness, and it is only when he breaks, eventually, when Merrick takes his focus... that that... stops. When the Merrick events start, David visits Lestat, and Louis is 'there, seated on the marble beside Lestat, reading in a hushed voice from an old book of English poetry'.

Louis never leaves Lestat's side for long. Armand notes how he seems emaciated, hungry when Armand comes by in his version of the tale.

It is only when Merrick's spell unfolds that Louis leaves Lestat's side, that his focus shifts. And with the shift to Claudia and her ghost... the despair takes hold.

And it is when Louis heartbeat stops - that the "angels" lose their blackmailing material.

Lestat later tells of how he was forced to do "their bidding" by them threatening to take the eye... and though he doesn't elaborate... it is very clear what that means wrt Louis.

Because there simply was nothing else they could threaten him with anymore. Nothing else was more important than Louis. Not his eye, not his soul.

This always sends a shiver down my spine.

But that just as a note.

Louis is the one who accepts Lestat's judgment, after Merrick's creation.

He also accepts Lestat abandoning New Orleans, eventually, because Lestat cannot stand it anymore to kill the riff raff, those who "offend Armand", something Lestat calls "autocratic, ruthless" wrt to Armand's killing of them.

Louis accepts Lestat's decision there, and goes to Armand. Something that Lestat in turn accepts and supports(!):

My beloved Louis de Pointe du Lac left soon after, and from that time on lived in New York with Armand. Armand keeps the island of Manhattan safe for them—Louis, Armand, and two young blood drinkers, Benjamin and Sybelle, and whoever else joins them in their palatial digs on the Upper East Side.

And when Lestat is finally ready, it is Louis who apologizes to Lestat for the "past" by hunting a woman who wanted to murder her husband - in front of Lestat.

Personally, I find that a very poignant "doing-it-for-someone" :)))

But there is more.

Louis is the one who rescues Rose! Rose, Lestat's charge. Louis knows about Rose. Lestat's lawyers know about Louis. Louis takes over when Lestat is unreachable.

There is so much in these simple facts!

Like, they must have talked about Rose. Louis knows about Rose, knows she is important to Lestat, he takes the responsibility, saves her from fire, kills the ones who harmed her. Brings her to him. And he is the one Lestat's lawyers reach out to when Lestat is gone? Unreachable? What a statement is that in and by itself?! Louis is the one Lestat trusts with that child, the girl he saved and who will become his immortal daughter. Their immortal daughter.

And then, when Rhosh is there in NYC, at that table, and the axe scene happens... what does Louis do?

He smiles.

Now I don't know if you know that scene well, but it is quite the scene, and I honestly cannot wait to see it on the show.

And Louis... smiles. Shows support.

Quiet. Steadfast. The support Lestat needs, probably more than he consciously realizes.

And then, of course, later on - knowing what "Lestat cannot confide". They are finally sharing blood again, and Louis becomes Lestat's confidant. To all the things Lestat cannot speak about, all the things he has hinted at but cannot put into words. All the things that are too heavy to address.

That is no trifle.

And the silver cord, where Louis pushes the matter against Lestat's (not) better judgement. Where Louis is there, for Lestat to reach out.

Your ask made it seem (a bit) as if being there and offering is not sufficient, but strength shows itself in very different ways. Lestat is more direct, "flashy". Louis' strength is more subtle, it is an offer for support, unwavering support, whenever Lestat wants it. For as long as Lestat wants it. Not taking agency from Lestat, which is like the worst thing that could happen again... because that is something that has been taken from Lestat again, and again, and again. And Louis knows that.

And so he doesn't.

He doesn't take. He offers. It shows he knows Lestat. And he accepts him, and their respective pasts, and all the shit that has happened.

Again, that is no trifle, imho.

There is more. Little mentions, in the books.

A "grotto" they once shared. For example. Louis wearing the clothes Lestat chooses.

But for the most part you have to "read between the lines" as Lestat says, for the juicy details - however, I think when you consider the arcs? The arcs that span all the books?

The things we are told actually speak for themselves, imho.

Louis does a lot of things for Lestat. The important things, actually.

He is there for Lestat to turn to when Lestat's strength fails.

And yes, that includes the rejection in TtotBT - because Louis thought he had to be the one to show the strength for Lestat - to hold fast to the initial belief. The initial hope that drove the body switch - because Lestat had just found out he could not die anymore. Even if he tried. And he had tried. And it had sent him spiraling.

Would Louis have held out indefinitely? Probably not :) But that's another discussion.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XXIII

Part I - - - - - - - - - Part XX - - - - Part XXI - - - - Part XXII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

The office was quiet but for the occasional shuffling of flimsi and tapping of datapads.

Bail Organa and Mon Mothma pointedly did not exchange a glance behind Padme’s back.

Senator Mothma set down her pad and broke the silence. “Padme...are you alright?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine Mon, let’s just go over the bill,” Padme responded stiffly.

Mothma hesitated. “That’s not the only reason I asked you here, Padme.”

Padme stood, chair scraping gratingly. “I see; I’ve already had the Chancellor pry me today in an attempt to exploit my ‘connections’ to the Jedi—as though they’re droids and not flesh-and-blood people who any average person could strike a friendship with—but I had thought better of you two; I suppose my faith was—”

“That’s not what I meant—” Mon pleaded.

“We’re concerned about you,” Bail insisted gently. “You don’t have to tell us anything about the Jedi that you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

Padme paused, then reluctantly sat back down.

“My apologies,” she muttured. “It’s been...a long day. I’ve been asked by the Chancellor for help in breaking some news that...I’d rather not.”

The senators waited patiently for Padme to collect her thoughts. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “General Kenobi has suffered from...force...I really don’t think there’s a way of saying this that doesn’t sound bad.”

���I had heard rumors that he was missing at meetings the last few days...has something serious happened?” Bail asked, concerned.

Padme shuddered. “This office is...”

“It’s clean,” Mothma confirmed quietly. “I have it checked independently anytime I’m gone for more then 15 minutes, with random deep-scans.”

“Would you mind...”

Mon nodded and the three waited in silence until the Chandurllian senator’s pad trilled the all-clear.

“Master Kenobi tried to kill himself earlier this week,” Padme confessed lowly. Mon straightened up in a sudden locking of knees and elbows, face drawn into tight lines. Bail’s hands flew to his mouth, tears forming.

“Knight Skywalker got to him in time, and he was in a coma until this morning when he apparently ‘ranted about ending the one’s responsible for the war’ and then vanished, along with Anakin.”

Mon grew very pale and Bail moved both hands from his mouth to his eyes.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “Just...fuck.”

Padme nodded in agreement and Mon inhaled deeply.

Bail rubbed way tears and straightened up resolutely. “How can we help?” he asked Padme. “How does the Chancellor want to handle releasing the news?”

She smiled weakly. “He’s leaving the exact wording up to me, but wants to make the announcement during the next full Senate gathering.”

“What!” Mon half-shouted, shocked. “There’ll be a riot! Surely a bulletin—even a press conference would be better for encouraging a moderate reaction—people will be shouting before he’s through the first sentence!”

“I know,” Padme agreed with a grimace. “But he wants ‘transparency.’“

“He wants panic,” Bail fumed.

“I’m trying to decide if it would better or worse to include the part about suicide,” Padme said bitterly. “Mental health breakdown and disappearance of the Republic’s highest General doesn’t leave much room for confidence or privacy.”

Mon clutched Padme’s hand in support. “I’ll have a PR team on standby. We can prepare resources for anyone who has questions, avoid conspiracy theories from spinning out. I already had a project on the backburner to put together own set of holoclips of the Jedi working towards peace—a counter to the ‘warmongering’ narrative, so to speak. It should be easy enough to adapt.”

“The Chancellor’s going to turn this into another military spending bill,” Bail predicted grimly. “We’ll make sure there’s a proviso in there to provide actual support for the Jedi in the field; I’ll make sure to get a legal team on viper in the grass duty as soon as the responses start coming out.”

“Thank you,” Padme said, gripping Mon’s hand over-tightly in return. She turned to the Alderannian senator. “I’m sorry Bail, I know you two are close.”

Bail exhaled slowly. “This war...I’ve seen Obi-Wan survive so much, and everytime he pulls off the impossible...”

“He’s rewarded with another burden on his shoulders,” Padme finished sympathetically. “Yes, I’ve been watching the same thing happen to Anakin. It’s—if the separatist movement hadn’t resolved into such a democratic and humanitarian nightmare—”

“You should go home and get some rest, Padme,” Mon urged. “It’s late, and the we’re all going to need to be sharp tomorrow. Who knows, maybe some new information will materialize before the afternoon.”

“Why Mon, that’s almost optimistic of you,” Bail remarked dryly.

Mon flashed him a wry grin, looking at Padme out of the corner of her eye. “Well. She did say Anakin with AWOL—”

“Oh do be quiet,” Padme huffed.

Despite the ever growing desire for sleep, it was another long hour before the Senator from Naboo departed. The pair were just turning to their seats after escorting Padme out when Bail let out a startled yelp; Mon instinctively kicked at the sudden small green blur.

Fortunately, when you’re green and the height of most humanoid’s knees, you become quite experienced at avoiding such reflexive 

“Master Yoda! What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” Senator Mothma staggered backwards, reverting to defensiveness to cover up her embarrassment at attempting to punt the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order.

“Has his ways, a Jedi does,” Yoda replied mysteriously. Mon Mothma nodded seriously as Bail restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He had spent far too much time around Obi-Wan for deliberate Jedi vagueness to hold much weight. 

“Can I—May I offer you a seat?” Mon asked, quickly recovering her diplomatic grace. “I’m afraid that you’ve just missed Senator Amidala, but I’m sure she would be eager to return; I understand she’s...concerned for Master Kenobi.”

The wizened Master shook his head, ears flopping as he hopped onto Padme’s recently vacated chair, standing on the cusioned seat as the two senators’ settled down. The sight should, perhaps, have been comical. But the weight of his gaze...Bail held his breath. Perhaps Jedi mystique did still have some affect on him.

“Come to speak with the two of you, I did. Missed Mistress Amidala, I have, I know. Deliberate, this was.”

Mon and Bail frowned, exchanging a slow look of pointed disapproval. Bail spoke hesitantly but with touch of reproach. “I’m certain she would prefer to be here, regardless of the news—Padme has suffered for her public defense of the Jedi, I should hope that that friendship is returned, especially in hard times”

Yoda’s ears drooped. “A great Jedi, she would have made, in another life. Vibrant, she is in the Force. Loud to a Jedi, regardless of sensitivity. But needed now, quiet is.” 

Yoda’s gaze pierced Bail and he warmed inexplicably. “Quiet the two of you are. Brilliant, wide but in the Force...” Yoda broke the gaze, growing contemplative.

“Unique in the force, each soul is. That can be read, rare is the mind. More difficult to discern, currents, intentions, manner, it is with some, it is with you. And now, Quiet we need.”

The two settled back, uneasily flattered. “Master Yoda—it’s an honor of course, to be considered an individual worthy of confidence, but why exactly do you have need of quiet minds? Of us?” Senator Mothma asked finally.

The diminutive Master sagged. “By actions you would do, trust you have earned. But always in motion, the future is. A heavy burden, to carry, I must ask you. Without cause, I would not ask. But once tell you this I do—” 

To the politicians shock Master Yoda’s simmed to glisten with unshed tears. “—Guarantee your safety I cannot.”

The air hung warm and heavy for a timeless moment and a chill ran up both their spines. But neither were individuals particularly given to indesicion in the face of looming danger. 

“How can we help?” Mon asked, the words echoing over far more than an hour. 

“We know something is wrong with Obi-Wan,” Bail added softly. “Whatever we can do to right it—Obi-Wan is a friend, the Jedi are our allies, and the Republic is our duty.”

Mon nodded firmly.

Yoda stared at them each in turn, eyes searching and ancient.

“Working with the Separatists, the Chancellor is,” he said bluntly. “Evidence of this, we have, but not proof. Controlling, the Separatists, the Chancellor is. Evidence of this we have also, but not proof. The truth it is.”

“Evidence?” Bail parroted hoarsely, mentally assembling his own grim circumstantial coronation even as his understanding of the conversation’s direction fell apart.

The Jedi Master drew two small glittering objects from his pocket—a datachip and a microslide. 

“In the brain of a trooper, this we found.” he said gravely. “In the brain of all clones, this lies. Orders, it contains. Evil, is it. Free will, it can control. Decode it we have. To the Chancellor, tied these orders are.”

“Force,” Mon murmured in horror, responding automatically. “He already controls the public, and the courts—”

“And over half the senate,” Bail added bitterly.

“A Sith, he is,” Yoda continued with a sigh. “A Sith he has always been. A return to an Empire, he aims.”

There was a long heady pause as the two grappled with the return of the ancient boogeyman of the Republic and the repeated derailing of their night’s direction. 

“Fuck,” Senator Mothma said delicately, thinking wistfully of two hours ago when she had planned on confronting Padme yet again on her relationship with a young Jedi.

“Said the same, did we.”

The Alderannian Senator rubbed his temples, trying to come to terms with consecutive massive shocks from the already unexpected conversation. “Is Obi-Wan alright?” he asked eventually.

The small Elder hummed thoughtfully in reply. Bail tensed.

“No and yes. Suffer much, he has. Broken he is, but not shattered. A plan he has. His idea to include you, it is. The bravest man in the galaxy, he called you.” Yoda said, offering Senator Organa a sad smile.

Bail leaned back, stunned. “Me? But—why me?” he asked bewildered.

“Know not, I do,” the Jedi said with a shrug. “Seen the future, he has. A future where saved his life, you did. Saved my life. Saved something too precious to name, you did. Matters little, it does. A future that must not come to pass, it is, even as learn from it. we do.”

“...I think you’re going to have to explain that somewhat,” Mon replied sternly as Bail’s head spun.

Yoda nodded and the three settled in for a sleepless night of planning treason.

Part XXIV

[makeste]

i saw a post that explained well why i hate this: deku's outlook is now like kacchan's at the beginning. whereas before he saw people like kacchan, aizawa & shoto as heroes, strong & admirable, now he looks down on them (regardless of intent), invalidates their decision to participate and only sees them as useless and bloody. now kacchan's the kid throwing a notebook at a villain and deku's the one dismissing him (see: kacchan's sacrifice). i guess the speech from post-ground beta 2 is forgotten

also like seriously fuck the narrative, fuck all might and tbh fuck deku too lol kacchan kept their stupid fucking useless secret, helped deku train for months on end while knowing deku getting stronger and dominating 7 entire effing quirks inevitably meant kacchan never would even have the slightest chance to accomplish any of his dreams, worried his mind off about deku (all might knows, not like he gives a fuck), mounted strategies to prevent deku from battling alone, sacrificed himself (cont)

(contd) got out of his literal coma bed marching to see deku while still bleeding from the mouth, was dismissed by everyone, and still nothing at all. his hero name reveal was treated like a fucking joke, his sacrifice amounted to nothing by the stellar narrative, he was off paneled for literally anything that wasn't a stupid gag, and now he's thrown aside like garbage. hero name after all might: all might doesn't care. all might in the room hearing the ruckus: doesn't care, but ida & co (cont)

(contd) can see him. spent months helping deku & all might figure out the ofa stuff, with the most productive contributions: no one cares. so to have not only deku dismiss him like this (he's now a useless victim, not a hero who decides to collaborate, help, and save), but also all might, who kacchan also did all of this for, and who told them THEY, TOGETHER, would be the best winning to save and whatever, so sucks. all might no longer has any use for bakugo, so he's ignored and thrown aside.

(last ask abt this i swear) & ALL OF THIS comes after kacchan's plot has been reduced to absolutetely nothing but deku to the point he has spent literal years of this manga without even interacting with kiri or kami. at least have kiri in his room when he woke up but nope, not even that, kiri's with shoto for some reason bc we have to make a gag out of kacchan's worry and he can't have meaningful interactions. no battles, no wins, no friends. just a side char in the ofa plot, now not even that

anon, no offense (because you seem polite enough in spite of this ask getting rather heated), but I disagree with literally every single point in this ask. literally every last one. this is basically all of my least favorite discourse bundled into a single post. I don't particularly enjoy reading "fuck All Might and Deku" in my inbox first thing in the morning, and I don't like reading paragraphs of hyperbolic negativity about Kacchan being shortchanged because the story doesn't revolve around him every single moment, and we haven't yet -- yet, because the story is still very much ongoing -- gotten to the narrative payoff for things like his hero name and his reunion with Deku. these are opinions you're more than welcome to post about on your own blog, anon. but to be frank, I'm not keen on spending a ton of mental energy trying to change your mind on my own blog when I'd much rather be discussing other things about the chapter and about the series. so yeah, my apologies, but I'm just going to leave it at that.

---

ETA: as promised anon, here are links to my other posts about the various topics you brought up:

re: Deku’s current mindset (tl;dr he’s traumatized by what happened at Jakku and him pushing everyone else away because he’s afraid of them getting hurt is totally expected)

more on said mindset and what drives it, and the parallels between him and Kacchan (and why Kacchan is inevitably going to be the one to knock some sense back into him)

meta on Deku’s role as a MC and how that affects his characterization (by design, for better or for worse)

and a couple of add-ons to that meta

meta re: All Might keeping OFA a secret

and another post about that

and another!! this is why I don’t want to talk about it any more lol

meta re: the meaning of Kacchan’s new hero name (which btw All Might hasn’t even heard yet, and which I suspect has more to do with Deku anyway)

and lastly, re: fandom needing to chill and be patient when it comes to Kacchan and Deku’s storyline

a big part of my reluctance to wade into these discourse waters again is because I would probably just be reiterating stuff I’ve already said in previous posts. but anyway so here you go if you or anyone else is interested.

[cherrycocaineee]

19. Sam Winchester - Hospital Visit

It was extra busy today at the hospital, there were three patients in need of major surgeries along with a line of people either waiting at the clinic or waiting for their minor surgeries to take place. I had been running around all morning wherever I was needed, and since I was the lead surgeon that was pretty much everywhere. Every time I got the chance, I glanced up at the ticking clock that was mute amongst all the loud chatting and alarms going off. I needed to hang on til three, and then another head surgeon would be here to help. I wiped the forming beads of sweat off of my forehead as I headed to the bathroom, wanting to escape from all the chaos that was hitting. Of course I loved being a doctor but I wasn’t made for such large groupings like this. It sent anxiety through my body causing me to sweat. So I just needed a small break to calm my nerves.

   Pressing my back against the cool wall felt almost painful against my hot, sweaty skin. I was just praying silently that I was wearing my doctor’s coat over a turtleneck sweater, stopping most of the chilling pain. Finally catching my breath after fifteen minutes, I pushed myself off of the wall, the cold no longer bothering me, and headed back into the jungle that awaited outside. Not much time passed before my Nurse, Lacy, ran up to me.

  “Doctor,” she said, her voice frantic and filled with worry, “come quick, there’s two new patients in need of medical treatment.”

   Nodding curtly, I followed after her quickly to wherever the patients were. There weren’t many rooms open, so when we did eventually find them, they were in the last two rooms. I went inside the first room, the room that was closer to us, and peered inside at the man lying on the hospital bed. My eyes widened at the sight of John Winchester, an old family friend from way back then. He was covered in slash marks, fresh blood that still needed to be cleaned off of his unconscious body. He was also covered in sweat, glass, and dirt.

   Lacy looked up at me.

 “Bring me a rag,” I muttered, “and some warm, soapy water.” 

  Nodding, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room. I took another glance at John Winchester then headed out of the room, silently praying that the other person in the second room wasn’t one of his sons.

  But I wasn’t lucky. Lying in the next hospital bed was his older son, Dean. I frowned, my forehead creasing slightly. Like his father, Dean was covered in blood, sweat, glass, and dirt. He would need to be cleaned up as well.

  “Doctor.”

  Looking up, I spotted my nurse standing at the door with the bucket of water and a rag hanging over it.

  “Thank you. Please, get another one for this patient.”

 “Of course.”

I took the bowl from Lacy and headed back into the room where John was waiting. Sitting beside his bed was Sam, also covered in blood but not as much as his dad and brother. His eyes met mine, widening as he saw my face.

  “Noel?” He questioned, his voice soft and surprised.

  “Hey Sam,” I replied, placing the bowl down.

  His eyes shifted to the ground. The last time I saw the Winchester’s was when I was twelve years old. I was a year younger than Sam. Out of the two Winchester boys, Sam and I had become close. I knew all about their hunting and everything they did.

  “You gonna tell me what happened?” I asked, grabbing the cloth and beginning to clean John up.

  The blood wiped away easily, revealing his tanned up, scarred skin.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a great idea,” he admitted.

 “Maybe not, but I still think you should tell me.”

  He was quiet for a moment, contemplating inside his head whether telling me would put me in danger. It probably would but I could handle myself. Finally, he told me what happened. They had gotten into a fight with a demon, one who called herself Meg, and these shadow things came out of nowhere attacking them. They were practically defenseless, their only saving grace was light. That’s how they were able to escape, along with throwing Meg out a tall window. By the time he finished telling me what happened, I had finished cleaning his dad up.

   Placing the cloth inside the now bloody water, I faced Sam.

  “Is she dead?” I inquired.

  “We think so,” he huffed, his hair shifting with the breeze escaping his lips, “but we’ve never dealt with a demon before so we’re unsure.”

  Nodding quietly, I started stitching up the large gashes displayed on John’s body. Lacy was right, he did need quick medical attention but not so much that he needed to be placed in the operating room. Not while there were people who needed surgeries on their brains waiting, or even their stomach. This was an easy fix.

  I could feel Sam’s eyes watching me while I sutured up his dad. Clipping the final set of stitches, I got rid of all the leftovers, then washed my hands.

  “I’m going to Dean’s room,” I muttered, “he needs more care than your father, so I’ll need more time to deal with him. Wait here.”

   Sam didn’t argue, he just nodded his head.

Taking care of Dean’s injuries were much harder than I had realized. He was losing lots of blood, and no matter how much of it I tried to wipe away, there would always be another rush of it pouring from the wound. So I had to deal with the large, several gashes that covered his body. Fixing him up took me almost three hours. When I was finished with him, it didn’t seem to matter, he was in a coma from the amount of blood he lost. I wasn’t sure he was going to make it and that was going to be hard to tell Sam and John.

   Lacy informed me that John Winchester was now awake, so now I was heading to his room to give them the bad news. Some doctors would call it semi-bad news but that didn’t really make any sense to me considering. I walked into John’s room, seeing him speaking to Sam, neither of them looking happy about whatever was being discussed. Sam was first to spot me.

  “Dad,” he said.

  John turned to face me, and at first I wasn’t sure he’d recognize me but when his eyes widened, I knew he did.

  “Noel,” he said, “it’s been a long time.”

  “It sure has,” I replied, smiling, “it seems you guys got yourself into a pickle.”

 “Seems that way.”

 I walked completely inside the room, my hands folded together.

  “How’s Dean doing?” Sam inquired.

  My heart felt like it was hammering against my chest but I tried to remain professional.

  “I’ve stitched him up, and cleaned up his body. However, he’s lost a lot of blood and is now in a coma,” I informed, sadness lurking in my voice, “right now, it isn’t looking so good. If he doesn’t pull through soon, then I would start preparing for the worst.”

  “Noel,” Sam said standing up, “he has to come back.”

  “There isn’t anymore that I can do, Sam. Had he’d been brought in earlier, maybe, but he’s lost way too much blood. We’re replacing it, he’s getting round the clock treatment and blood is being added to his body through an IV, but that’s all we’re able to do.”

   He looked away from me, his eyes noticeably filling with tears, then grabbed his jacket and walked out of the room. A soft breeze brushing against me as he passed me. John didn’t say anything to Sam as he left. I sighed and walked over to John, removing a small flashlight from my pocket.

  “Let me have a look at your pupils,” I muttered, “how are you feeling?”

 The bright light danced across his now dilated pupils.

  “Much better,” he replied.

It was quiet for a moment before John spoke again, asking about Dean.

  “He was in really bad shape, huh?” He asked.

  “Yes,” I muttered, removing the light from his eyes, “I wish there could be more done but right now, all we can do is wait and see.”

  John’s eyes looked away from me, staring down at his covered legs. I could tell he was feeling bad about what he did to Sam and Dean, specifically Dean since he was in a coma now. I stuffed the flashlight into my doctor coat, taking another look at the oldest Winchester. All three of these boys were tough as nails but everything seemed to be shattering right before their very own eyes.

  “I know this is hard, Mr. Winchester,” I replied, “but I promise you, I’ll do what I can to help Dean get better. For now, it’s best if you pray for his healing.”

  He didn’t say anything, didn’t even nod. Something seemed to be brewing around in his head, so I left after giving his shoulder a small squeeze. After leaving John’s room, I went to go look for Sam, taking a final look at Dean in his room. A small pang in my chest rippled through me before I headed off to find the youngest Winchester.

