#and then a guy had to stand there adjusting the needle to keep the blood flowing

[hcnnibal]

was just reminded of why im scared of needles

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Patient Comfort

Summary - Part 7 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic)

Warnings - mentions of needles, pregnancy

Word Count: 1661

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, I just wanna start by thanking you for all the likes, reblogs and follows since my last post, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one too. And remember my inbox is always open for requests or even if you just wanna chat. Until next week, enjoy! 

After sharing a delicious breakfast at one of the local cafes you stop by the corner store and pick up a test, going through with the purchase this time with the supportive fiancé by your side. As soon as you get back to the bunker you go straight to the bathroom ready to find out once and for all. Dean stays close on your heel so you just know he is pacing around the room, waiting for you to come out. After what feels like an eternity, you open the door and let Dean in to wait out the timer with you. 

He pulls you close, holding you tight as you wait. When the timer finally sounds you both jump a little. You rush over to the sink and lift up the stick, Dean’s hands cradle yours careful not to touch the contaminated end. You hold your breath as you stare at it: two perfectly clear pink lines. Tears well up in your eyes as Dean kisses your temple before turning you around to pepper your face with kisses. Then he drops to the ground and lifts your shirt to kiss your belly. 

“Hey there little one, it’s your dad. I promise your mom and I are gonna do everything we can to keep you safe.”

Tears continue to roll down your cheeks as you watch the scene in front of you. Just when you think you couldn’t love your fiancé any more he goes and pulls a stunt like this; you had been convinced that he’d support you but you never expected this reaction. He stands up and kisses you passionately. 

“I didn’t think I would ever get this opportunity. I didn’t think a normal life with a stunning wife and beautiful children was an option for a hunter. My parents tried and look how that turned out. I want this, I do. But you have to promise me we’ll do everything to keep them from this life.”

“Of course, baby, of course. So, no more hunting for us? That’s it?”

“Definitely no hunting for you at least. But how about we ease into the future? Take slow steps back, we help through lore and phone calls until we’re ready to leave completely. We can even still do the trips whenever you’re well enough. But you are not to do anything to put yourself or our child at risk.”

“Dean, I love you so much. I can’t believe this is happening. Are we really having a baby?”

“I think we are, sweetheart. Should we tell Sammy or do you wanna wait?”

“I should book in for a blood test at the doctor to be sure. These things give false readings sometimes. So, maybe we just cool our reactions and be realistic until we know for sure.”

“Ok, I guess you’re right. After you call the doctor, do you wanna watch a movie? I just wanna cuddle with you and be with you today.”

“That sounds like the perfect day.”

You grab your phone off the bench and search for the number of the local doctor’s clinic. You call and make an appointment for the following morning then join Dean in your room. When you walk in he’s sitting on the bed with your laptop on his lap and a bowl of popcorn on the bed beside him. There’s a beer on his nightstand and an electrolyte drink on yours.

“This may be one of the hardest parts of being pregnant,” you say as you sit down, staring at Dean’s beer. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. I uh I guess I can uh…”

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m not gonna make you give up your beer. It’s just gonna be an adjustment. But my body’s already making those decisions for me. I bet the smell alone would make me sick, just like coffee.”

“It’ll all be worth it in the end. Come here, beautiful,” he says holding his arm out for you to snuggle into his side. You slot yourself into your fiancé’s arms and watch as he scrolls through Netflix. “What do you wanna watch?”

“How about … What to Expect When You’re Expecting?”

“Wait! The other day, Knocked Up, that was a hint, wasn’t it? You were trying to tell me.”

“Yeah, it obviously didn’t work though.”

“I mean, I was a little curious about the movie choice, but I just thought you were making the most of me agreeing to a chick flick. It never occurred to me that you were trying to tell me you were pregnant. Anyway, I’m glad I know now, let’s take a look at what else we have ahead of us.” He searches for the movie and presses play setting the laptop down between you on the bed. 

You take a handful of popcorn and rest your head on his shoulder watching the opening credits roll. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up bright and early to get ready for your doctor’s appointment. You’re a little surprised when you find you feel fine, with no nausea, but you attribute it to the new diet Dean’s got you on. He made you a fresh salad sandwich for dinner, with an apple pie for dessert and your drinks have been restricted to tea, juice, water and electrolyte drinks. You know he is just trying to be helpful and the truth is, it seems to be working, but you hope he’ll eventually settle down a little.

You untangle Dean’s hands from your waist, kissing his hand before rolling out of bed and moving around the room swiftly. You change into a pair of jeans and a tee, wrapping one of Dean’s flannels around you for comfort. As you grab your purse and the keys off the dresser Dean stirs from behind you.

“Sneaking off without saying goodbye, huh?”

“I didn’t think you’d wanna come. It’s just a blood test. Figured I could be out and back before you even woke up.”

“Give me ten minutes, I’ll drive you and then we can pick up breakfast.”

“The appointment is in half an hour and it’s a 15-minute drive, hurry up.”

“Don’t underestimate my driving skills or my Baby,” he says getting up.

Less than ten minutes later you’re in the car with Dean at the wheel speeding towards town. When he pulls into a park in front of the clinic you say, “you can come if you want, but I’m sure it won’t be much or long.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, I’ll be okay,” you say as you pick at your nails.

“Come on, my badass momma, I’ll hold your hand while you get the needle.” Dean shuts off the engine and gets out, rounding the car and opening your door for you. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You take his hand and walk together into the clinic and give the receptionist your name. You both take a seat in the far corner of the room and wait to be called in. You hold Dean’s hand in yours in your lap and squeeze it lightly. It’s your silent way of thanking him for supporting you without you having to ask. He knows you’re a strong independent woman most of the time, but everyone has a fear that seems strange and irrational. You now knew Dean’s was flying, and yours, well yours was needles. Sure, you’ve felt much worse pain in your life, but you just couldn’t explain it. Ever since you were a child you always hated getting shots and blood tests. 

Dean had found this out the hard way when he had to take you to the emergency room after a particularly bad showdown with a werewolf in an old rusted playground. You’d ended up cutting your arm open on the metal of the monkey bars and the brothers had insisted you had to get a tetanus shot. You would not stop crying and flinching away; Dean had had to hold you in place so the doctor could administer the shot. With this memory surely in the front of his mind, you were glad he was here.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N!” 

You and Dean both stand up when you hear your name and follow the doctor into her examination room. She motions for you to take a seat and then proceeds to ask a few standard questions about your general personal details and reason for visiting today. You explain all the symptoms you’ve been experiencing and the positive test you took yesterday, while she takes notes. After agreeing that it definitely sounds like you’re pregnant she gets up to prepare the equipment for the blood test. 

“Since you’ve already taken a urine test, today I just want to confirm the results for you with a blood test. Once we get the results we can start talking about the next steps. How are you with needles?” the doctor asks.

“Not great…”

“That’s a common response and completely understandable. I’ll try to make this as quick and painless as possible, alright?”

“Thank you.” You grip Dean’s hand tight and hide your face in the crook of his neck, squeezing your eyes shut as the doctor approaches with the needle.

“I understand you’re nervous, but I really need you to relax your muscles as much as possible. The more relaxed you are the less painful this will be and the quicker the bruising will heal.”

You take a deep breath, inhaling your fiancé’s unique scent and do your best to relax. Before you know it, the doctor tells you it’s all done and that the clinic will call you in a few days to make an appointment to discuss the results. You thank her for her time and help before making your way back out to the reception to pay your bill. Once everything’s settled you embark on your second breakfast date this week. 

This time you stop at a boutique bakery where you get a chai latte, black coffee, 2 ham, cheese, tomato croissants and some cherry pie to go. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida,

[potterandpromises]

if brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece

I finished Only Murders In the Building last weekend and these two have taken over my brain. Predictably, I needed to write the missing space between when Theo sees Mabel on the subway and when she wakes up in his bed ASAP.

As it isn’t clear whare Theo’s new apartment is, I choose to set it in the Arconia, because there’s something heartbreaking about the idea of him walking into a building full of people he’s known (of) his whole life, none of whom he can turn to for help.

The title is from Neptune by Sleeping at Last.

Also on AO3

Theo catches up with Mabel a block from the subway entrance. She’s stopped fleeing, stands under a streetlight pole, gaze unfocused, a bloody object griped in her hand.

He gets ready to bear hug her in case she turns and steps into traffic at the sight of him.

“Are you hurt?” he signs slowly, carefully mouths the words.

She looks up, looks right through him.

He glances over his shoulder. A few people are staring, but at least nobody’s whipped out their smartphones. Yet.

“That blood on your sleave isn’t yours, is it?”

She doesn’t react, doesn’t even look down to see what he’s indicating. It wouldn’t make a difference if she knew ASL. Not tonight. Probably, her reaction would be the same if he spoke English or Icelandic. He’s not even sure she recognizes him through her fog. That might be for the best.

He slouches, makes himself a little smaller, takes another step towards her.

“Let me take you back to my apartment,” he signs, “so you can rest.”

In his peripheral, some guy pulls out his phone. Theo takes a chance. He puts one arm around Mabel’s shoulder.

She lets him.

With his free hand, he pries what he realizes is a blood-covered knitting needle from her fingers. She watches his hand, face imperceivable.

He shoves the knitting needle into a side pocket, keeps his arm around her shoulder, and gently but firmly turns her around.

One foot in front of the other, he tracks the looks from strangers, the sidewalk before them, and Mabel’s face. 15 minutes, he pulls her along and she doesn’t open her mouth once, as far as he catches.

He guides her through a side entrance of the Arconia. It’s five flights of stairs to his new apartment.

She begins to shiver. Theo sweats under his coat.

He unlocks the door, leads her to his bed and pulls the comforter onto her lap. Belatedly, he wonders if she’ll get the wrong idea, maybe punch him in the face. He can’t say he wouldn’t forgive her. Immediately.

Her shaking becomes less violent. She looks around the room, bewildered. He turns off the overhead light and switches on the lamp. Without warning, she starts to pull at her coat as if it were strangling her.

He steps in, ready to help her out of it, and takes in her baby blue sweater. He triple checks that the blood really does belong to her attacker.

She stops struggling and glares up at him. Her coat still clings behind her shoulders.

“Sorry.” He helps her out of it, drops it in a pile on the foot of his bed.

Theo walks the few feet to his couch, tries to feel less creepy. This would all probably be easier if he had a female friend to call. Or anyone.

“I will sleep on the couch tonight.” He gestures to it, makes himself very clear. “Try to rest now, you’ll feel better in the morning.” Hopefully, anyway. “Goodnight.”

Mabel stares at him dully. Her head tips forward slightly and, to his utter shock, she flops backward into his pillow.

His chest is tight. He doesn’t care to examine why. Mabel rolls onto her side, adjusts a hoop earing, and goes still.

He’s still. For what feels like hours but must only be a few minutes, he is frozen in place.

Hot. He’s hot.

He takes off his coat and empties the pockets, leaves the Coney Island badge on the coffee table and washes the knitting needle clean under the tap.

Groceries. He’d meant to get groceries. It’ll have to wait, of course. Sleep will have to wait, too. He’s too wired.

He sits on the couch and pulls out his phone to occupy himself. He means to google tips on how to deal with a person in shock, just in case he’s missed something important, but he opens Twitter instead.

#bloodymabel is trending again.

[dontfeeltoohot]

Sicktember Day 28 - Chronic Illness - Youtube AU - TW: Needles (briefly, used in diabetic context)

Nobody who sees Eddie would know. He keeps it hidden and out of sight, tucked away in his jeans pocket- it’s usually mistaken for a wallet if anyone does notice. It’s not that he keeps it a secret, but he also doesn’t feel the need to talk about it. He’s had diabetes since he was 6, had a pump since he was 8, attached to his lower abdomen, an essential part of his life. Without it, he’d be dead. 

They’re all in the tattoo parlor the first time Eddie’s blood sugar drops since moving to Hawkin’s a month prior. They’re all sitting there, throwing out suggestions for Robin’s first tattoo, flipping through some flash sheets the artist has compiled over the years he’s worked. As Steve points to a horror one jokingly, Eddie’s head starts hurting.

It’s subtle but there, a small pulse on the side of his head. A moment later, he realizes how tired he is. Rubbing his face with his hand, he jumps back into the conversation, suggesting maybe something small to start out with. 

Fuck. 

Pulling out the top drawer of his mechanics cart; the one that holds all of his inks and gear, Eddie snags a Reese’s peanut butter cup, ripping into it. 

Pulling out the top drawer of his mechanics cart; the one that holds all of his inks and gear, Eddie snags a Reese’s peanut butter cup, ripping into it. 

“You guys want one?” He asks, looking at the two. 

Nausea rolls through his stomach and the long haired man pops the entire piece of candy into his mouth, making Steve chuckle and Robin look surprised. As he chews, Eddie fishes out his phone from his pocket, clicking open his Tandem app, checking to see what his levels are.

56 mg/dL. Well shit. Really, Eddie’s surprised it’s not lower, but the machine attached to him is good at its job, knowing to adjust insulin levels when his blood sugar starts dropping. 

He pops another Reese’s cup into his mouth as Robin snacks on one too. Taking his water bottle off the top of the cart, he takes a few sips, headache still pulsing. Steve‘a watching him curiously bjt after another four minutes, Eddie can feel the chocolate and protein start to kick in, so he suggests going to the burger place next door for dinner. 

XXX

A week after he, Steve and Robin eat their burgers and continue to talk about tattoo ideas, Eddie finds something out. Robin’s clumsy. She’s clumsier than any person he’s met before, if he’s honest, now that he’s spent some time outside of the coffee shop with the duo. She’s tall with long limbs, and that combined with her spacial awareness issues…well, Eddie is surprised she hasn’t fallen into him before. 

They’re in the parlor when she trips on what appears to be nothing, right into Eddie, who manages to react quickly enough they don’t hit the floor. What does hit the floor though, is his insulin pump and, getting pulled with it, the cannula tubing, plus the needle and needle cover. 

“Son of a bitch!” His voice is loud in the currently quiet and unoccupied space. 

“I’m so sorry!” 

Hissing at the sudden sting, Eddie puts a hand against his lower right abdomen. Looking up, Steve and Robin are standing there wide eyed. Robin looks entirely too guilty and worried, and Steve looks confused. 

“Sorry, that wasn’t directed at you Robin, you didn’t do anything,” the musician bends down and picks the small system up, thankful the pump doesn’t seem to be messed up. 

“What’s that?” Steve looks at the supplies in his hands. 

“Oh, I’m diabetic, it’s my insulin pump so I don’t like..go into shock and die,” he shrugs, not thinking much of his words. 

“Wait what?!” 

“Holy shit and I ripped it out!! Do we need to take you to a hospital?” 

Laughing quietly, Eddie shakes his head and sets the items on his clean black bench, then lifts his shirt up to inspect the damage. There’s a small circle of skin that’s a shade paler where the needle cover was sticking to him. A tiny puncture wound is in the middle. 

“No, I’m all good guys, seriously. I have to change it every couple of days anyway. Lucky for you Birdie, tonight was the night, so honestly you just helped me out,” Eddie assures, grabbing his backpack and pulling out identical items, though they’re all sealed for sterilization. 

“I gotta go wash my hands, be right back.” 

A minute later, he comes back to his friends who are both looking at Steve’s phone. 

“Oooh, watcha lookin’ at?” Eddie grins, making them both jump. 

“We we’re just…googling what the pump does and stuff,” Steve admits, looking like a kid who’s been caught stealing a cookie. Eddie thinks it’s adorable. 

“Oh. I mean, I could probably tell you in a simpler way,” the artist shrugs as he swabs his stomach with an alcohol wipe, ignoring how the other two watch. 

“Yeah, it’s all kind of confusing,” Robin admits, wincing as Eddie sticks the large, clear circle to his lower left abdomen this time. 

He makes sure it’s sticking good, then clicks down on the lever on either side of the plastic, and it pops his needle in, the plastic hitting together and making a noise. Steve and Robin jump. Taking the applicator off, all that’s left is his tube connected to his stomach, the needle hidden by the white medical tape that comes attached to it. 

“Ow,” Robin scrunches her face up in sympathy. 

“I barely feel it. I’ve been doing it since I was like 8. It barely feels like pushing a sharp pencil against my finger. Besides, I have tattoos, you dorks,” he laughs. 

“And you’ll be okay?” Steve asks. 

“Yep! I have enough insulin left to get me home, then I’ll just draw more and put it into the little holder inside the thing.” 

It’s easy to forget not everyone knows how diabetes works. An hour later, they’re all leaving, and Robin once again apologizes, so Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“If you say sorry one more time Buckley, my hand might just slip when I’m finally tattooing you,” he teases. It makes the woman stop, and Steve smirks. 

“I’ll start threatening that to her too, worked like a charm.”

[dr3amofagame]

take a shot - dsmp!mcc fic

MCC FIC! MCC FIC! MCC FIC! To be clear, I outlined this weeks back, when teams were first announced, and I took very very little from the actual MCC itself when it came to actually writing this - all I have are the same teams, but it really exists in its own continuity outside of Real Life MCC (obviously, as it’s using the dsmp characters) and everything like that as a whole! Just to be clear :D)

The worldbuilding is also Absolutely Bullshitted start to finish, as well as any and all medical information. Rip. We’re here for a good time, not for a long or particularly accurate one - hope you guys enjoy regardless!! I had a LOT of fun writing this fic, dsmp!mcc aus my BELOVED

title obviously from win it all by derivakat

---

Michael loves MCC.

But it’s one thing to love the normal Championships and quite another when his team looks like it’s falling apart from the inside out - and as the games progress, it becomes more and more obvious that losing, this time, might not be an option.

tws: C!QUACKITY CRITICAL (sorry i promise i love him but he is NOT portrayed very nicely here, very dark portrayal of him), implied trauma, abuse, torture, panic attacks, manipulation, gaslighting, needles, hospitals, MCC-typical violence, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault themes

(16k words !! :D long boi) 

Michael loves MCC.

Of course he does! It’s fucking MCC - like, who wouldn’t love it? MCC is how he met so many people, how he met Dream, that one time, the two of them teamed with Techno and Burren and winning it all - MCC is a goddamn blast and he’s thankful every time he gets the invite that he’s able to compete. 

Still- it’s hard not to be a little more nervous, now. 

Dream gave him an invite to his SMP right after they teamed, but it wasn’t until months later that Michael actually cashed it in. Entering the server, it became very obvious very quickly that the DreamSMP, as it’s known, isn’t quite the same as its shiny media appearance. The spawn was covered in blocks, creeper holes littering the ground. The people he passed were grey-faced, too stoic to be the same, smiling faces he remembers from only less than a year ago. The air stings of gunpowder and iron. Worst of all are The Crater, shoddily covered in glass that does nothing to hide the damage done, rending the server in two straight down to bedrock, and the Prison, looming on the horizon. Absent-mindedly, Michael rubs at his left shoulder, remembering the Warden setting the prongs of his trident against the skin in warning, just hard enough to barely draw blood. Yeah, that place is bad news. 

The fact of the matter is the server is a mess. And like, okay, whatever, Michael gets it. Everyone has their issues - it’s just the DreamSMP seems to have more than most. Despite his original worries, it’s honestly not been as bad as he originally feared upon logging in; yeah, Bad and Puffy and Foolish and the rest of them are a little more trigger-happy than he might’ve expected (and he’s not going to say that Bad crying over turtles wasn’t a little startling when he first joined, but honestly he thinks Bad is just Like That.) There’s way more death than he’s really comfortable with, and Puffy keeps mentioning Bad murdering her son (Foolish? He thinks? The guy is also a literal God but like, families are weird, who’s he to judge) in a way that’s way too casual to come from anyone entirely well-adjusted, but overall his experience has been alright. 

Still, he gets the feeling that nobody exactly wants the outside world to know about the issues with the place. It’s not an issue for him usually, not when his sleeping schedule is the exact opposite of most of the people he knows and he spends most of his time screwing around on the server, anyway (usually harassing the Warden until the asscrack of dawn if he’s being honest) but with MCC, with everyone watching - he’s starting to get why everyone from the SMP was so damn tense all the time, now. 

Anyway- he loves MCC, he really does. But even that doesn’t stop him from wincing when he sees his team card, the names Dream and Quackity and Sapnap written in Scott’s looping handwriting. He’s not seen Sapnap at all since joining the server, has only heard a little about his place (something Kingdom, not that he was paying attention) from Foolish, and has no idea what the man has been up to. Quackity is his own unique can of worms; Michael doesn’t know exactly what’s up with him and his country, but everything he’s heard so far has sounded like nothing but bad news, casinos and schemes and a trail of wreckage following wherever he goes. And Dream-

Michael looks out his window, chewing on his lip, looking directly in the direction where he knows the prison stands, impenetrable, intimidating. Where Dream’s cell is, in line with his house, where he’s been hidden for months without a trace. Where the Warden had confronted him that one night, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, blood splattered on his boots. 

There’s no real ignoring an MCC invite - not without good reason, not without the admins picking up on something being up. There’s not really a choice, here, but for Michael to duck his head down and pretend everything’s fine just like everyone else from the SMP. He directs one last glance at the prison before walking away, setting the invite on his counter. If he’s lucky, everything will turn out fine. 

(He ignores the part of him that asks what’s going to happen if they’re not. No point in worrying about what hasn’t happened yet - right?) 

---

Weeks pass, the tournament creeping closer, and Michael gets no alerts from his teammates on his comm. No one comes to his house to check in, say hi, not even a ‘hey, we’re kinda competing in a massive tournament in like, seven days, you ready?’ Hell, he even starts checking his goddamn mailbox for a letter or something only to come up empty-handed every time. Never mind performing well - it’ll be a miracle if their team manages to arrive at the tournament at all. 

It isn’t until the day before MCC, the sun high in the sky at what must be near noon, when he finally gets a message on his comm. Michael fishes it out with a frustrated huff, seeing Quackity’s name pop up first when he manages to turn on the screen. 

Quackity whispers to you: you down for some practice?

It takes a couple seconds for him to blink away his shock - out of everyone he expected to arrange practice for their team, Quackity was definitely not at the top of the list. He half-thought they would have to drag him to the tournament kicking and screaming; from what he’s heard, he’s been nothing if not devoted to his country. Shaking his head, he goes to reply; practice is practice, and their team really needs it. 

You whisper to Quackity: sure. practice server?

Quackity whispers to you: yes

Pulling up his server list, Michael scrolls for the practice server, finding it and then letting the server transfer do the rest. A few nausea-inducing seconds later, he’s at the practice server spawn, standing in the middle of a neatly paved road surrounded by colorful arenas and signs. 

“Michael!” 

He turns; there, by the Battle Box arenas, Quackity is waving at him, already dressed in a red varsity jacket and a pair of shorts, the jacket bearing a front pocket embroidered with a rabbit and a large R stitched onto the back. He reaches behind him for a red bag, throws it his way for Michael to catch mid-air. 

“Got these outfits for us last minute - hope it’s alright with you,” Quackity smiles, and Michael tries to prevent his eyes from clinging to the scar spanning the entire left side of his face. “Anyway- how are you, man? I feel like we haven’t seen each other at all on the server. How’s it been?”

“I’m good- it’s been good.” Michael opens the drawstring bag, cataloguing the contents - there’s a jacket, just like Quackity’s, a pair of shorts and sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a headband, all in varying shades of red and white. “Nice outfit- thank you. Is anyone else around?”

Quackity waves a hand behind him. “Yeah- Dream’s here. Should be coming out of the arena soon, actually.” Michael looks over behind his shoulder to where he’s pointing - there, walking down the stairs, is another figure wearing all red that must be Dream. “There he is- hey Dream! Michael’s here!” 

Dream hurries down the stairs; unlike Quackity, he is wearing the sweatpants along with the same jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is a lot longer than Michael remembers, pulled back behind his head in a ponytail, mask, as usual, fastened over his face. He settles behind Quackity, giving Michael a small wave; his hands are covered by a pair of fingerless gloves. 

“Hey, Dream!” Michael grins; it’s been such a long time since he’s seen his old teammate, and despite the circumstances and everything that’s apparently happened since then, it’s still pretty damn nice to see him. “How’ve you been?”

Dream seems to freeze for a moment, before shaking his head. “Good,” he says, quiet, sounding almost breathless. Michael’s eyes go to the slivers of skin that show on either side of his face, to the slight shake to his hands. 

“You alright? You look a little pale,” Michael asks, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way Dream stills at the words, muscles tensing, gaze averting to the side even with the mask - doesn’t miss how Quackity steps forward, looking Michael in the eye as he tosses a casual arm around Dream’s shoulder, smiling brightly. 

“Don’t worry. This idiot has just been practicing a bit too much before you got here,” Quackity gestures with a flippant twist of his wrist, “You know how he gets. Right, Dream?” 

“Um- yeah. Ha,” Dream responds just a little too late to be strictly normal, shoulders tight and nearly pulled to his ears under Quackity’s arm. “Practice- I’m a little out of shape.” 

“You sure?” Dream’s breathing hitches and Quackity steps forward, just a little bit, eyes still fixed firmly on Michael’s own even as he shifts his gaze to try and look at Dream. “We can take a break if you need, Dream-”

“I’m fine!” Dream smiles with a little stuttered breath that turns into a small laugh, “It’s- uh. It’s fine. Thanks Michael, but we can practice. Not much time left to waste, you know?”

“You sure, Dream?” Quackity says, suddenly, voice soft and sincere. “I guess it has been a while since you’ve been able to practice- you sure you don’t need a break?”

Dream shakes his head firmly. “No- it’s fine. Really- where’s Sapnap? He should be coming soon, right?”

“If you say so, pal,” Quackity replies, doubt coloring his tone as he pulls out his communicator. “I told Sapnap to come, he replied a couple minutes back; he should be here soon, I think. You want to go meet him at spawn?”

Dream nods, and they begin to set out towards the center of the server, Quackity and Dream quickly taking the lead as Michael falls back. After a minute, Quackity falls into casual conversation, rambling about something as Dream nods, Michael trailing behind the two of them and adding his own input as he sees fit. Sapnap arrives soon after, and the noise level picks up even more after that, Sapnap and Quackity falling into an easy rhythm of banter and quips as they set out to practice Battle Box and Parkour Tag, carefully working their way through the different games under Dream’s tutelage and advice. 

And here’s the thing- Michael isn’t stupid. Yeah, he’d hardly consider himself a top tier MCC player, and he’ll be the first to say that he’s nowhere near qualified to deal with the literal laundry list of issues that affect every member of the SMP, but even so, he’s not clueless. He’s good at looking at multiple sides of a situation, doesn’t easily give into intimidation or manipulation, and he’s observant as all hell. So when Quackity wraps his hand around Dream’s wrist, fingers wrapping all the way around until his knuckles pale, when Dream winces, muscles in his arm locking before letting it go limp, not protesting when Quackity drags him forward except in the tiny, tight expressions that flit across his face every few moments, tight and gasping and shaky at the corners - Michael notices. 

“See you at the tourney, yeah?” Quackity calls to him after practice with a wink before clapping Dream on the back, Michael watching silently as the muscles of Dream’s neck pull tight, head ducking to his chest. “Good job, big guy,” he says, laughing. “Keep this up for tomorrow and we’ll be good.”

“Mmhm,” Dream mutters after a brief second, “We’re- we’re gonna win.”

“Betting on it, pal,” Quackity replies, voice light in a way that completely fails to explain Dream’s full-body flinch. “MCC, huh? Can’t fucking wait.”

“See you tomorrow, Quackity,” Michael says as he presses DreamSMP on his server list, pretending that a chill doesn’t crawl down his spine at the smile that the other man throws his way in return. 

---

There’s no real easy answer.

Michael comes to that conclusion at some point in the middle of the night, restless and pumped on way too much adrenaline to go to sleep. He can’t outright antagonize Quackity, can’t let him know he knows something’s up - not when Quackity had already spent the majority of practice keeping one dark, narrowed eye on him at all times, lips pursed in a slight frown whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking. He’s not stupid; whatever’s happening between Dream and Quackity is secret, and kept that way for a reason. His mind goes back to the brief flashes of anxiety that had moved over Dream’s face before he could react fast enough to school them back into a carefully neutral position; whatever it is, he doubts it bodes well for Dream in the slightest. 

Unfortunately, his hands are pretty damn tied. He knows public opinion on the masked man in the server is overwhelmingly negative, but has no damn idea how far it extends. How many people are in on whatever’s happening in that damn prison? How many people know what would make Dream, bold and bright and recklessly confident in all of Michael’s (rather limited) memories, into someone so quiet, unimposing, nervous? His head spins with the possibilities, with the ever-present reminder to not make a fuss, let the tournament pass on, to never, ever let anyone find out what’s going on within the SMP. Should he do anything at all? 

Too soon, it’s morning, and he drags himself out of bed with a groan to glare at the sun streaming through his window. Somewhere, Quackity and Dream and Sapnap are also waking up, are preparing to compete in one of the biggest damn tournaments to exist. Michael sighs, glancing over to where he’s set out his outfit, freshly pressed and waiting. Any other day, and he’d probably be fucking ecstatic. Here, he buries his head in his hands, muffling a frustrated groan against the palm of his hands. 

He loves MCC, but he sure as hell doesn’t like whatever the hell is going on with the rest of his team. 

Getting into the server goes smoothly enough. The outfit is comfortable and looks damn good, props to whoever made the thing, and the sight of the multicolored crowd successfully manages to tamp down some of his nerves. He busies himself with saying hi to all of the members waiting in the lobby, happy for the chance to talk to some people he hasn’t seen in ages, feels the night of anxieties wash away with every stupid joke told and burst of laughter drawn from his lungs. 

They come back the moment Scott steps up in front of the lobby. “Teams, it’s time to head to your team rooms! The tournament will begin in fifteen minutes,” Scott says, expression sunny and bright, “we’re wishing you all luck for a great performance today! May the best team win!” 

In a flurry of movement, they’re all whisked to their rooms for a final few minutes of preparation and morale-boosting, and Michael enters the glorified dressing room to Quackity, Dream, and Sapnap already standing there, seemingly in the middle of conversation. 

“You ready to win?” Sapnap yells, and Quackity whoops, and Michael manages a small cheer of his own. They’re all visibly nervous; Quackity has scarcely stopped moving, pacing from one side of the room to the next; Sapnap is basically jumping in place where he stands. Dream stands at the very back of the room, looking tense; Michael directs a wave his way and gets a small one in return. 

“Game plan, game plan,” Quackity mutters, “do we know what games we’re playing first? Dream?”

He nods at Dream, and Dream stands up straighter, mouth falling open.

“Oh- um,” he hesitates, a strand of hair flopping forwards as he tilts his head in thought. “We’ll want to save Parkour Tag and Battle Box towards the end- maybe something more high-risk at the beginning, but not first, just to boost morale,” his teeth catch on his bottom lip, “Maybe something like To Get To The Other Side? If they have that- or Build Mart, if we can get it out of the way.” He shakes his head. “If that’s alright- I mean-”

“Great,” Quackity cuts in smoothly. “Sapnap? Michael? Does that sound good to you?”

Sapnap flashes a thumbs up, and Michael nods. “Yeah, sounds great. Thanks, Dream.”

Dream’s head snaps towards him, mouth slightly open in shock. The sight of it makes Michael’s gut twist uncomfortably; there’s something about how surprised he is, at the nervous hesitancy with which he spoke that was nothing like what Michael remembers of his easy leadership in that MCC with Techno, that doesn’t sit right at all in his stomach. Even with his expression largely hidden, there’s no mistaking the clear, genuine surprise on his face at the idea of someone thanking him - Michael tries to tell himself that he’s reading too much into it as Quackity continues to speak. 

“We’re going to win,” he grins, just a little too sharp at the edges, “so get out there and play like your lives depend on it, yeah?” 

Sapnap cheers, and again, Michael and Dream follow. It’s not until he’s outside the door, within the clamor of screaming teams and people counting down with the timer that Michael realizes that Quackity was staring at Dream the entire time. 

---

Michael curses, frustrated, when he’s knocked off a platform again, making sure to flip Krinios the bird before he falls into the Void entirely. When he makes it to the other side, Quackity and Dream are already deep in conversation - if you can call it that. Even from here, it looks worryingly one-sided.

“-were you thinking, falling off there-” Quackity’s hand is on Dream’s shoulder, Dream standing stock-still in front of him, “you better be taking this seriously, Dream.”

“Hey- sorry about that,” Michael calls with a wave, “I swear Krinios had it out for me. At least I made it across, right?” 

Quackity turns, startled, and in the split-second that it takes for him to register Michael’s appearance, his expression smooths over into something friendlier, more inviting. “Michael!” He says, enthusiastic, and it’s like the anger that had filled his words just seconds before was never there at all. “Don’t- don’t worry about it, man. We all kinda dropped the ball on that one, right Dream?” 

The words should be encouraging, just simple ribbing between teammates. Dream’s mask is still ducked down, facing the floor, shoulders slightly hunched in. 

“Um- Sapnap did pretty good,” Dream says, quiet, “he got top ten, right?” 

Michael looks over to where Sapnap is standing a little ways away, seemingly busy typing on his communicator. Quackity laughs, sharp and loud. 