I found him sitting outside on the hospital steps. The breeze was starting to pick up, ruffling Sam’s hair along with my own. I walked over to him, my white shoes slapping quietly against the concrete. Sitting down next to Sam, I watched him look over at me. I folded my arms around my stomach and looked away, watching the hundreds of people walking around. Either lost in their own world or talking with someone who was with them. I didn’t want to say anything that would anger him or cause him to get up and leave.

  “It’s all my fault,” Sam whispered.

 My head snapped towards him, shocked completely at his sudden admission to guilt.

  “How so?” I inquired.

 “If I hadn’t gotten mad at Dean, if I hadn’t ran into Meg, then we would have never been tricked into this situation.”

  I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. My long, jet black hair waved in the wind.

 “Sam, you couldn’t possibly know that Meg was a demon. Like you said before, you guys have never dealt with one before so how are you supposed to know the difference between one of them and a girl. I mean look around you.”

  Our eyes scanned the area around us, watching the people who caught our eyes do what was normal: eating ice cream, talking, laughing, walking, etc.

  “Anyone here could be a demon but how could we know?”

  A soft sigh escaped from his lips.

  “All I’m saying is, there’s no need for you to worry too much. Dean is a fighter, I’m sure he’ll pull through. However, if he isn’t, then you can’t walk around blaming yourself. It’s not what your dad would want and it’s definitely not what Dean would want.”

   I touched his shoulder and smiled sweetly at him. Sam smiled back before nodding.

 “You’re right,” he said.

 “Of course I am. I’ve never been wrong.”

 A laugh left his mouth, colliding with the wind that was picking up more and more. I couldn’t help but giggle along with him. Soon Sam and I were discussing how life had been after we departed so long ago. I learned that Sam had previously gotten out of the whole family business, hunting things to attend college at Stanford to become a lawyer. He had only joined back up with his family because his girlfriend, Jessica, was killed by the same demon that killed his mom. Yellow eyes. It had its ups and down, constantly worrying about one another and the consistent fighting back and forth. Dean was ultimately too childish and took any opportunity to pull a silly prank on Sam. But, according to him, it wasn’t all too bad since he missed his brother a lot. And now that he and his dad were together again, he remembered that he loved him too while disagreeing with him like he had when he was younger.

   Once he was finished catching me up on how his life had been going, I told him about mine. How my mother passed away a year after they had left, inspiring me to go to medical school. I had also been engaged for a little while before finding out that my fiancé was cheating on me behind my back. The rest of my life wasn’t much to gossip about, considering most of it was just me going to school and being cheating on.

   “Despite everything though,” I replied, “I enjoy what I do and hope that I’m making a big difference every single day.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling my pager buzz beside my hip. Pulling it from beside me, I saw that Lacy was paging me, letting me know that another lead surgeon had arrived and that I could go for lunch. Standing up, I held out my hand to Sam.

“Wanna get some coffee with me?” I inquired, “It’ll help clear your thoughts. Maybe you can figure out a way to help Dean behind bringing him to the doctor.”

 I hoped that he caught on to what I had to say. By the smile that appeared on his face, I knew that he did. Taking a hold of my hand, I pulled him to his feet and headed across the street to the small coffee shop where I normally went when I was able to have a small break. On the way over, the two of us talked with one another and laughed at stories about each other's life. It was nice to reconnect with a friend from so long ago. Sam and I had always been close to one another when we were young. And on the way to the coffee shop, I hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time I saw Sam. And hopefully under much better circumstances than the one that brought us together today.

[littleoddwriter]

Hiya! Your prompt list interested me and I would like to request you a Zsaszmask story with Dialogue Prompt n°5 "I wasn't sure your remembered me". Plot: During a fight with a rival gang, Victor gets knocked out and suffered amnesia. It hurts Roman who tried everything to help him. Angst+happy ending would be nice. I am sure it will be brilliant as always! Thanks in advance and have a nice day!

Remember Me | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hiya! <3 Thank you so much for this delightful request! It's totally run away from me, istg (it's over 4k words long, rip). I really hope you enjoy what I've done with it!

summary; see above.

notes; Angst with Happy Ending; Amnesia; Hospitals; Recovery; Mentions of Murder and Fantasies of it; Mentions of having been stabbed and shot; probably bad depiction of how hospitals and such work despite the medical dramas i've watched.

Stupid fucking rival gangs. He wished he could kill them all over again.

Stupid fucking Victor Zsasz. He was always so fucking loyal and protective.

Fucking hell!

Fuck!

Roman was fuming; his blood was still boiling, thrumming through his body in high speed, making him tremble. Although to be fair, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was only shaking because of his rage. It might have also been caused by the fear that’s settled deep into his bones.

Fear! He, Roman Beauvais Sionis, the notorious Black Mask – scared! It was laughable, really.

It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Victor’s blood was all over his clothes.

It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Zsasz was lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes attached to him, looking so lifeless.

Because yes, it was scary, indeed.

Roman thought even the cruellest people in the world would agree that the uncertainty of whether or not the person you cared about the most was coming back to you at all or not, warranted such feelings of fear. It was perfectly fine.

If only it didn’t feel so wrong.

If only he didn’t feel like ripping his own heart out, so he could make these emotions stop.

That’s one of the many reasons that he despised just how close he was to Victor, how close he let him get.

He’s always known that someday, he may as well lose him one way or another.

And then what?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

The strangest thing of all to him, in this very moment that he’s been sitting on the hospital chair next to Victor’s bed, was that he hasn’t left that spot even once so far. He was too scared to move. He felt as though the second his eyes left Zsasz’s shape, he would suddenly disappear. Because right now, he was still here. He was still alive, if only just barely, but he was still here.

He hadn’t even dared to change his clothes, the dried blood making them crusty and uncomfortable. It was disgusting and under any other circumstances he would have gone to change the second he had been out of danger.

Yet, here he was.

If only Zsasz knew just how much he actually cared about him.

Thinking about it though, he probably did. He seemed to know Roman better than he knew himself. Sometimes that scared him, but most of the time it only lit this raging fire inside him. He couldn’t stand the way he depended on this one person.

It was dangerous.

He couldn’t help himself, though. He’s tried before, but every time it led him right back to Zsasz. A strange pull kept hold of him, not letting him get out of Victor’s magnetic field under any circumstances.

Roman knew that Zsasz would probably say that it was some kind of fate thing. Destiny. They were meant to be together from the day they’d been born, only to wreak havoc on Gotham the way they’ve been doing ever since.

It was kind of charming, really, that Victor was so set on his theories about the universe. Sionis never questioned that Zsasz might have a point, considering that his purpose was to free all these birds from their cages, but he often failed to extent his belief in Victor’s theories to themselves.

Until now, at least.

The way he’s been feeling since Victor got knocked out, stabbed, and shot made him unsure of everything, now.

Because it truly felt as though with the very real notion of possibly losing his Victor, he’s suddenly felt so lost. Incomplete. It was as though with every action the rival gang’s taken, another part’s been ripped out of his body, his heart – his very soul.

It was absolutely horrific and now he could only hope that Zsasz would wake up again, without any permanent damages. He didn’t know what he would do if there were any at all. Would he rage? Mourn? Kill? He just hoped he’d never have to find out at all.

Several weeks later – fifty-six days, in fact – Roman sat in his chair beside Victor’s bed, like he’s done day and night since it had first happened.

Of course, he had changed out of his clothes after the first night, showered and slept, but he’s done it all in Zsasz’s hospital room. He didn’t dare leave him.

All business was done over the phone, or by meetings in Victor’s room. It wasn’t the most convenient situation. It also left him exposed, seemingly weak, and he’s made certain that they all knew that if they so much as thought of him as any less dangerous and cruel, they’d be dead faceless men. They seemed to have taken his threats seriously enough. At least nothing has come up so far.

After a while, Roman has started to hold Victor’s right hand in both of his, stroking his thumb over his palm, his wrist – tracing the only scar he found there. He even talked to him. The doctors have said that often times it helped to talk to a coma patient, that they’ve woken up earlier than expected – or at all – when they’ve been spoken to. So he had muttered about the incident that even got them there in the first place, but as time has passed, he just started talking about everything and nothing.

In rare moments of sentimentality, he’d even go on about how much he missed Victor, how scared he felt, even after weeks. Maybe especially because it’s been weeks – almost two months– now. He was so afraid that perhaps Zsasz wouldn’t wake up after all. The doctors have certainly never given him a clear answer.

Lost in his musing, he felt Victor’s hand, which has been still enveloped by both of his, twitch.

He immediately held completely still, not even breathing, as he looked at Zsasz curiously, expectantly.

“Zsasz?” he rasped, sounding so small to his own ears that he cringed internally.

The hand twitched again, fingers clenching and releasing around Roman’s hand.

“Victor, hey. Come back to me, hm?” he spoke softly, a nervous smile twisting his mouth upward.

After a few more moments, Victor’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, he seemed to adjust to the bright lights in the room. Clearing his throat and groaning quietly, he sluggishly turned his head to the side, his eyes meeting Roman’s.

As soon as he had taken him in, Victor’s eyes widened.

Roman felt confusion coursing through him.

Zsasz looked – scared? Confused as well? He certainly didn’t look very happy to see Roman alive and well next to him.

“Who are you?”

The world seemed to stop around Roman; his heart was pounding, feeling it in his throat. He was kidding. He had to be.

“Excuse me?” Roman inquired instead, giving Zsasz a chance out of this uncalled for joke.

“Who are you?” Victor repeated, his voice still hoarse and broken, but louder. He looked so genuine, too.

An icy chill settled in Roman’s stomach, spreading through his entire body.

“Now’s really not the time for jokes, Mr. Zsasz,” Sionis reprimanded him, trying once more to make Victor react differently and say he’s only been kidding after all, before he called a doctor in panic.

But then Victor pried his hand out of Roman’s tight grip and said, “I’m really not joking, sir.”

Okay, maybe he really wasn’t, because Victor’s certainly never called him ‘sir’ outside of sex; even then, it was a rare occurrence.

Sionis took a deep breath and then leaned over to press the call-button, hoping the doctors – who were all on his pay roll, of course – would have an answer that was at least mildly satisfactory.

No such luck, though.

The doctors came in and asked Roman to step outside first, so they could check Victor over.

In front of his room, Sionis started pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration, anxiety, and rage. He was trying so hard not to explode; it made him tremble all over again. He felt exactly like he had when they had first come into the hospital nearly two months ago.

This was just a really bad fucking nightmare. It had to be.

When the doctor and his nurses were done checking him over, they asked Roman back into the room. He’s kept his distance now, not daring to come any closer to Victor, his Victor.

“You said you don’t know who this is?” the doctor – whatshisname – inquired calmly, looking at Victor, but pointing at Roman.

“Yeah, no idea,” Victor replied, his voice started to sound clearer, which only made it so much worse for Roman when he couldn’t detect any underlying inflection that may have told him that this really was just a prank after all.

“But you do know who you are, correct? Do you know your name?” the doctor continued, looking at Roman, a hint of fear in his eyes. He hated it. He wanted to gouge them out, so he didn’t have to see the fear anymore. Instead, he just looked away, staring at Victor intently.

“I know who I am, yeah. Name’s Victor Zsasz.”

“Alright. Could you tell me what year we have, Mr. Zsasz?”

His brows furrowed, deep in thought, and then, “2002.” Fuck.

The doctor stopped short, Roman’s hands clenched into tight fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking audibly in the all too quiet room.

“I’m sorry to say it, but it is actually 2019. Do you have any idea why you’re in the hospital at all?”

Victor’s eyes widened again, just like when he’s spotted Roman for the first time a little while ago.

“That can’t be right. No, I don’t remember that. What the hell’s going on, Doc? What did you do to me?” The last part was directed at Roman, who felt as though his heart’s been stabbed, ripped out and stomped on with those words and the accusatory delivery of them.

“Mr. Sionis, I’d have to ask you to wait outside until I’m done here, please,” the doctor said.

Without another word and as if he was on autopilot, Roman let himself out of the room and sat down in the chair in front of it, burying his head in his hands. This couldn’t possibly be true. He had to wake up from this horrible nightmare, soon. He just had to.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back outside.

“Mr. Sionis, it looks as though Mr. Zsasz suffers from amnesia. It was most likely caused by the blow to his head.”

“But he’ll be fine, right? Amnesia is only temporary. Right?” Roman hated that he couldn’t hide the anxiety he felt, the utter dread.

“Not always. We’d have to do some more tests, CTs and such, to make sure. After that I can disclose more certain information to you. Would that be alright?”

Sionis sighed, frustrated, “Yes. Do whatever you’ve got to, as long as it’ll help bring him back to normal.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll go and order the tests right now. I’d suggest that you go home now. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any new information, but it certainly wouldn’t do any good to confuse Mr. Zsasz even further now, when we barely know what’s really going on. Alright? I promise to be fast.”

“You better be,” Roman muttered and turned to leave the hospital, his driver waiting a couple of blocks away from it.

Normally, he’d have been raging now, throwing things, spitting into doctors faces, cussing them out – but he couldn’t.

He was in shock.

He could barely process the reality of what was even happening.

He felt so alone.

Two days later, in which he might’ve gone a little mad, really, his doctor finally called him. When he’s come in to see him, he’s told him that Victor did indeed only suffer from temporary memory loss. Unfortunately, such amnesia was quite unpredictable and it could be a few days, weeks, months, or even years until all memories were back.

Still, the good news were that the doctor has managed to warm up Zsasz to the idea of going back to living with Roman, after assuring him that it’s been this way for many years, now. To that Victor had first asked if he was gay, because apparently at that point in his life, Zsasz hadn’t had a clue about his sexuality, or that he could truly like anyone at all.

All of this was utterly ridiculous to Roman.

How can a person just lose access to such a big portion of their life, of their identity, essentially?

The same day that Roman’s received the news, he was also allowed to take Victor back home with him, already. Apparently his wounds had healed a great deal, while he’d been out, and so the rest could be done from home. Additionally, it’d be extremely beneficial to bringing his memories back if he was surrounded by things so familiar to him.

Roman hoped it worked fast.

“I had your old room prepared for you,” Roman commented when they’ve finally arrived back at the penthouse.

Victor was holding himself up with a hand on the wall. He hadn’t liked when Roman touched him and offered him to support him. Sionis couldn’t really find words for just how much he’s hated that.

“’Old room’? What’s with my new one?” Victor asked, almost looking like a caged animal, when their eyes met.

“Well, I had thought you wouldn’t want to sleep in one bed with me, right now,” Roman replied, hoping he’d catch on without needing him to spell it out for him.

Realisation dawned on him quickly, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “Right.”

“Exactly. Anyway, so this is your room, there’s an en-suite bathroom, through that door,” Roman explained, showing Victor around. He was glad that he was such a natural at these things, it eased him a little, bringing back some much needed familiarity.

“Huh, compared to the shithole I used to live in, this is really luxerias.”

“Luxurious,” Roman corrected him without thinking.

“Uh-huh, whatever,” Victor just muttered darkly.

“Dinner will be ready at 6pm sharp. Until then you can- I don’t know, stay in bed, I suppose. If you should need anything, or you’re having an emergency you can either call for my staff, or me; whichever you prefer.” Fuck, Roman really hated just how much he cared about this asshole. He’d never do this for anyone else. If it had been anyone else, Roman would have dropped them – killed them – the second they had to have been rushed to the fucking hospital.

“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Sionis,” Zsasz said, gingerly sitting down on his bed.

“Just call me Roman, Zsasz.” Or boss, he added in his mind, but didn’t dare to speak it.

When he left Victor’s room, he stalked into his own, silent tears gathered in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

He just wanted his Victor back.

Dinner was awkward to say the least. Victor sat in his usual place at the head of the table, to Roman’s right, and he ate just like he always did – like a fucking pig. But he didn’t talk to Roman at all, even when he had tried to start up a conversation. Instead, he only side-eyed him, looking suspicious of him. It enraged Roman.

In the morning, Victor didn’t show up for breakfast.

After a few minutes of waiting for him to come, Roman got up to look after Zsasz. His first thoughts had been that perhaps something’s gone wrong and Victor died in his sleep, but when he opened the door to his room – after knocking first, of course, he wasn’t a savage after all – Zsasz glared at him so darkly that an unpleasant shiver ran down Roman’s spine.

So he didn’t try to force him out if he didn’t want to. His doctor had told him to give him time and be patient with him, so he tried his fucking best to do exactly that. It was really fucking hard, though. He hoped that Zsasz would at least appreciate his efforts properly, when he was all his again.

In the end, Victor hasn’t come out of his room at all that day. It was extremely frustrating to Roman, who proceeded to trash his own room at night, when it had all just come to a head for him. He didn’t care if Victor could hear him scream and throw things, destroying them.

The day after, Victor sat at the breakfast table first, to Roman’s surprise. Sionis didn’t say anything, even though he so desperately wanted to make a snide remark, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk of having Zsasz lock himself into his room, again.

“The doc said that showing me some things could jog my memory,” Victor rasped eventually, when Roman had been ready to get up and leave.

“I know. So you’re willing to do that?” He only received a nod in response.

For a moment, Roman mulled it over, thinking about what he could show Victor to help him remember his life the best and the fastest.

Then it hit him.

Zsasz didn’t remember him. Well, maybe he would if he saw Roman wearing his Black Mask in the club they’ve first met, when Galante introduced them to each other.

“Alright, I’ve got something to show you. I’ll just make a phone call and we could go, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Roman had made sure that Victor wouldn’t see him in the Black Mask until they were to re-enact their first meeting – only that this time they’d be all by themselves.

He really hoped this worked.

Roman told Zsasz to stand in the same spot he’s stood when Black Mask had first stridden in to greet Galante. Just like he’s done with Sionis since, he’d stood leaned against a pillar. Usually his arms would be behind his back, but it would put too much strain on the still tender wounds on his abdomen, so he just let them dangle at his sides. Roman felt a painful tug on his heart strings. He had missed seeing Victor like this.

“Wait here,” he instructed Zsasz, who just nodded.

Then Roman went back to the car and got out his Black Mask and put it on.

“If this doesn’t fucking work…,” he muttered gloomily, before he opened the empty club’s door to walk in, like he’s done all those sixteen years ago.

As much as he hated admitting it, he was lucky that the mask gave him such a sense of security and protection, so that whenever he wore it, he practically became a different person. It made it a lot easier to hold himself with all the extravagance and intent that he’s displayed over a decade and a half ago (and every other day before all this), too.

He watched Victor like a hawk as he marched up to him, and Zsasz’s gaze was just as sharp and piercing as was his.

Black Mask stopped right in front of Zsasz, only a few inches away. He tilted his head a little, and gruffly inquired, “Anything at all, Mr. Zsasz?”

Victor swallowed thickly; Roman could see the way his throat worked around it. Then his eyes widened again, just like in the hospital, but this time recognition lied underneath his sharp gaze.

“Black Mask,” he whispered, a grin spread on his face, showing off his two beautiful golden teeth.

Sionis inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” he rasped, a soft, sad inflection coming along with it.

“I’m so sorry, boss.” Victor lifted his hands and cupped the mask with them, oh, so gently. He’s always known to be careful with it. Then he stroked his thumbs over the seams and the roughly textured leather, a wonder in his eyes that Roman’s missed seeing more than he’d ever dare to admit.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Zsasz,” Black Mask said, his voice strained from holding back. He didn’t know just how much Victor remembered now. They obviously haven’t been more than employer and employee from the get-go.

But fuck, he wanted to hold him close and kiss him so badly. It’s been far too long since and all the hospital stress has made him desperate for the assurance that Victor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Still, he just stood there, watching Zsasz marvel at his mask for a while. Victor’s always loved his mask, and Roman couldn’t ever deny him from admiring it, when it was such a boost to his ego as well.

When it felt as though fifteen minutes must have passed, Roman got a little impatient, though. Victor’s not said anything since and he needed to know what other memories he’s gotten back; so he asked, “What else do you remember?”

Zsasz’s eyes were glazed over a little, having gotten completely lost in his own little world.

Under the mask, Roman smiled.

“Hm, I remember the Bertinelli Massacre,” the way he talked – it was a testament to just how far away into his mind he’s just gone, his voice sounded so light, pondering, Roman loved it, “And I remember you coming to Galante afterwards and buying my contract from him. How I became your exclusive assassin and later right-hand man. I remember how nervous you were about opening the club after your parents had just kicked you out. I remember how ecstatic you were when it had all started to work out in your favour, the way it should have.”

He paused.

Roman almost thought that had been it. They would have to wait for everything else to come back, too. And then who knew how long it’d take?

But then Victor continued with a smile on his face, “I remember the first time we’ve gotten each other off after I freed someone for you. And how you avoided me afterwards for a little while, so angry that you’ve given in to your urges. Then I remember how we just went from there. How we share a bed now, even though you hated it so much at first, but you can’t sleep anymore when I’m not there. And I remember just how close you are to owning Gotham the way you were always meant to do.” Zsasz ended it by kissing the mask’s teeth, like he would do so often.

Roman’s breath audibly stuttered. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, careful not to squeeze, just holding onto him gently.

“Take my mask off,” he commanded.

With a cute little pout, Victor did as he was told and gently took off Roman’s Black Mask, setting it down on the table beside them. As soon as he’s done that, Roman captured Victor’s pretty, plush lips in a searing kiss that conveyed all the emotions that have plagued him for almost two months then. Zsasz reciprocated it just as enthusiastically, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. They both groaned into the kiss.

Their mouths open, Roman immediately plunged his tongue into his partner’s mouth, tasting and exploring him again after so long. It may have been the most amazing and intoxicating thing he’s ever experienced.

After a couple of minutes, they separated, although their noses still brushed against one another, their lips just barely apart at all.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, baby,” Roman murmured, pressing another small kiss to Victor’s slack lips.

Zsasz smiled, “I know. I missed you, too. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“Shut the fuck up, it wasn’t your fault, ‘kay? I’m just glad you’re back and all mine again. You are, aren’t you, Victor? All mine?”

“I sure am, boss. All yours. Only yours.”

Roman smiled, kissing Victor once more, a relieved sigh leaving him. He was beyond happy he’s gotten him back. He truly had no idea what he would have done if that hadn’t happened. Those past two months had been the worst of his entire life, he was sure of it.

“Never do that to me again. You hear me?”

“Never. I promise.”

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[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [bonus]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–nudity boobies! w.c; 2.2k a/n; why did a week go by so stinkin’ fast? i’m not ready to let go of this couple! that being said, i wouldnt mind posting some drabble babbles about these two or four. im utterly thankful for the love and passion my readers had for this, i had so many kind readers that kept me afloat through all of. i can’t wait to see you in the next one, and i hope you enjoy this little glimpse💕

[final] [bonus] -> masterpost

“You’re not Jimin.” 

Jungkook’s eyes snap open, and he takes note of the change in air. Chalk it up to the open window or the fact that the rain’s evaporated, but he can’t help the pinch of pain in his heart as he realizes that you’re far, far gone from this world. 

And in your place, is you. Not quite you, but it’s almost scary how easy it is to regard your visage and simple conversation. 

“Jimin,” he repeats, as if he heard you wrong. “As in, Park Jimin? Tiny guy with a big ego?” 

“Yes,” you reply blandly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your eyes are sparkless, flickering between your state of nakedness and his state of nakedness. “I know I wasn’t exactly sober last night, but I distinctly remember telling him he’d be in my bed tonight,” and you regard Jungkook with a sort of pointed look, unable to decipher your situation, “but here you are. Still cupping by boob.” 

Out of reflex, he squeezes his palm. Yep, that’s yours. 

A little part of him also wants to yell to the heavens because you failed to tell him you were hooking up with Park Jimin before all of this. 

Okay technically you didn’t, but the person in front of him did. 

His heart is fresh and stinging like a hot cut on the asphalt. He watches you take in your surroundings, humming when you notice the new clothes on the rack and the way your desk has been rearranged. Jungkook is trying very hard to be patient, after all you’re a stranger and suddenly he feels like he’s the one that’s known you all his life. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

You stretch, testing out your limbs as they pop and crackle at your command. You run a hand through your strawberry-smelling hair, and Jungkook has to grip the sheets to not go by instinct and take you right then and there on this mattress. With a shameless groan of satisfaction, you flop against your bed. Jungkook tries, emphasis on try, to not watch as your breasts bounce and the way your hair flows around your pillow like the angel you are, but he’s rendered smitten. 

“Uh,” boobies boobies boobies. 

You pointedly ignore his piss-poor attempt at coherent conversation, staring up at the ceiling.  “Ho—ly shit,” you curse freely, heaving an exhausted sigh, “I feel so sore.” 

“S-sore?” Great, he found his voice. 

“Yeah, like I’ve been in a coma or something,” but you think nothing of it, summing it up as a crazy dream from alcohol poisoning. You sit up straight, reaching for your phone. It’s not on your desk, but instead you find something far more interesting. 