“True,” he punches Dream lightly on the upper arm, and Michael watches the way he freezes the second the fist makes contact with his jacket, “come on, man, you’re losing your touch. You really gonna let yourself get beat by Sapnap?” he shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls open his communicator. “Jesus- even I beat you in that last round. Watch your spot, Dream, I’m coming for you.” 

“I mean,” Michael says when a second passes and it becomes clear Dream isn’t going to respond, “Dream was doing pretty well with the last two rounds, right? I thought I saw his name pretty far up there.” 

Quackity takes a second before responding, again, staring at Michael oddly as he does. “That’s true,” he concedes, “hey- I was just making a joke, don’t worry. It’s all for fun, right Dream?”

His gaze goes to Dream, and automatically, Michael follows. Dream seems to startle under the attention, twitching Quackity’s direction in the awkward silence that results. Michael watches as the mask slants slightly to face Quackity, as Quackity looks back at him with an intense, unreadable expression, shoulders strangely tense. Whatever unsaid conversation that seems to pass between them is entirely lost on Michael as Dream finally responds with a sudden, almost strangled bark of laughter. 

“Yeah- just jokes,” his fingers twist over one another, hands held close together in front of his body, “Though Qu- Q’s right, I- I should probably pick it up. We’re playing to win.” 

A ding alerts them to the end of the round, and Michael steadies himself in preparation for the teleport to the next map. As he turns, he catches Quackity’s expression, once again, and the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he continues to look at Dream. 

“Good luck,” he calls just before they enter the next round, and tries not to think too much about what he’s saying it for. 

---

They manage pretty well for the rest of To Get To The Other Side, finishing with a second place overall that got cheers from Sapnap and even a slight smile from Dream. Hole in the Wall, on the other hand, has been a lot less successful - though Michael will be the first to say that it’s his fault. His practice in the last few months has been lackluster (at best) and it definitely showed in the arena. 

He leans over the railing, watching Dream and Sapnap through the crowd of participants left that have yet to be knocked out by the giant walls of slime. Quackity’s standing next to him, having been similarly thrown off the platform early in the round, expression tight and lips set in a small frown, and looking at him for too long makes Michael uneasy so he looks down at the arena again. They’re in the last round, and they’re supposed to be making callouts anyway for their teammates still participating below.

Without thinking, once again, Michael looks over at Dream. Sue him, he knows the guy best and Dream has been acting odd all day, to put it lightly. Even ignoring the part of him that’s screaming that something’s wrong, that there’s something up that has everything to do with the beanie-wearing man standing besides him, it only takes a few minutes of observation to see that Dream is - for the lack of a better word - off. Michael watches as he vaults over another wall, only barely managing to bring himself to his feet in time on the other side. Dream’s movements - even to his untrained eye - have always been fluid, effortless. He jumped and vaulted and ran like gravity didn’t exist, like every physics-bending maneuver he made was as easy as breathing. Michael remembers watching him sprint over the parkour course before, time completely unmatched as he appraised each obstacle and basically flew his way through, sounding hardly even winded when he whooped loudly in victory from the top of the salmon ladder. In total contrast, Dream jerks away from the coming wall again, movements sloppy and harsh as he scrambles to the other side of the disc-shaped arena. He’s still fast, and still making jumps, but everything is strangely angled where it had once been fluid, stopping and starting suddenly, moving in bursts of speed and then skidding to sudden stops. 

“WEST!” Quackity shouts, and Michael watches as Dream’s head turns jerkily at the noise before he dives out of the way of the incoming wall and manages, barely, to twist around the side. Michael winces at the tumble he takes on the opposite side, clutching his chest slightly as he stands back up again. 

“North!” Michael calls, because he should probably actually help his teammates, huh, and Dream manages to move around this one better, jumping through a hole in the wall and tucking and rolling as he lands. “Nice jump- East!” 

It’s an easy wall, thankfully, and both Sapnap and Dream visibly take a breath as they stand in place for the wall to pass over them. As it passes, a droning buzz comes from the speakers, and the walls below them speed up. 

“South-to your right!” Michael shouts as they turn, eyes turning between all of the false walls before finally focusing on the right one, his shout echoed by a similar one from Quackity. At each one of the calls from the man besides him, Dream seems to tighten further, movements increasingly erratic as he dodges and weaves around the walls. There’s still a lot of people left - Michael follows Dream through the crowd with a frown, watching as he and Sapnap jump the next wall, Dream’s foot nearly catching on the top edge. 

“West-” Dream flinches, jumping over the two-high wall at the last possible second, landing completely off-balance on the other side and falling to the ground. He scrambles to his feet, but there’s already a wall at the west edge of the platform - his head turns, still searching for the wall - Quackity yells.

“LEFT!”

Something in Dream’s movements seem to shift, even in the distance - Michael watches as he immediately, almost robotically, steps to the left at Quackity’s voice, not even jumping, not turning his head to take in his surroundings, just moving instinctually at the words, and slams into the coming wall hard enough to get flung into the middle hole in the platform. Quackity curses, fist crashing into the railing as Dream falls and the chat message shows on their communicators, and a second later he’s materialized beside them, face oddly slack and mask focused somewhere faraway. 

“Shit,” Dream mutters when he seems to come back into himself, shaking his head and then turning to the two of them, still by the railing, “Dammit. Sorry, I-“ 

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael cuts in before Quackity can speak. “You did good.” 

“I-” Dream catches Quackity’s gaze, then pushes his head away, mask facing the ground. Something about it and his raised shoulders and the dark, angry glare that Quackity directs over the railing when Michael looks back makes him shift in place, uneasy. “Could’ve done better, ha. Sorry.” 

The three of them watch, silent, as Sapnap continues to compete. He manages to get pretty damn far, making it to the top three, but getting knocked off-balance by a wall and off the platform just before the timer sounds. Michael cringes back at the sound of it over the speakers, watches the other contestants settle into place, panting, in victory.

“Great job, Sapnap,” Michael shouts when he materializes in front of them, and the other two are quick to echo his sentiments. If they sound a little duller than they should be, if Quackity’s jaw seems clenched and Dream’s all coiled up like a spring, far too tense, it’s from placing lower than they wanted and slipping in the rankings, not anything else.

Keep your head down, Michael reminds himself, and everything’s gonna be fine. And if the words ring more and more hollow with every repetition, well, that’s for him to ignore and for everyone else to never, ever find out. 

---

Buildmart is chosen next, which they all groan at, but at least it’s going to be out early and not left to ruin all of their scores later. Michael takes his place at his build, one third from the left side - it’s some abomination of colored glass and white concrete meant, if he is to guess, to emulate a stained glass window. He’s between Dream and Sapnap, the former positioned in front of a flower-dotted grass field with a picnic table, the latter staring down a miniature car with black concrete for tires and stone buttons for detailing. He breathes a steady breath as they await the countdown, already planning for his trip to the Colors section to grab materials for his build and the others’- Buildmart isn’t his strongest game, but it’s not his worst either, and he’s damn well going to try his best. 

He skids into the portal with an armful of colored concrete and glass, spilling half of its contents inside a chest before running to his build. He pulls himself to the crafting bench to craft - he squints at his build - he needs four red glass panes and 3 yellow, right. As he brings the panes to his inventory and begins laying out the frame of the build in concrete, he looks over to Dream, who is noticeably struggling with placing the flowers in his build and getting the placements to match that of the original. He knocks away a white tulip with a muffled curse, sounding frantic as he looks back to the original, and places it again to no avail. 

It seems that his struggle hasn’t only caught Michael’s attention, as the statue to the leftmost side of the room explodes in gold coins and confetti - Quackity has finished his build and is now looking at Dream with narrowed eyes. Dream places the flower again, and the build refuses to respond. Quackity’s gaze narrows further, and he opens his mouth-

“Hey Quackity!” Michael starts speaking before he’s even noticed that he’s opened his mouth, fumbling as he regains awareness of what he’s doing and tries to find a direction for his sentence to go, “do you have any concrete?”

Quackity looks at him like he’s grown a second head, which is fair, considering there’s a block of white concrete pretty obviously visible in his hand. “Um- no? Weren’t you supposed to go to Colors?”

Dream finally manages to place the tulip where it belongs, and the build between them disappears in another explosion of gold glitter. Michael laughs awkwardly. 

“Sorry- haha. I got a little mixed up.” He places the last piece of white concrete, watching as his own build disappears. A little wooden cottage takes its place, made of what appears to be just oak wood and cobblestone. “Are you going to get wood? Or should I?”

“I- You get wood,” Quackity shakes his head, visibly frustrated, “And I’ll get stone. We have to hurry, we’re falling behind.” 

After that, Michael finds it a little too easy - or maybe not easy, but at least tolerable, to interrupt when Quackity looks a little like he’s about to fall on the side of being angry versus just annoyed, stepping between his angry glares at Dream with a forced smile and an incessant string of annoying questions- 

“Hey Quackity, do you have any spare iron?”

“Hey Quackity, I think you placed that a little too far back.”

“Hey Quackity, can you take a look to see what I placed wrong?” 

It’s not perfect. It’s hardly even functional; Michael knows that Quackity has begun with the habit of directing death glares at his back whenever he thinks he’s not looking, his responses to Michael’s questions becoming more and more clipped, often paired with irritated grumbles and sighs. Sapnap, when Michael looks at him, seems largely engrossed with his own builds, but he’s also begun looking over at the two of them with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, and Dream only seems to be getting more jumpy with every frustrated growl out of Quackity’s mouth. Even Michael’s forced levity and falsely ignorant questions can’t do much against Quackity’s anger when they walk out of Buildmart dead last for the minigame, dropping their team all the way down to seventh in the overall rankings, and the tension within the team as they walk out - Quackity nearly stomping, Dream following with his hands wringing around each other and head ducked fearfully - is almost enough to make Michael scream. He looks at the scoreboard with a worried expression as he enters the Decision Dome, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. 

There’s still five more games to go, and he’s not sure how long they can last before something snaps. 

---

Battle Box is chosen next, and they react to the game with quiet cheers and slightly grim faces. Michael’s been in enough MCCs to know that this game, of any, is crucial - after their lacking performances in the last two games, a good showing at Battle Box will be crucial to pull them back into the competition and raise morale. With Sapnap and Dream, if this were any normal game, they should be able to sweep through a good amount of the competition without much effort. As it is, though, Michael looks at the two more combat-oriented members of his team with a worried expression, the two barely even able to meet each other’s eyes. Their interactions so far have been less than promising- if they can’t hold it together for this round, well. 

Michael shakes his head. They’ll do fine. They have to. 

Even so, the first round only seems to confirm his concerns - they get woolrushed almost immediately, and in Dream and Sapnap’s stumbling to get to mid, nearly crashing into each other and focusing their efforts on the same player by accident, the other team manages to fill out the wool, sending them back to the spawn box even more frustrated than before. 

“Amazing teamwork, guys,” Quackity snarks immediately, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Like you did that much.” 

Sapnap is still staring at Dream oddly, Dream turning his head to avoid his gaze. The two of them look largely oblivious to Quackity and his whole deal, even as Quackity whirls around to give him the stink eye. 

“You didn’t do anything either, if I remember correctly,” Quackity mutters, and Michael shrugs. 

“Fair.” 

A ding alerts them to the round’s end, and they resign themselves to preparing for the next round. Michael picks the extra arrows from the wall, knowing that no one else will want the kit, and watches as Dream anxiously runs his hands over the crossbow. 

The next round goes better, barely; Michael and Quackity end up knocked out pretty early, but Dream and Sapnap manage to kill the rest of the team soon after. He watches from the box as they fill in the wool, Dream looking awfully tense as he shears away the white wool for Sapnap to fill it with red. Quackity watches them both with a tight expression, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. 

Michael turns away, ignoring him, going back to watching Dream and Sapnap still standing within the arena. Both of them look awkward, oddly out of step with each other - Michael’s not watched them fight much, but he knows that they have a reputation as a pair, was there for the Sky Battle round where they completely wiped through the competition. Even here, Sapnap moves forward and Dream flinches back - there’s something heavy and tense between them, lingering in the few words they’ve spoken to each other, if they’ve even spoken to each other at all, one always rushing forward too fast or following just a little too slow. They’re still brilliant fighters, almost unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and with swords, but the faltering communication is sure to hurt them more in the future. 

His worries come true just three rounds later, the two in between being narrow wins for their team, each a little more shaky than would be comfortable. Michael has found himself easing off the worst of his anxiety in verbally sparring with Quackity, jabbing at the other with offhand remarks and little needling jokes to keep his attention off the other two, especially as his glare has become more pronounced and his words more angry. Even so, nothing he does or can do will fix the odd tension between Dream and Sapnap, whose communication remains as stilted and awkward as ever. 

They’re facing a stronger team, PVP wise, with Punz and Seapeekay, and Michael ends up falling in a bow duel against Jack. He watches as the Captain falls to a potion by Sapnap, then as Jack is taken out by a crossbow bolt courtesy of Dream, just before Quackity falls to a well-timed bow shot from the opposing team. 

That leaves the strongest PVPers to battle it out, and Dream and Sapnap manage to team up and kill CPK - but not without taking a nasty damage potion to the face that must leave the two of them low. Michael watches Punz, booking it to mid with a crossbow, anxiously - both of them would be a oneshot with the thing, and on the condition that he takes no damage before fighting with either of them outright, he’s probably got enough health to hold out a few hits. 

Sapnap pulls out a health potion, and Michael grins - that’ll be good for the two of them, and should secure them the win - only for him to gesture roughly with his sword and for Dream to stagger backwards, panic flashing over his face. He only seems to grow more fearful at the sound of glass shattering on the ground, falling backwards further - far enough to be largely out of range of health pot - and in their shock, Punz manages to catch both of them off guard and nail Sapnap with a crossbow bolt that downs him for the round before similarly dispatching Dream in two hits of his sword.

Sapnap explodes upon respawn in the box - “What was that? I had a health pot!”

“I-” Dream fumbles, face still oddly pale, “Sorry I didn’t- I- I-”

“We had that round!” Sapnap’s arms flail forward as he gestures angrily, Dream freezing further as one hand skims past his shoulder. “I can’t believe- I had a health pot! Punz was on, like, half! We could’ve killed him!”

“Easy, easy,” Quackity moves forward, putting a hand on both of their shoulders - Sapnap seems to relax immediately, while Dream, if anything, only looks more tense. “It’s time for the next round - we’ll talk about this later, alright?” 

Dream nods, movements overly tense, and Quackity flashes a toothy smile his way as Sapnap moves back, still mumbling to himself. He and Quackity move to talk in the back corner, words quiet enough that Michael cannot make them out, and something sick and cold slithers over his spine. Sapnap and Quackity are fiancés, aren’t they? 

Michael looks over at Dream, mask still covering his face as he looks away through the glass to the arena, shoulders still tight as Michael’s pretty sure they’ve been for as long as he’s seen him since he came onto the server. He remembers the panic that make itself obvious on his face every time Quackity came up to him, even as covered as it is, the similar- if not the same- fear that had painted his face when he respawned fresh off of the Battle Box round after Sapnap’s sword had passed a little too close to his body. 

Quackity and Dream- he’s sure, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, that there’s something going on there, dark and dreadful and poisonous. Who’s to say that Sapnap isn’t involved, as well? 

---

They finish Battle Box decently well, but not as well as they’d hoped, pulling them up to fifth place with a decently large gap between them and fourth. Quackity and Dream disappear immediately as the Audience Votes begin coming in, leaving Sapnap and Michael to stand awkwardly in the lobby to wait for the rest of their team to come back. Michael watches the crowd for a glimpse of Quackity and Dream, comes up empty. A sigh fizzles through his teeth as he looks up into the sky, the endless blue doing little to ease his nerves - he’s worried, even if he doesn’t want to think about it, for his teammates. For Dream. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see that the man is scared of Quackity, that there’s an odd sort of history there that Michael conveniently has no information about. Whatever it is, it’s left Dream unsure and uncharacteristically nervous, left the entire team floundering without proper leadership to tie them all together. Really, a part of him knows that the Championships should be the least of his concerns - if he were braver, or a little better at combat, or a little less inclined to just let things pass as they always have, then he’d be raising a fuss. Getting in the way, talking to Dream, doing something other than making backhanded compliments to Quackity that he’s sure have been doing little more than annoy the man further. 

“Michael?” Sapnap comes within his line of sight, lips pressed together in a carefully put-together expression that Michael is sure will collapse the moment they’re away from others’ prying eyes, “Can we speak for a moment?”

Michael forces another easy smile to his face as he turns towards his teammate, feels a little disgusted at the amount of them he’s had to use to simply function with the rest of his team. “Sure! Where to?”