You reach for your Midnight Blue Citrus candle, frowning at the contents. The wax is nearly burnt to the end, the tips of the wicks charcoal black and frayed. Waving your used candle in Jungkook’s face you blame, “What the fuck, did you use all of this last night? I just bought this like, literally yesterday!” 

His face falls, “What? You’ve had that candle for forever—”

“And why the heck it is so hot in the middle of February?” 

Oh. 

Something dark and sad creeps up Jungkook’s stomach, and he hates to be the one to tell you. February was when it all started, and his life changed with the presence of you. Jungkook tells himself repeatedly that the woman in this room is simultaneously the person he’s loved since winter and the stranger he feels that he’s meant to love with time. Considering everything’s happening all at once understanding it is still hard, but he’ll try for you. 

It breaks his heart to see how you look lost and confused, like a child woken up from a debilitating nightmare. Your lips are bitten red and purple, trying your hardest not to show fear in front of him, a stranger. You’re frustrated as you try your hardest to shut the windows to block the incoming humidity from last night’s rain. 

He says your name, sweet and soft. “It’s almost summer,” he says, his voice calm and collected. 

“So are you telling me, that wasn’t a dream?” 

The two of you stare at each other, unmoving. He tries not to squirm under your gaze, you watch him intently, scraping at the edge of your brain for any ideas. You’re hugging yourself, arms wrapping against your breasts as if you’re trying to hold your body together in a way that alludes to any brokenness you felt over these past two months. 

Neither of you break the silence, and there’s a bang and a crash. Jungkook flinches at the tell-tale signs of the unwanted intruder, the fling of keys across your wooden table and a shrill call of your name. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Probably Hoseok,” Jungkook answers reluctantly, his thumb rubbing between his brows. 

He ignores the extra cool air against his naked bits when he throws the blankets off his lap. Ignores the way you pointedly, shamelessly check him out as he throws on his sweats and a t-shirt. To his dismay he can’t ignore the burn in his cheeks when he knows how you’re scrutinizing him like a one-night stand, trying to recollect any type of concrete thought that would seem plausible enough to explain why you woke up in bed with him. 

Throwing open your bedroom door and leaving you there, he cards a hand through his rogue bedhead to face a frantic Hoseok. 

“It’s so early,” Hoseok warbles to himself, impressed that he’s managed to cop fresh donuts and coffee at nearly 7AM. 

Jungkook sees nothing but an orange blob and Hoseok’s head, bleary and vibrating. Rubbing his eyes he says, “You just realized how early it is? Couldn’t you have stopped by a little later?” 

“No, I couldn’t!” Hoseok’s now invading Jungkook’s personal space, as if you weren’t the bridge between their threads of a relationship, as if he and Hoseok could be friends. “I woke up a few hours ago and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I felt it, Jungkook. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The air shifted and I felt like I was between two parallel universes—I swear on my bad knee that I’m not going through a drug trip—and I felt the world turning and changing and it was so fuckin’ weird I had to come here as soon as Dunkin’ opened. Didn’t you feel it too?” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook exhales, not bothering to hide the disappointment. He smiles sadly, “it’s definitely not her.” 

Hoseok’s expression and excitement over the world’s converging falters, and he pulls Jungkook into a hug. They’re not particularly close and Hoseok’s smaller in size compared to Jungkook, but for those five seconds he feels comforted as he hugs him back. 

“Why don’t you go home and chill out, I don’t mind explaining things to her,” Hoseok offers, “and I’ll call you later and let you know how it went.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook replies, voice slow, “that sounds like a good idea, actually.” 

The situation is royally messed up, and he hates that he can’t blame it on anyone. Jungkook is a practical man, and he knows that he has no use when Hoseok is here with donuts and coffee. More importantly, there is no use torturing himself by letting his heart break in the presence of  you. 

“What is this, a party?” Taehyung’s bare feet smack against the hardwood, and he plops himself in the chair next to Hoseok, “did you get me coffee this time?” 

The two of them bicker good-naturedly, with Hoseok explaining a little kindness goes a long way and Taehyung muttering that kindness doesn’t happen without caffeine. Jungkook excuses himself, feeling very much out of place as he moves to your bedroom to pack his things. 

“You’re leaving?” you’re standing in the middle of your bedroom, now dressed in a long t-shirt and your hair tied clean and away from your face. You look pretty. 

“Yeah,” he says shortly, stuffing his jeans in his bag and making sure all traces of him are gone from your bedroom. “Need to sort things out,” he excuses, and while you may not buy it, he really does. He feels heartbroken, angry at the world. Maybe he could visit Yoongi today and get a demo in, put all this pent-up emotion to good use. “But Hoseok brought you breakfast, he’s a good friend, he’ll explain everything.” 

“But I don’t know Hoseok,” you mumble, picking at the hem of your band shirt. You’re pouting, stubborn. 

“But you don’t know me either,” Jungkook retorts, not unkindly, but not exactly gentle. “I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.” 

There’s a hard rip at his zipper, putting in a little too much force as he seals away all his things into a compact backpack. Heck, he even went as far as to take back the hoodie he lent you last month, making sure the fabric is crisp and folded so he can stow it away from your curious eyes. He shoves on his denim jacket from last night, still lingering with the scents of sand and saltwater. It makes him sombre, and the selfish part of him wishes to bottle up that scent and tuck it away forever. 

“You’re wrong,” you blurt when he moves toward the door. His hand lingers over the knob, “I do know you.” 

He narrows his dark eyes, taking in your honest expression, “At Jimin’s job, maybe? I did a couple interviews in the beginning of February. Maybe we passed each other while you had lunch with him.” 

“No. You sang to me, talked to me, as much as you could up until this moment.” 

He remembers the stories you fed to him last night under the stars, shameless and full of love as you explained to him of his other self. The life where he’s a renowned singer, a Golden Boy, one of the most revered in his industry. A life he could only dream of, yet somewhere out there he’s living it in another body making that dream come true. 

Thoughts are running through his head, memories that aren’t his own. He could only imagine what you must’ve gone through, recovering in a hospital bed for two months, unable to move but actively aware of the pain and anguish. How confused you must’ve been, aching to figure out what the hell is going on, acutely aware of the voices constantly chattering about your well-being. 

One of those voices being Jeon Jungkook, who was probably taking care of you night and day. 

His head is starting to throb, and he feels like he’s five seconds away from spiraling. 

“I’d… I’d feel more comfortable around you, Jungkook,” you confess, reaching for his hand, “but if you need to, you can go,” you bite your lip, folding in on yourself once more, “if it hurts too much to be around me right now.” 

He gladly takes your hand, rubbing his thumb between your palm. The familiar sparks he feels when he holds it return, but tamps it down for the sake of your vulnerability. It’s not your fault you’re in this situation. “No… I’m just gonna go home for a bit, clear my schedule,” he gives you a little smile, and he inflates a bit when you give him one of your own. “I’ll come back for you after breakfast.”

“You promise?” 

“Promise.” 

You pull him into an unexpected hug, suddenly fearing he may never come back. 

“I always wondered what the man looked like behind the voice,” and you’re suddenly melting, feeling a sense of familiarity as you let your heart run faster than your brain when you let him hold you in his arms. He smells just like him, too. 

His embrace is tight, and his arms fit in all the little curves and spots that make you feel warm and safe. “And am I living up to your expectations?” it’s a half-joke, after all the both of you are  going simply by feeling and there’s no way in hell would he even attempt to compare himself to well, himself. 

You pull away to look at him, really look at him. Honest, clear eyes. Jungkook thinks he sees the world in your gaze. “Only if you eat a donut before you go,” you reply with a shy smile. 

At your defiant mention of food he can’t help but grin like a maniac, letting you tug him back out to sit at the counter with him and have breakfast. Like he said before, he can’t wait to fall in love all over again. 

[justicealwaysprevails]

fallibility.

WHO: Bruce Wayne @justicealwaysprevails, Slade Wilson @terminator-deathstroke, Jason Todd @thatsjasonfkntodd, Tim Drake @redrobin-timdrake, Damian Wayne @sonofabct, & Duke Thomas @missed-signals, mentions of Dick Grayson @amazingflyingdick WHERE: The hospital WHEN: Backdated to June 30th, 2020 WHAT: A short discussion in Dick’s room about the night’s events

Bruce: Bruce waited until there was some news before he made a few phone calls. He passed along the information in a tone that was calm if not flat, simply stating that the doctors had performed surgery and Dick was unconscious, but the coma was medically induced. It was a good sign that he'd survived this long and he made sure they knew that. He knew they were all worried. Nothing he said was untrue, he wouldn't go that far even if it meant putting them at ease, and Bruce hoped his tendency toward harsh honesty in the past might provide some comfort now.

He asked Tim to bring a change of clothes to the hospital for Jason. The staff had nothing to offer and Bruce didn't want to draw attention to him. No one seemed to make the connection, but Bruce Wayne had more than one son and perhaps it was too impossible to imagine.

After hanging up with the last of them, he returned to the room where they were allowed to sit with Dick. "The others are on their way. Tim is bringing you clothes." It was the last thing he said for a while.

Damian: Damian hadn't been too far from the hospital when he received the phone call. For the longest time he was silent as Bruce explained the situation and when the call was done, he wasted no time in making his way to the building to meet up with everyone. There must have been a chilling expression on his face when he arrived, because several of the patients and guests in the waiting room took a look at him; got interested that Robin was making an appearance; and then immediately backed down and looked away as he ignored them and gathered directions to Dick's room.

Upon arrival, he saw his Father and gave him a quiet nod before taking up a position leaning against one of the walls - his gaze locked on Dick's unconscious body. How could something like this happen? To Dick, of all people? The more he thought about it, the angrier he got - and the angrier he got, the more icily silent he grew. Tim: Tim had been working on the encryption for NOVA correspondences when he got the call from Bruce. He had listened, face impassive. He was a different man than when Bruce had told him about Steph. Back then, he hadn't really been a man at all. Now, he certainly didn't take it the same way. His expression became as blank as Bruce's often was as he hummed his agreement on each point.

Tim had always had a special sort of closeness with Dick that he didn't have with really anyone else but Steph. It wasn't as if he and Jason were close. Or he and Damian. To hear that Dick might be in danger or fighting for his life threatened to draw out any number of emotions. All of them were repressed in favor of action. He told Steph what was going on in the same kind of removed voice. She knew him, so she'd know he was trying not to instantly self destruct. Tim didn't cry anymore, really, and he knew that getting hyper emotional could be dangerous in their line of work. So he was calm, though there was a waver in his voice when she handed him a thermos full of coffee and he made his way up to grab a set of clothes. He didn't think much of aesthetic. Hoodie, sweats, shirt. He didn't think much about the variation of height between him and Jason. All he was thinking about was Dick. The possibility of Dick being gone.

Medically induced coma. Gunshot to the head. The survivability of that wasn't great. And if he did live, what complications would there be? His memory? His emotions? His balance? He may live but how my physical therapy would he need? Already, Tim's mind began to fixate on machines he could build or programs he could design to help Dick should something like that happen. He and Duke left without much more preamble. Tim didn't say much of anything on the way over, mind still stuck in his loops. In truth, he almost forgot Duke was there, because he had begun to get fixated on what could be done.

When they arrived at the hospital, Tim's face was that same blank expression as he told them who they were and they were quickly directed to the right room. When he took in the scene: Dick looking small in a hospital bed with everyone around it looking grim and silent... it transported him right back to another death in the family. Another Robin fighting for their life. Steph had lost. She'd died. What if Dick died too? Would they make him a grave?

That was likely altogether too morbid. He pushed it down as he wordlessly held out the bag of clothes to Jason. "What do the nurses say?" He asked no one in particular, his gaze remaining settled on his big brother where he lay. Duke: Duke had been in Star City not even six full hours when they got the news about Dick. He hadn't even seen Bruce yet, or had a proper conversation with Tim, before getting woken up by a phone call. He found Tim downstairs and gave him his space while he spoke to Steph and Babs, but he knew the situation was grim and he wasn't in the mood to put up an act about it.

At this point he knew Tim (and the others) well enough to know when to talk and when to not say anything. So on the way over he was also quiet, his gaze turned out the window, and tried to put the pieces together in his own head instead of speculating aloud. He knew it would be bad for everyone if Dick didn't survive this, but he tried to convince himself that wasn't going to be the outcome.

When they reached the hospital he walked next to him and slightly behind. As they reached the door he caught sight of Tim's blank expression and he reached over to press his arm reassuringly. His hand slipped away as they walked inside. The atmosphere was tense and his gaze went straight to Jason because of the blood on his clothes. Duke tried not to react but he couldn't help a wince. "Hey," he said awkwardly, also acknowledging Bruce and Damian since he hadn't had a chance to see them yet. This wasn't the best place for a reunion, either.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he studied Damian for a few seconds with a small frown as he took in how he looked, concerned, but he didn't say anything to him yet. "Yeah, any more news?" Jason: Maybe he should have found some kind of relief in the others being there, but the sudden influx of bodies, even while they were accompanied by little talking, was not welcome at all. He didn’t greet any of them, but silently took the bag of clothes from Tim and was still holding them when Duke arrived right after. He was the only one out of all of them that had actually seen him, and the evidence was all over him. It was going to be a lot longer before they got real news, he was certain. Even excusing the hole in his head, Dick had lost an alarming amount of blood.

“Better settle in,” he finally said, though which of them he was speaking to wasn’t clear. That was all he offered before he walked out with the clothes to find somewhere away from them to change and clean up. Slade: Slade hadn't really begun to worry until it got very late and he hadn't heard from Dick. He wasn't the sort to helicopter someone he thought was competent as Dick was. However, Dick hadn't reached out and he hadn't confirmed any sign of life when Slade texted him. It had begun to stress him out. Then it had been simple, as it got even later, to have Billy triangulate the signal from Dick's cell phone.

The hospital was a far enough drive that Slade was thoroughly pissed off by the time he arrived. Of course, no one would have thought to call him. Why should they? Even if Dick was all but living with Slade now, his family certainly had no loyalty to him. But if he was seriously hurt, the assassin was going to find out why and then it would just be a matter of how.

As he stepped up into the nurse's station, she had cowed under the look he gave. He was a massively large man and he was asking where Dick Grayson was. When she had the audacity to ask if he was family, Slade all but snarled out: "I'm his partner." It wasn't quite like that, yet, but he knew what he had to say in order to get inside.

When he had the room number, Slade barely saw any of the rest of Wayne's orphans, or even Wayne himself. Of course he was aware of them, but he certainly wasn't here for them. He stared hard for a moment at Dick in the hospital bed, moving up beside it to reach out. There was a machine beeping out Dick's pulse, but Slade ignored it in favor of his own ears and touch. He could hear the familiar sound of Dick's heart, but was working overtime to try to fix him. And his fingers dropped down so two could press to the vein on Dick's inner wrist.

"What happened?" He growled. Bruce: Damian's arrival troubled him. Bruce moved away from the window to go to where he was standing against the wall, prepared to speak, but Tim and Duke's arrival distracted him from it. He was grateful that Jason could change into something else so no one would have to see the amount of blood that soaked his clothes. It was disturbing, especially now that he'd had time to see Dick and take note of how pallid he was. The nurses had given him blood. It seemed never-ending.

"They believe he'll only be out for a few days. It was a precautionary measure." They had been worried about swelling. Bruce wasn't blind to the fact that Dick was receiving more care than any other patient would have had the luxury of experiencing. There were already two doctors involved and a third coming in from a neurological center in LA. "They are optimistic that he will survive it." They made it clear they weren't sure how he would be affected in the long term, but that was something he didn't bring up right now. He saw how Damian looked and he knew how Tim's mind could overrun with possibilities. It was better if they focused on certainties instead.

He did not expect Deathstroke. It was one thing to know what was going on, to hear it confirmed by Dick, and have an understanding of the situation. That didn't mean he believed Dick was making a wise decision. It also didn't mean it would be natural for him to accept Slade's presence in a room with his family, one of them comatose, and in that moment of shock it didn't really matter what he knew. He moved around to the other side of the bed and snatched Slade's wrist as he took Dick's pulse, his eyes narrowing. It was an instinctive, protective gesture, but one he didn't fully process until after he'd made it. "Don't touch him." Damian: Damian's gaze never left Dick even as more members of his family entered the room; even as Slade Wilson himself walked into the room and immediately went to Dick's side to check his pulse. His gaze didn't budge until Bruce's protective gesture had slipped past his lips. "Father." The word was soft and followed by a small shake of his head. This wasn't the time or the place to have any sort of confrontation - and honestly, Damian wasn't sure he had it in him right now to even engage someone. "Who did this?" He questioned at length. "Did Jason see anything? Say anything?" Tim: Tim watched Jason go and then watched him be overtaken by Slade Wilson before shaking his head. He was prepared, if Bruce turned this into an altercation. Tim would be at his side in a moment.

Looking to Duke, Tim realized that he had no idea what was going on. None. "Dick and Slade Wilson are... involved," he murmured lowly. "It's a new revelation, but an old connection, I guess."

Duke: Even though he was officially and legally part of the family, Duke still occasionally felt out of place. It didn't help that he'd stayed behind in Gotham instead of electing to move with the rest of them. Eventually he decided to bite the bullet and just do it, especially because it seemed like they were needed more here.

He'd taken a seat close to the door, which meant Deathstroke walked right by him. Shocked, he was on his feet in seconds, confused, and his gaze went to Tim and Damian to gauge their reactions. He knew what Tim said, but he felt like he needed to hear it again. "Excuse me, what?" Jason: Jason lingered in the bathroom quite awhile longer than necessary. Tim had obviously not looked at the clothes he’d brought him, and they probably belonged to him, because the pants were too short and the rest felt too tight. He considered just leaving the hospital altogether, he’d have to as soon as the SCPD sent someone anyway, but he wanted to be there when someone gave them an update. Whatever that update was. So he dealt with the clothes, cuffing the bottom of the pants to make it look less like he’d just hit a sudden growth spurt, and washed the blood off his hands and the places on his face and hair that he’d touched. He took another minute to send Roy a message, tell him where he was, why, that he’d be back soon. Roy was one of Dick’s best friends. He should know.

He didn’t expect to be walking back in to see the massive form of Slade lumbering by the bed, but he seemed to be the least surprised by it judging by the look on everyone else’s face. Especially Bruce’s. He rarely saw him quite so expressive. As much as he’d have ordinarily liked to stand back and watch them fuck each other up, the reason they were all in one room had sort of robbed him of the desire to do much more than exist in the space, figure out whether Dick was going to get to walk out of it, and leave.

“Chill, B. Dick would want him here.” As weird as it was, as much of an issue as it was, he felt pretty sure about that part. Dick had made his choices. Slade: The moment he felt Bruce's grip, Slade's head shot up. That was rich. As if he was going to walk in in plainclothes, the legal way, with intent to harm Dick? He knew that Wayne knew about them, that he knew what Dick meant to Slade. He also knew that recently he had dug a tracker out of Dick's arm and seen the disappointment on his face as he talked about Wayne putting it there.

"Take your hand off me, Wayne, or I'll break your arm in front of all your kids." There was no batsuit and no gadgets to protect Bruce. Slade had defeated him when he was fully specced out. Slade may be in plainclothes, but he could never stop being a metahuman. He had respect for Bruce Wayne in many ways, and he would rather not humiliate him in front of his children and then subsequently have to fight them, but he wasn't leaving this hospital room and he wasn't going to be ordered away from Dick. "I wouldn't hurt him. Especially not in plain view of everyone in this room. Why don't you focus on the people who might *actually *need you, if you're not going to give me anything relevant?"

Slade was surprised to hear Jason speak in his favor. Damian, not so much. The pair of them had worked together before. He liked the youngest batkid. He might have liked Jason had he not been such a pain in the ass. He looked to Damian. "Fill me in, kid," he said, knowing that he might actually get an answer other than hostility from Talia's kid.

Bruce: Bruce was pragmatic and logical enough to understand that challenging Deathstroke in a hospital room as his family looked on was not a wise decision. It hadn't mattered in the few seconds he'd given over to the anger he'd been harboring since learning of the injury. He could see it mirrored in Damian, even if his son were able to contain it, and it concerned him.

Jason's odd demeanor, too, concerned him, and it was their efforts to deescalate the situation that had him releasing Slade's wrist. Regardless of his own opinions, he didn't actually believe Slade was a danger to Dick. At least not right now. Bruce hadn't believed it back then, either, but then things had ultimately changed. They could always change again.

"He doesn't know anything." Damian had just asked him questions, after all, but Bruce wasn't eager to answer them in front of Slade. But he knew he would find out eventually. It made no difference if it came from him or one of the others. Considering multiple factors at play, he was the best option. "Jason didn't see anything," he said that without any doubt, because he wouldn't have left something like that out. When he directed the explanation to Slade his voice shifted in tone and became more matter-of-fact. "Dick came across someone on patrol." He had no idea how old this person was. He'd been referred to as a kid. That could span several years. "A kid, someone small enough to carry. He asked them their name and they gave the name Gary Kemp. After that there was no more contact with him." Who knows what could have happened after Barbara lost communication, or if the kid had even been the shooter. Damian: As his siblings spoke up and quieted back down, Damian let out a quiet breath. He was relieved when Bruce finally let go of the man - but not as relieved when he cut in to tell Slade that he didn't know anything. It wasn't a lie - he was as in the dark as everyone else; but he could've told Slade that himself. He gave Slade a look as if he were about to say something, but then his Father began explaining what they knew - and every ounce of his attention was diverted to the words he spoke. Damian's fists slowly curled at his sides. This was because of some kid? Who the hell were they? Gary Kemp... that name sounded familiar to him, but Damian couldn't place why. He hadn't exactly been in-town when Dick had taken the agent's life, but he was familiar with the incident thanks to the family's 'record keeping'. "That's it?" The question came out sharply. Tim: Tim was only half-listening. Still processing. However, the name that Bruce said had him tuning back in. "Kemp?" He repeated. "Gary Kemp. It's the name of the NOVA officer that Dick killed when he was undercover. The murder he publicly admitted to." He pushed to his feet, coming to the foot of the bed. "I'm willing to bet that the kid was a plant. Bait for Dick. NOVA has been shown to be conniving before."

Tim looked at Bruce. "It was NOVA. Or at the very least a non-affiliated NOVA sympathizer of the organization or Kemp."

Duke: Duke was stunned, but he didn't ask another question even though he had about fifty. He learned by now that it was better not to ask questions. The name Gary Kemp was familiar to him, too, and when Tim clarified where it came from he nodded. It had been news in Gotham because Dick was Bruce's son, but that was the only reason he knew anything about it. He hadn't asked Dick for details. He was pretty sure that wouldn't have gone over well.

"Doesn't Nightwing's mask record? He was on patrol, right?" Dick was shot in the head, which probably meant the mask wasn't in great shape. The thought made him wince. "I mean, even if it's... damaged, maybe it can be recovered." Jason: “Dick didn’t know who shot him. He said so. He was...he could talk for a few minutes.” Once he’d stopped hallucinating that Jason was 14 and visiting Bludhaven, anyway. “Doubt it was the kid.”

He leaned against a space of wall as far from the bed as he could get while still being in the room. “I have his mask, but I wouldn’t count on getting much out of it.” They might get lucky, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like it. Jason had his bloody clothes shoved in the bag Tim had brought and reached in to take the mask out of the pile to hold out for whoever took it first. Slade: Slade listened if only because, once he knew who to gun for, he was going to take care of it. NOVA had been in Star City for years at this point and Slade hadn't cared about it. He was a metahuman, but he wasn't exactly worried about the organization. If various governments of various countries couldn't take him down, he hadn't needed to concern himself. Now, however, he did. They had had the audacity to go after someone relevant to Slade. Now, they needed to be dealt with.

As Jason held out the mask, he watched the others. He wasn't going to take it. He usually left tech to Wintergreen and he was willing to bet one of the others was more savvy than he was. They'd know more quickly than he did. Instead, he simply stayed by Dick's side and waited for what he needed. Over Bruce's shoulder, Slade locked eyes with Damian. If there was anyone in this room he might consider working with beyond Dick himself, it might be an Al Ghul. Damian was Bruce's, but he was also Talia. Slade and Talia had been close. And Damian was proving himself to be more like Talia than Bruce Wayne, wasn't he? Bruce: Bruce took the mask. He didn't know how salvageable it would be, but it would be work taking a look at. When Jason said that Dick had been talking he looked up at him, frowning. "Did he say anything else?"