They walk at a brisk pace to the team room, Sapnap’s eyes focused forwards the entire time, not speaking. If he’s being honest, it’s a little awkward, but the lighthearted comment on his tongue to break the silence dies out the minute Sapnap closes the door and looks back at him with fierce, focused eyes boring into him. 

“What’s your deal?” He hisses immediately, words pitched low even though he doesn’t really have to - there’s no one nearby, and the team rooms are decently soundproofed. Michael feels his hackles rising as Sapnap’s arms cross in front of him, eyes still focused on his own as he talks. “I’m not going to lie- I don’t know you that well, even though you’re on the SMP now, but can you quit it with Quackity already?”

“Quit what?” Michael snarks - sue him - matching Sapnap’s tone with irritation of his own. 

“Don’t- you’ve been antagonizing Quackity all day,” Sapnap’s hand runs through his hair, messing up his hair and tangling it into knots, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re kind of in the middle of a competition here? So it’d be really nice if you could save the fighting for until after we’re done?”

“Says you?” Michael can’t help the retort this time, huffing irately at the offended expression that flashes over the other’s face, “I don’t really know if you’ve noticed, but your teamwork has been a little less than stellar, today. Pot calling the kettle black, much?”

“What-” Sapnap looks confused, even through his anger, gesturing more and more wildly. “What do you even mean?”

“Oh, so are we just ignoring what just happened in Battle Box then?” 

Sapnap’s eyes flash as he closes into himself again, hands gripping at his upper arms as he crosses his arms in front of his chest once again. “That- that’s different. That’s because of Dream.”

“Oh, just keep blaming it on the other guy, why don’t you?”

“No-” Sapnap shakes his head furiously. “You haven’t been on here for nearly as long, you don’t get it, Michael. Dream- he’s-,” Sapnap flails, and Michael groans at the familiar words. 

“Dream’s what? I was on the team with the guy before, you know. It’s kind of the reason why he invited me in the first place?” He raises an eyebrow. “We worked together perfectly well then - am I supposed to believe that his self-proclaimed ‘best friend’ can’t do the same?” 

“You don’t understand,” Sapnap repeats, expression hard and oddly far away, “Dream- he’s changed- he’s done so many terrible things. I don’t know what he’s said to convince you, but he’s bad news, man. He’s hurt- so many people.” 

“Oh- you want to talk about hurting people?” 

Michael isn’t quite sure what comes over him - only really realizes a white-hot flash of rage lancing through his chest, a sleepless night and half a competition’s  worth of anxiety and frustration and build up combining into a sizzling spike of fury that briefly tinges his vision red. 

“How about the way Dream looks like he’s about to keel over whenever anyone gets close to him? How about how he flinches back at literally every loud noise and fast movement? How about how Quackity’s been making these stupid, angry comments at him for the entire competition that make him freeze for a minute each time? Or how about when you were in Battle Box and Dream backed away from your sword like he thought you were gonna drive it through his chest?” Michael barely feels himself stepping forward with each word, jabbing his index finger into the other’s chest. “You want to talk about hurting people? How about you go talk to that fiancé of yours and then come back to talk?” 

A loud, droning buzz comes over the speakers, alerting them of the end of the break. Michael steps back, face flushed in embarrassment, before the world whirls away and they’re teleported back into the Decision Dome. 

He adamantly refuses to meet Sapnap’s eyes as Quackity and Dream materialize in the sector with them, Quackity’s hand clamped around Dream’s upper arm as the other man keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, looking even more panicked and frozen than before the break. 

“You ready to win?” Quackity laughs, and Michael watches as his hand tightens around the sleeve of Dream’s jacket, knuckles paling from the strain. 

“Yeah,” Michael tries to cheer, and it feels like ash on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” 

---

Survival Games ends up being picked next - Quackity and Sapnap quickly pull up to the front of the group, close enough to be within eyesight but too far to really pick up their conversation. Michael keeps an eye out for the reddish glow of their bodies as they scout the surrounding areas for chest, staying back with Dream as they look at the other side of the road. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel a smug sort of satisfaction of Sapnap seemingly confronting Quackity about whatever the hell has been going on, as awkward as his whole outburst had been. As it is, some time with Dream is nice without Quackity watching over his shoulder like a hawk - he directs a small, genuine smile at the man by his side that Dream seems to do a double take at before shyly returning it with one of his own. 

“There- I think I see a chest,” Michael points under a lamppost, running to the wooden box and flicking the lid upwards. He pulls out a chain chestplate that he promptly puts on himself, then throws over the iron boots to his teammate as well as a small stone axe that he’s sure Dream will make better use of. “We should probably catch up to the others - don’t want to be caught off guard while separated.”

Dream nods, and the two of them pick up the pace before finding another chest that Dream rummages through, this time, finding an iron sword that Michael takes for himself and a cake. 

“You’ve been doing really well so far,” Michael says after a few minutes of quiet, words becoming more firm when Dream looks up at him with a surprised expression. “Seriously- you’ve been doing great, man.”

“Thanks,” Dream smiles, words quiet and terribly sincere, and the sinking pit in Michael’s gut returns at the tone. “Not as good as I should, though. I’ve been underperforming a lot,” he laughs a little at the words, but even to Michael’s ears it rings hollow. “It’s not over yet, though.”

“No it’s not,” Michael concedes, rearranging his inventory as they run. “But it’s good enough, man, really - just look at my rankings.”

Dream huffs. “You’ve been doing good, Michael.”

“And you’ve been doing a hell of a lot better than me,” Michael tips his head in his direction. “Give yourself some more credit, man. You’ve been playing well.”

Dream smiles again, but even now the corners of his mouth seem tight, tense. “I need to play better, though, if we want to win,” he says, matter-of-fact, analytical to a damn fault. Michael rolls his eyes, but nods to concede the point. 

“Sure, but that goes for all of us, Dream,” he shakes his head. “And it’s okay if we don’t win, you know?”

“No.” 

Michael turns, frowning. Dream’s tone has become oddly flat, eyes dead as he continues to stare at the pavement under their feet. He seems to be chewing on his lip anxiously, startled out of his own thoughts when he looks up to meet Michael’s gaze. “I mean- I don’t know. I really have- want to win.” 

There’s something so carefully worded about the admission, quiet and scraped open and raw in the slow sincerity of the words. Michael wants to poke at it, wants to understand what’s left him so unsure of every step, what determination lies behind the words that has left desperation clinging to every shallow breath he draws. A crack of thunder on the horizon, heralding a player’s death, reminds him that now is not the time. 

Keep your head down. 

“Alright,” he smiles thinly, hoping that the fracturing, yawning pit of emptiness in his chest isn’t obvious in the words. “Then we’re going to win.” 

---

Michael skids to a stop at the finish line, feeling the elytra deequip as he’s thrown into spectator mode. He runs his hands through his wind-tousled hair, feeling it strain against his fingers as he roughly finger-combs it back into place. Dream and Sapnap are off to the side, standing next to each other but seemingly not speaking - Michael smiles as he floats over, still shaking the adrenaline off from the race. 

“Hey,” the two look up, smile in recognition, and Dream waves; there’s a small smile on his face, strained but present. “You both did really good!” 

“Thanks, Michael,” Dream laughs, earnest, “I did decent, I guess- haha. Top ten at least.” 

Sapnap whoops. “We’re popping off!” Michael cheers in agreement, and their efforts manage to pull Dream’s smile a little wider as he ducks his head to look away again. 

“Thanks, guys.” 

They watch as Quackity flies through the finish line, appearing in front of them and shaking his arms out as he gets his bearings. 

“Geez- that trident,” he shakes his head, looks up. “Hey, there you guys are. How’d we do?” 

“Dream got seventh,” Sapnap scrolls through his comm, looking through the rows of contestants and their times as they come in, interspersed by the occasional chat message, “And I got 10th. Michael got- 28th, I think? And you got 32nd.” 

“Hmm,” Quackity hums, “What do you think, Dream? Is that good enough to pull us to Dodgebolt?”

Once again, Michael watches as Dream stiffens under the scrutiny, head ducking down and looking for all the world like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Um- I don’t know,” Dream mumbles, “I messed up a trident- fell into the void once, probably could’ve done better otherwise-” his voice trails off, tensing further as Quackity takes his usual spot by his side, jabbing an elbow none-too-lightly into his ribs. 

“But you didn’t, though,” Quackity says, tone flippant, “so what do you think? With those placements- is it going to be enough?” 

“Hey, we did great, man,” Michael glares at him, more forward than he’d usually be - but all he can see is the shoulder that he has pressed against Dream’s arm, the way Dream’s stood stock still since the moment he made contact, “Lay off of Dream, would you? He did great.”

“Yeah, Q,” Michael’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Sapnap chimes in from the side, rising further when Sapnap moves forward to link his arm with Quackity’s own and half-drag him away from Dream. “Chill out, man, we popped off. We’re gonna fucking win this, ok?”

Quackity’s lips press together; he’s still smiling, but there’s no mistaking the seething darkness that lingers in his narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows, gaze still trained on the pale off-white disk of Dream’s mask. Still, with the rest of the team against him, he’s in a losing fight and he knows it; Michael watches as he visibly backs down, rolling his shoulders back as he lets Sapnap pull him further back. 

“We’re going to fucking win this,” he repeats, and Michael wonders how he manages to make the words sound so much like a threat.

---

“Sky battle,” Sapnap calls as the decision dome below them lights up in confirmation of the penultimate game, expression immediately becoming more focused as he turns back to the rest of the team. “Alright- strats, what are we thinking?”

“There’s the iron at spawn,” Dream starts, interrupted by the teleport to the Sky Battle arena, making him cut himself off comically and take a second to shake off the resulting disorientation, “And then there’s the iron in the nearby island. We gotta pick one, tower as soon as we can.”

“Got it,” Sapnap looks down, seemingly calculating, before looking up again - Michael has heard him compared to fire before, but he thinks this is the first time he’s really seen it; there’s a veritable blaze burning in his eyes as he looks at each member of the team, easily taking charge as they prepare for the first round. “Same buddy system as Survival Games - Q, stick with me, Michael, stick with Dream. I’ll tower to the next island- Dream, you good with getting the iron at spawn and crafting armor for us?” 

Dream startles, before flashing a small thumbs up at the other - Sapnap smiles wider, teeth bared dangerously.

“This is our game,” he cheers, and Michael enthusiastically whoops in reply, “we’re winning this, you got that team? Let’s go!” 

This, Michael thinks, is the way the games should’ve gone - they jump into action upon the start of the game, Michael watching as Dream races through both chests on the spawn island, getting the iron and jumping down cleanly with a water bucket before following Sapnap’s bridge to the other island. He tosses over a pair of leggings and boots as he lands, then takes Sapnap’s excess iron to craft the other pieces of iron for himself and Sapnap as the other man begins shooting at opposing teams. Their communication is near wordless, simple one- or two-word requests communicating all they need as they follow each other seamlessly into the main arena area, sealing off their entrance as they search the ring for other teams.

Sapnap, especially, seems to have shifted - instead of waiting for Dream to take the lead, he seems comfortable barrelling on forward on his own, trusting for Dream to follow his steps. Michael watches as the two of them easily work through the two lagging members of Orange, shooting through a gap in the wall to catch an unsuspecting Yellow player chased by the border. Michael ends up dying to an unlucky block of TNT placed on his head - curses out what appears to be Quig, bounding over to the other side of the arena, and follows Dream and Sapnap as they continue to fight their way through the competition. 

It’s not perfect, for sure - Dream hesitates at a bad place a minute later, ending with Sapnap getting 2v1ed and exploding in a flash of red sparkles. Dream is similarly dispatched a few seconds after, and the three of them watch Quackity, caught in the crossfire of two other teams, before he also goes down. 

“Good work, team,” Sapnap says as he appears, disoriented, in spectator mode, and they watch the remaining two teams battling in a rapidly shrinking border before Fruit falls as well, leaving Pink as the winners. “That was close- we’ve got this.” The conviction in his voice leaves no room for argument, and Michael, briefly, feels bad for anyone that stands in the way of it. 

With the second round, they once again fall into rhythm without any major hiccups - someone tries to cut them off before entering the main arena, but are made quick work of by Sapnap’s relentless onslaught. As Michael watches, Dream seems to regain confidence as well, moving more to fight with Sapnap side by side instead of just playing support, tugging him back from a risky play and catching Punz in a nasty combo that does him in when he manages to slip past Sapnap. 

The four of them end up in the final stand off in the middle, but end up getting caught too high up and killed by the border before they can jump down. Sapnap hisses at the narrow defeat, but the disappointment has hardly seemed to dim his determination - if anything, it seems to burn brighter. 

“Last round,” he mutters, and Michael watches as Dream walks up to him, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. 

“This is our game,” he says, a small smile appearing on his face, and Sapnap returns it with a fiery, blinding one of his own. 

“Ours,” he says, and even just standing on the side, watching - Michael believes it. 

Still, his concerns have yet to disappear - they linger in his mind as they jump into an adrenaline-filled last round, jumpy from excitement and victory just within their grasps. Dream is still more jittery than he should be, taking a second more than usual to react to fights, and his teamwork with Sapnap - while good - is still noticeably rusty. Michael’s lips thin at the memory of Dream backing away from Sapnap’s sword in Battle Box, hunched into himself, almost on the floor, with a clearly desperate edge to his expression - and no matter how he tries, he can’t quite manage to shake it off. 

Unfortunately enough, the third round doesn’t bode well for them from the start - Quackity gets bowed off while bridging to the main arena, and upon entrance there they end up flanked, hard, by another team in a conflict that gets Michael killed within seconds. Sapnap and Dream book it to the other side of the arena, where they manage to work through a full team without too much trouble - but the next minute brings another half-team flying at them from the back, catching them in the middle of trying to recuperate. The two focus Dream in the middle of eating a steak, and Michael watches as Dream steps back instead of moving forward to fight, that same shade of fear making his muscles seize as he stands, stock still, watching helplessly as swords fly his way- Michael cries out, but there’s nothing he can do-

Between one blink and the next, Sapnap is standing in front of Dream, a snarl painting his features as he whirls through both players in a fury. Michael watches, awed, as his sword weaves and dances between the two attacking Dream, making quick work of them both until they’re no more than items scattered over the ground, then grabs Dream by the wrist and drags him up a nearby ladder onto the upper floor, plopping him by the wall and then backing off. 

Sapnap stands back as Dream sits against the wall, breathing fast and labored, dropping to his knees with his hands in front of him, palms up, no weapons in hand. Michael watches, frantic, for the signs of any teams nearby - with Dream panicking and Sapnap’s back to the rest of the arena, they’d be easy pickings - but for once, luck seems to be on their side, because no one comes. Dream heaves a breath through his lungs, deep and shuddery - Sapnap watches, lips flat from concern, but doesn’t speak. 

“You good to continue?” he asks, when Dream seems calm enough to recognize his surroundings, and Dream looks up at the words, jaw slack from shock and disorientation, before his head dips in a firm nod. 

“Good,” Sapnap smiles, tight-lipped and fiercely determined, fiercely loyal, as he reaches out a hand that Dream moves to take. “Let’s go fuck them up, yeah? You and me, just like we used to.”

Michael watches, heart in his chest, as they stand together to face the rest of the competition, towering towards the middle and facing off with the remaining teams,  watches as they move forwards through explosions and buckets of lava, coalescing onto the middle island, as they battle through the remaining opponents as one in a clean spiral of clashing blades and flying arrows, fighting with their backs to each other in the center of the arena. He watches as a well-placed fishing rod by Dream knocks their final opponent off the platform, leaving them in the middle, triumphant, as the only remaining team - 

Watches, a brilliant, bubbling laugh in his chest as Dream and Sapnap take their spots in the middle of the arena, standing side by side as Sapnap raises Dream’s hand in victory, both laughing and cheering  into the sky.

---

Their performance in Sky Battle manages to pull them to third - but second place still stands a few hundred coins away, and they watch anxiously as Parkour Tag is chosen as the last game and they are transported over the arena. 

“Last game,” Sapnap calls, “We’ve got this, alright?” 

He gets terse, short nods in return - it’ll be a close game, and even Michael is feeling the pressure. He breathes a soft, quiet breath through his teeth as they prepare, looking over to the opposite team as they choose their hunters and runners. 

“Dream, you up to hunting first four?” Sapnap seems to be watching the effects of his words more, waiting for Dream’s agreement before moving forward, sliding into the position of leader easily when Dream seems to struggle. Dream nods and steps into the hunter’s box, lips pressed together, flat and focused, and Michael turns back to the arena to plan out his route. 