Even though he was distracted by the news, he knew better than to turn fully away from Slade. He paid attention to him, even if it were in his peripheral. If he noticed he was looking in Damian's direction he didn't say anything, but he knew he would have to have a talk with Damian later about everything. He expected everyone to be impacted by this, but Damian in particular had already suffered a setback because of what happened with the league. Damian: "If this was NOVA..." Damian started and shook his head slowly. If this had been NOVA, then clearly the Avenging League wasn't doing a good enough job at finding information to help bring the organization to heel. He dropped his gaze to the ground, but when he lifted it once more it locked with that of Slade. He looked back for a moment before narrowing his gaze in a challenging and confusing look before peeling his eyes away to look at Dick's mask as his father took it. "Jason, where did you say you found him?" He questioned and looked at the man. If he knew a location - he knew where he could start looking into things for himself. It wasn't that he didn't trust his family - he needed answers for himself. Tim: Tim moved to Bruce's side automatically, wanting to see and hear as well as he could. He knew all the efforts that the League was making. He was a big part of the tech efforts to take them down. It was slowgoing, but if they were attacking people like Dick, that needed to be rectified immediately. Still, he keep quiet, waiting for Jason's answer.

He knew that Duke was still sitting baffled. He'd explain everything to him after this. But right now he had to focus on facts. On understanding and making it all make sense. He could deal with Duke's emotions later if he could get past where his mind was looping right now.

Duke: Duke was very confused, but he wasn't dumb enough to think that his stupid questions should take precedent over the issue of who shot Dick in the head, so he was thoughtful enough to keep quiet. He'd only sat down when he realized Bruce and Slade weren't about to fight. It seemed like a real possibility at first.

Pressing his lips together, his gaze shifted to Tim and he thought about asking him if he could get footage off of something that looked so busted up. He reconsidered when he realized how distracted he was, abandoning his own curiosity to let Jason answer all the questions that had been directed at him. Jason: “He was a couple of blocks from Roy’s place. I was close. Babs sent the coordinates. The kid must have been waiting in one of the alleys, Dick was by the dumpster in the back. I-“ he licked his lips, remembering seeing the blood before he saw Dick at all, “I doubt anyone else saw what happened.”

Had he said anything else? Yeah. Yeah, he’d said more, but none of it was relevant to anybody in that room except for Jason and he wasn’t in the mood to share with the class. They’d had what felt like one of those end of the world moments, and that needed to just be between them. It wasn’t going to solve anything about NOVA or what happened. “Nothing relevant,” he eventually answered. Slade: Slade listened, setting his jaw before resolving himself and turning for a chair in the corner. Placing it beside the bed, he settled himself. His mind was already working, but for now he was staying right where he was.

Reaching for his phone, he pulled it free to send some messages. One he sent to Wintergreen requesting all relevant data he could discover about NOVA and its facilities, a few others he sent to contacts in Star City to start a recon process where they could.

The final one he sent right to Damian Wayne. Since he didn’t seem able to grasp what Slade wanted from meaningful looks, Slade was going to start the conversation. Or perhaps the kid had already been thinking it.

Don’t be obvious or BW will figure out that I’m talking to you. It was a risk to ask him anything, but the set Damian’s jaw reminded Slade of his own anger, though he kept his under wraps. Let’s talk when we can steal a moment. Bruce: As Tim approached, Bruce silently folded the mask so the blood was less visible, careful not to damage it further. He did hand it over so Tim could look at it instead - not that he fell short on his personal technological ability, but he believed Tim might be able to do it faster.

Jason's answer made him hesitate before giving a nod. "The coma was medically induced. They're going to take him out of it in a few days. He might not remember anything." He was operating on the assumption that Dick would wake up, but he'd made it this long. His vitals were stable.

One of the nurses came in to check the machines. While she was working Bruce took notice of Slade's incessant texting, but he said nothing about it. Once the nurse was finished she nervously told Bruce that the doctor wanted to speak with him and motioned for him to follow her out of the room. He went with her even though it went against all of his instincts to leave all of them with Slade, but he also knew he wouldn't do anything. Not here, at least. Damian: A few blocks from Roy's place. That was at least some sort of a starting place. He listened as Jason stated there wasn't anything else relevant that was mentioned and watched his father pass the mask over to Tim. Normally, he would've smarted something off about not needing Tim to do the work that either Bruce or himself could handle - but instead, he just gave the male a look. "Work quickly?" He stated in a tone that was more of a request than a snark. When the nurse came to check the machines and finally relieved Bruce so he could speak with one of the doctors, Damian finally checked his phone. The message from Slade was unexpected and he read it a couple of times over before replying - making it seem like he was searching something up instead of sending a simple text response.

What? Why do you need to talk to me? You know something? The message made his confusion at the request evident and Damian fiddled with the phone a few moments more before pocketing it and finally peeling himself off the wall. "There isn't anything else we can do standing around here, right?" He questioned rhetorically, looking at his siblings and then back to Dick. "I can't just keep standing here staring at him... I need air. Someone update me with what the doctors say when Father returns." The teen stated and made his way towards the door. He quietly slipped out before quickly making his way down the hall towards one of the hospital's secondary entrances instead of the main doors. I'll find you. He sent the text to Slade and let out a slow breath. Tim: Tim took the mask. He didn't even have a quip for Damian. As if he wouldn't work quickly. Idiot. He was too preoccupied to retort. Instead, he nodded. He didn't ask whose blood was on the mask. He knew the answer and he didn't want to consider it. Instead, he shook his head. "I'll take it back to the Batcave," he said. "I'll let you know when I have something."

He gave one last long and lingering look to Dick before following Bruce out. "You comin' Duke?" he asked in the doorway.

Duke: "Uh, yeah." Duke definitely wasn't going to stay behind and try to act like this wasn't weird. He stood up, sighing softly, and paused before actually following after Tim so he could speak to Jason. "Hey, man. What about you? You coming?" It felt weird leaving Dick alone with Deathstroke even though apparently that was okay, but this was all brand new information. He had no idea how to feel about it, but it was also none of his business. Jason: “No. I’m sticking around for now.” He wanted to know what was said to Bruce, and right then didn’t particularly care who else was around or not around. It was less hypothetical for him. He’d seen the damage first hand, before the surgery, before Dick looked all peaceful in the bed. He’d bail before the cops got there, but he’d stay until then.

With the others gone, though, it just left him in the room with Slade and Dick. “If you want a minute I’ll step out.” He’d turned himself in to the SCPD to keep Slade behind bars, but not only had that been a stupid fucking plan that did not work and infinitely complicated his own life, Dick had turned all the circumstances for doing it on their head. Jason still thought he was being an idiot getting involved with Slade, but that was Dick’s call to make and he’d made it. It was happening. He wasn’t so much of an ass as to make it about himself, despite all previous accusations thrown at him. He could wait for Bruce in the hall the same as he could wait for him in the room. Slade: “I don’t care if you stay,” Slade said. He’d barely notice him, honestly. He was only here to watch Dick and he doubted that Jason would tell him anything about what he had seen. They weren’t exactly cordial. Besides, there wasn’t much of a moment to be had. Dick was unconscious. All Slade could do would be to make a phone call, but he could explain to Billy everything he needed in the NOVA facility from his phone. He’d already initiated the process and Billy had access to his assets to bribe their way into a double agent. As soon as Dick was fully in the clear and awake, Slade would mobilize. He could do it alone, but he hoped Talia’s son would consent to join him. He had a good mind and none of the hesitations of his father, it seemed.

“I won’t be leaving until he wakes up, but I give my word I’d never harm him while he was like this.” He would say ‘at all’, but Slade had done emotional harm to Dick in the past and he couldn’t guarantee the future if he were to misstep. He didn’t give his word unless he could most certainly keep it. Bruce: It was another ten or fifteen minutes before Bruce returned. His expression was no longer grim, but he didn't look any less tired than before. He was surprised to find only Jason and Slade there upon his return and paused in the doorway, frowning. It was no secret to him that Jason and Slade's involvement in what happened at the docks and Jason's confession were what brought Slade to jail in the first place. But he knew at least Jason wasn't thinking about that right now.

"The surgery went well. The swelling is down. They anticipate bringing him out of the coma within the week. After that they will be better able to assess any lasting effects." That part carried weight, but he pushed past it for now. "No paralysis. Before they put him under, he was responsive." Jason: Jason had stepped out for a little while after Slade gave his non-committal answer and had barely went through the door again when Bruce came inside. It wasn’t bad news. It wasn’t a miracle or anything either. Jason was not, by nature, an optimist. He wasn’t going to run with the good parts and make more of them than what they were, but he was genuinely relieved that it wasn’t worse out of the gate.

He nodded and grabbed his bag of bloody clothes. He’d lingered long enough. Slade had insisted that he was staying and maybe Bruce would do the same, but Jason didn’t have the option. “Call me if anything changes. I’ll be at Roy’s.”

[memoriesofyourdread]

akishinji for the ship thing

Always AkiShinji for all the ship things.

who hogs the duvet: Okay, so it’s a constant fight in their sleep because Shinji is always cold because of taking those suppressants, and Akihiko can’t even subconsciously lose a fight. They may or may not have woken up to a ripped duvet.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going: Shinji texts to make sure Akihiko isn’t being an idiot while he’s in the country, but when Akihiko’s abroad fighting bears and training, Akihiko keeps up on calls because he misses his boyfriend.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts: Shinji, most definitely. Akihiko tries, bless his heart, but it’s always something that’s more utilitarian. Shinji appreciates it still, but Akihiko eventually learns that he can offer kinky sex things as bday gifts that are bit more creative than sock and turtleneck sweater. 

who gets up first in the morning: This one’s difficult, because Akihiko is most definitely an early riser to go on a run, but I feel like Shinji is an early riser too. Though, I think Akihiko wins out by way of just by way of if Shinji doesn’t have to be awake for anything, I think he’d sleep in. Akihiko doesn’t know what sleeping in is unless Shinji’s holding him down.

who suggests new things in bed: They’re both morons about this kinda thing until they hit their stride. After they figure out something sorta kinky by accident like Shinji liking his hair pulled, it all goes downhill from there. And let’s say when Akihiko comes home from his world tour of training, he’s got months worth of ideas to share with Shinji.

who cries at movies: BOTH. But specific ones only, and they will hide said tears and pretend it didn’t happen. Give Shinji animal movies like Homeward Bound or Look Who’s Talking (did I just date myself, I think I just dated myself) while Akihiko will cry for inspirational sports movies like Remember the Titans (most definitely dating myself, damn) but also anything with super sad family feels, but they avoid those movies in general.

who gives unprompted massages: ...welp, I read that as messages. Let’s try this again. Depends. Shinji will give Akihiko massages if he looks like he needs one after a good training session, BUT he will not do it if Akihiko looks like he’s pushed himself too hard. Akihiko, however, always loves rubbing Shinji’s shoulders when Shinji looks like he’s had a rough day.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick: Shinji is the mother hen of all mother hens, but he’s also the worst patient, so when Akihiko tries to fuss in return, he gets shoved out of the room.

who gets jealous easiest: Akihiko, most definitely shows it the most. He wears everything on his sleeve. Shinji gets jealous less easily, but boy, does he get petty when he is jealous.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music: Akihiko just listens to whatever his friends tell him, and his S.E.E.S. underclassman are a bunch of trolls, soooo. They introduce him to shitty pop and so much more, but everything that has a fast beat, Akihiko loves because it becomes good work out music. 

who collects something unusual: Probably Shinji. I can’t think of what, but I bet he’d have a secret collection. Akihiko doesn’t seem to be a person for material things, for the most part. He might have an accidental weird collection of things from training around the world.

who takes the longest to get ready: They’re both pretty quick, but Shinji manages to be dressed well first. Akihiko might be done first, but without Mitsuru (and her staff on speed dial, because let’s be honest, she doesn’t dress herself either), he’s a hot mess that thinks a ragged cape is a good idea. Shinji usually marches him back to the bedroom to get him dressed properly.

who is the most tidy and organised: Shinji is, but Akihiko isn’t exactly a slob, so much as anyone is a slob in comparison to Shinji’s organizational skills.

who gets most excited about the holidays: Akihiko stopped getting excited about holidays after Miki died, but after every thing with Nyx is over, and Shinji’s out of his coma, Akihiko starts to get hype over spending holiday with Shinji and his friends. Shinji thinks it’s cute, even though he will never admitted it.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Shinji’s usually the big spoon, because Akihiko gets clingy and likes it when he can snuggle into Shinji’s chest. If Shinji’s clearly having a bad day, Akihiko will definitely be the big spoon to let his boyfriend hide from the world for a bit.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports: They’re both competitive as hell, but Akihiko takes it to a new level on most occasions. When Shinji’s no longer feeling it because Akihiko’s taken it way too seriously, he tends to distract Akihiko by touching or kissing him. In a way, Shinji tends to win in those situations, so it soothes his competitive streak in the end.

who starts the most arguments: They are equally dumbasses about starting arguments and making them go on for much longer than they should. Every once in a while, if the arguments go on too long for petty reasons, Mitsuru or Kotone will find a way to smack their heads together. It tends to be a deterrent for continuing stupid arguments, since no one wants a Mitsuru execution or Kotone’s pranks.

who suggests that they buy a pet: Akihiko, because he knows Shinji won’t bring it up, even though he really wants a fluffy companion, since Koromaru tends to stay with Ken.

what couple traditions they have: Sometimes, instead of having a fancy date for an anniversary, they just go to Hagakure and get ramen. Also, October 4th is definitely a chill day. They eventually spend it with Ken, but for a few years, it was just not leaving the house and doing nothing but cuddling and not talking about it.

what tv shows they watch together: Their tastes in TV don’t tend to overlap, unless it’s some sort of nostalgia bomb from when they were younger. Reruns of the original Featherman, reboots of cartoons that they loved that didn’t age well but the reboot does it better, and stupid shows about paranormal things. Sometimes, it ends up being related to shadows and personas.

what other couple they hang out with: YukaMitsu, because Yukari’s big on getting Mitsuru out of the house and out of the office, so double dates with her besties is a great excuse. AiKo tend to be fun to have wander adventures with, since Aigis is still new to a lot, even years later, and Kotone is an enabler. The boys can never say they’re bored hanging out with them.

how they spend time together as a couple: Usually, sharing a good meal or chilling at home. Occasionally, when needs must (and they really must, because Shinji doesn’t even want to be a backup Shadow Operative), they’ll be together on an op for the Shadow Operatives, like trying to find out what the hell is going in Tokyo and what are the Phantom Thieves really doing. 

who made the first move: Akihiko. Always Akihiko, because the likelihood of Shinji believing he doesn’t deserve good things is very high.

who brings flowers home: Neither are really flower people, but sometimes, Akihiko will get some to be romantic. Shinji doesn’t really mind all that much, though he won’t say it.

who is the best cook: Obviously Shinji. Akihiko could probably burn water, but I don’t think Shinji never tried to teach him. Whether Akihiko had the attention span for it, is another story...

[beerecordings]

Want

Part 18 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

My taglist is a separate post so let me know if you want to be added or removed! This is v long chapter because I love.... so many of these scenes... I hope you will enjoy it. Also happy Henrik appreciation week he deserves better I love him <3333 and also you for reading <3333333

Edit: yo @florenceisfalling made SUCH A LOVELY JAMIE AND CHASE PIECE with a tiny bit of inspo from this chapter and I love it so much!!! you can see it here

tws for self-hatred, panic attacks, and weight mentions/food

also major abuse themes sorry i should have included that right away this whole fic has major abuse so please be careful

He thinks that maybe all that he hoped for has come to be, and yet...

“Well, what do you need now, Jameson?”

“What do I need?”

“What do you want to do, I mean? We can get some food in you, you can lie down, maybe we need some more ointment for that throat of yours – where did Chase put that, he might have something for your ear infection too – well, whatever you feel like. What sounds good?”

“What – you want me to choose?”

“Yes, we have time for anything. We have a lot of time now. What would you like?”

Jameson stares up at Henrik, still sitting in the warmth left on the mattress as they slept.

“You sure you want me to choose?”

Henrik stops bustling around and turns back to him. He tries to smile but he can’t make his mouth move, just tries to look warm. “From now on,” he says. “You get to choose what you do and who you are. How does that sound?”

Sounds like breaking the rules. He bites down hard on his lip, closing his eyes, trying to banish the thought of all that Anti would do to him if he knew he was anything other than a prisoner here.

If he knew that he was beginning to be glad that Anti let him go.

“I want,” he says. “To go back to Anti.”

Henrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Well,” he murmurs. “That is the one thing you cannot do.”

Jameson stares down at his scarred hands.

“Come on, Jamie.” Henrik steps closer, hands outstretched. “What do you want to do?”

What do you want to do? What do you want? What do you want to be?

“I want,” says Jameson.

He has to pause, has to pause to choke, overwhelmed just for an instant, as he realizes he has never once in his life signed the word.

“I want,” he repeats. “I want a shower.”

“A shower,” says Henrik, and smiles. “Well, I think that much can be handled.”

He's staring at his hair.

“What did you think it looked like?” Chase laughs, presenting him with a clean t-shirt.

Jameson ducks his head down, nervous with a stranger beside him, but his eyes flicker up again, and he's staring at his hair.

Staring at his face, clean.

“When was the last time you got to wash it?” asks Chase, frowning now. He reaches out to touch Jameson's hair and then thinks better of it, drawing away politely. Jameson tries his best to smile at him. If he's gentle and harmless, Chase won't hurt him, right?

“Long time,” he manages, his hands stammering as they tremble.

There are three different showers in the house that Marvin made. The one in the bathroom across from the spare room is, in two words, absolutely spiffing. Jameson's not really supposed to use old words – Anti said they made him sound stupid and didn't make sense to sign anyway – but for the remorseless pressure of the steaming hot water, where he stayed for two hours, rubbing shampoo into his hair and scraping his skin clean with soap the scent of oranges, he makes a mental exception.

Besides... Anti's not here.

He tries to smile at his reflection in the mirror. His hair has dried into a warm, earthy brown color. Its stiffness is gone and the streaks of dust and filth that used to make him feel so disgusting have vanished into a warm coconut smell. It even curls, just a little – tumbling gently over his forehead in a fine coil of brown and teal.

He's clean. He's clean and so is the house. Everything's clean. Even his nails are picked into white crescent moons. Finally, finally.

“You look good,” says Chase, and Jameson flinches to be mocked, but then he turns his gaze and sees only sincerity in Chase's face. “Here, want your shirt?”

“My shirt?”

“Yeah, sorry, I haven't had time to go buy you anything new yet. Just went to work and came back today, didn't even visit Jack. Schneep's feeling a little jumpy still, but when he chills out, I'll take you out of the house and we'll go buy you a whole wardrobe. Yeah?”

“Yeah – really, clothes all for me? – wait, can I – can I visit Mr. Jack sometime?”

“I like that sign for him.” Chase laughs and copies him, making the sign for infection over his eye. “You're kind of sassy, aren't you, Jay? I don't see why not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude! He's, uh. Not great company, but still... I like to think he'd be glad you came to see him. I like to think he's glad when I come to see him, you know?”

Jameson doesn't know. Coma patients do not rejoice for a visit in his understanding. But the thought of finding Mr. Jack, of seeing him, of knowing where he is and how to get to him – that sounds amazing.

He chooses that. Henrik says he can do what he wants. He wants to find Jack. He's been wanting to know him his whole life, so a few days? That's nothing. He can wait.

He grins at his reflection again, easier now, and tugs Chase's shirt – no, no, it's his shirt now, Chase said so – over his head.

“How about some food?” offers Chase. “You want something to eat? Skinny little guy, I gotta tell you. Schneep says you probably need to put some weight on, which is great for me, cause I really like to fucking cook.”

Chase talks a lot, and never with any malice. Jameson kind of likes listening to him.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, a little less nervously.

And when Chase grins and reaches out, Jameson accepts his hand in his own, and lets him tug him towards the kitchen.

He's hungry so he gets something to eat.

That's just how things work here. It's bizarre.

Bizarre and wonderful.

That first meal they share together is pasta, if only just a little, to go easy on his stomach. Chase presents it to him with garlic and chicken and sweet alfredo sauce and basil and tomatoes.

“Does that look good?”

Jameson can't even sign “yes.” He is gripping the fork too tightly. He puts a mouthful of pasta in his mouth and then he reaches up to hold his head in his hands, crying over a fork’s worth of penne.

Chase reaches out and takes his hand and tells him, “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay! It's okay, bud. It's all okay.”

Jameson says “I'm sorry” and Chase says “don't be, it's just pasta” and Jameson says “not for that, for everything, for trying to kill you, for hurting you – ”

And all Chase says is, “Oh, well.

That's okay too.”

Over the course of the next few days, Chase makes sandwiches with pesto and feta and savory pork with spoonfuls of yellow rice and zucchini fried in bread crumbs, brings home ice cream with big chunks of chocolate, drizzles fruit in sweet sauce, cooks fish and American burgers with barbecue sauce, bakes fresh bread, gives him protein and fats and sugars according to the diet Henrik helped them decide on, and asks him, every day, if there's anything new he'd like to try, anything he didn't get to have before.

“Sorry, I just like spoiling you, cooking is like the only thing I'm good at and I always cook for my family, you know? Is that weird to say, that we're family? Really, I think we should have been brothers a long time ago, like, right away, but then – see, but you're here now, so we're brothers, right? Anyway, here, I'm making a grocery list. What do you want, JJ?”

No one's ever asked him what he wants. No one's ever called him JJ. No one's ever cooked for him. He thinks he might love Chase. Anyway, he nods when he calls him “brother.” He smiles when he calls him brother.

Yes, he thinks they should have been brothers a long time ago. Isn't that what Anti told him? That if Chase hadn't been Mr. Jack's for so long, he would have been a good puppet too, and they could have been brothers a long time ago?

Jameson would have liked that. He tries to be grateful for right now.

Things are good.

Things are unbelievably, impossibly good.

And he doesn't deserve any of it.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asks Henrik on that first night after he has called him his brother.

“Oh,” says Henrik. “Look, Jameson, I had some dependency issues when I came back from – well, I've had some dependency issues too, but I wonder if it wouldn't be healthier for you to sleep on your own.”

“Please,” Jameson begs. “Please, it's too cold in my room and Jackie is across the wall from me. I'm frightened. I want to sleep in here with you.”

Henrik's face is blue and white with bruising and exhaustion. His chest hurts badly. He has just re-stitched one of the cuts on his stomach, not that he told anyone it tore open.

Jameson isn't the only one who could use comfort.

“Okay,” Henrik admits, sighing and flopping down onto his pillows. “Yes, alright, you can sleep in here. Come lay down and let’s get some sleep.”

The bed is warm. There are no bugs or bloodstains. During the night, nothing bites him or attacks him or crawls, unexpectedly, into bed beside him, dragging static-electric hands along his flesh or kissing at the side of his throat, whispering promises of torture for later if he doesn't behave –

The nice thing about his panic attacks – Chase has been trying to teach him about having a positive mentality – is that they are silent and stiffer than a frozen tree, so he doesn't wake Henrik up four times a night like he would otherwise.

He thinks about Anti often, about all the things he should have done so that his big brother wouldn't have had to throw him out. His brain has also begun to play a cruel trick on him where suddenly the warm memories he had with Anti become sinister.

Do you remember the time he gave you your knives? You were so happy. (He also threw you down the stairs once for missing the target twice in a row, and your head split open and you bled and bled and bled.)

Do you remember the time you were so hungry you could not rise from your bed, and then he brought you – oh, they were so tasty – real donuts covered completely in sugar? You wept for joy. (The only reason you were starving in the first place was because he thought it was funny. He could have brought food for you anytime.)

Do you recall Christmas, when he brought you your blanket? You loved that thing. Slept with it every night and dragged it around after you everywhere you went. He called you his baby and you smiled. (That thing was filthy and disgusting and I hate being treated like a child, I just played along because it made him smile, and anyway Chase and Henrik have a dozen blankets a hundred times better than that one, my only fucking comfort in that god-awful – oh, oh, what am I thinking?)

He is scared that he will no longer want Anti if he stays here.

And that is the worst thought of all.

The thought that maybe – just maybe – Anti didn't actually – Anti wasn't actually –

No, no, no, no. He can't admit it. Can't even think it.

Because if Anti never really loved him, what was he doing all these months?

Anti loved him. He knows that. He's sure. It was all worth it. It must have all been worth it. He cannot accept that his suffering was meaningless. Impossible. Unthinkable. Terrible.

He loves Anti. And this place? As wonderful as it is, it is not where he belongs.

He's afraid of what it will turn him into if he stays.

Sometimes he hears Jackie moving around downstairs. This noise alone is enough to make him tremble harder than before, and bury his face against Henrik's chest, wondering if the doctor is powerful enough to protect him from the hero, when the time comes for Jackie to kill him.

He's allowed outside whenever he feels like it.

He and Anti had to hide, so, at the old house, there were only certain times he was allowed outside, and only for so long, and anyway it was winter. But this?

This is spring and he is free in it.

He doesn't know where they are. All he knows is that it's as beautiful as the glimpses of stars he used to catch through his window.