Parkour, by far, is not his strong suit. It hadn’t been his strong suit during Parkour Warrior and sure as hell isn’t it now - he enjoys it well enough, but with the pressure of a hunter on him or the time creeping past and the competition standings hanging over his head like a guillotine, he’s prone to slipping up and he knows it. The map is full of dizzying, multi-colored structures and difficult jumps, the twists and turns of the arena making his head spin. Being good at parkour is more than being good at movement - it involves being able to make split-second decisions and execute them with no time to hesitate. Unfortunately, Michael isn’t particularly good at any of that, so Parkour Tag mostly just stresses him the hell out. 

He sets out to the arena, listening for callouts over comms as he fumbles over the buildings. Halfway through the game, Dream’s voice comes through comms, quiet, focused. 

“Gottem.” 

“Nice, Dream,” Michael smiles, trying not to trip over a particularly hard jump, only to fall to being tagged in the back by the opposing team’s hunter - Ant, if he remembers right. “Sapnap and Q are still in- we’ve got this.”

Once again, each time, Dream races through the opposing team in seconds, seemingly going faster with each round. Michael has heard his reputation as a hunter before, but only now is he really appreciating the extent - the speed at which he manages to dispatch all three opponents is downright terrifying. They manage to win all four rounds, lingering around second place overall on the leaderboards, before Sapnap and Dream switch off for hunting. 

With each round, Michael watches Dream in the lobby, watching as he tenses further in focus and determination and no small degree of fear, but it hadn’t been nearly as obvious in between rounds. Now, with him in the arena with Quackity and himself, Dream’s jumpiness is all that more palpable, adrenaline making him pace and jump in place from where he stands at the edge of the place. The glass lowers, and he explodes into motion, bounding on top of the nearest tower to wait for the hunter to come towards them. 

Michael ends up caught first, early in the round, once again, and resolves to following Dream over the glass to watch his movements and make callouts for the hunter chasing behind him. Watching Dream move through the arena, dodging below fixtures and through tunnels and jumping from tower to tower with seemingly no regard for gravity pulling him down, it’s become all the more obvious that this is his element. He makes another hairpin turn around a pole, kicking himself up over a tower and then diving from it to a nearby building, landing on a ledge inside it, hands clutching the wall - Michael watches, quietly awed, as he outlasts the hunter, landing in small, panting breaths in the lobby. 

“Great work,” he cheers, quiet, as Dream shakes off the last dregs of the adrenaline, all of them watching the leaderboard anxiously, “Just three more rounds, alright?” 

The rounds that follow continue in much of the same vein - Dream, once he’s gotten started, seems near-impossible to chase down; Michael and Quackity provide support, distracting the hunter for as long as they can until they get tagged, but part of him wonders if it’s all even necessary. Dream flies from structure to structure seemingly unhindered by The Laws That Be, expression firm, if a little frantic, as he parkours his way through the arena. To their credit, the hunters chase, and several come pretty close - but Dream, worked up on adrenaline or anxiety or some twisted mix of the two, races over and around the buildings within the arena like his life depends on it.

It’s a surprisingly (if sickeningly) apt description - the skill in parkour is far from unacknowledged on Dream’s record; they all know his reputation with Parkour Warrior, all know that there are little that can match his skill as a traucer - but there’s something newly desperate in the way he runs, the muscles of his body tight and taut even in between rounds, expression permanently tight at the corners from fear. His movements, lacking in their usual fluidity, are made up with sheer speed and mad scrambles up walls that no one else seems to dare replicate. It’s concerning, even to Michael’s untrained eye, how frantic he seems the entire time, the flashes of expressions that he’ll direct towards the hunter like being caught by them will be his end, but- if anything, at least it’s effective. 

Between his parkour and Sapnap’s own skill, they manage to dominate the other teams without much issue, and the bonuses from eliminating the other team first combined with Dream’s survival points each round land them a first place for the game by just a few hundred coins. The four of them watch with bated breaths for the event standings, whooping and cheering together when it shows the red rabbits in second - 

“DODGEBOLT, BABY!” Quackity cheers, loudly, and the rest of them join him, laughing and screaming incoherently, “LET’S FUCKING GO!” 

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Sapnap punches the air with a loud, resolute whoop of joy, and Dream - still shaking off the jitters of his last round in Parkour Tag - soon joins in with a few cheers of his own. 

Michael watches them all with a smile on his face as they cheer in victory - Dodgebolt has them against the Yellow Yaks, which will be a hard match up, but between Dream and Sapnap’s skill, if they all stay focused, they shouldn’t have any issue. 

They’ve done it. They’ve made it to Dodgebolt - if they keep their heads in the game, then they should win. All he has to do is keep his head down a little longer, long enough to win them the game, long enough for them to go home with new crowns and new coins, long enough for him to go back to living his quaint little life in his quaint little house - going back to heckling the Warden at night and hanging with Bad and Puffy, working on builds and living life away from the rest and pretending that nothing is wrong. The server will go back to normal come tomorrow, and it will all be okay. 

The smile slips off his face. 

They’ve done it. And then they’ll go back to the SMP, and Dream might evade whatever immediate consequences come with losing, but there’s no evidence that whatever’s caused that heartstopping, devastating fear that has characterized his every move is going to stop. They’ll win, and they’ll go back to the SMP, and they’ll keep dying and fighting wars and keep pretending that the world they live in is normal; they’ll go back to the server, and Michael will go back in his house while Dream goes back into his cell directly across from it, still locked in a black box with no way in or out, no means of communication with anyone outside, locked away with the key thrown away for anything to happen with no one to know-

Michael glances over to Dream, to the tense edge of his shoulders that has never left for as long as the tournament has continued and long before. To the grey-faced, grey-eyed inhabitants of the SMP, coming to the Championships with sealed lips and a shared determination to never reveal that anything is wrong, to pretend that things are normal and move on. 

Michael’s hands clench into fists at his side, then unclench, the helplessness cutting through his excitement like a splash of cold water straight through his chest. They’ll win the Championship, and then what? They’ll go back to the server, and then what? 

He looks up at the sky, avoiding the eyes of the rest of his team as they are teleported to the arena. Around him, nothing comes in reply. 

---

“Shit-”

Sapnap disappears in a flourish of red particles, and Michael winces as Dream picks up the arrow he left behind, biting his lip as he watches the opposite side maneuver on the ice.

Both of Dream’s shots hit true, and Michael switches to dodging over the ice as the opposing team begins to shoot. His mind is still buzzing with uncertainty, questions whirling around his skull and making his head spin, the reminder to just let things be raging against the anxiety that has wormed its way deep into his bones for the better part of the day. His performance has fallen a bit as a result, and they’re tied, 2-2, for the last round of Dodgebolt against Yellow - winner takes all. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell, but he wants to fall back into the background. He wants to make a difference, but also wants nothing more than to go on pretending that everything is fine. It would be so, so easy to move on and wash his hands of the whole affair - it’s not like anyone else will know, only himself and the guilt that he’s sure will haunt him to remind him of his failures. Is there even anything he can do? He’s no genius at combat, or parkour, or strategy- all he has are his eyes, his ability to see what the hell is happening with no means to change any of it. 

An arrow whizzes towards him, too low to hit, and falls to the ice by his feet. Michael feels it plop into his inventory as he runs past it, shivering slightly from the cold or adrenaline or some mix of the two - not that he can really tell. The other team still has an arrow, the gleaming arrowhead catching the light as the person shooting - Jack, it looks like - moves it from one side to the other, looking for someone to aim. Michael lets the arrow into his hand, feeling its weight.

A sudden shock of clarity. 

He staggers back and nearly trips over his own feet, feeling relief rock his body when he manages to catch his balance - his eyes rake over the rest of his team, still dodging over the ice, completely focused on the opposing side. He worries his lip between his teeth - it’s a risk. It’s a hell of a risk, and if he messes up - they’re fucked. They’re more than fucked. There’s a good chance that this does more harm than good, a good chance that it won’t do anything at all. 

Michael takes a deep breath, and nocks his arrow. 

With his bow pointed to the floor, he doesn’t think anyone’s noticed yet - especially the rest of his team, gazes still trained over the centerline to the other side of the arena. Michael plants his feet, raises his bow, aims - he’s standing still, too still, and he can already see Jack swinging the bow towards him from the corner of his eye, preparing to let the arrow fly directly at him. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

Keep your head down. 

Michael lets go, and Quackity manages to turn just in time to see the arrow hit him between his eyes.

Not this time.

Michael just manages a wicked, satisfied smirk before the world disappears in a flash of red. 

---

“What the hell was that?” 

Michael teleports into the middle of the MCC main lobby, finding Quackity already mid-yell in front of the podium, where the Yellow Yaks have taken their places as the winners of the Championships, new, shining crowns on their heads as they greet the crowd with smiles and cheers. Michael turns to where the rest of the team has gathered in the corner, Quackity hissing angrily at Dream, curled into himself against the fence. 

“I- I-”

“You lost us the fucking game, that’s what you did,” Quackity grabs him by the arm, rage painting his features as he yanks Dream closer to him, ignoring the other’s panicked yell at the proximity and flailing to get away. “What the fuck- you had both the arrows. How the fuck did you miss that?” 

“Back the hell off, Quackity.”

Michael steps forward, bodily shoving Quackity out of the way - Dream’s head rises just enough for the two eyes painted on his mask to look  above where they’d been hidden behind his arms, though Michael’s far too lost in his own anger to pay any mind to him at the moment. Quackity turns his furious direction towards Michael, only seeming to get angrier as he meets his eyes. 

“Oh, fuck off, Michael- you-” he rakes a hand through his hair, “You fucking- we fucking lost because of you, you know that? We had that! We were going to win that, you fucker-” 

“And then what, Quackity?” The words Michael had been pushing back the entire day come forth, mixed with his simmering anxiety and muffled anger that he’d been forced to push down, game after game after game, one bubbling mess of emotion underscoring his tone and making Quackity rear back, “Then you’ll go back the SMP and pretend that everything’s fine and dandy? Go back to your shiny little country with a shiny new coin, beat up Dream a few times to work off the adrenaline because, hey, it’s not like anyone else is gonna know if he’s black and blue inside of that shitstain of a prison, is that right?” 

The flash of panic that makes its way over Quackity’s face is more than enough to confirm the worst of Michael’s assumptions, and the rage that has made a home in his chest only burns hotter. 

“What- what the fuck did he say?” Quackity barely manages to catch onto his tone, pressing harder with narrowed eyes and a snarl, “He’s lying, you fucking idiot, that’s all he ever fucking does-” 

“He’s not told me shit,” Michael presses forward, forcefully pushing Quackity away from Dream, who is cowering from both of them behind him, “But you would know a hell of a lot about that, wouldn’t you Quackity?”

“I have no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, pal,” Quackity shakes his head, hair whipping past his eyes, “And I’d recommend you shut your fucking mouth before you go around hurling baseless accusations- I could have you sued for defamation, you know-”

“Oh, we’re talking law, now? Fine! We’ll talk legalities- how about we start with that casino of yours and work from there?” 

Sapnap moves over, quiet thus far as he watched from the sidelines, and Michael watches as Quackity relaxes, minisculely, at his approach - only to tense further when Sapnap presses a hand to his shoulder, meeting his eyes with blazing eyes staring right at his.

“Q,” Sapnap says, voice uncharacteristically serious, “tell the truth, now- what did you do?”

Quackity laughs - it sounds unsure, even in Michael’s ears, “Sapnap? You can’t tell me you believe-” he waves his hands frantically, “this- this fucking asshole, now, do you hear him? He sounds- he’s literally out of his fucking mind-”

Sapnap shakes his head, firm. “Quackity, I’ll need you to cut the bullshit. What did you do?” 

“He’s backing up Dream, Sapnap,” Quackity focuses his gaze on Sapnap, something creeping up in his tone, sweet and cloying despite the bitter tone, that Michael can’t quite recognize, “You know what Dream is like- he pulled the same shit with you, remember? You and George? Tommy?” He waves a hand at Dream, who ducks down further at the attention, “He hasn’t changed, man! He’s still pulling the same bullshit, still manipulating people for the hell of it- you know, the exact same thing he did to you? Don’t fall for that again, man.”

“I-” Sapnap seems to hesitate, conflict warring over his features. 

“Look at me, Sap - you know what Dream’s like. He pretends to be your friend, makes up some stupid bullshit to justify his shit - Michael hasn’t been around for as long, not like the two of us, remember? He doesn’t know.” Quackity brings his hand to Sapnap’s own, ignoring Michael’s protests as he laces their fingers together, “I care about you, Sap. All of this- I’m just worried that he’ll end up manipulating you again. I’m just trying to protect you.” 

“...liar.” 

“What?”

Sapnap steps back, wrenching his hand out of Quackity’s own. His expression, out of what Michael can see from the sliver of his face that is facing him, is stormy with fury and no small amount of regret - Quackity steps back, unease finally beginning to flicker in the corners of his self-satisfied expression as Sapnap stares him down. 

“You’re a liar, Quackity.” Sapnap draws himself up. “Now, I’m asking this for the last time- what did you do?”

Quackity’s expression stutters, falls, as Sapnap stands back next to Michael, the two of them between him and Dream. His eyes flick between their faces, then to Dream, then back again, frown deepening with every pass he makes between the three of them. Michael keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every second of silence that ticks by, Quackity seeming to grow more and more angry and tense under their scrutiny and unforgiving stances-

-a second passes, and he throws himself forward. 

“Quackity!” 

Michael only manages to throw himself out of the way of the man barrelling towards him just in time - too late, he realizes that he wasn’t Quackity’s intended target. He tackles Dream to the ground, pinning the taller man underneath himself onto the ground in a rough thump that seems to knock all the air out of him. Dream immediately begins to thrash aimlessly, jaw going slack in panic as Quackity levels his arm against his neck, going still as Quackity presses harder against his windpipe. Michael is only barely close enough to pick up what he says over the sound of the surrounding screaming, Sapnap rushing forward to pull Quackity off to no avail-

“-make what I did two weeks ago look like a fucking joke when we get back, going to make you wish you fucking died-” 

The world explodes into white.

When Michael’s vision clears, he’s face to face to the stony face of one of the MCC admins, their status displayed by the proud red [Admin] by their nametags and the fact that they’re floating several inches off the fucking floor. He backs away, strangely winded - probably from the panic or adrenaline or yelling or, more accurately, all three, as Quackity is pulled back effortlessly by an admin, easily caging his flailing limbs with a snap of code as he is frozen into place - and Michael whoops. 

“LET’S GO!” 

(The arrow hits Michael in the shoulder, and he disappears in a flash of red - only instead of going to his usual place above the Dodgebolt arena, standing with the other competitors, he finds himself teleported in front of a dizzying array of screens and buttons, too many to have any idea where they connect and how they work. Michael turns to meet the faces of the MCC Admins, each one looking at him with odd, concerned expressions and furrowed brows. 

“You shot your teammate,” one says - Noxite - and Michael nods to concede the point, not quite finding the words to speak. “Why?”

“If you had such a big issue with the teams, you could’ve just talked to Scott,” another one pipes up from the back, “I’m sure we could’ve worked something out.”

“I know, I know,” Michael runs his hand through his hair, both relieved at the plan working better than he could’ve ever fucking imagined and suddenly lost for words in front of the admins, each one looking at him with their full attention. Every nerve in his body rails against the scrutiny, reminds him to pretend that nothing is wrong - but it’s too late to pretend, now. It’s been too late for a long, long time. 

He remembers Dream, looking away all competition, voice dead and lacking all of its former vitality - remembers Puffy, hair a little greyer from stress, grief painting her face whenever she thought anyone wasn’t looking - remembers Bad, hands still shaking despite his attempts to hide it - the prison, looming on the horizon, unbeatable, impenetrable - himself, helpless, for all this time, to do anything but watch and wait. Until now. He takes a deep breath, steels himself- 

“Something’s wrong with Dream.”)

“Thank you for your information, Michael,” Noxite smiles at him, and relief throws itself through his system so fast that it makes him dizzy- “We’ll handle this from here. Good job.” 

“Holy shit- when did you get time to contact the fucking admins, Michael?” 

Michael ignores the clamor around him as the lobby bursts into activity and people talking over each other, each one probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, ignores Sapnap muttering, awed, from beside him, to move towards Dream, still sprawled out over the floor. There’s an admin by him, standing by to seemingly keep the crowd away but not engaging with Dream directly, and Michael ducks by them to kneel down by Dream and meet his gaze. 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, still shaking from the leftover adrenaline as he presses his hands to the ground to try and hide it, “We’ve got you. It’s over- Quackity’s gone. You’re safe now.” 

“Michael?” Dream’s voice is so damn small when his head twists to look over, hair having fallen largely fallen out of his ponytail to land in wisps all around his face. “You- how-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael shushes him, chest twisting painfully. “It’s alright.”