They live in the midst of a grand forest, creaking with age, where trees stretch up to the sky like God has invited them to the best garden party ever and they're trying not to be late. The branches are full of hollering birds and budding leaves and there are these fat little chipmunks scurrying along the forest floor like a kid spilled a whole box of fluffy brown marbles, and the air is clean and good and warm and Jameson – Jameson –

Jameson is in love.

He walks through it often and his brothers don't even ask him where he's going or when he'll be back. They just let him wander. His favorite spot is a river, among the trees, where he likes to come and just stand, rolling up the jeans Chase gifted him and watching the water sighing past his feet, cool and clear. The rocks press against the pads of his feet.

Once, he saw a white cat, there on the bank of the river.

He got so excited he nearly slipped, and, anxious and delighted, he signed a shaky “hello!”

The cat looked at him with big, clever blue eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but it ran away.

He still hopes to find it, one of these days. He thinks Chase feeds it in the morning, but that feels like cheating, so he waits until the sun is high in the sky, and walks every day, watching, wandering, free.

He plans to escape by way of the forest.

He'll be sad to see it go. Maybe someday he can bring Anti back here, and they'll walk through the trees together, and no longer have to hide.

“Okay, like that – yep, turn a little!”

Jameson curves the remote.

“Yeah, yep! There, now you're in the right direction. Okay, hit – yeah, that button there – and you're off! Okay, watch for the ledge!”

He sees the ledge getting closer and closer, but can't turn in time. He watches with a disgruntled twitch of his mustache as Bowser Jr. plummets to his death once again, only to be resurrected by a flying turtle.

Chase is laughing. “It's okay,” he says. “It's okay. Want to try again?”

JJ straightens up, the frown melting away. Chase never gets angry with him for fucking it up. “Yes,” he nods quickly, lifting up his little remote again. He'll keep trying til he gets it right.

“Okay, turn, then button – there you go. Can you get around the hill? Curve it – good job, bud! I'll show you how to drift in a second. Watch out for the – oh!”

Baby Bowser successfully swerves his motorcycle out of the way and continues through Moo Moo Meadows.

“Good job!” cheers Chase.

JJ puts his remote down, laughing. His clock reads eleven o' clock in the morning. “You have to go to work,” he reminds Chase warmly.

“Damn, you're right! Guess I have to say goodbye.”

JJ grins wickedly, scooting forward. Chase watches with raised eyebrows, slowly beginning to get up from the couch.

Jameson tackles him back down, grabbing a pillow to slam it over his head, and Chase yelps out a laugh and grabs him around the waist, heaving him up and off him. “Help, help,” he cries, shoving Jameson halfway off the couch, so his head hangs over the edge. “A dork with a hipster mustache is attacking me again!”

Three days ago Chase had tried to go to work and Jameson had grabbed his hand and refused to let go, grinning mischievously as Chase struggled to get free. It was the most emotion he had shown Chase thus far, and he was so delighted that he tussled with him for a full hour and then stayed home from work.

Fuck videos. He's got a little brother now. And Jameson smiles easier every day.

“I love you,” mumbles Chase, leaning down to press their heads together.

“Asshole,” signs JJ, cheekily.

And then he presses his forehead against Chase and smiles, closing his eyes and pressing the word “love” against his brother's chest.

Chase smiles til his face hurts.

“What are you morons up to now?” asks Henrik, appearing at the top of the stairs with three used mugs hanging off his hands, only now being mercifully returned to the washing machine after days of neglect.

“I was trying to teach Jamie to play Mario Kart.”

“Ah, I hate that fucking game.”

“He only says that cause he's bad at it,” Chase whispers to Jameson.

“Aren't you late for work?” asks Henrik, washing his mugs off in the sink. Jameson rises and steps towards him, soaking in the sunlight wandering in through the glass-windowed door to the patio.

“I set my own schedule!” says Chase. “And by that schedule, yes, I'm late.” He lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. “I’m distractable lately! Jamie, toss me my shoes? Good throw – got it! – oh, shit – ah, barely caught that one!”

“Stop throwing shoes!” Henrik snaps, turning to glare at his giggling brothers.

“Bye, guys!” calls Chase, clutching the door handle. He leans his head towards it for a second, closing his eyes, and then steps through.

Weird. That door's always locked when JJ tries it. Shrugging it off and tidying his mussed hair carefully, Jamie moves towards Henrik and sets his chin on his brother's shoulder, watching him rinse out the cups, still stained with coffee at the bottom.

“How are you doing today?” asks Henrik. He moves the mug in his hand and the water splashes up towards them, getting water in Jameson's face.

Jamie shoves his shoulder playfully and falls back, shaking his head at Henrik's laughter. He comes closer again and takes a coffee-free mug from his brother, turning to set it in the washing machine.

“Actually,” he admits. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

“Don't keep me in suspense.” Henrik hands him a second mug and picks the third one up in his hand, turning to look at him as he signs.

Jameson puts the mug in the washer. “When are we going back to Anti?”

Henrik drops the mug.

Flinching hard at the awful shattering of the glass, Jameson backs away.

The whiteness of Henrik's face only makes him flinch harder, cowering, a long-conditioned fear waking up in his stomach, making his heart pound a harsh reprimand against the inside of his ribs. He is terrified, suddenly, of the old stories Anti told him about all the things he would do if the others were his puppets, how he would bring his prisoners to the doctor and make him name each one of their bones as they shattered, keeping them alive for weeks after Anti had made them beg to die, and Jameson sees Henrik before him as he was in that cold basement only two weeks ago, covered in blood and subject, completely, to Anti's will, and terror burns at the back of his throat like whiskey.

“Get the broom,” whispers Henrik.

“What?” signs Jameson, and then he panics, realizing he's questioned an order, he didn't mean to, it just happened, he reaches up a hasty first to circle a “sorry!” around his heart –

Henrik reaches out and grabs his hands. “Just go get the broom,” he rasps, closing his eyes.

Jameson dashes towards the laundry room. He brings the broom back right away, but in the seconds he was gone, Henrik has collapsed in on himself. His hands, stiff on the kitchen counter, are keeping him standing, but his face is so pale Jameson drops the broom and reaches forward to hold his shoulders, anticipating a fall.

Henrik grabs his shoulders in return, looking up at him with exhausted eyes as blue as the ocean where the light hits the water. “Why would you ask that?” he asks.

Tears fill and overflow and come running down his face.

“I thought,” he whispers, trembling, holding onto his little brother as tightly as he can without hurting. “I thought you were happy here. Or becoming, anyway. I thought you wanted to be our brother.”

“I do, I do!” Jameson resists the urge to tear at his hair, panic rising like a bonfire in his stomach. “Don't be upset with me, please! I just thought we would go back to Anti together! You and Chase and I could all be together still. We could all go back!”

“Go back to Anti together,” Henrik repeats.

He is no longer whispering. He shouts.

“Go back to my torturer? Go back to your torturer? And bring Chase Brody? Bring my fucking little brother? Bring my friend?”

“No, no, no.” Jameson shakes his head so fast it hurts. “Not back to a torturer, he wouldn't torture us if we came willingly!”

Henrik shoves him away, gasping on the despair in his throat, and Jameson falls back like he's been struck, covering his face with his hands and collapsing to the floor, huddling back against the patio door, crying so hard he can barely breathe.

“Oh, God, why?” pants Henrik. He wants to turn away, he's scared of what he'll do if he looks at him, but it's not fair to turn away from his signing. “Oh, God. You don't – you don't understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” Jameson protests, trying frantically to wipe the tears off his place. “I understand that being in this place has already made you forget who we belong to.”

Henrik screams aloud, slamming his fist against the counter.

“How can you say that!” he howls. “After all he put you through! I thought you were happy here! I don't understand! How can you say that!”

“What the fuck is happening?” a voice interrupts them, and Jameson stiffens like a rabbit that just heard a gun go off.

Jackie stands in the entryway, eyes wide.

Eyes angry.

“Henrik, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” fumbles Henrik, barely able to speak. He is stumbling away from Jameson, his eyes flickering desperately from wall to wall. “Nothing, it's not his fault, he doesn't know, it's not my fault, I didn't know, I was just trying to be his, I just didn't want to get hurt, I was just trying to survive and he told me I was his but I don't believe him I don't believe him I don't believe him – ”

Jackie moves forward to grab him as he falters, gripping his hands firmly and leading him back towards the couch as his brother unravels, drowning in his own terror.

He doesn't even look at Jameson.

Stiff and silent, shaking in the corner, alone.

His scarred right hand rests on the handle of the patio door.

Henrik will not come with him. He understands now. His brother has been through too much. The bad blood between him and Anti can't be settled. Jameson will go without him.

And Chase, too, he must leave behind. It was selfish, thinking he could bring him. Anti always talked about slaughtering him like a pig. Chase is too far gone, too loyal to Mr. Jack, his old friend, sleeping sound. Yes, Jameson must go without them.

It will break his heart, but he must go without them.

He’s trying to work up the nerve.

Anti didn't love you, says one part of his brain.

This part of his brain has told him this since he was perhaps two days old. He has ignored it every time. Repressed it. Swallowed it down. Told it to shut the fuck up and wondered if he could cut it out of the side of his head before Anti sensed his disloyalty.

But that night, beside a forgiving, bone-weary Henrik, with Chase across the hallway, both sound asleep, both watching over him –

For the first time in his life, the rest of him answers that part of his brain: I know.

But I must go back anyway.

I don't deserve this.

To be clean and fed and free and happy.

To be loved.

I don't deserve them.

He wants them. Wants all of it. Wants to be theirs and his own, but never again Anti's. He wants it so much it makes his heart hurt and his hands shake and his eyelids have to squeeze tight together to stop tears from falling.

He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it.

He begins to plan his escape.

[writing-in-the-impala]

You Always Hurt The Ones You Love (Part 9)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

AU: Professor!Bucky Barnes/ Teacher!Bucky Barnes

Series Summary: You fall for your smoking hot literature professor Bucky Barnes (quite literally) what follows you never predicted would happen.

Warnings: Swearing, Drinking, teacher-student relationship (but like it’s all legal chill) and mentions of PTSD because it’s Bucky, SLOWburn we’re in for a long ride

Word Count: 2793

A/N:  Please leave me love and reblog this so i get inspired to write more, okay thanks 

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | Part 1,  Part 2,  Part 3,  Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

The whole weekend you spent all your free time with Bucky, you spent most of your time lounging about and relaxing by watching movies cuddled up together, reading books on his balcony cuddled up, and cooking together. The two of you barely left each others sides and when you did it wasn't for long. "I'm going to have to leave a bit earlier today." You started and Bucky pouted his lips making himself look like a sad puppy. "I'm sorry I'd love to stay but I actually need to do some work Steve set me and I promised Peter I'll come round to plan a family vacation." You explained and Bucky's expression didn't change.

"I don't want you to leave." He said pecking your forehead.

"I don't want to leave especially because the next time I'll see you will be at school." You said pouting and Bucky sighed.

"How am I meant to teach a class with you right there and how am I meant to act professional." He said and you gave him a sad smile.

"That's something we'll need to figure out if we want us to work without loosing our job slash education." You said and Bucky nodded you could see he was thinking.

"What are you doing tomorrow after school?" He asked.

"Probably whatever work you set me." You replied.

"Do you want to come over? I'll make dinner, you can study here I'll try not to be a distraction." He said winking at the last part.

"I don't know..." You began knowing that you wouldn't do any studying around him.

"Come on, who can help you with your work more than me?" Bucky asked.

"Steve." You said in a sassy tone to annoy Bucky. His mouth fell open to resemble a massive O and he just sat there shaking his head. You sat up so you weren't leaning on him pushed his jaw back up so his mouth was closed and kissed him.

"You know what maybe date Steve instead." Bucky said playfully and you rolled your eyes.

"Okay I'll see you on Monday then I'm going over to Steve's." You said standing up and Bucky stood up and hugged you from behind kissing your neck all the way up to your ear before whispering. "You're not going anywhere." And spinning you round to kiss you properly.

"Mmm, Bucky I'd love to stay but I genuinely have to leave." You said breaking the kiss apart.

"I'll miss you." He said.

"I'll miss you too see you tomorrow." You said giving him a hug and kissing him before you left. You went straight to visit Peter and May and spend some time with them, you learnt that Tony was down in Washington for business for a week, Peter told you all about school and he also questioned you about the man in your Snapchats and what house you've been at all weekend, you told him nothing avoiding his questions. When you got home you got even more questions from your roommates but you simply replied. "I'm too tired it's a long story." And went to your room to finish the work Steve set you.

Monday felt like it was taking forever, for all of Bucky's lesson you were just waiting for it to end, it seemed like Bucky was doing the same because he even ended the lesson early. You didn't speak to him after the lesson but received a text from him saying "7 at mine for food + study? Sound good?" And you replied with a simple. "Yes."

Bucky didn't lie when he said he won't distract you. You came over set up on his kitchen island while he was in the kitchen cooking that let the two of you talk but also focus individually. "So basically I'm meant to analyse how Fitzgerald uses the light as a character?" You said referring to the book Bucky set to analyse.

"Yeah so write about how it's used as a metaphor for Gatsby's love, how it disappears when Gatsby is with Daisy and stuff like that." Bucky explained without even turning around.

"Oh right okay thanks." You said before continuing to write but then your phone began to ring. You looked at the caller ID and it was a number you didn't recognise. "Hello?" You answered and Bucky turned around giving you a puzzled look as if asking who was calling and you shrugged. "This is New York General Hospital I'm calling because you're listed as Mr Parker's emergency contact."  The lady over the phone said and your face dropped.

"Is he okay?" You said your voice shaking Bucky turned off the cooker and walked around the counter wrapping his arms around you while the caller explained to you what happened to Peter, Bucky didn't know what's going on but he could hear the fear in your voice and pain in your face so he did his best to comfort you.  "Okay thank you I'll be there as soon as possible." You said ending the call.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked you as your tried not to cry.

"Peter he was in an accident something happened at school he was in a trip he tried to help his friends and he got them out but he got injured and now he's in hospital, I'm sorry Bucky I need to go." You said standing up and gathering your things.

"Leave your stuff, just take your jacket come on I'll get you there quickly." Bucky said going to grab his keys.

"You have a car? Why is this the first time I hear of this?" You said distracted.

"Better." He said holding up a bike helmet. "Catch." He said throwing it to you.

"You know if I wasn't stressed I'd be so impressed right now, I love bikes." You said following him out the apartment.  You ride to the hospital in Bucky's bike and got there quite quickly definitely faster than if you took the subway, Bucky looked amazing in his leather jacket driving the most amazing bike.  When you got to the hospital you went inside and Bucky said he'd follow you in after he locks the bike up. You walked up to the desk, your heart beating out of your chest the nerves building. "How may I help you?" The receptionist asked.

"Um, my brother, I'm his emergency contact, I-" You began to explain before a phone rang.

"Please hold." The woman said and you just stood there not knowing what to do as she picked up the phone. "Sorry okay your brother yes?" She asked and just when you were about to speak someone pushed in front of you.

"My son needs to see a doctor right now." The woman who pushed in front of you said. "I'm sorry I'm currently serving this lady. The receptionist said pointing to your. "But you don't understand me son-" the other woman argued. "He has to wait-" "he can't wait-"

"Enough!" A loud voice broke through. Bucky was standing there behind the woman who was trying to cut in and went to wrap his arms around you after he broke up the argument. "Ma'am with all due respect your son isn't in critical condition while my girlfriend's brother is. Plus she was in line before you so may you let her talk to the receptionist. Thank you." Bucky said he sounded angry but also he wasn't raising his voice, he was also at the same time comforting you. "May I see you ID miss, and may I get the name of the patient you're looking for." The receptionist said.

"Yes of course it's Peter Parker." You said and the receptionist looked at your ID.

"You have a different surname to Mr Parker." The receptionist stated.

"Yes we have different fathers." You said panicking slightly that they won't let you see him.

"Well you are listed as one of his emergency contacts so there's no problems he's in room E13 it's on the second floor you can take the elevator at the end of that hall." She said pointing you in the right direction. You and Bucky basically ran to the elevator. In the elevator Bucky put his arms around you to comfort you he could sense how scared you are, honestly you were terrified of the state Peter is in you were terrified how bad his injuries were. "He's okay." Bucky whispered into you ear.

"I hope so." You replied as the elevator doors opened and Bucky let go off you taking your hand in his as you walked through the corridor to find Peter's room.

"Do you want me to go in with you or wait outside?" Bucky asked carefully not knowing where you are at in the relationship are you anywhere near ready to tell Peter about him?

"I need all the support I can get." You replied and Bucky squeezed your hand re-assuringly as you knocked on the door. "Come in." You heard Peter say and you sighed from relief at the sound of his voice, you opened the door to reveal Peter lying on the bed with a bandage around his head some plasters on his face and and  IV drip connected while he ate a chocolate pudding cup. "Peter you son of a bitch." You said walking in your reaction shocked both Peter and Bucky.

"No how are you? No are you okay? Really feeling the love sis." Peter said rolling his eyes.

"I was scared you were in a coma or something but your just sitting here eating pudding." You said laughing at your prior panic.

"I mean it's the better of the two." Peter said shrugging.

"Most definitely." You said hugging him. "Hey." You said as you pulled away. "Peter this is Bucky, my-" you began.

"Boy toy." Peter interupted.

"Hey!" You said annoyed while at the same time Bucky laughed and replied. "I prefer knight in shining armour but boy toy will do." He replied and Peter laughed.

"I like him, can we keep him." Peter replied and you laughed going over to Bucky and looking up at him.

"Hm I don't know Peter." You said before scruffing his hair and giving him a peck on the cheek. "He is cute and I have a soft spot for him I guess we can keep him." You said and Bucky smilled a great big adorable smile.

"Does this mean I get the approval of the protective little brother?" Bucky questioned taking a seat next to Peter's bed as did you.

"Hm yeah but you hurt her well I may not look it but I can kick your ass." Peter said protectively.

"Meaning he'll ask dad to do it." You said and Peter rolled his eyes making Bucky laugh once again. "Speaking of is he still out of town?"

"Yep."

"Is May coming to see you?"

"Yeah they called her like they called you, but apparently you were faster."

"We took the bike tis why." Bucky added.

"You have a motor bike!" Peters face lit up like he won a thousand bucks, the money not a thousand Bucky's although he seemed pretty happyto have one in his life. The three of you carried on casually talking, it was nice seeing Bucky and Peter interact they seemed to get along well and actually like each other which warmed your heart. "Peter Parker! Never scare me like that ever again." A voice came from the doorway, the three of you turned to look in that direction and saw May standing there looking flustered like she ran to the hospital, which she probably did.

"Hey why is everyone angry at me?" Peter said defensively.

"because we love you. Anyway, hi May, May this is Bucky, Bucky, May." You said introducing them.

"Lovely to finally meet you ma'am." Bucky said acting all grown up reminding you of him at work.

"likewise but I must ask who you are Y/N didn't mention a-" May began but Peter cut in with "Boy toy." Making Bucky laugh while you and May scolded him by saying "Peter!" In unison. May seemed to like Bucky, the four of you talked for a while, May had to leave for a bit to call Tony meanwhile Bucky and Peter made a bet about some stupid program that was on TV, Bucky lost to his disappointment and owed Peter a bag of gummy bears. "Okay I think we're gonna go soon." You said looking at the time.

"Okay, I'm just gonna have to go down to the vending machine real quick." Bucky replied.

"Wait? You're taking that seriously?" You said in disbelief.

"A bets a bet." Bucky shrugged.

"Yeah Y/N a bets a bet." Peter said in a cocky voice making everyone in the room laugh. "Oh Bucky?" Peter added as Bucky was about to leave.

"You're coming on the trip right?" Peter questioned.

"The trip?"

"The trip to Malaysia, Y/N and I have to bring plus ones and I thought..." Peter said instantly regretting starting this conversation when he saw the panic on your face.

"I forgot to ask you I'm sorry, I completely forgot. You don't have to come it's a stupid family thing." You said trying to discourage him.

"If your there I want to be there, we can talk more about this later, right now I've got some gummy bears to get." Bucky said kissing your forehead and leaving the room.

"Peter listen here no mention of Bucky to Tony, understand? Don't say the name around Tony." You said in all seriousness as May walked back into the room.

"Everything okay I saw Bucky leaving?" May asked.

"Yeah he's getting gummy bears for Peter, I was just telling Peter, don't say anything about Bucky to Tony. Please. Don't even mention his name." You said pleading.

"Okay, I understand he can be protective but he's not going to kill him." May said.

"I know, I, it's complicated, just I don't want him knowing I have a boyfriend."

"I promise I won't say anything." Peter said gently.

"Me too, but Tony is going to be here in a few minutes." May explained.

"What I thought he was out of town?" You panicked.

"He flew back because of Peter." May explained.

"Okay I need to find Bucky, if you ever need to mention Bucky call him Grant, because that's like his real name Bucky is a ncik name, so if you do mention Bucky to Tony call him Grant." You said trying to somehow save this situation. "I'm gonna go find Bucky and hide him- I mean Grant." You said before leaving the room. It didn't take long to find Bucky. "Bucky. Tony is here you need to hide."

"Wait why's Tony here?"

"I'll explain later now you need to hide or we're both dead."

"But Peter's gummy bears." Bucky said looking like a lost puppy.

"Are you kidding me? You're gonna lose your job over a stupid bet and gummy bears." You said and Bucky just looked at the pack of gummy bears.  "Give me those and follow me." You said taking the gummy bears off of him and pulling him into a room. "Okay put this on." You said giving him a lab coat and a doctors mask that you found in the room.

"How do I look?" Bucky said giving you a spin.

"Hot. But too much like you." You said thinking. "It's your hair." You said, then you proceeded to mess it up and restyle it to make it look very un-Bucky like. "Better." You said.

"I look like an idiot." He said looking in a mirror.

"But you don't look like professors Bucky Barnes."

"Mmm say that again." He said with a sly look.

"We don't have time for this Buck, you need to walk out this building without running into Tony, I'll go give Peter his stupid gummy bears and meet you outside." You explained and Bucky nodded. You walked towards Peter's hospital room, getting there in time to see Tony already sitting there talking to Peter. "Hi." You said walking in. "Peter, here's the gummy bears I owe you." You said throwing the gummy bears at Peter and hearing him say "ouch." In response. "Hey Tony, nice to see you back, I'd stay and talk but I really need to go."

"Are you sure she isn't actually my daughter?" Tony questioned picking up on how that sentence sounded very Tony Stark™️. Everyone laughed at Tony's comment and you quickly said your goodbyes before leaving to find Bucky who was sitting in his bike back in his normal outfit.

"Where's the doctors costume?" You questioned getting on the bike.

"Ditched it in a plant pot." Bucky said casually before speeding off.

Part 10 | More stuff I wrote

Tags (send me an ask or message and I’ll add you):@iconictaurus@whosmarisaaarw@grayxswan@sideeffectsofyou @alt-er-love-er-alt

[veneataur]

Whumptober day 16

Prompt: bedridden

Fandom: Salvation

Title: Setbacks

A/N: Again, a very late whumptober story, but it’s here. The stories are all complete, I just have to remember to post them. Anyway, this takes place after the series finale. Darius is still feeling the effects of the torture and coma.

They find him sitting in the shower, back against the wall, cold water spraying down relentlessly. The one saving grace of the whole thing is that he managed to pull his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and locking his hands together so he could conserve some warmth. With his head down, forehead against his knees, he doesn’t see them come in. It’s only their shocked cries and the water shutting off that finally tells him they’re there.

“I’ve got a towel here, Liam. Get him out of there,” Grace says. Normally he likes her voice, but he doesn’t like it when she’s worried. She shouldn’t have to worry, especially about him. He’d just come to take a shower after three days in bed with aches and pains and a fever. Judging by the shaking and new aches to accompany the old ones, he hadn’t really helped himself in that department. And the exhaustion is worse. The last of his strength was spend in locking his hands together, the ones that Liam so easily undoes as he lifts him from the shower. When was Liam so strong?

“We’re going to need some warm towels,” Liam says. “He’s so cold and shaking. How long do you think he was in there?”

“Long enough. Ask Alycia to find him some warm clothes. Maybe he’s got a heating pad or an electric blanket, too. He’s going to get worse if we don’t get him warm quickly.”

Liam disappears from his eyesight quickly.

“That was a stupid move, Darius. Going to shower without telling anyone of us. You’re not supposed to even be out of bed yet. Are you in there, Darius,” she adds after a pause.

“H… h… here,” Darius says. Somewhere Grace has found a second towel, replacing the wet one around his shoulders with it, pulling it tight in front of him. He’s sitting on the floor, on the bath mat, leaning against the glass doors of the shower. Grace is off to his side, looking worried.

“Good to know.” Grace gives him a small smile.