“...I don’t feel so good.”

Dream coughs harshly, and Michael quickly maneuvers him to a sitting position as his shoulders shake with another one, hand flying to his mouth as he is wracked with loud, wet-sounding coughs. Concern wells up in his throat, watching as Dream shakes with more coughing, nearly choking as he curls into himself, muscles tense. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls his hand back, and Michael gasps at the sight.

“Dream-”

There’s blood, and a lot of it - mixed with the saliva in his palm, shiny and stringy over the planes of his hand, dribbling past his lips and down his chin. His teeth are similarly stained red when his mouth opens slightly, stance wobbling before he collapses altogether against Michael’s body - Michael can barely hear himself shouting for a medic as Dream heaves a rattling, wet sounding breath into his shoulder. 

“Th’ts not g’d,” he mumbles, quiet, before going completely limp. 

---

When you first get strong enough to go to the Nether and collect blaze rods and brew potions for the first time, the first thing that gets beaten into your head forwards, backwards, left, right, and every way in between is that health and regen aren’t a replacement for actual recovery. Instant health pots are famous for their tendency to heal everything affected to the same degree - which is bad when you have a particularly deep injury, as it’ll often finish healing it near the surface while the injury persists underneath. Regen pots tend to be better at that front, but even they cannot completely fix a serious injury - the two can only act as a temporary, emergency fix for severe wounds, often being an invaluable resource to stop the worst of the bleeding and hold everything together for long enough to bring someone to proper medical attention. 

Unfortunately, when someone tries to use health pots and regens to completely bypass the time and rest needed for the body to properly heal itself and recover, what usually ends up happening is internal injuries - not completely healed by the potions alone - continue to be jostled and irritated, which can lead to further, worse, problems with internal bleeding and bones shifting out of place if they’ve been broken, which can then pierce through muscle and organ tissue - to be honest, Michael was never the best with all the medical stuff, and he’s half-sure that the horror stories he’s heard were exaggerated to beat it into his head never to be an idiot that thinks that potions can solve everything, but either way, he’s never tested his luck with the things.

Unfortunately, Dream doesn’t seem to have done the same, as the entire day’s worth of intense activity, between practices and MCC itself, were more than enough to fuck over the healing effects of whatever health potions he apparently downed before coming to the Championships. From what Michael has heard, it got a little harried after he was first brought into the hospital, but he’s apparently stabilized since - recovery will be slow, both physically and mentally, but at least he’s out of that damn prison to actually start on that path.

“Simply put, your teammate is a bit of an idiot,” Scott tells him when he finally catches him in the waiting room, hair fluffed up at the sides from where he’s evidently messed it up in Admin-related stress. “But he should be alright now, with proper medical attention and lots of rest - make sure to tell him to actually rest, will ya? No more parkouring for him - he can wait until after he’s out of the hospital to show us all how it’s done.” 

Michael laughs, relief settling into his chest, “Thanks, Scott.” He directs a playfully accusing look towards the other, a grin tugging at his lips, “but you know, he’s only my teammate because you made it that way. Kinda sounds like your own fault there..” 

“Oh, quiet, you.” Scott laughs- he looks stressed, and Michael feels a twinge of sympathy. The administrative side of things after his whole stunt at Dodgebolt, and then especially with what happened in the main lobby, must be an absolute nightmare. “Anyway, I need to go back - Admin meeting,” he shakes his head, already looking at his comm. “You should go see Dream, by the way. I think he’s awake.” 

“Thanks for everything, Scott.” 

Scott smiles at him, soft, sincere. “Go see your friend.” 

He disappears in a flash of white light, teleporting away, and Michael looks at the empty space where he stood for a few seconds before standing up out of his chair to move towards the door. He hesitates at it for a second, hand on the doorknob but not yet turning it to the side - it’s suddenly awkward, without the pressure of the competition at his back and the relentless questions of what he should do. He doesn’t even know if Dream knows what happened, or if he’ll be happy with him - for all he knows, Dream was the one who started the whole ‘don’t tell the Championships what happens in the server’ deal. His teeth catch on his lip as he stands, lost in thought, at the door.

Well. Here goes nothing. 

He eases the door open, getting a glimpse inside the room - it’s white, clean-looking, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air. There’s a bed in the middle of the room, a chair on the side with his Championships clothing and what appears to be some sort of padded body armor laid over the cushions. Dream, as expected, is lying down in the bed, unmoving; for a second, Michael thinks he’s sleeping, before he suddenly twists his head over to look at him.

“Michael?” 

“Hey,” Michael smiles, moving into the room and closing the door behind him. For the first time today, Dream’s face isn’t masked, a glimpse of it visible behind him on the dresser by the bed. He blinks up at him owlishly, eyes wide and green, looking even bigger combined with the hollow planes of his cheeks, overlaid by pale, slightly raised scars. “How are you feeling, man?” 

“Um-” Dream tries to pull himself up, visibly struggling, and Michael rolls his eyes as he hurries over to help raise the back of the cot because you’re supposed to be resting, Dream, just let the fancy bed do its job, and settles back with an odd look on his face as Michael pulls over a chair. “Good? I think? I mean-” he flails his hands a bit, “this is weird. And I kind of hate this gown- but um. Yeah.” 

“That’s fair,” Michael laughs, and Dream huffs a small laugh out of his own, settling back into his pillow. He looks strangely small, with all the layers stripped away, frail and skinny against the sheets. His skin isn’t that same paper-white shade it had been when he collapsed in the middle of the fucking lobby, but it’s still pale enough to be vaguely worrying, especially combined with the IV and other wires hooked up to him. 

“Apparently, I’m dehydrated,” Dream drawls when he catches Michael staring at the IV, making a small, frustrated sound through his teeth as Michael turns to look at him, “figures, I guess, but still sucks. I hate needles.” 

“Ouch,” Michael winces in sympathy, “yeah, those don’t look that fun.” Dream smiles up at him, before his expression shutters, dulls, and he looks away, not meeting his eyes. The sight of it makes Michael frown, quiet, remembering the way he’d drawn back from them all over and over again throughout the day - that fear and trauma won’t go away in a day, but it hurts all that much more to see his face as panic flashes across it and he pulls back, gaze carefully detached. 

“Dream?” Michael moves closer, but is careful not to make contact, “you alright?”

“Hmm?” Dream directs another small, tight smile his way, strained at the corners as his eyes flick away to the floor once again, “yeah- I’m- I’m fine.” 

Michael sighs, but decides not to push it. “Have you done anything else here, yet?”

Dream shakes his head. “No- I think that someone’s going to bring food over soon, I’m not sure. Not really hungry,” he mutters, half to himself, and Michael tamps down the concern that wells up in protest, “But we’ll see, I guess.” 

“That’s good,” Michael nods, and Dream looks up at him, expression startlingly unsure. 

“Um- do you know?” He wrings his hands together, eyes darting across the room nervously before flicking over Michaels’ face, and Michael tries to make himself look as calm and comfortable as possible, “I mean- do you know what’s going on with- everyone?” 

Ah. Michael winces internally- he probably should’ve expected this question, but in the fallout of what happened in the lobby and Dream, you know, passing out in his arms, he ended up brushing off or ignoring a lot of the chaos that resulted. He wracks his head for snippets of information that he’d seen in his communicator and from visitors to the waiting room, including people that had been there with him that had been pulled for questioning and meetings, Tommy’s expletive-filled yelling from the lobby still ringing in his head. 

“Um- I think that they’ve got a team of moderators pulled up to investigate the server, figure out what’s been going on,” Michael ticks names off on his hands, mentally going through the list of people that he’s been given information on, “They have Quackity in custody, I think, for the moment- they’re still waiting for more information on what to do with him, but they’ve got a whole MCC lobby’s worth of witnesses that saw him assault you so far, if you plan on pressing charges and stuff- um- Sapnap got pulled for questioning, nothing too major right now, I think that they’re going through the other server members that were attending the Championships for the moment.” 

“Are they- putting them in jail?” Dream’s voice sounds slightly tinny despite his forced calm, arms crossed in front of him, and Michael shakes his head firmly. 

“No- legal stuff between servers is weird, and I think they’re holding off on anything like that for now. Quackity’s just there at the moment because of assault charges on the MCC server - stuff in the SMP is still technically outside of their jurisdiction.” Dream visibly relaxes, and Michael smiles thinly, “It’ll be rough for a few weeks as they collect evidence and figure out what to do, but for now, they’re just focusing on recovery - giving people medical attention if they need it, lining up therapists,” he laughs, quietly, “lots of therapists.”

Dream hums, looking away. The corners of his mouth fall, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes a shuddery sigh through his lips.

“I- never wanted it to get this bad,” he opens his eyes, looking down at his hands, lip slightly trembling, “I don’t- I don’t know where it all went wrong.” 

“Hey,” Michael slides closer, ducking to meet Dream’s eyes with a soft smile. “You’re not alone anymore, alright? You don’t have to fix it all by yourself. Focus on yourself, on recovering.” 

Dream hesitates, breath seeming caught in his throat, wide green eyes staring into Michael’s own, before ducking his head to look away with a slight nod. Michael leans back in his chair, watching as Dream turns to the side, curling in on himself slightly with a small wince, eyes fixed on the window.

“Didn’t think I was going to see the sun again,” Dream says after a while, gaze still trained behind the glass to where the sun is slowly setting, rays of sunlight streaming past the slits in the blinds and casting glowing stripes of honey-gold throughout the room and over Dream’s face. Michael feels something cold press against the back of his throat, the quiet admission making air stutter in his lungs at the image of Dream, alone, huddled in the middle of an obsidian box for months and months and months, never knowing if he’d see anything other than the same black walls for the rest of his life. 

“You’re not there, anymore. You’re safe now.” 

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to look out the window silently, breathing slowly as he moves his hand through a sunbeam, watching the way it streams between his fingers and warms his skin, seeming mesmerized by its soft glow. 

“Michael?” Dream looks over, and Michael feels the air punched out of his lungs at the soft, disbelieving sincerity held within his expression, the fearful edges for once pulled back far enough for the light to catch the quiet, heartfelt appreciation gathered in the slight quirk of his lips and downward slope of his eyes. He looks away a second after, a band of light cutting across his face and landing over the bridge of his nose, smile still on his face, voice almost too quiet to make out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Michael feels his own smile widen, looking out the window himself- it really is a beautiful sunset. “What are friends for?” 

[novamirmirsblog]

No more bed

Word count: 2113

Genre: Not actually sure :3

Request: No

Warnings: Swearing, kissing?

A/N that's the end of the only one bed trope. Technically requests are now closed but if you think of another overused trope you want me to write then feel free to send it in!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You didn't eat that night and went straight to bed when you got too tired to focus on the words. You had made sure the pillow wall was twice the size it was to begin with. You turned off your light when you heard Natasha's footsteps come to the door, turning your back to her and pretending to be asleep. Your breaths were deep and completely even, there was no way Natasha could have guessed you were still awake. You felt her hesitate over you and the smell of reheated food invaded your nose and then heard her walk away.

The words she said back in that forest shouldn't have hurt you as much but they did. You shouldn't care what she thinks. It doesn't matter that she doesn't believe in your skills as an agent, that she doesn't think you're pretty enough to grab someone's attention.

If Natasha thought the bickering and coolness was bad at the start of the week, she was in for a shock. When she finally came back to that tiny, godforsaken bed and did her usual trick of sliding her foot over the pillow wall, you got up, took a pillow and the spare blanket and went to sleep on the rug in the living room.

When morning rolled around, you couldn't even be bothered to talk to her, focusing much more on the task ahead, just wanting this week to be over. It wasn't even the hurt you were feeling, it was the frustration that you felt hurt that drove you to stop talking to her. You hated her. She was annoying. She had no respect for anything anyone does.

You spent most the day preparing for the party that evening. Sure, it shouldn't take you over half a day to get ready but you had finished your paperwork early and you wanted to try on every single dress and suit SHIELD had supplied you with. You ended up choosing a navy blue, off the shoulder ball gown. Thinking logistically, it was quite possibly one of the worst things you could have worn. A pantsuit would have been a much more suitable choice and yet you looked and - more importantly - felt hot in the dress.

~~~~~

"You're not seriously wearing that are you?" Natasha asked as we both began to change into our formal wear. She had let you splurge out on a taxi but only after you had to walk what felt like 500 miles so no one would know where you were staying.

"Why not?" You asked with a fakeness in your voice "It's a no contact mission, plus, no one would look at me anyway, right?"

"Y/n, that's not what I-"

"Oh look. We're here." You get out the cab before Natasha can finish what she's saying.

Ivan might be an evil person, but he sure does know how to throw a party. It was elegant and high class and he made his way over to you as soon as he saw you. You had both agreed that you would keep him distracted while Natasha grabbed the relevant information.

"Dorogaya, u tebya poluchilos!" (Darling, you made it!) Ivan opened his arms wide, grabbed you by the shoulders and placed a kiss on both of your cheeks.

"Konechno, kak ya mog ignorirovat' takuyu ​​zagadku?" (Of course, how could I ignore something so mysterious?) You laughed and he moved his arm to around your waist.

"Prikhodite, prikhodite, yest' lyudi, kotorykh vy dolzhny vstretit'" (Come, come, there are people you should meet)

~~~~~

Ivan spent most the night introducing you to different 'modelling' agencies. You knew what he was doing, he was showing you off to potential buyers. Ivan ran a human trafficking ring along with some other not so nice business. You weren't worried - not in the slightest. Although, as the night drew on and Natasha still hadn't said anything, you were getting a little more... concerned.

You managed to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once inside, you tapped the earpiece repeatedly, praying Natasha would answer you.

"Romanoff where are you? Have you got the data?"

Silence

"Seriously, I'm sorry I've been ignoring you but this is childish now."

More silence

"I'll let you have the bed?"

Static rang out in your ear.

Of course SHIELD gave you a crappy ear piece. It was ridiculous. They provided you with three million dresses but couldn't give you a working piece of tech.

Just as you pulled out the burner phone, you felt a needle slide into your neck and the world went black.

~~~~~

"Y/n I have the data."

Nothing. Maybe you were still mad at her.

"Y/n do you copy?"

Still nothing.

"Y/n?"

Natasha's heart beat a little faster.

"Come on Y/n. I'm sorry. I'll let you have the bed?" Her burner phone pinged. It was your location. Shit.

~~~~~

You woke up and looked around, seeing that you were in the rundown hideout, you put your head back on the pillow. Everything felt heavy.

"You were drugged." Natasha states, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and eyes never leaving you.

"Oh." It was all you could muster up the energy to say.

"We leave tomorrow morning."

You push yourself up into a sitting position. "How long was I out?"

"3 hours."

You looked at Natasha, really looked at her. "Then why are you still covered in blood?"

Everything of Natasha's had some kind of bloodstain. She hadn't even washed her hands. It may have been dark in the corner she was standing in, having only the side lamp to illuminate the room, but her skin seemingly glowed, making the blood stand out.

She turned around and left, heading towards the bathroom. You wanted to get up to follow her but while your mouth worked again, your legs did not. Apparently whatever they used on you was a lot stronger than you thought because you fell out of the bed. Again. Natasha rushed out, getting to you in an instant, except this time there were no sly remarks.

"Careful princess, people might think you care." You grin, only for it to drop immediately when you saw a slight wetness to the corners of her eyes. "Hey, it's okay." You said softly. If she wasn't as close to you, Natasha would have missed it.

"I didn't know where you were. I-I thought you had gone off to try and prove something and then I saw you lying there, in some basement Ivan had. You-you looked so... dead."

"But I'm not." you reached up and gingerly stroked her hair, not wanting to spook her. "And look!" You gestured to your toes that were wiggling "I can feel my legs again!"

Natasha let out a slightly wet laugh. "I'm really sorry."

"For what? These things happen all the time. Although I will say, you seem to be unlucky because my missions always go wrong with you." You nudged her shoulder, crossing your legs so you faced her, both of you still on the floor.

"For making you think you weren't attractive. For basically drugging you myself."

"Don't be ridiculous Natasha. You didn't drug me."

"I might as well have done! If I had just agreed with you instead of fighting you, then you wouldn't have felt like you had to prove anything."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Seriously? That's what we're choosing to focus on now."

"Umm yes? I know it wasn't your fault at all but now I want to hear about how attractive I am." You smirked and Natasha stood up abruptly.

"I'm having a shower."