“Here’s some clothes,” Liam says. “Alycia found an electric blanket and some extra blankets with TESS’ help.”

“You want me to leave while Liam helps you get dressed,” Grace asks.

Darius shakes head. “Y… you’re fine.”

“Alright, let’s get him dressed and back in that bed he wasn’t supposed to get out of.”

It really shouldn’t take two people to get him dressed, Darius thinks. He shouldn’t even need help at all. He’d gotten dressed on his own back at the hospital. Though Grace might’ve tried to help him if she wasn’t busy asking the doctor about his condition and he might’ve also been half dressed there, so maybe that’s not the best example. He doesn’t fight them though. He doesn’t have the energy to, even if he wanted to. He’s not stupid like he knows they think he is. He knows that he needs their help although he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want to be any more of a burden on them than he’s already been. That’s something he’s not used to doing, being a burden.

Liam and Grace work quickly to get him dressed in sweatpants, a t-shirt, hoodie, and socks. By then, he’s standing, though he’s still feeling chilled and unsteady.

“Think you can make it to bed on your own,” Liam asks. “Alycia’s got an electric blanket waiting for you.”

“Probably.” Darius’ first step, however, falters slightly. Liam quickly moves to steady him. “Thanks.” Darius’ voice is tired.

“No problem,” Liam says. “Let’s get you settled in bed so you can get back to resting.”

Darius nods. He knows that the two started as mentor and mentee and quickly turned to friends, but he feels like an old man now. Just to walk the few yards to his bed, he needs help to steady him and halfway there, he contemplates stopping to rest. If Liam picks up on any of his frustrations, he doesn’t say anything. No, he patiently helps Darius to his bed, pulling the covers up once he’s in while Alycia lays the electric blanket over top. They’re all patient with him. Even Grace, in all of her irritation over his shower escapade, didn’t get mad. She was just patiently irritated, even though he didn’t realize that was possible.

Before he has a chance to think about speaking, there’s a thermometer in his mouth. He doesn’t quite see the need considering he’s more cold than hot, but he doesn’t have the energy to say anything about it. With a few pillows propping his head and chest up, he finds himself comfortable, if still cold.

“101 even,” Grace announces once the thermometer beeps. “You’re back on bed rest and no work.” She pauses for a moment to look at Darius. He gave into everything far too easily. Just a few days ago he was running around in a manic-like state trying to save the planet in the last hours. The days that followed, though he spent a lot of it sleeping or in pain. They’ve kept the room dark and quiet to help the nearly constant headaches Darius has been dealing with. His doctor said they’d start to taper off with rest and time, but it could be a few weeks before he really started to feel better. Part of it was the exhaustion, but the greater part from the torture.

Right now, she can see the headache coming back, worsen by the exertion and fever. Soon, probably in a few minutes, they’ll have to leave him to rest.

“What were you thinking, Darius,” she asks, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. It won’t help at the moment.

“I wanted a shower.”

“Okay, that’s understandable, but why didn’t you come get one of us. Liam’s here. He could’ve helped you and Harris would’ve been here later today.”

“I… I just wanted to take care of it myself.”

“You’re not strong enough yet to do that.”

“Yes, of course. I think I’m going to get some rest now.” Darius turns onto his side, burrowing down a little into the blanket. It’s become his customary position lately to combat the lingering light in the room. He hears Grace’s huff of irritation. She hasn’t left yet, which doesn’t surprise him. He knows that she wants more of an answer, but he’s not giving it to her. The anger he feels is irrational and it shouldn’t be directed at her, at them. They’re only helping him.

At some point in his stewing, he falls asleep, waking slowly with a familiar grogginess of fever and a headache. Together, they’ve erased any feeling of freshness he got from his trip to the shower. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his back, slowly though as there’s still an ache on the side of his head and igniting it is the last thing he wants.

“It’s evening.” Darius jumps at the voice, wincing as his headache spikes. He tries to steady his breathing as he works through the sharp stabbing in his head. He hears Harris apologize next to him. None of it matters though as the pounding won’t settle and now there’s an unease in his stomach. He usually has a strong stomach, but this exhaustion and torture have made it weak. Someone, Harris probably, gets him sitting up as he dry heaves, leaning over a bucket, just in case he happens to bring up anything. He hasn’t eaten since morning, so there shouldn’t be anything.

When the heaving has eased, even though his stomach is still unsettled, Harris eases him back. He groans at the pain the movement causes. It doesn’t sound like it comes from him, sounding distant and miserable. It’s only later, a half-hour later he supposes, that he feels the effects of the shot of painkillers Harris must have given him. It’s a preset syringe prescribed by his doctor.

“Better now,” Harris asks.

“Yes, thanks.” The pain is still there, but it lingers on the edge, a faint reminder of the last half hour or more. The whole affair has exhausted him even more than he thinks possible, but that’s routine lately. The ache is always present, but sometimes there are terrible attacks that leave him unable to function, to think. The painkillers are the only relief, which he hates. Harris lets the silence between them grow, for which Darius is glad. He’s still sorting himself out, getting control back and calming down.

“I sent the others out for a while. They’ve been here almost non-stop, especially Alycia and Liam,” Harris says.

Darius nods, risking opening his eyes to look over at Harris, who looks like he’s just come over from work. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, but he’s ditched the tie. Exhaustion is clear on his face as well with dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

“I’m supposed to check your temperature once you wake up. There’s some worry that you’ve set your recovery back.”

“Here to play warden then,” Darius says.

“No. I’m not playing warden. I’m giving you some breathing space.”

“I… I didn’t mean….”

“I know. I thought they would’ve known better and expected you to do something like that.”

“I should’ve said something. It wasn’t fair to them.”

“Yes, you should’ve, but that’s not you. You have friends now, Darius. People who care about you, not what you can do. You need to let us help you instead of doing things on your own. We want to help, but we can’t if you don’t let us.”

“I know. I am trying, it’s just not that easy.”

“I don’t expect it to be, but you have to start really trying. Your doctor told us that if you don’t take the time to rest and recover from this, it will leave you with permanent effects. That very likely means headaches and chronic exhaustion. You’re going to have to be patient and rely on your friends to get through this.”

“I’ll try. I promise, but can you ask them to tone things down?”

“We’ll talk with them when they come back,” Harris says. “How’s the headache and nausea now?”

“Better. The nausea’s settling and the headache’s in the background for now.”

“Good. Are you up for a shower?”

“Really?”

“I was thinking now’s the best time with the painkiller in you and you really didn’t get to finish your shower this morning.”

A shower sounded really good in the aftermath of his headache, but that involved a lot of moving.

“We’ll take it slow,” Harris says, reading the hesitancy in Darius’ eyes.

“Sounds good.”

[the-everlasting-dream]

The Revelation AU - Drake x MC, Part 5

Summary: As Elizabeth’s life hangs in the balance, her friends are faced with the harshness of reality while they wake for her to wake up. 

A/N: Y’ALL ASKED FOR IT! Here is the beginning of the angstiest possible route to a happy ending (that will come eventually). This was the hardest one to write because of all the different perspectives but I hope I did them justice? After this cliff hanger you may experience extreme shock, disbelief and denial so please have mercy on this writer when you grab your pitchforks. 

Also special thanks to @chantelle-x0x for making the character aesthetics for this chapter! She is amazing at this as I have told her so many times before! 

Word count:  5400  This is the longest one in the series, I apologise but I couldn’t have split it any other way. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood, injury, death, grief.  

CATCH UP HERE

Two days after the accident...

HANA

BREAKING NEWS: CORDONIA’S NEWEST DUCHESS, ELIZABETH RICHMOND HAS HAD A TRAGIC ACCIDENT AT THE CORMERY ISLE. EYEWITNESS ACCOUNTS STATE THAT THE CAUSE WAS AN UNSTABLE BALCONY IN THE VANCOUER MANSION. 

In her assigned room in the Vanceour estate, Lady Hana Lee sat in darkness, listening to the Cordonian radio host break the news to the country. She felt a sudden chill at his words and pulled the wooden blanket draped over her shoulders tighter around her body. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been a blur to her in the moment and now a tear slipped down her face as the truth of what had taken place started to really hit home. 

Elizabeth had fallen off a balcony. Elizabeth.

The thought seemed so misplaced. This was the kind of thing that happenned in books or movies, not real life.. And definitely not to someone she knew, her friend.. 

Hana had arrived back from Cordonia’s general hospital barely an hour ago where the doctors worked around the clock to save Elizabeth’s life. Her friend had still been in surgery when Liam finally convinced the rest of them to get some sleep. 

Drake, however, would not be moved. 

 He had remained stubbornly glued to chair in the waiting room, seated closest to the door that the medical professionals came through to report on the outcomes to the various surgeries that were taking place. His messy brown hair was clutched tightly between his fingers, he had only moved to lift his head each time he heard the door open. Despite his heavy eyes and exhausted body, he'd roughly declined any offer for rest or sustenance, ignoring Hana's pleas and Maxwell’s cajoling until Liam had put his hands on their shoulders, shaking his head and their efforts ceased. 

 After hearing about the commotion at the end of the press conference, she along with Maxwell and Liam had all come running to the press room but upon hearing a rough scream, they diverted their path to the heritage room. There they were shocked to have found Drake lying on the edge of the dilapidated balcony screaming Elizabeth’s name until his voice raw. Liam’s shaking fingers had the emergency services in the scene in record time but the wreckage was so severe that they had to radio in for a helicopter to rescue Elizabeth. Hana remembered Drake’s eyes wild and desperate, ready to throw himself off the cliff’s edge when he’d heard this. 

 ‘Fuck them, I’ll climb down and get her myself!’ 

 He would have nearly succeeded if Liam and Bastien had not held him back. When they’d finally reached the hospital after following in a car, Elizabeth had immediately been taken to the emergency room and they’d had little more than a small glimpse of her bloodied figure before she was wheeled into the surgery. A clipboard had been thrust into Hana’s hands and she was instructed to fill out Elizabeth’s personal details. She paused, pen hovering over the space labelled ‘Patient Full Name.’ It was only then that the group realised how little they knew about their friend... 

 ‘I know that one,’ Maxwell chimed in unexpectedly. ‘Elizabeth Aishwarya Richmond.’ 

Three heads whipped around to stare at him. ‘How do you know that?’ Drake asked almost menacingly, eyes narrowed. 

 Maxwell visibly panicked at the question. ‘Uhm.. I just asked her one day?’ 

Hana watched as Drake hung his head. ‘She never mentioned that to me. And I-I never thought to ask,’ he remarked hollowly, shuffling his feet a little. ‘Some fiance I’d have been, I didn’t even know her full name…’ 

‘Don’t worry about it man,’ Liam replied, patting his arm gently. ‘It's not a big deal anyway. None of the rest of us knew...’ 

Drake nodded vaguely despite the tears shining in his eyes and between the four of them, they managed to complete the form.   

It was 2.30am now. 

Something inside Hana gave way and she fell to her knees, seeming to lose the ability to hold herself up as sobs wracked her body. The adrenaline of the last few days had finally worn off giving way to a profound sense of exhaustion in more than just the physical sense of the word. 

This was Elizabeth, her best friend, her first real friend. The first person to see past the facade she’d been trained all her life to put forward to the woman she was underneath. Where she had been scolded for voicing her opinion and punished for the slightest mistake, her friend had instead offered encouraged and advice and Hana had found herself growing bolder and bolder, taking control of her own life for the first time in her twenty-six years. 

Elizabeth had believed in her even before Hana did herself and if she was gone, who would believe in her now? 

 The weight of this hit Hana hard as infinite possibilities and scenarios swirled in her mind. If Elizabeth died what would happen to her? Where would she live? Who would she go to for advice? Her parents wouldn’t take her back now that she’d scorned them so where else could she go? 

Depressed at her meagre prospects, Hana sunk into the mattress before shooting back up and grabbing her phone, double checking that the ringer was on full volume. Liam had promised to let them know the moment that there was any word about Elizabeth and as her friend’s life hung in the balance, Hana would have never forgiven herself if she missed the chance to say goodbye.  

Nine days after the accident...

MAXWELL

DUCHESS ELIZABETH RICHMOND REMAINS IN HOSPITAL IN A COMA FROM HER INJURIES. THERE HAS BEEN NO MENTION OF WHEN THE DUCHESS WILL RETURN TO HER DUTIES AND EARLIER THIS WEEK KING LIAM OFFICIALLY CALLED OFF THE UNITY TOUR IN LIGHT OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES.   

Maxwell Beaumont almost dropped his phone on the brick path as something tugged abruptly on his arm, jerking his eyes away from the news article he was reading. He looked down at the corgi attached to the leash in his hand, its brown eyes and wagging tail made it hard not to smile. He crouched down to rub Cooper’s ears. The dog cocked its head slightly, letting out a small whine and Maxwell thought he saw a glint of sadness in its usually playful gaze. 

'I know boy,' he said wistfully, scratching the corgi's head. 'I miss her too.’ 

 Ever since he and Bertrand had returned home to Beaumont estate, taking Elizabeth’s corgi on walks had become a daily ritual for him, something to get his mind off everything that was happening. Most days it worked as it gave Maxwell something to do while the whole country stood at a standstill, hold their breath as they waited for news about the condition of their favourite duchess. That was easier said than done however and now he couldn’t help as his mind slipped back into the events of the past week. 

*Flashback*

The doctors and surgeons had worked around the clock, racing against time and after almost 40 hours in surgery, Elizabeth had eventually pulled through narrowly avoiding the worst. When they had finally been able to see her, Elizabeth had been wrapped in so many bandages and wound dressings that he had barely recognised the woman he had come to call his best friend. Deep purple circles splayed out under her eyes and her mocha skin looked pale under the harsh fluorescent lights. Her mouth and nose were covered by a large oxygen mask, in fact her face was hardly visible under the bandages around her head. A nurse was adjusting the various tubes connecting her to various machines, the ventilator, drip, heart rate monitor. More bandages covered her limbs and unmissable, the ones spanning dangerously across her stomach tinged slightly red. 

 Maxwell gulped at the sight.  ‘W-what happened to her?’ His voice came out in a hoarse croak, shattering the thick silence that had developed as they crowded together in the small room. 

‘She fell off the balcony Maxwell,’ Bertrand’s dry tone held irritation. 

 The younger Beaumont felt the unfamiliar rush of red hot anger course through him as he turned on his brother. ‘You know that's not what I meant. Tell me exactly what happened.’ 

‘Maxwell you wouldn’t-’ 

He didn’t let him finish. 'Wouldn’t what Bertrand? Wouldn’t be able to cope with the truth? Wouldn’t be able to understand all the technical terms? Because I’m too dumb? Or maybe you think I’ll make a joke about it? You think I can’t take this seriously?! She’s my best friend and I demand to know what’s wrong with her!!’ 

‘Maxwell stop!’ Hana’s panicked tone pierced through the fog of rage and emotion. 

Collecting himself, Maxwell realised that he had been gripping the lapels of Bertrand’s blazer so tightly they’d begun to tear. Releasing his brother, he dusted off his hands taking a moment to organise his thoughts before he regarded his friends expectantly. 

 ‘Well?' 

Liam answered this time, struggling to keep his voice steady. 'She’s sustained a serious head injury and a few broken ribs, fractured pelvis, broken shoulder as well as a collection of cuts and bruises from the debris of the balcony. There was a lot of internal bleeding thats why the surgery took so long. The doctors said it would have been worse. She was really lucky that she’d only fallen about 25 feet and not the entire length of the cliff. Her broken bones will heal but at this point its the head injury they’re more worried about.’ 

The gravity of his words plunged the room into silence, yet again save for the beeping of the various machines around Elizabeth’s bed. Maxwell inched forward reaching forward hesitantly to touch her hand. Just as his fingers made contact however, a frenzied beeping sounded out and Elizabeth’s body started to spasms and shudder violently. 

'What’s happening? Why is she doing that?’ Maxwell screeched, panic flowing through him. 'Nurse, nurse, someone help!' 

In the blink of an eye, three nurses entered the room, one turning to the group. ‘Your Majesty, Your Graces I have to ask you to leave the room please. We need to stabilise her now.’ 

Before he knew what was happening, Maxwell had been pulled into the hallway and the door was shut in his face. He whirled on Drake, shoving two hands against his friend’s chest roughly. 

'You were supposed to look after her man! You were supposed to protect her!' 

'You think I don’t know that? You think this is easy for me? To see her like that?’ Drake’s entire body was taut as he pulled himself to full height a few inches taller than Maxwell. ‘You were just her friend I was the one meant to be marrying her!’ 

Both of them were locked in a tense standoff, hands balled into fists, neither wanting to back down. Around them, other hospital patrons watched in surprise. 

‘Maybe its a good thing you didn’t then because look where she ended up!’ He spat in reply. 

‘Say that again I dare you.’ His friend's voice was dangerously low but Maxwell didn’t care. 

‘Come on Maxwell. You’re making a scene,’ Bertrand swooped in, gripping his arm as he yanked him away from the other man. 'We’re going home.’ 

*End of flashback* 

‘Maxwell!’ His brother’s voice cut through the memory as he approached. ‘Hurry up! We’re late to fetch Elizabeth’s parents from the airport!’ 

 Maxwell shot to his feet. ‘Chanaya and Danvir? I totally forgot they were arriving today.’ 

‘Thats Mr and Mrs Richmond to you,’ Bertrand reminded him. 'Yes well they have had quite a few complications with their travel arrangements but they will be arriving soon.’ 

 Maxwell had coaxed the corgi back to the house following his brother when something occurred to him.   

 ‘What about the Marquess and Neville?’ 

Bertrand’s face darkened frighteningly. ‘They’ll be paying for that if King Liam or I have anything to say about it,’ he replied in his signature Duke of Ramsford tone that Maxwell had heard many times but he noted that this time it was different. 

The threat held in the words was very real and the younger Beaumont almost shuddered, glad that he wasn’t on the receiving end this time.

Fifteen days after the accident...

KIARA

AND NOW FOR OUR DAILY CHECK-IN ON DUCHESS ELIZABETH: THERE HAS BEEN NO OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE ROYAL PRESS SECRETARY BUT AN INSIDE SOURCE HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE DUCHESS’ CONDITION HAS STABILISED HOWEVER THE FULL EXTENT OF HER INJURIES WILL ONLY BE KNOWN WHEN SHE COMES OUT OF A COMA.

‘Off to the hospital mon chere?’ Joelle asked her only daughter as she watched her head for the door. 

 ’Non Maman. King Liam has moved her to a secure ward not too far from the palace,’ Kiara answered, ducking into the lounge room of their manor where her mother sat watching the news. Her eyes flitted to the shot of the wreckage on screen and she instinctively clutched the bunch of flowers in her hands tighter. 

‘Bien sur. Please send her my best and to Drake too. Those poor things…’ Joelle sighed turning back to the screen. ’Such a terrible tragedy to happen to such a lovely pair. You’re sweet to go and visit her.’ 

The knot in her chest only tightened when Kiara heard her mother’s words. After the accident, she had feigned sickness and returned home where she had buried herself in her diplomatic duties instead, determined to shut everything out as the country was shocked by the news. Her parents were happy to have her home but they were too busy to notice the change in their daughter. Her brother Ezekiel had approached her attempting to extract the truth but she had pushed him away. 

All the guilt and regret she had been trying to shove down over the past two weeks now bubbled up dangerously. It had kept her up late, preventing her from sleep as she tossed and turned thinking of what she could have done. It had kept her from going to see Elizabeth even though she knew she should have and after two weeks of talking herself up to it, she had finally mustered up enough courage to go. Her mother’s tone was gentle and admiring but instead, Kiara eyes filled with tears and her lower lips began to wobble. She couldn’t keep what had happened to herself   

 ‘Maman..’ Her voice was small, squashed by the guilt again now as she toed her way around the couch. 

 ‘Oui?’ Joelle answered vaguely, her attention still on the TV. 

‘Maman,’ she began again unable to stop her voice from cracking. ‘It's all my fault.’ 

‘What do you mean cherie?’ Her mother turned to her confused. ‘Mon chere you can hardly blame yourself for what happened.' 

The dam of feelings that had built up over the past fortnight finally burst and Kiara sunk down beside her mother switching completely to French now. 

’No Mother, you don’t understand… This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.’ 

-  

Two hours later, Kiara found herself outside the door to Elizabeth’s ward. She had confessed everything to her mother who had held her as she sobbed, gently stroking her hair listening while she admitted her part in the lead up to Elizabeth’s unfortunate accident. Though Joelle reassured her repeatedly that it hadn’t been her fault, Kiara just couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Mere words wouldn’t be enough to take away the guilt she felt. She’d almost abandoned the idea of visiting altogether but something tugged at her conscience telling her no, it was time to stop running. She needed to face this. Now mustering up her courage, she knocked once to announce herself before twisting the handle wincing as the door creaked loudly. Kiara’s eyes flew immediately to the figure on the bed. 

 Lying unmoving on her back, Elizabeth’s eyes were clamped shut while a collection of machines and devices surrounded the bed. The duchess' dark hair peaked out from under a thick wide bandage wrapped around her head. If it wasn’t for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, Kiara could have sworn she was looking at a statue and her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the numerous cuts and bruises that littered the other woman’s arms. 

Gulping deeply, she felt her confidence filtered away but before it could, she inched toward the side table to set her bouquet down with the others placed there. The crinkle of the wrapper making contact with the table was louder than she had meant for it to be and Kiara was barely able to keep her wits when dark head suddenly jerked up from the farther side of the bed. 

 Drake. 

 'I-I’m sorry,’ Kiara faltered, almost ashamed to be caught. 'I just came to drop these off. I didn’t mean to wake you.' 

 Seated in a chair beside the bed, he took a moment to adjust to wakefulness and in that time, it occurred to her that this was the first time they had been in the same room since the night at her estate. 

'No its fine really,’ he reassured her, exhaustion heavy in his voice. 'Just dozed off I guess.' 

Fighting waves of regret, she kept her eyes trained steadily on the girl on the bed, determined not to let her emotions get the better of her. 

'How is she?' 

Drake sighed wearily, running a hand over his haggard face. ‘She’s started breathing on her own yesterday which is a massive improvement. The doctors say its a miracle that she landed on her side rather than her back because her shoulder took most of the impact. They managed to stabilise her and stop the internal bleeding but on top of that she broke a few bones too so its gonna take some time before she’ll back to normal.' 

 Kiara nodded carefully, digesting this information. 'Did they say when she’ll wake up? 

He shook his head gravely. ‘Its all up to her I guess,’ he answered gesturing at Elizabeth. 'She’s recovering well from the massive head injury but they won’t know the full extent of the damage until then.’ 

 Kiara’s stomach dropped. She'd had minor differences with Elizabeth in the past, formed first throughout the social season and extending a hand of friendship was difficult due to the nature of competition. Contenders like Olivia and Madeline made it hard to believe that anyone would genuinely be interested in forming friendships without ulterior motives. Kiara was an ambitious woman and took pride in her abilities to get her what she wanted but it had always seemed too easy for Elizabeth. The American had been difficult to stomach at first, as she, despite having no courtly training or special skills, seemed to succeed almost blindly at winning the heart of the prince. To add to their bitterness, she’d indirectly humiliated all the suitors by turning him down. 

It had only grown deeper when Elizabeth started to pursue Drake Walker, another competition she had lost and the diplomat had been left with cold anger as she was rejected yet again. While Penelope had easily taken to the new duchess, Kiara found it harder to let go of the resentment. 

Despite all this, however, she realised that she’d never hated Elizabeth. The duchess didn’t deserve for something like this to happen to her. She had proved herself to be a kind and caring leader, something Kiara valued highly. If Kiara could take it all back, she would in a heart beat. 

 She swallowed hard before responding. ‘I’m sure she will be back to normal in no time.' 

‘Let’s hope,’ he nodded before addressing her again. 'I’m surprised you came to visit. Elizabeth would have liked that..’ 

Kiara paused. Would she? Would she have liked me if she knew all the bad things I had wished on her? 

‘She was my friend after all. I’d better go,’ she suggested, mumbling a weak excuse as she headed for the door. 

‘Kiara.’ At the sound of her name coming from his mouth, she froze, back still to him. 

 ‘Yes?’ 

 ‘Its not your fault you know?’ Drake told her. 'What happened to her...' 

Why was everyone telling her that? She knew he meant it from a place of thoughtfulness but it didn’t make her guilt any less. It wouldn’t take back what she had done or change what had happened. 

 All this and more swirling in her mind but she just nodded. 

-  

As she stepped over the threshold, Kiara was so immersed in thought, she almost bumped into someone coming in. 

 ‘Oh pardon!' 

‘Its alright dear,’ the woman reassured, her American accent complimented perfectly by her kind tone. Her dark skin and lively eyes struck a chord of familiarity and something occurred to the diplomat. 

 ‘You’re Elizabeth’s mother.' 