"Is that a nice cold shower for you to try to get over me?" You shouted as she slammed the door shut.

~~~~~

Natasha came out of the shower half an hour later, towel drying her hair.

"I think you're attractive too." You whispered out, half hoping Natasha wouldn't hear it.

She stilled. Looking at you, trying to see if you were lying.

"Then why do you hate me?"

"I don't think I do. Not anymore."

Natasha stayed silent, encouraging you to continue.

"I didn't like the avengers in general. You guys all act like you're so much better than us. You get all the perks of looking good and none of the paperwork. You don't know the amount of times I've seen top level agents filling out avenger paperwork when they should be out in the field. I thought you were all lazy but spending this week with you... well it made me realise that maybe you're not all that bad."

Natasha had moved herself to the bed, just watching you speak. You looked over to her, signalling that you had finished all that you wanted to say.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. I'll talk to the team about actually doing their paperwork. Who's the worst?" She asked, curiosity laced in her tone

"Steve."

Natasha let out a full blown laugh at that. "Wait seriously?"

"Yup. I see him all the time, constantly trying to offload his paperwork to someone else. I always thought it would be Tony but it's definitely Steve, then Bruce. Then it's probably Tony."

"I promise I'll try to make them stop."

"I wouldn't make promises you can't keep." You laughed.

"Why...why did you doubt me?" You asked, a little more serious than before.

"It's not that I doubted you... I guess I just didn't like the way you spoke to Ivan..."

"You mean the flirting?"

"Maybe..."

You sat in silence for a bit, you couldn't figure out why. It's not like it was against any rules and it all worked in your favour. Then, it clicked.

"Natasha Romanoff were you jealous!" You let out a slight gasp and grinned at her.

"No. No of course not." Natasha got defensive. There was no way she was jealous of that old, wrinkly, nasty smelling man.

"Aww princess!" You adjusted yourself so you were completely facing her. "I can flirt with you too if you want." Your voice got slightly lower and your eyelids dropped a fraction, making your pupils seem bigger. While you raised your voice a few octaves for Ivan, you knew that to seduce a woman you had to lower it a little.

"Stop it." Natasha hit you.

"But why baby?" You grabbed her chin and tilted her face towards you. "Now you don't have to be jealous." You sent her a wink and let her chin go, watching as her eyes got a little darker.

"Go away. I want nothing to do with you or your terrible flirting."

"You say my flirting is terrible" Your voice now back to normal, "But your body is saying something different."

"Wrong. My body is saying nothing."

"No?"

No."

"Okay then! Night night princess." You leant over to switch off the light when Natasha grabbed your arm, causing you to look back over to her.

"Calling me princess... it - ugh... well it -" Natasha looked conflicted before glancing up to you, looking at your lips and kissing you.

You were shocked. You knew you shouldn't have been. All the signs were there and you were a very good flirt but actually feeling her lips on yours made your brain short-circuit. You kissed her back and climbed into her lap.

"We're not doing it here." You said when you both broke the kiss

"Why not?" Natasha looked at you, her hands running all over you.

"Because I'm 90% sure there are rats and I really don't want to catch something"

Natasha laughed and kissed you a little more. "Fair enough. We should stop this now then."

You kissed her neck. "Yes. We should definitely stop now."

~~~~~

Just before you were due to leave, you called Natasha into the bedroom.

"Y/n, we have to go."

"I know I know but watch." You bounced excitedly as you threw a match at the bed.

"Y/n what the hell!?"

"Well, if you remember correctly, I said that if you crossed the pillow divide, I would burn the bed with you in it. As you can see, I'm generously leaving you out of the bed. You're welcome."

Natasha just looked at you. "I can't believe I like you."

"Aww you like me? That's kind of embarrassing for you." You laughed as you linked arms with her, walking to the jet, but not before Natasha convinced you to put out the fire on the bed.

You watched as the fire fizzled out and silently thanked that damn bed for bringing you and Natasha closer. Literally. It didn't mean you weren't going to have a long chat with Fury about proper size beds though.

[mercurysstars]

All That Glitters Is Not Gold (part 7)

Summary: Y/n gets hired to be the avengers chief physician and also happens to be an ex assassin.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Needles, swear words, reader getting angry.

A/N: Okay y’all so maybe the reader has slight anger issues.

𝘍𝘪𝘹 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

_

Y/n suddenly became aware of the very persistent beeping noise in her ear. No matter what she tried she couldn't get it to stop and it was starting to annoy the hell out of her. She cracked her eyes open, the light-flooded her blinding her for a few seconds but her eyes quickly adjusted.

The first thing she noticed was the white plain walls of the Med-Bay. The memories flickered through her head like a flashing light. Y/n looked down to her bandage arm she peeled it back a bit, by looking at her wound she guessed she might have been out a little over a day and a half.

She grabbed the cords attached to her body and yanked them out causing the heart monitor to start flatlining. Wanda shot right up out of a dead sleep at the sound, looking over to make sure her friend was okay. Y/n didn't even know she was there until she spoke up "Oh good you're alive."

Y/n grimaced "Very much so. How long have I been out?"

"A little over a day," Wanda said confirming what she thought. "After FRIDAY alerted us, Barnes got there first to see you all bruised and bloody."

Y/n could tell Wanda was trying to keep the conversation light which she appreciated. She rolled her eyes and chuckled "You should see the other guy."

"Oh trust me I did." Wanda grinned. "I should probably go get bruce though so I'll be right back."

Wanda left her room. Bruce came in and checked her vitals and drew some blood just to make sure there wasn't anything toxic left in her blood. He said that they couldn't use the cradle because it could harm her further so there would be a scar. But Y/n didn't mind much a little bit of meditation and it would be long gone.

Wanda gave Y/n her phone but had to go because Vision needed some help. Y/n was checking some emails and she heard a little sniffle. She looked up to see a red-eyed Peter peaking into her room. She set down her phone and motioned him over. "Hey, Peter what's wrong?"

Peter seemed a little unsure of himself hesitating to speak. He once again sniffles wiping his face with his shirt. In a little voice, he mumbled, "I was scared you were going to die."

Y/n's heart broke into a million little pieces. She didn't know what to say to him. She wanted to comfort him but she didn't know-how. Y/n did the only thing she knew how. Made a joke out of it. "Oh, Pete you know some half-ass assassin can't get the best of me."

Peter chuckled also while hiccuping. He looked down then back at her. He rushed toward Y/n wrapping his arms around her. Y/n slowly wrapped her arm around him the stayed like that for a few seconds. She rubbed his back and patted it. "Can't breathe. Super strength." She choked out.

Peter pulled back standing next to her bed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly "I forgot sorry."

"Don't worry about it. And hey get some sleep I'm the one in the Med-bay and you look worst than me."

Peter promised he would. He gave her a get-well card that he bought with his aunt May. He turned to leave. Bucky was standing in the doorway. Peter told him he could go in and left.

Bucky walked into the room. Y/n's face lit up when she noticed him standing there. "Well look who it is. My savior."

Bucky gave a small chuckle. He looked her over. He can't get the image of her lying limp in his arms out of his head. He doesn't think he's ever been that scared or panicked in his life. It became blurry to him after she passed out. He vaguely remembers carrying her the few feet to the med bay and Bruce ordering someone to get him out. Funny how someone can change your life within a few months of knowing them.

"How are you doing." He breathed out turning serious. He sat in the chair next to her bed setting her clothes on the tabled next to them. He couldn't explain it he felt like it was her fault she was in here. Even if he hasn't done it personally.

"Good, I'm good. How's Alpine? I know she has separation anxiety."

"Well, last night she somehow got into my room again. And right now I think she's with Wanda. I'm pretty sure she sneaks her extra treats."

Y/n and Bucky continued to talk. She genuinely enjoyed his company. There was a feeling that she didn't want to name that started to open up whenever he came around. They decided to watch a movie. Y/n was sitting crisscross applesauce and Bucky had his feet kicked up onto her bed while laying back in the chair.

"You actually liked this movie," Bucky exclaimed. Y/n got to pick the movie and she picked newsies. She thought it was the right thing to choose considering it's about young boys in New York. Though it was a little before his time it was basic Bucky and Steve.

"Yes, it was my favorite movie of my teen years. Believe it or not, I thought their New Yorker accents were really hot."

Bucky laughed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing "No way. They are so bad. They aren't even accurate."

"Hey don't judge. I can't help what my teenage hormones find attractive." She jokingly kicked his feet and he put his arms up defensively.

"I'm not, I'm not. It's just that I don't see you like that type of girl. Back in my day, they use to associate accents with thugs or gangs."

"It's the 21st-century hun. Times are different." She put her non-injured hand on her hip.

Bucky raised his eyebrows and smirked "So I'm seeing."

The buzzing of Y/n phone interrupted their conversation. The caller ID read Anthony Y/n put up a finger to signal to give her a moment. She clicked the accept button and a nervous sounding Tony picked up "Hey Y/n how are you? I heard what happened."

Y/n? He never uses her real. That only means one thing. He did something that could potentially piss her off. She was out for one day and this is what happens. "What did you do Tony."

"Okay look so don't be mad when I tell you. Meet me in the debriefing room in 10." He hung up before she got the chance to object.

Y/n slide to the edge of the bed. She swung her feet over. She attempted to stand up but when she put pressure on her foot she nearly collapsed. Y/n didn't remember hitting her foot or anything but it must have been when she dove over her desk. Bucky put his hands on her waist to steady her. "Woah you okay there doll?"

"Yeah. Can you like?" She made a turning motion with her hand. Bucky immediately stood up and turned around.

Y/n took off her hospital gown. Buck caught a glance of 2 long scars crossing her stomach and what looked like to be a burn on her hip through the reflection of the window. He quickly turned away out of respect. Y/n slide on her pants and cleared her throat. "I'm done."

Bucky turns around and sees her supporting most of her weight on her right foot. "Do you want me to get you crutches or a wheelchair?"

"Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good super soldier right here?"

She hobbled over to Bucky and wrapped her good arm around his waist. He rolled his eyes at her being difficult but put his arm around her. He wouldn't admit it but he secretly liked it and thought it was sweet.

They got down to the debriefing room. Tony was pacing around the front muttering something to himself. Y/n and Bucky took up the last two seats. Y/n's foot was throbbing so she put it on the table to elevate it. They waited a couple of minutes for him to start. Natasha finally decided to speak up getting annoyed "You want to tell us what this was about before you burn a hole in the carpet."

Tony stopped to look at them and started to pace again "Okay so I didn't tell you guys everything. That meeting I had was with the UN. They are trying to get General Ross to be ahead of the Avengers instead of Nick Fury."

He paused to let them take it in. Some were confused, and a couple were mad. "Wait are they just trying to do this since we didn't sign the Sakovia accords?" Steve said what most were thinking.

"See that's what I said but they were talking about some bullshit about us being unorganized and dangerous. And the only way they'd stop it is if someone took a truth serum and I said Y/n would."

Oh, this is why he told her not to get mad. She had to take a deep breath so she wouldn't pull off her shoe and beat him with it. Is he stupid? He's a genius but he can't think before he speaks. "So how does it work?" Clint asked.

"Well, they will hook you up to a lie detector machine and inject you with the truth serum. The way it works is that every time you lie the serum will start to burn and your heart rate will start to accelerate."

"So what all do I have to lie about." Y/n finally questioned. She was chewing her lip in contemplation. She's pulled off worst than this and has had more on the line than this.

"What I know for sure is that I said you've been with us for 2 years, you can't tell them how you got that cut and anything that can potentially get us into trouble. Also, you can't take any strong pain meds."

"So basically she has to have one hell of a poker face," Bucky concluded.

Y/n sighs and rubs her head."How long do I have."

"12 hours until wheels up." Tony better buy me so many boxes of pizza she thinks.

_

Bucky watched as Y/n sat on the floor crisscross applesauce. Her back is the door and the only light in the room is the light from the hallway in the quinjet. Y/n could hear the soft buzz of Bucky's metal arm with her eyes still close she says "You know you can come in Sarge."

That startles Bucky. He walked into the room and sat on the floor taking up space next to her. He looked at her "I came to tell you we are almost there. Are you nervous?"

Y/n thought for a few seconds. Most people in her position would probably be pissing their pants at this moment. Having to go in front of the United Nations and lie straight to their faces. So she answered truthfully "No, no I'm not."

Bucky was surprised. She was genuine in her answer. If it was him he would be having a near stroke. "Really? Anyway so why do meditate it doesn't actually help with anything."

"Actually it does. It helps with my heart rate and it helps me heal faster."

"Oh?" He looked at her expectingly obviously not believing her.

She kicked out her leg and lifted the pant leg to her suit. The bruise was gone and she rotated her foot and wiggle her toes to prove she wasn't in any pain.

Y/n grabbed his shoulder as a crutch to help her get up and grabbed her heels. Bucky looked up at her. "You know I can't seem to figure you out."

Y/n paused and pursed her lips in thought "Somethings are better off left as mysteries." She patted his shoulder and walked out.

_

Wanda, Natasha, and Y/n broke off from the rest of the Avengers, having to go to the medical room so she could get a mini medical exam.

The girls walk through security. Natasha dropped all of her weapons in a bin so she could pick them up later. They put a device around Wanda's neck so she couldn't use her powers. Y/n could see how uncomfortable it made her. She walked over to Wanda and whispered "I feel bad you have to wear that. You didn't have to come."

Wanda looked at her and have a small sad smile "What you're about to do is worst than this. It's the least I can do for you helping us."

Y/n nodded to her. Security officers escorted them to the medical room. They had Y/n sit on a bed. They made her pee in a cup, took her blood, and checked her medical history. Natasha was giving her advice. While she knew most things it was still nice having someone coach her through and remind her of it.

When they finished Wanda went to join the rest of the Avengers. Natasha walked her to the door she adjusted Y/n's suit "You've got this. We'll be supporting you in the crowd."

"Thank you Nat for everything really." She hugged her and Natasha gave Y/n's arm a reassuring squeeze.

Y/n took a deep breath. She stepped into the room. The room was a half-circle shape with large windows behind it. In the back were journalists and reporters. And in the front were the UN personnel were located. Y/n walked past the Avengers and took her seat in the middle of the room.

Y/n could feel everyone's eyes on her. She got blinded momentarily from the flashes of the cameras. She looked over to the Avengers. Tony, Bruce, Clint, and Steve at the end. Bucky in the middle. And Sam, Natasha, Wanda, and Vision on the other end. Wanda gave her 2 thumbs up and Y/n smiled back at her.

Staff came over and started to unpack and hook her up to the lie detector machine. They took off the jacket to her suit and connected wires to three fingers on her right hand. They put a blood pressure cuff on her left tricep and inflated it. Ross stood up and cleared his throat being the room's attention on him.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I'm General Ross and I will be doing the questioning on the behalf of the UN."

He turned his gaze to Y/n. "We're going to test the lie detector first."  Y/n nodded to him and he began.

"Is your legal name Y/n Y/l/n?"

"Yes." Y/n states.

"True." The man in the chair next to her says.

He looked down at the paper he had in his hand looking for his next question. "Very well. Were you born Y/B/D 1995?"

"Yes."

"True."

"Are you nervous?"

Natasha's words come back to Y/n. Lie once. Lie about something small. So they don't get suspicious. Y/n let her heart rate pick up a bit and purposely avoided eye contact. "No."

"Lie."

"It's okay to be nervous. God knows I would." Ross joked a few people chuckled and Y/n had to physically hold back an eye roll. He thinks he got her but in reality, he's right where she wanted.

He nodded to the staff and they walked over to her and began to prep her. They cleaned a small area of her arm with an alcohol pad. "This might hurt a bit." One muttered.

They stuck the needle into her arm and injected the serum. At first, it felt cool but then it hit her all at once it felt like someone poured a pan of grease on her. Y/n's skin was on fire, she bit her cheek so hard it nearly drew blood.

Bucky watched as Y/n closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If it was anything like the Super Soldier serum he knew it burn. She opened her eyes and if he didn't witness it he wouldn't even know it happened seconds ago.

General Ross walked back to the front and began to speak "We are ready to proceed. Did it hurt? I've never tried it."

"Yes." Like a bitch.

"What role do you play for the Avengers? Tony mentioned you've been there for 2 years."

"I'm their Chief Physician." The second part of his sentence was a statement so she missed lying by an inch.

"True."

He asked questions like that for a while or worded them differently. The questions were getting repetitive and Y/n was getting bored and impatient. She hasn't had to lie yet not that she wanted to. Especially not when she has the truth serum from hell injected in her veins.

"Have the Avengers ever put you in any unnecessary danger?" Ross questioned.

"Never." She replied trying not to bounce her leg.

"True."

"Tell me Miss Y/l/n how did you get that cut? It looks pretty deep." He paused seemingly watching for her reaction.

"My cat. She has some pretty mean claws." Y/n stated without missing a beat. She felt the burn of the serum. It wasn't as bad as the injection but damn did it fucking hurt. Despite that Y/n kept a straight face starting to get annoyed with him. She could hear the flutter of the cameras.