‘I am. And you must be Kiara?’ Mrs Richmond beamed, looking even more like her daughter. 'She often talked about you and Penelope among her other friends. Thank you for being such a good friend to our Aishwarya, dear.’ 

Kiara nodded again, this time unable to keep the tears from falling as she rushed away leaving her companion bewildered. 

Twenty-four days after the accident..

OLIVIA

BREAKING NEWS: THE GROUP BEHIND THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON THE ROYAL PALACE 3 MONTHS AGO HAS BEEN OFFICIALLY IDENTIFIED. AS WE SPEAK, MEMBERS OF THE TERRORIST GROUP ARE BEEN ARRESTED BY THE ROYAL GUARD.  

Olivia Nevrakis smiled as she scanned images of the resisting criminals splashed across the front page of the morning’s newspaper on the breakfast table before her. There was no better way to start your day than with an arrest of an entire terrorist group she mused, delicately sipping her tea. She went on to imagine all the ways they would be punished if only she was in charge of dealing them out, wondering if her methods would have differed greatly to that of her ancestors. Before she could dwell on it, her phone chimed reminding her she had to be at the palace in half an hour.   

When she arrived, Liam was already seated in one of the meeting rooms with Hana and Maxwell. The latter gave her tentative smiles while the king nodded in greeting. 

 ‘Thank you all for coming. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the good news but we have other matters to discuss. Naturally, the court wants to have a ball in celebration and it would be a strong front to put forward if all of us attended.' 

‘Are parties all those  can think about at a time like this?’ Drake’s rough voice cut through the room as he stepped through the door. 

’So nice of you to join us Drake,’ Olivia scoffed as he took a seat next to Hana. ‘I’m was beginning to think you’d superglued yourself to Elizabeth's bedside.’ 

‘Ignore Olivia,’ Liam placated shooting her a cautionary look. ‘We’re glad to have you with us man. How is she?’ 

Drake sighed, seemed to age 10 years. ’She’s… stable. Not much has changed. Her parents are with her now.' 

 ‘Will Mr and Mrs Richmond be joining the festivities?’ Hana inquired trying to break the tension. 

Liam shook his head. ‘They will be departing back to the States later this week for their other daughter’s graduation. They wanted to stay on longer but there was no avoiding it. They actually wanted to take Elizabeth back with the-‘ 

‘Take her back?!’ Maxwell interrupted. ‘But- They can’t! She needs to stay here with us. She hasn’t even woken up yet!’ 

The king held up a hand for silence. ’The doctors have informed them of that it is very important that she be kept stable in this sensitive time. I have assured them that she would continue getting the best care Cordonia has to offer.' 

Maxwell nodded sombrely, plunging the room into a melancholy silence. 

 Like everyone else, Olivia’s mind shifted to Elizabeth. In her first few encounters with the American, she’d readily dismissed her as the clueless foreigner who was sure to crack after one week. To her initial surprise and chagrin however, Elizabeth had proved her otherwise, surpassing all the trials of the court with as much grace as a noble born lady. Back then, Olivia held no love for her but she could appreciate strength when she saw it and surprised herself by agreeing to work with the foreigner to restore her name. Elizabeth had been like the glue that held their little group together for without her their friendships would not have developed as well as they did. Although she had harboured feelings of resentment towards her for turning Liam down even those had been fading lately. 

If Elizabeth did die, she had no idea what the future would look like for them and there was little Olivia hated more than uncertainty. It made her impatient and more prone to outbursts and for a moment she bitterly resented the duchess for compromising it, when she was only just getting the hang of the whole friendship thing. 

‘She’d save us all some trouble if she hurried up and kicked the bucket already.'  

There was a sharp intake of breath from the room and the redhead's eyes widened she realised that she had voiced her comment out loud. 

 ‘Olivia!’ Hana chastised.   

Her eyes landed on Drake who was glaring at her, jaw clenched in anger as the veins in his neck throbbed dangerously.  

’Nevrakis I know being empathetic isn’t really in your capacity but just this once could you cut it out with the sarcasm?’ 

 Olivia’s usual flawless exterior faltered slightly as she realised her last comment may have gone a step too far. Her mouth dropped open to apologise but one glare from Drake silence all response she would have formulated. She remained quiet for the rest of the meeting as the rest of them discussed the plans for the ball. Even though the assassins had been apprehended they still needed to persuade the court that Liam was the best option for Cordonia. After almost two hours of tactics and strategy, Liam released them and she approached Drake carefully. 

‘Drake I-‘ He brushed her away with a dismissive wave. 

‘Forget it Olivia. I wouldn’t expect you of all people to understand.’ 

 Now that stung. 

 Olivia knew she put forward the emotionless, cold-hearted persona very well but now it was coming back to bite her. Underneath the facade, though she would never admit it out loud, these people has wormed their way into her heart and she really did care for them. She just wished she could find it in her to voice it out loud. 

The Duchess of Lythikos mentally shook herself at the thought. Her feelings would have to wait. There was work to be done now and if she was going to help Liam rally the support he needed, internal monologuing wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Thirty-one days after the accident... 

LIAM

AFTER THE ARREST OF ALL MEMBERS OF THE TERRORIST GROUP THAT THREATENED THE ROYAL FAMILY AND MANY OF THE NOBILITY, CORDONIA IS RECOVERING WELL AND IS ON ITS WAY TO PROSPERING. THE SHARES ON THE CORDONIAN RUBY ARE AT AN ALL TIME HIGH UNDER KING LIAM’S STRONG GOVERNANCE.

‘Gracias Your Majesty. I look forward to our next meeting where we can iron out those last few details.’ 

‘De nada, Signor Gutierrez. I believe this trade deal will greatly benefit both our countries. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship between our countries.’ 

‘As do I King Liam. I must mention I have never seen a monarch who prioritises the safety of his people as well as you. Other countries could learn much from your method of governance.’ 

 Thanking him, Liam hung up the Skype call with the Spanish embassador, gently massaging his temples as he scanned the headlines on iPad in front of him. 

 The politician's words had come from a place of kindness but all they seemed to inspire was a sense of deep guilt within him. A quote from his childhood studies on Cicero returned to his mind. 

 The safety of the people shall be the highest law. 

 He’d watch Constantine rule with this principle and though his father had many faults, he always had his priorities right. As a monarch it was his cardinal duty to keep his people safe and after the assassination attempt the weight of the crown had pressed heavily on Liam's shoulders. It has eased slightly now the assassins had been captured and apprehended. The economy was finally stabilising and thanks to the ball a few days ago, he had secured more than a few important deals with the help of his friends. 

Cordonia was finally prospering, getting back to her feet so why did he feel so terrible? 

 The answer lay a few miles away in a hospital bed. 

 After the accident, as soon as Elizabeth was stable, he’d immediately placed her in a secure ward with state-of-the-art facilities and the best medical professionals. He’d given her the best possible care but still the guilt persisted. To say Elizabeth was a very special person to him would be a huge understatement. She had no idea but she represented the beginning of  a new life for him, one where he would take matters into his own hands to make his own decisions. If possibility had a colour, he was sure it would be the green of her dress from the night they’d met in New York city what seemed like a lifetime ago. He loved her and though she hadn’t reciprocated in the way he once wanted her to, Liam knew she would always hold a unique place in his heart. Any ill feeling of resentment when she chose Drake over him had faded away now and in its place a strong friendship was blossoming. When he promoted her to duchess, Liam had looked forward to seeking her counsel during his rule. Unlike him, Elizabeth hadn’t been born into nobility, she knew the struggles of the common man and was more in tune with their needs as he never would be. 

She would have been an amazing duchess. 

No, he corrected himself. She is going to be an amazing duchess. 

Now that her life hung in the balance, it was all too easy to succumb to the temptation of pessimism and he found himself constantly fighting against it now, knowing that his friend wouldn’t have approved of his despondency. He would do it. He would continue to fight the good fight, with or without her, Liam promised himself that. 

 A frantic buzzing of his phone broke him out of his thoughts. He’d been in that position for so long that his arms twinged slightly as he reached for the device beside him, glancing at the screen to reveal a text message from Drake.

Hospital. Now. 

Twenty minutes later, Liam strode purposefully down the ward hallway, staff parting in front of him like the Red Sea. Before he could reach the door to her room, a gasping Drake stumbled out, barely able to stand as heavy uneven breaths wracked his figure. Fear rose up in Liam as his mind automatically assumed the worst but before he could say a word, Drake’s body began to pitch forward and he caught him just before he could hit the floor. 

 ‘Drake what happened? Is she okay?' 

‘Liam… Liam she…She doesn’t..’ He choked out, clutching onto the sleeves of Liam’s blazer as the king helped him to stand. Drake gulped deeply, desperately fighting for air as he attempted to articulate his thoughts. 

 ‘She doesn’t what?! Is Elizabeth okay?' Liam could not help the notes of alarm and impatience that laced his tone as he questioned the other man. ‘Dammit Walker what happened?’ 

 He watched his best friend’s brown eyes well up with tears, his face contorting with anguish. ’S-She doesn’t remember Liam!’ 

 The king's face screwed up in confusion at the words. ‘You’re not making any sense. What do you mean she doesn’t remember? What doesn’t she remember Drake?’ 

Liam would never forget the look of complete and total despair in his friend’s eyes as he finally gasped out his response. 

‘She doesn’t remember falling in love with me.’

-

A/N: YOU ASKED FOR ANGST AND I OBEYED! Leave me some reaction gifs to giggle at. 

Tags: @chantelle-x0x @choicessa @mariamatsuo @pbchoicesobsessed @xxrainbowprincessxx @boneandfur @lizeboredom @topsyturvy-dream @lovemyrestingplacethings @american-duchess @withice @limenagirl @sir-wigglesworth @ayo-minty-jess @ninamckenzie22 @drakelover78 @h3llostrang3r @cocomaxley @zarina-x-zig @nicestrokepam @bizzyschoices @decisso @kellyale1804 @mrswalkerreynolds @kamybelen-blog @hhiggs @jenjosh5 @bruhvs @natalievgoodehenry @choiceswreckedme @laniquelove @theroyalweisme @jamielea81 @penguininapinktuxedo @tmarie82@crookedslimecreatorpasta @asprankle @drakewanker @mrs-walker-nazario-levine @graceisgone56 @josieschoices @smritysriv @drakewalkerfantasy @bobasheebaby 

Sorry if I missed anyone! And idk why some tags aren’t working. If you want to be tagged click HERE because I might forget if you just comment. 

[khaleesi-in-the-north]

In the Crosshairs (38/39)

Snow was uncommon in the Reach at any time of the year, even in the winter. It’s a cruel mockery that today the ground should be littered with specks of snow. She had never been fond of colder weather. There was little she hated more than a day where the thermometer dipped below freezing.

                    Funeral arrangements had to be made quickly. She’d been making such progress the Tyrells were positive that she’d battle through just as she always had. On the day she died, it was as though her spirit had given up.

                     She never had the chance to say goodbye.

                    __________

                    Doctors poured into the room in a river of white coats. Sansa slipped into the back corner. She’d stay out of their way but there was no chance in any hell that she was going to abandon Margaery now. If Margaery was waking up, Sansa wasn’t going to let the first thing she saw hovering over her be the cold, scrutinizing faces of a dozen strangers all poking and prodding her.

                    “Her vitals were abnormally high,” the nurse explained over Mace’s hysterical confused mumbling.

                    The doctors simultaneously turned their attention to the beeping machine that read Margaery’s vitals. It was still elevated from the consistent pace of the last two days, but no longer at a frantic pace. One doctor, an older woman with bags drooping so deep beneath her eyes she could hold a coin over the top of her cheek inside of one of them, stepped out amongst the throng toward the machine.

                    Instinct drew Sansa closer, first behind the second row of doctors, then to nudging her way up the ranks.

                    “Dear, how many coma patients have you worked with?” the doctor asked of the nurse.

                    “She would be my second ma’am,” the nurse stammered. Staring at her shoes, arms crossed in front of her body, the woman looked more like a young girl.

                    “Here’s a lesson for you: not all comas are the same. This woman is merely begin to wake up from her coma,” the doctor sighed, clearly irritated and overworked. “Her heart beat raised, but her blood pressure and brain waves are in a stable range.” The doctor was using this as a teaching moment for the rest of the staff in the room. Well intentioned as it might have been, the use of her girlfriends’ current state playing Grey’s Anatomy for a horde of supposed professionals irked Sansa.

                    The lesson was over soon enough. “Return to your duties. Not all of you can play doctor to the famous,” the chief doctor barked. Half the room scattered out, including the poor nurse. To those who remained the doctor said, “We will want to keep Ms. Tyrell under watch to ensure this goes smoothly.” She turned to Mace, not even sparing a glance to Sansa. She dropped into her ‘bedside manner’ that Sansa had learned every doctor had in their arsenal to varying degrees of success. This woman’s was on the better side. “We can’t say how long of a process this will take, Mr. Tyrell. She could be up and chattering within the hour; it could take several hours. She may be fine once she wakes up or she may be in and out for a couple days. It’s difficult to judge. We will begin reducing the amount of medication she’s being fed that way we can reduce the chances of hallucinations and rather unpleasant dreams as she becomes more conscious.”

                    Mace was too overcome to make a proper response. Given the circumstances, Sansa didn’t blame him. Notifying him of the possibility of complications may have scared him, but Sansa brushed them off. Margaery was waking up. Whatever happened along the way or after, they would handle side by side.

                    The gods had never looked kindly upon Sansa. She’d spent years praying, bargaining, questioning them without ever receiving a reply. She wasn’t even sure what hand they may have had in protecting her love. All the same, she thought a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the old gods who had abandoned her father to a cruel fate.

                    The chief nodded for one doctor to remain behind. She led the rest out of the room without so much as another word.

                    The new doctor, a younger man with a clean shaved face that was most popular in the Summer Islands, finally noticed Sansa was also in the room. “This could take several hours. If the two of you have things to do or need to go home for anything, there is some time.”

                    Sansa gave the doctor the warmest smile she could muster. “Thank you, doctor. I’m more than fine remaining here.”

                    “Yes, thank you, sir,” Mace shook hands with the man. His demeanor was more relaxed. Once the doctor left, he didn’t pace or hunch his shoulders as he had been before. For the first time in weeks, he’s received good news.

                    “Would you like me to go to the waiting room and tell your wife the news?” Sansa offered.

                    Mace shook his head. “I will go. I need to call my brother to check on my mother anyway. Are you planning on staying with her?”

                    Sansa turned to face Margaery again. The pale blue of the hospital sheets highlighted the change in her skin tone from a few days ago. When she first came to visit, she was nearly as pale as the sheets. The blood infusions had nearly returned her to her natural color. “I don’t plan on ever leaving,” Sansa murmured.

                    Mace bid her goodbye for the time being and headed off. Sansa tapped out two quick texts; one for Ygritte to come back to the hospital because Margaery would be awake soon, the other a short update to Arya. She ignored the list of messages from Petyr, Karstark and a very confused Shae. She ignored the messages from Petyr and Karstark. They could wait, and if they needed her desperately, they knew where she was.

                    One person did need her relatively immediate attention. Shae had proved sharper than Petyr had assumed when he convinced Sansa to hire her. On Margaery’s first night in the hospital, she had called and asked what happened with Jon and how they got separated in the North. How had Alayne made it back in town without anyone knowing? With Sansa’s mind clouded in her worry for Margaery, an alibi had been difficult to come up with. She finally had one and the sooner she told Shae, the less conspicuous she would appear to her friend. Oddly enough, Sansa did consider the older woman a friend. Deep down she was certain the woman knew her job wasn’t a typical bartending job, but she remained there regardless. She didn’t push to know the truth as long as it didn’t affect her, which was a nice change from her daily demands.

                    She preceded that email with a short message explaining she couldn’t currently talk, then went on to describe how Jon had asked her to return home for personal matters. She had agreed and remained in the North to continue searching. The moment the Tyrell family had called her about Margaery’s state, she chartered a private flight to King’s Landing. The alibi wasn’t ideal—not even close—but Shae would accept it, not because she believed it, but because it was something she could tell police if they came knocking on her door about Jon.

                    Shortly after Mace had left, Alerie stopped in to say that she and Mace were going back to their hotel for an urgent matter. Sansa didn’t push for more information. Between Margaery’s condition, mafia matters and Shae’s ever-growing suspicion of Alayne Stone, she had enough to occupy herself.

                    The latter had only just been brought to her attention through a series of texts from Petyr and Arya. The woman had called Alayne’s home to check in on her after not hearing from her for several days following Arya’s actual arrival in King’s Landing. The last she knew, “Alayne” had been searching for Margaery in the North.

                    The prospect of Shae piecing together the truth should frighten Sansa. Oddly enough, it’s almost a relief. She trusted Shae. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left Shae in charge of the bar for weeks while she was gone. There was a gut feeling that Shae wouldn’t sell her out if she knew the truth. She would mind her own business, which Sansa respected. Which was why of all her concerns, she was content letting that one continue to simmer.

                    Periodically the doctor would pop in and check Margaery’s vitals. Sansa continued talking to Margaery, leaving longer and longer gaps of silence when she started running out of made up topics to discuss with herself. Her heart skipped each time Margaery twitched, even when she knew the movement was involuntary. Eventually, she even tuned out the short visits from the doctor.

                    By the time Ygritte arrived, Margaery was showing signs of soon waking. She was moving more, becoming more responsive to the things Sansa would say. By the time she was ready to wake, Sansa, Ygritte and Garlan had gathered around Margaery’s bed, flanked by doctors.

                    Sansa’s heart stuttered as Margaery’s eyes blinked open. And sunk to her stomach at the recognition of pain, fear and confusion in Margaery’s wide, soft eyes.

_____________________________________________________________

                    She brushes snow off of the top of the granite tombstone.

                    “Olenna Tyrell”: “I was good. I was very good.”

                    There aren’t better words to describe the matriarch of the Tyrell family. She was fantastic at any task she undertook. She rebuilt the Reach into an economic boon while she was in office. She was a great talker and a great gardener. A great mother and an even better grandmother.

                     And she was good. Just as Renly had been good. And Brienne had been good. She even imagined she was good like Eddard Stark had been. It was just a different type of good.

                    Tears burn against the chill on Margaery’s cheeks. She wipes her gloved hand at the top of her cheeks, careful not to budge her arm still in the shoulder sling.

                    Her grandmother had always been her hero. Not only did she accomplish groundbreaking political triumphs, but she always had time for Margaery. The world knew the Queen of Thorns. Most of the time, that’s how her family knew her too. Not Margaery. She saw through the edge. Aside from her quick wit and sharp tongue, she had also found a confidant in her grandmother. When she had crushes or when she was uncertain how to tell her father she was moving to King’s Landing rather than attending law school, Margaery had gone to her grandmother first. Her grandmother was brutally honest, but always caring and always holding her best intentions.

                     When Willas had died, Margaery was too young to know she should have felt hurt. Now she barely remembered his smile and likely wouldn’t at all if not for the pictures of him her parents kept. Renly’s death had hurt, but Margaery is realizing more and more that the pain stemmed from guilt and sorrow for her brother. Olenna’s death caused its own brand of pain born of love and loss. There was nothing to feel guilty for, because Olenna’s death rested firmly on the neck of Cersei Lannister. With Cersei lying at the greatest depths of the seventh hell, all that was left was to mourn.

                    Margaery isn’t sure how much longer she kneels before the grave before she finally speaks. “I never thought you’d be the one to go first. You always went on and on and on about outliving all those wars, the political scandals, diseases. There were times it felt like you were immortal. And you’ve always been so strong. I always wanted to make you proud. In the end, I know I did. I’m sorry it ended like this, when you deserved so much more. If there’s any justice, any Seven, then your place is reserved at the highest of the heavens grandmother. I love you so much.”

                    Soft snow crunches behind her, growing louder and louder until the noise is just behind her. Sansa squats down beside her, enveloping her with one arm, wary not to touch her injured shoulder.

                    She’d still been in a half-high daze when the funeral was held. When she first gained enough soundness of mind to understand what had happened, she’d been furious that she wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. Being back home now, secure with her family and Sansa, she begins to think she prefer funeral-for-one.

                    The original funeral had been a therapeutic mourning session for the general public. Television crews invaded High Garden and captured every angle of the funeral route. Citizens outlined the Hurst procession like a parade route. Cameras captured the images of young, most of whom had only the faintest idea of what Olenna had done for the Reach during her tenure, and old, whom had never known the woman behind her moniker, crying as her body passed. In the days following her return to consciousness, Margery had envied these people. What right did they have to say goodbye to a woman they hardly knew?

                    Today, the camera crews are long gone. The citizens of Highgarden have moved on. They’ll remember her grandmother in history books and political debate. To them, she’s a relic of  the past. Which leaves Margaery the time and solitude to say goodbye. It won’t be the last time. Unlike the people who never knew Olenna, Margaery won’t forget.

                    Sansa leans into Margaery and Margaery presses back, her forehead pushing into Sansa’s cheekbone. Sansa’s hand rubs Margaery’s side in a soothing up and down motion. Margaery’s eyes shut, allowing her to further appreciate the smell of citrus and something wholly Sansa.

                    “I think I’m ready to go,” Margaery murmurs.

                    “Are you sure?” Sansa asks. “I don’t mind staying longer if you need to.”

                    Margaery shakes her head and pulls forward from Sansa’s grip. “There’s nothing more to say or do here. I’ve made my peace.”

                    Sansa slowly rises. She offers a hand down to Margaery to help her off the ground too. When she walks, Margaery still has a slight hobble in her step. According to the doctor that injury should be healed within a week.

                    She isn’t lying when she tells Sansa she’s made her peace. With her grandmother at least. With the other lives destroyed, with her physical and emotional scars from the shootout, with her role in Jon’s imprisonment and its consequences, with her work life, with her new life bound to a mafia boss? Well Sansa hadn’t asked about that.  

__________

                    “We need to swoop in while the iron’s hot,” Umber barks in the background. “We easily have the manpower and resources to fill in the gaps left by the Lannisters. We’ll be swimming in their filthy riches in two months.”

                    Petyr scolds him for his carelessness, doing Sansa’s job for her. Umber always talks a big game but never knows when to shut up. Like now, when they are on an unsecure line and Sansa is in the middle of Margaery’s hospital room where a nurse could wander in and out whenever convenient.

                    “I think it’s best for us to discuss the matter in person tonight, Ms. Stone,” Petyr says. “The game has changed, and so has our power structure. If we wait too long to decide, we won’t have a say in what direction the game takes next.”

                    “It can wait,” Sansa repeats for what must be the tenth time today alone.

                    “It can’t wait any longer. I understand you’ve been pre-occupied with your…friend in the hospital. Our profits share and opportunity dwindles as long as you insist on playing doctor. Let someone else fix her for a while,” Petyr snaps. Just as she’s trying his patience, he’s pushing her to the end of hers.

                    “It will wait until I say. Every business is scrambling right now. They’re too busy covering their own asses for association to be concerned about a power vacuum,” Sansa replies. “As for what I do in the mean time, that is between myself and whomever I deem necessary. Which, as of right now, does not include either of you. Do tonight’s job, nothing more.”

                    Umber grumbles inaudibly in the background.

                    “Care to repeat that Smalljon? It sounded as though you were asking for a ticket straight to the swamplands to deal with the Reeds,” Sansa leans forward, resting her elbow against her knee. Her back pops from remaining stiff for too long. It’s been hours since she got out of this chair, probably since the last time Margaery woke up.

                    When Margaery’s eyes clench together in her sleep, Sansa quit waiting for an answer. “Keep me posted on our status with Shae. Goodbye.” She hangs up.

                    Margaery tosses her head one way, then the other. It’s another nightmare. The medication she’s been weening off of combined with her emotional and physical trauma is triggering them. From what Sansa has gathered. They’re horrendous and very, very real to Margaery. It’s part of the reason that Sansa has refused to leave Margaery’s side save for a handful of times. She’s hardly left Margaery for more than a few hours at a time since the Tyrells flew home for Olenna’s funeral.

                    Margaery had argued with doctors for hours that she should be able to leave for the funeral. Loras and Mace had backed her, but ultimately the doctors stood firm in their belief that Margaery shouldn’t leave. Sansa shared in that belief that Margaery was better off here, much as it pained her to see Margaery in grief and hurting from her grandmother’s death. But Margaery was hardly in a position to walk the hospital floors, let alone fly to Highgarden. For the first few days she was constantly in and out of consciousness. When she was conscious there were times she had no idea where she was or what was going on, thanks to the heavy doses of drugs she as on. Her blood pressure still wasn’t where doctors would have liked it to be by the time her family left.

                    The coincidence that Margaery woke within hours of Mace learning of Olenna’s death didn’t escape anyone, but no one would dare mention it. Margaery wasn’t in a state in which she could handle more drama than necessary anyway. For someone who was always able to manage her facial expressions under scrutiny and disguise the extremities of her emotions, seeing the utter terror etched on her face when she woke in confusion broke Sansa’s heart.

                    Sansa had made a move forward to comfort her, against the doctors’ recommendations, but Margaery had flinched away. It was as if she didn’t know her. Or worse—that she was stuck in the time before she and Sansa had reconciled.

                    She didn’t realize she had injuries until it was too late. She had tried to lift her arm and couldn’t. She nearly twisted her leg in mid-air, unaware that it was caught in a make shift crane of sorts to leverage her wound. She yelped in pain, adding to her confusion.

                    Sansa takes Margaery’s hand. There’s no longer IV tubes sticking out from it. Her leg doesn’t need to be leveraged anymore. Margaery’s last remaining restraint is sling over her shoulder. Despite the progress that the changes demonstrate, it makes it easier for Margaery to accidentally further injure herself in one of these episodes. She has no control over her actions or reactions. Holding her hand seems to have a soothing effect though.

                    “Sshhh, ssshhh baby. It’s okay. I’m right here,” Sansa hushes her. She strokes her thumb across the back of Margaery’s hand. Margaery stops thrashing, her breaths even out. Sansa is about to pull back, believing Margaery to be back to a normal sleep, but then Margaery’s eyes flutter open.

                    “Sans-,” Margaery slurs from sleep. She winces and reaches her god arm across her body to her shoulder, stopping just short of touching it.

                    Sansa cuts her off before a nurse or one of the Unsullied agents clamoring to interrogate Margaery walk in unannounced. “No baby, it’s me, Alayne.”

                    Margaery’s hair is matted and tangled on the side of her head. Sansa unthinkingly runs her fingers through the mess in an attempt to make it neater. In other circumstances her hair would have been Margaery’s top priority.

                    “This stupid sling isn’t doing a thing to help my shoulder,” Margaery bemoans. Her hand slides back across the bed and feels its way to Sansa’s empty hand. Sansa squeezes her hand. She files away the memory of Margaery’s soft smile blooming on her face.

                    “The sling would work just fine if someone could learn to be still during their dreams.” It’s meant to be a joke, but clearly hits a sore spot when the smile falls far too quickly.

                    Margaery stares at her hand interlocked with Sansa’s. “They don’t feel like dreams. They’re so real.”

                    “They’re not real, okay?” Sansa loosens her grip. “It will get better, I promise. Once they get you off this morphine, it will help. And we can find a therapist or two that we can trust if you feel comfortable with that. I think that will do us both good.”

                    Seven know she could have used one in her teenage years. Therapy could have saved her years of self-blame and stress issues she endured. While she can’t force Margaery to accept any help, providing it is a start. Regardless, Sansa believes that straightening out any residual trust issues she has left buried beneath the layers she’s cultivated will be good for herself and her relationship in the long run.

                    “Alayne,” Margaery whispers.

                    “Yeah?”

                    Margaery squeezes her fingers around Sansa’s hand. “I love you.”

                    She can’t control the ridiculous grin that spreads across her face. Sansa never doubted Margaery’s love for her, even when Margaery did. To know that Margaery was now sure herself though, Sansa couldn’t describe the pure bliss she felt at the words. If she could, she would play them on repeat all day.

                    “I love you too,” Sansa is careful to not put any of her own weight on Margaery’s right side as she hugs her. Margaery’s nose is cool to the touch as it brushes Sansa’s neck. She wants to stay just like this holding Margaery, certain that nothing and no one can hurt her. She’s in control and at peace.

                    All too soon the moment is yanked away from her. The door slams open. Sansa leaps up on instinct, primed punish the intruder who dared disturb Margaery right now. It’s not some sneaky tabloid pap looking for a quick pic to land on the cover of the Red Watch (there’s already been two of those snuffed out by security). No, it’s Ygritte grinning ear to ear in the best mood she’s had in days carrying a box loaded so loaded so full with newspapers and magazines there’s a path leading down the hall and around the corner from Margaery’s room.

                    “Hospitals are sex free zones Alayne, unless you’re a doc or junior doc. Gotta keep your hands off the patients,” Ygritte bounces past her, bumping her with the edge of the box to plop it on Margaery’s right side, the other side of the bed.

                    Sansa rolls her eyes. Irritating as the interruption is, Sansa is grateful to give Margaery these distractions on this day of all days. She knows how close Margaery and her grandmother had been. At some point in the day the brunt of the mourning will surely slam in face first. There’s no reason to linger on that anticipation all day.

                    She watches Ygritte and Margaery go through nearly every publication in the box. They joke about Ygritte’s interviews, the questions she’s asked and her preferential treatment by some of the more desperate news outlets. Every now and then Margaery glances at Sansa and smiles softly in her direction. It’s a confirmation that even though everything is not fine now, it will be.

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

                    Before they’d left, Margaery and Sansa had discussed how to make the trip more of a celebration of her grandmother’s life than a grieving for her death.

                    The snow complicated plans, but Margaery had thought of ways around the dilemmas it caused. She walked Sansa through Olenna’s greenhouse again. This time they enjoyed the beautiful lilies and hybrid roses her grandmother had grown. They avoided the back. Venturing there would only spur unwanted memories. After they’d warmed up inside and had their fill of flowers, Margaery took Sansa to her grandmother’s favorite bakery. She and the owner had been friends. Olenna had paid of the elderly man’s bank loan when the bank suddenly demanded their loan back in full. Few people knew that side of Olenna-- the gentle, caring side.

                    From there, Sansa begged Margaery to see the ponds Margaery enjoyed reminiscing on. A quick pit stop at Margaery’s parents’ house for a Loras’s old pair of skates (in case Sansa wanted to do some ice skating) and they’re off.

                    With her leg still not quite at one hundred percent healthy and her arm still locked up in a sling, Margaery opts to sit on the sidelines. Rather than show off her skills on the iffy ice (Sansa claims its only half frozen and could easily break, though none of the eager skaters heed the warning of born and bred Northerner), Sansa stays by Margaery’s side, building a small family of snowmen.

                    “This one’s the baby,” Sansa adds the last stick arm to the smallest snowman.

                    “It’s missing something,” Margaery digs through the snow until she reaches a pebble buried beneath. It’s meant to be a nose for the little guy, but Margaery pushes it too carelessly and its head lops off, obliterating the snow into dust again.

                    “My snow baby!” Sansa feigns melodrama as she clutches at her chest. “He was too young! Too good!”

                    Margaery shrugs. “He was the runt of the litter. The rest of them would have taken him out sooner or later.”

                    “You monster. You’re going to take that back,” Sansa lunges forward playfully tackling Margaery to the ground.

                    “Ow!” Margaery yelps the moment her shoulder makes contact with the ground. It’s a soft landing, but her shoulder is growing more and more sensitive. She won’t be starting physical therapy on it until after they return home.

                    “Shit shit shit shit shit!” Sansa scrambles off of her. She gets a hand under Margaery’s mid-arm and helps her sit back up. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t even thinking. That was so stupid.”

                    The pain begins fading away. “I’m okay,” Margaery sighs. “It was the shock more than anything. No harm, no foul.”

                    Sansa doesn’t look convinced, but she nods her head. The two of them stare out over the lake, watching teenagers on holiday from a school throw snowballs at each other. Some younger kids with their parents make snow angels on the ground. A few brave souls use make shift items like cardboard boxes to sled down the hill half a mile away.

                    “It’s probably nothing like Winterfell, but the  snow here can be nice,” Margaery murmurs.

                    “Oh it’s nothing at all like the North,” Sansa agrees. “Pile another foot of snow and you’re beginning to see what it looks like in early winter. The snow back home is thicker too. Not as powdery as this southern snow. But you’re right. It does have a certain charm.”

                    She misses the North. Margaery hears it more and more in Sansa’s inflection. There’s a hollow longing. Like she’s not unsatisfied and unable to do anything about it.

                    “I dreamt about home last night,” Sansa continues. “It was snowing. A heavy snow with howling wind. Arya and I were outside looking for firewood. But then the firewood and the snow suddenly disappeared and I was suddenly I was in a candy shop and all the candy bars were labeled with different alphabet letters. I had to put them together to make a password and win a prize. The prize was a new collar for Lady.”

                    “Interesting…” Margaery says, confused about where this was going. One of the kids in the distance  cries hysterically after getting hit in the face with a snowball.

                    “So, that was my dream. Feel free to talk about anything you dreamt about last night. If you want to,” Sansa scoots a little closer.

                    Talking is key. The therapist Sansa had arranged for made that blatant to Margaery during every appointment they’d had (four thus far). Initially the vigor with which Sansa approached the topic a therapy surprised Margaery. Yes she had mentioned going, but Margaery hadn’t realized how serious she’d been. It was meant to unbottle her emotions and thoughts. Keep them from getting locked up. Last night though, she had woken in a cold sweat after her dreams. She knew she woke Sansa too, because as she settled back down to sleep again, Sansa wrapped her arm over her back and pulled her closer than she would in a natural state of sleep.

                    It wouldn’t take much to turn it around on Sansa. A little redirection, the right question about Sansa’s past and Margaery would be in the clear. That won’t change the past though, and it certainly won’t build their relationship to the point that Margaery wants it to be.

                    Margaery focuses on the icy pond as she says, “It was Jaime again. I dreamed about the last time I talked to him before his death. And blood poured out of a wound in his chest. His eyes rolled back. The ground opened up to swallow him. He grabbed my ankle to pull me down with him. And then I woke up.”

                    Sansa considers Margaery’s dream, choosing her words carefully before answering. “Have you talked with the maester about Jaime yet?”

                    Margaery shakes her head. “We haven’t quite reached that point yet.” In her first couple of visits, she danced around the topic of the Lannister ambush. Who was to say that this maester Sansa had found wouldn’t flip on them? He’d wanted to delve straight into that topic, but Margaery had convinced to take a longer, more arduous route through Margaery’s benevolent childhood. He felt alike they were making progress, Sansa was satisfied that she was seeing a professional, and Margaery was finally in control of something again. Everyone won.

                    “It’s okay to tell him anything, when you get there. He’s on our side.”

                    Sansa’s phone rings. And rings. Sansa makes no attempt to answer it.

                    “Sweetling, that might be important,” Margaery nudges her.

                    “If it’s important now, it will still be important when we’re back at your place in a couple of hours,” Sansa gestures at the phone in her pocket. “I’m enjoying a beautiful afternoon with my amazing girlfriend and I have no desire to interrupt it with a twenty-minute talk with Petyr about which business he should buy out next. I’d much rather talk about nothing with you.”

                    A southern girl can only last so long in the snow. The next freezing wind gust is Margaery’s last straw. “Let’s go home. I can make some hot cocoa and we can finally watch another episode of Dunk and Egg.”

                    Margaery gets up.

                    “I have a confession to make. I may have watched and episode or two when you were out with your parents last night,” Sansa hesitates to get up.

                    “You’re watching it again, so I hope you at least liked them,” Margaery frowns.

                    “Oh of course. Especially Egg’s new boyfriend. He’s hilarious,” Sansa casually drops the spoiler.

                    Margaery’s eyes go wide with anger and shock. “You little…”

                    Sansa hops to her feet and yanks Margaery toward herself hard for a kiss. Between their chapped lips, the it’s a less than graceful start. Sansa grasps Margaery’s chin though and deepens the kiss, as if trying to apologize for the unwanted information. It’s delightful, but it doesn’t work.

                    Margaery breaks away and glares at Sansa. She folds her good arm across her chest and waits for a response.

                    “So…are we nixing the hot cocoa then?” Sansa asks sheepishly.

                    Margaery turns heel toward the car. “Oh there will be hot cocoa. For me at least. You, on the other hand, will be lucky to even get a hot shower for the rest of the trip.”

                    Sansa chases her to the car, apologizing and dropping more “spoilers” all the way.

                    It’s been months since there had been a shred of normalcy between them. Nearly every conversation had some mention of mafias, jail time, murders, spies. There would never be a true “normal” between them again. What happened with the Lannisters would always linger, never truly being put to rest.

                     Teasing though, that was familiar. So was Dunk and Egg, cuddling on the couch, casual flirting, Sansa knitting all the while. It all came back sitting in her parents’ cozy living room, binge watching a TV show. They could make a new normal.      

[audriel]

Until Next Time: Daichi Backstory

The thing is, when you put other characters into another universe, you cannot help making a new backstory for everyone, what stays the same and what is different, and eventually what makes them the person they are while remaining faithful to their characterization in canon.

(or it might be just me, oops)

Regardless, I have lotsplenty of backstory for everyone in my Haikyuu’s Pacific Rim AU/Crossover. Though admittedly the most complete and thorough one is for Kuroo and Daichi (naturally). I might or might not expand on the universe I’ve made in Until Next Time, but as for now I think I’ll just write it down here.

Daichi

He joined the PPDC and applied to become a Ranger out of a sense of duty, among the few and rare youths who did. His family was against his decision, but they knew that once he made his mind there was no changing it.

So did Suga and Asahi. Three years together in high school and volleyball team fighting against all odds, the three has built a strong bond, and neither boys were willing to let Daichi go alone. It’s not to say they don’t have their own reasons to fight, but it helps to have the other two along with them to face the uncertain future.

He was at the bottom rankings in the Jaeger Academy in his batch for the first trimester. It was due to his flimsy grasp on English language and Jaeger Bushido. Otherwise he was a smart and dedicated student as he used his free time to catch up, which led him to his late night private training and eventually, Kuroo.

While Suga and Asahi helped immensely with academic and physical studies, it was Kuroo who gave him the edge he needed since Kuroo--who was ahead in his Ranger training--did not only become a study/sparring partner but also a rival. (and Daichi tended to do better when he had a rival)

He was uniquely compatible with both Suga and Asahi and was considered the rare people who were Drift compatible with everyone. Regardless, he was better matched with Suga, which was slated to be his co-pilot while Asahi couldn’t find a partner and was told to wait for cadet from another batch.

Because of his unique compatibility and his combat skills, he’s usually assigned the left side of the Jaeger, the less dominant and more action-oriented side.

He found himself opening up to Kuroo slowly but surely. It was a mixture of spending a lot of time together in the middle of the night where no one else was awake, of being in each other heads often with the amount of time they spent sparring and of Kuroo’s own chill personality.

Being connected through the Drift, Suga was privy to Daichi’s thoughts, which to his consternation, giving more fuel for his best friend to tease him. While Suga often teased him by sending knowing looks and eyebrow waggles whenever Kuroo came up in his mind or conversations, he kept quiet in their shared mind, or as quiet as Suga could, being the nosy one of the trio.

He knew he liked Kuroo more than friends but he was worried that his connection with Suga (and Kuroo’s with Kenma) would be disrupted because his connection with Kuroo was oddly strong despite having never drifted together. It was his sense of duty who held him back.

It was only until he was faced of the possibility of never seeing Kuroo again as he was going ahead of him, fighting in the front lines that Daichi took the chance. And it was all it took.

Until next time was their usual parting words whenever they ended their late night sessions and returned to their rooms, started by Kuroo who initially wanted to annoy Daichi that he wouldn’t be getting rid of him anytime soon. However, it took weight after they got together and separated by distance turning them into a promise to see each other again.

They managed to make it work. It was not to say it was perfect, there were times when they were heartsick missing each other so badly and not to mention how worried they were whenever they caught the news of others’ fight. But they were stubborn and persistent.

Daichi was a wreck after Kuroo’s disappearance, believing that he was dead. He lived months with the empty feeling in his chest, that Suga even picked up in the Drift and tried his best to fill. His performance suffered, turning him into a liability and the Marshal to make an exchange with HK Shatterdome, which reunited them with Asahi who found his partner in Nishinoya of later batch.

Ukai Sr. saw the potential in Daichi and Suga. Refusing to lose Sky Raven pilots, he was particularly hard on them, but it successfully pulled Daichi out of his funk who rose up to the challenge, proving Ukai Sr. right.

Daichi grew to be close to the Ukais, including the marshal-in-training Ukai Jr. due to his personality and capability. While both Ukais were strict and rule-abiding, they were not above bending the rules when it was useless or harmful and they appreciated creativity in their people to work with the limitations. Daichi was the most similar with the Ukais among the officers in that respect. Oikawa could be too wild and creative, Ushijima could be unyielding, Moniwa was not assertive enough, so Daichi had the trust of the Ukais and often took action on their behalf when they were unable to act directly.

Sky Raven lost against Category III Kaiju, Rhihorn that had strong and thick blade on the top of its head. For the longest time, the Corps were given the impression that Kaiju was all instinct as most wild animals were, but until Rhihorn, they received confirmation that Kaiju was intelligent with how it keeps aiming for the Conn-Pod. Fortunately Ukai Sr. noticed it and sent in Ace Guardian to assist them.

Regardless, Rhihorn was intelligent, managing to fake his death and getting into Sky Raven’s blind spot to cleave the Jaeger in half. Connected to the Jaeger, Daichi and Suga felt the pain as though it was them who were cut in half. Daichi managed to retain his senses, but not Suga who went into shock. They would have died by drowning if not for Ace Guardian’s timely appearance who immediately distracted the Kaiju, leaving Jumphawk rescue squadron to save them.

Physically, neither Daichi nor Suga was injured badly but they experienced a sensory overload, particularly Suga who was the dominant co-pilot. While ordinary treatment worked for Daichi, Suga was put under a coma since he bore the worst of it.

They were given time to recuperate, but when they were tested for readiness to return to combat, it is found that Suga could no longer Drift. Daichi had suspected it, but refused to believe it. It was tense between the best friends and co-pilots after, Daichi refusing to have another co-pilot and Suga angry at Daichi’s refusal. It took Asahi to mediate the two.

Eventually they both decided to terminate their partnership but neither of them took the offer to retire. Daichi chose to be a reserve Ranger and Assault Specialist to help his fellow rangers and Suga learned to become a LOCCENT controller, especially with Takeda being roped to be the new Marshal’s aide.

Despite being the youngest Assault Specialist in HK Shatterdome, Daichi has unique understanding and approach to people, so that most problems and problem children are sent his way, including one and only Kageyama and Hinata. The two have the highest synchronicity rate seen among co-pilots, but they barely got along.

It is an uphill climb and constant headache with the two. There is no day when Daichi is not complaining to Suga and Asahi about them, but at the same time, teaching the talented pair is ultimately rewarding, especially in healing the wounds Daichi doesn’t know he has.

Kageyama and Hinata both adore and fear him in turns. The top officers often joke around that the two are little crows to Daichi’s raven. Oikawa comes up with Dadchi pun. Suga is no help, as usual. Iwaizumi is his fellow sufferer.

Daichi’s ability to deal with problem makes him the darling of Medical to everyone’s envy, since the division consists of the prettiest and sharpest girls in the Shatterdome. While Daichi’s just glad he has strong allies to help with the problem children.

Kageyama and Hinata are not Daichi’s only little crows. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi of K-Science division are too. Tsukishima often butts heads with Oikawa, the head of division, and Yamaguchi’s lack of self confidence hinders his brilliance. Oikawa who is usually good in bringing out the best of people gets frustrated and dumps them to Daichi, doubling his headache as the scientists don’t get along with the pilots.

Regardless of his little crows, Daichi is content in his current position in the Shatterdome as the unofficial fourth-in-command.

Iwaizumi is his go-to person when he needs to commiserate and the workshop where the head of J-Tech division is Daichi’s less known hiding place, the fully stocked cabinet of booze the other has is also plus.

He, Iwaizumi and Moniwa hold weekly gathering for the sane, sensible members (or the least likely people to start drama/fights and more likely to settle them) of the Shatterdome, membership is by invitation. Honorary members includes: Aone, Oohira, Kiyoko, Yui, Mai, Ennoshita and Takeda.

The medical/psych team has the most to say, and that’s without breaking their patient confidentiality. Surprisingly or not, any of them can drink the boys under the table.

Due to this gathering, they are the most informed members of the Shatterdome (though when it comes to gossip-mongering Oikawa and Suga are vying for the top spot).

Still, Kuroo is a secret Daichi keeps close to his heart. Even Suga only gets what Daichi is willing to share with him, and he usually has to pry it out of his friend. However it is enough for Suga to know that Daichi is still in love with a dead man... who is actually not dead.

[plantguylester]

so I wrote a fic

A/N: (can I even call myself an author if I've only ever published one fic??) aGh I hope this is ok here we go

TW: none? but a heck of a lot of angst oops

Summary: “...The car accident was very serious. The truck hit the left side Mr Lester was on. He sustained multiple brain injuries. It is a miracle that you only have a broken arm and various cuts,” He gestured to the injuries. With each passing word, the small glimmer of light in Dans eyes faded.“There is a very slim chance that your friend will recover.”

Together, a Phan fic

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

The heart monitor beeped steadily. The hospital was still. The various machines next to the bed looked daunting, and a brown haired, battered looking boy with a arm sling was talking to a doctor.

“...But he will make it, right?”

“Mr Howell,” the doctor started, “The car accident was very serious. The truck hit the left side Mr Lester was on. He sustained multiple brain injuries. It is a miracle that you only have a broken arm and various cuts,” He gestured to the injuries. With each passing word, the small glimmer of light in Dans eyes faded.

“There is a very slim chance that your friend will recover.”

Dan sobbed, the doctor confirming his worst fear.

“We normally leave a week for a patient in a coma to wake up. It does not look like he will ever even move again,” He said bluntly. “Please look over this form. I would suggest signing it.” He placed the form on the bedside table. “I am truly sorrowed…” The doctor patted the trembling boy on the shoulder and left. “Please excuse me.”

Dan collapsed onto the chair next to the bed and looked over at his boyfriend of seven years. Phils eyes were shut, and his hair was smoothed in the best copy of the fringe he usually wore Dan could manage.

The boy felt a rush of anger at the doctor. How dare he even suggest pulling his best friends life support? Dan could never live with the thought of killing Phil. It was disgusting, furthermore, that the doctor could even fake “sorrow”. That doctor had to do this everyday! He was certain that soon, all the names and faces of the dead just blurred together, and the people Doctor Whatever-his-name-is doomed just became an obstacle between him and his paycheck.

Dan lethargically straightened up and opened his mouth to speak to Phil. He had been doing this often in the many hours beside his friend, just for the sake of talking. This time, he just wants to thank his best friend for always being with him.

“Before I met you,” Dan slowly began, his voice still thick with tears, “The world was grey. Monotonous and boring, the same routine in and out. Until one day, the day I met you. There are different types of rain. Warm summer showers that falls softly to the ground, making small puddles which glisten in sunlight. But, there are also less gentle types of rain. The type of rain where it falls fiercely to the ground, where it feels like thunder is shaking the ground, and a damp, chilly wind constantly whisking through the air, sending a chill right to the bone. That day was the latter,”

He sniffled and used his sleeve to wipe his nose.

“I remember it like it was yesterday. I had come into class late, and was greeted with you. You with your hair as dark as night, and your pale skin that was in no way sickly, and you seemed to radiate an inner glow. But your eyes were the best of all. They were like three colours at once, green, yellow and dominantly blue, all combined into one. That was the first time, in all of those 17 years before I met you, that I truly appreciated the colour blue,” A small smile had appeared on Dan's face, and it seemed impossible to him that this still, expressionless man could still make him smile.

“Quickly, I found that being with you had an immense impact on me. Your smile was infectious, and somehow you had the ability to look on the brightside of life, whatever the situation, and how could I be bothered by the constant storm outside, when I had a living, breathing ray of sunshine, right next to me?” Dan outwardly chuckled, remembering the time Phil had been bitten by a squirrel.

“The thing I had noticed with you, as time went on, is that you looked like winter with your fair skin and beautiful eyes, matched with the contrast of that mop of black hair. You looked like a bitter wind that could sweep through anyone and leave them shuddering. But, in reality, you were the embodiment of summer. You, with your bright, bubbly personality and a smile that looked like it could make flowers grow. You looked like a cool breeze when you really were a hot summers day, and every second with you was wonderful.”

His smile began to fade as he realised he might never have times like those again.

“And, I-I finally saw colour,” Dan faltered a little. “I saw it when I looked at the bright yellow dandelions dotting around the footpath. I saw it in the sky, where instead of endless grey I saw a rich blue, or, on one occasion, a swirl of pink, orange and yellow splattered across the sky. All the colours I had missed out on throughout my life came back in a tsunami, and I was finally happy.”

Then, he felt it.

A small twitch of the head, almost unnoticeable, but it ignited a slither of hope that somehow, they would be okay. Together again.

He slammed the emergency button on the bed with desperate shouts of “He moved! Don’t pull life support! He moved! Someone, anyone, HELP!”

As the room filled with a flurry of doctors and activity, Dan gripped his best friends hand even tighter. “Whatever happens, I know we will get through this. Together.”

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

A/N

WHY AM I SO NERVOUS ABOUT THIS 

constructive criticism is always appreciated!! 

thanks for reading, I guess.

lol bye.