"True."

"Would you consider Miss Maximoff unstable in any way, shape, or form?"

Y/n has to stop her eyes from going wide. What the hell kind of question was that besides rude. It's like he wants her to lash out at him. "No."

The man watches the monitor for a few seconds "True." He finally says.

"Would you consider Mr. Barnes dangerous?"

The audacity of this man. You want to see someone dangerous? Let's see how dangerous I am when I choke you out with this cord that's wrapped around my finger- "No"

"True."

"Are you aware of his past?"

"Very much so. And that where it should stay the past. I don't know what you're trying to get at general."

"True."

"Were you aware that we are starting a search for Lilith and anyone with information on her that doesn't come forward will be sent to the raft? And were you aware that if we find her we are ordered to kill on sight?"

Y/n gets a bitter taste in her mouth. This cannot be happening. She can't freak out right now. She clenched her jaw "No I was not aware of either."

"True."

"Very well that's all." Ross returned to his seat among the UN.

The staff came over and unhooked her from the machine. Y/n felt like she could finally breathe. She stood up and walked out without glancing back. The Avengers did the same meanwhile getting swarmed with paparazzi.

Part 8

My mini taglist

@theashlynbarnes @writingonabrokenwall

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (07b)

word count; 7053

summary; as the tragedy of the chemical fire begins to wind down, the aftermath leaves the entire team in shock, and in need of a little comfort.

notes; this is the second half of part-7, I just know you guys are going to love it by the end.

warnings; minor character deaths, reference to panic attacks, vomiting, chemical fires.

Finally, the dam broke, and you tried to hold in the tears that wanted to release, the boy on the sheet twitching aggressively in his unconscious state as his body struggled to keep functioning. Your hands felt heavy as you pressed your hand over the neat stack of cards, dragging your hand over the pile and spreading it out to display all of the colours, before your fingers were brushing over what you were certain was the first of this colour card to be issued yet today.

A black card, feeling ominous in your hand, the weight of the card feeling more like bricks as you lifted it up, and you allowed yourself to shed the first tear. You didn’t want to tell Thomas, to let him know the real extensions of what you were seeing, but there was nothing for this boy that you could do. He wouldn't make it to a hospital or into surgery, his injuries were far too extensive, and so you let your legs stretch out from in front of you, the black card looped around his neck as you tried your best to make him comfortable.

The wipes you used were soothing instead of antibacterial, cooling skin that had been destroyed by flames, red and bleeding as you tried to soothe him, wiping away the traces of his injuries to try and clean him up.

There was a hope, that family was coming for him, that you were cleaning him up for a reason, helping him to look more presentable as you wiped traces of black ash and dust from his skin, all mattered in brown-red stains and sweat, tears under his eyes, and you removed it all.

It was moments like this that you had to remind yourself why you did this job at all, working along him carefully all the way to his fingertips as you wiped him down, adjusting the torn shreds of his clothes around him to hide the extent of his injuries as best as you could once you’d padded the deep slashes across his torso, bandages already beginning to seep through with red, but you adjusted his shirt down to over them. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was radically better than it had been.

Tanned flesh was beginning to lose colour and his body motions were beginning to grow fatigued, and once you had adjusted him as best as you could, you were simply left to wait, sitting by the young boy’s side, and whispered reassurances into his ear with every twitch he made, sometimes resurfacing long enough to feel his pain, back arching and screams of pain leaving his lips, and you bit back tears, before letting them flow freely once again when his pain carried him back a state of illusion.

You loved this job, because in 99 out of 100 cases, it worked out. You helped pregnant women escape elevator shafts and father’s life long enough to see their baby born too, and you helped kids escape a life they didn't want to be in, and have the courage to create a new path. You helped nurses of amnesia patients escape burning rooms when they’d given up all hope, and you saved the elderly from suffocation on the gas leaks within their own homes.

You were damn good at your job, but sometimes, there were moments like this one that made it all that much harder.

Making a mental note of where you lay within the chaos, you hauled yourself up onto your feet, families weaving around as they all made to seek out their family members, and you were glad to notice that less and less people were being removed from the building. As you weaved through the channels made in the grass, the green stands worn away under multiple foot and wheel prints into muddy dirty tracks that would take weeks to fix, you made your way towards the ambulance you’d arrived in.

The weight of your body was heavy, every footfall feeling like it weighed you down more and more, your arms hanging by your sides, and you knew that tomorrow you would be riddled with pain and aching muscles, the over-exertions, everything from fixing up simple wounds, to hauling around men who were 200lb of pure muscle to help move them into recovery positions or lift them onto stretchers when they were too weak or injured to do it themselves, workmen who were twice your size, and the strain was making itself known.

You were numb, for now, and it was a sweet and blissful relief to know that the racing of your heart was creating enough adrenaline to dull every pain you had. Well, except for the headache that had been throbbing behind your eyes for hours now and making you feel a little nausea, but you could handle that, as long as you were able to finish this day without anything else. You must’ve dealt with over a hundred people at least, possibly more, the workload doubled with Newt too, and you were ready to crash into your bed, dreading the hours of shift you still had remaining.

The flames were beginning to be tamed, the blue tint to the smoke was fading as the chemicals were burned away, thick clouds of black smoke as the orange glow died down, beginning to be extinguished. There wasn’t much equipment that you had needed before, and yet now, you were grabbing ahold of a heart rate monitor and an oxygen tank, the mask to match it, and one of the stretcher pillows that had been discarded to the front of the ambo’ to make more room on the trolleys.

Hooking the monitor under your arm, you moved it to sit comfortably balanced on your hip, before you were letting out a sigh, your fingers hovering over the drawer of medicines and needles that you hated going into. Newt had stuck a small skull and crossbones sticker over it, one that had an eyepatch and a pirates hat on it, a joke between the two of you after you’d gone through the drive-thru at McDonalds on the way back from a call only a few weeks ago, getting a collection of pirate stickers in a happy meal box.

That drawer was only ever dug into if all options were out, if you were simply trying to relieve some of the pain that a patient was in, because they were in agony, and wouldn't make it to the hospital. Enough to bring down someone's pain levels, to let their heart relax, because once their brain stopped fighting to keep them alive and hiding the pain, they often didn’t drive too long after that.

Swallowing thickly, the jars within rattled a little as they clinked against one another. Shifting through and turning them in your hands, you found the container labelled with the medicine you were searching for, a fresh needle in a plastic packet, and you held both of them in your other hand, adjusting the equipment in your arms as you hopped down from the vehicle once again.

Slamming the doors back shut and waiting to hear them lock behind you, your eyes flickered over the scene. There were still a lot of police officers; operating crowd control, handing out water bottles and guiding members of the family through the crowd. You would give it time, not injecting the poor boy with the medicine until it all became too much for him, giving him the best chance for his family to get here before he passed, but you couldn't wait long.

Your feet dragged a little as you walked, toes scuffing against the muddy grass, and you were beginning to lose all strength, forcing yourself to go on, muscles clenching to keep them tight before you dropped everything you were holding entirely. Arriving back at the scene, the boy was panting rapidly and lightly, eyes moving beneath closed lids and jaw clenched so tight you worried he would crack his teeth, fists clenched by his side as his body remained rigid.

Placing down the kit gently, you let out a little sigh, his eyes cracking open to turn to look at you as he heard the sound.

“I-It hurts!”

You swallowed, knowing there wasn’t much more you could do as his voice cracked. He was covered with burns, and there were clear signs of internal bleeding as the organs beneath charred skin went solid, there was bruising along his body in many places from the broken bones under his skin, and with the wheezing he let out, never quite able to catch his breath, you were certain that the cracked ribs had punctured one of his lungs. “I know, kiddo, I know.”

He cried out again, a wet sound as he coughed, his entire body jerking at the sensation, and you cupped a hand behind his head, fingers finding the sticky wetness of warm blood at the base of his neck as you tried to rock him forwards, letting him cough until splatters of blood were hitting his lap and the plastic, splattering a little across you as he wretched, his entire body trembling.

When he finally managed to stop the movements, he was even more out of breath than he had been, and you lay him back down, using a glove-covered thumb to wipe at the corners of his mouth and clear away the blood and spit mix that had accumulated there. He had wretched, several times, though no bile had risen, his body reacting in every way it could now as organs began to fail and shut down one by one, and you hated that there was nothing anyone could do but sit here on watch.

Minute felt like an eternity as you hooked up the heart monitor, turning the volume down to soft beeping, as not to disturb anyone else, an uneven and erratic rate with a blood pressure concerningly low, and you were glad that the average eye couldn't read these figures, because it read like a horror story in a medical professionals eyes.

Just as you finished hooking the boy up to the machine, an oxygen mask sitting over his face, fogging up lightly inside as he took gasping breaths of the raw source, you felt a shadow fall over you, covering your eyes from the light before you were looking up.

The mother, you could tell immediately, from the sullen look in her eyes, and she didn’t look at you, her gaze sweeping over the boy who lay beside where you knelt, before she was turning, a quick call to her husband, and just like that, you were crowded by family. There were three younger siblings, and he seemed to be the eldest of them all, a pre-teen with tears already in her eyes as she looked at her brother, a child who couldn't be older than eight staring in confusion as they tried to grasp what happened, and a toddler, a fist knotted in their father’s jumper and balanced on his hip.

Sinking to her knees beside her son, she didn’t sob or scream, she simply let out a shaky breath, lifting her hand to brush dark curls out of his face, looking down at her eldest child as he began to slip away again. Setting the youngest down, the toddler wobbled on unstable legs to their mother, sitting down in the grass beside them and reaching a hand out with useless babble to place a chubby hand onto the boy’s arm, squeezing a little and cheering as they lived within a bubble of innocence, unaware of what was happening.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

A deeper voice, the father, and you turned, nodding your head to him and shifting yourself to pick up the needle, tearing off the plastic top and producing the needle from inside. “I’m just going to give him a shot of morphine, and then we’ll talk.”

He only nodded, watching as you lifted the container, pushing the tip of the needle through the rubbery covering and drawing back on the syringe carefully to fill the needle with the approximate amount, tapping the tip and checking it over once it had the right dosage within it. Finding a spot on his arm where there was still enough intact flesh to find a vein, you pressed your finger down over the pale skin, the blue vein underneath disappearing for a second, refilling weakly but marking its place, and you lined the needle up.

An uncomfortable pang shot through you as you injected the needle into his arm, pushing the pad of your finger down against the handle of the needle until all of the medicine had been unloaded into his veins. It took a few seconds to travel, and you watched him, studying his reaction to be sure, before all at once his muscles loosened and he sagged with relief into the plastic tarp as the pain finally faded away, fingers flexing around his mother’s as he squeezed with what little strength he had left.

Standing up and wobbling a little, the father followed you a few steps away from the group, and he glanced back over his shoulder to his family, hands sticking into his pockets, before he was letting out a heavy sigh. “My boy, he’s not going to make it, is he?”

“No, he’s not.” You whispered, and the man only nodded, a slow exhale from him as he processed that news, before tears were building in his eyes, and he began to crumble a little. “I gave him a shot of morphine, it’s slowed down all of his functions now, and taken away his pain. He can’t feel it now. I wish there’s more I could have done, I’m sorry.”

“My wife saw the news, saw the explosion. She was so worried, straight away.” A twist of guilt moved through you, making you sniff a little as your own lower lips wobbled, and you tried to choke down tears. “I told her she’d be okay, and that he was just an intern. There was no way he was close enough to the real stuff to be badly injured.”

“My friend found him, carried him out about fifteen minutes ago. Gave me enough time to let you get here to say your goodbyes.”

“You tell your friend ‘thank you’ for me, and for my family.” You nodded, knowing how much it would mean, and he finally let his tears slip free, making it harder for you to contain your own emotions. “He’s the oldest of all four, I don’t do much for a job. I’m just a mechanic, and his mother works at a supermarket, but he was going to college. He studied biomedical science, he was going somewhere.”

You grimaced, an unstable breath sucked into your lungs, before you were blinking quickly and looking away. There was bile rising in your throat, your hand gripping at your stomach to try and contain it. “I’m going to go now, and let you say your goodbyes. I’ll return soon, okay?”

You both knew what ‘soon’ meant, and he nodded, stepping away to talk to his wife, and a look seemed to be all that was needed to communicate between them, before the first of a loud cry was leaving her lips, and that was your breaking point. You shouldered through the people, mumbled apologised on your lips, you did feel bad for pushing through them all, but you could barely choke down the vomit rising within your guts before you were stepping out of sight, hunched over at the waist as you let it go, hand reaching out for supper as you found the tree.

Nails scraped against the bark, the pads of your fingers stinging at the rough pressure, and you shuddered as you heaved, throat stinging and eyes watering as you struggled to even breathe. It felt unending, time warping around you as you realised it had only been a half-hour since the boy had been delivered to you, and that he wouldn't make it to the hour marker.

A hand came down to rub at your back, and you gasped for breath, wiping the back of your hand, covered by your sleeve across your mouth and taking a moment to yourself. When you were finally able to stand back up, stomach feeling a little more stable as you tried not to think about the dying boy lest your nausea return, you twisted to find the person who had come to comfort you.

"Officer Paris." Your words couldn't get any higher than a whisper, and even that cracked, and his hand fell back down to his side as you wrapped your arms around yourself in comfort.

“Saw you take a sudden dash, got a little worried.”

You nibbled on your lower lip, a foul taste lingering in your mouth, and he offered up a water bottle for you, a weak laugh on your lips as you accepted it with a whispered ‘thank you’. As you took deep swigs, forcing yourself not to gulp as you slowed your racing heart, you watched as the fire teams began to load the equipment back into their trucks slowly, all the work they could do having been completed by now, and you knew that there was still a lot of work left for you to do before you’d get to follow after them.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.” You whispered, screwing the lid of the water back on and holding it to your chest, using the cool liquid within to try and focus your senses. “We’re going to need a coroner down here. I know there’s some up in the building, but we have a kid, he’s not going to make it.”

“I’ll find one for you, okay?”

You appreciated the gentle tone of his voice, lowering your head to rub gently at your temples with one hand. “I should get back, we need to start getting people out of here.”

You could hardly focus as you walked back to your stations, everything seeming to slip from focus into some kind of daze as you tried to focus on what you were doing. You retrieved your bag, scooping it up from the floor and swinging it over your shoulder. There were coloured cards waiting to be collected, torn plastic bases and litters of water bottles in the mud, as well as lost personal belongings that had been forgotten in the rush.

Many people were still crowded around, waiting to be excused and waiting to get rides in an ambulance, the reds fading away into a majority of only green and yellow cards waiting, and you praised your lucky stars that you had only needed to give out one single black card today, because you weren’t sure that you’d even still be standing if there had been any more.

Flexing the fingers of your hand slowly, you focused on the sensation, head rolling from side to side, before your shoulders followed, and you loosened every single muscle you had for a tranquil moment, before setting to work. The sun was already beginning to fade on the day now, moving towards the horizon as the lighting dulled, hours having passed between caring for patients, and your first call was to begin getting people signed off.

Leaving your bag in the flooring of your seat in the ambulance, you collected a stack of forms and papers, as well as pens, taking them with you as you began to make your rounds of anyone who was left. As long as they were sentient enough to fill out discharge forms after you ran a final assessment, you could let them leave on their own as long as they had somebody with them, family or a friend, even just a neighbour or coworker, but it helped to clear out the crowds.

Newt joined you after an hour or so, having done his last assessment with the final patient, all the fire trucks being long since left, leaving police cars and vans scattered around, ambulances coming and going, and you had to ensure not to focus on the black vans with wide embossed lettering that brought a more sombre mood. Newt seemed to sense your pain, because he disappeared for a small while, returning not long after, and as you packed away equipment, the family you’d helped were now gone, the equipment you’d left with them was loaded back into the ambulance, and where words failed you, the look your friend gave you said it all.

He knew how much you’d suffered, he knew it would only cause more pain to go over and gather the equipment once the boy’s body had been cleared, and so he took care of it for you. A crew of policemen were on clean-up, as well as that of volunteers, only the shining lights of headlights and camera crew leftover as the light began to fade into darkness, and the scene was somewhat clean.

Lost belongings were piled into large plastic boxes with the police, and you filled out what felt like a bibles-worth of paperwork with the coroners, signing your name so many time your signature now just looked like a scribble rather than your name, before you were finally collapsing down into the somewhat uncomfortable cushioning of the ambulance’s passenger seat.

Silence took over your both, and as the truck started up, you left your head sway back into the headrest, eyes slipping shut as the rumble of the vehicle lulled you into as much relaxation as you could get.

As the adrenaline began to die down, you were able to feel the ache in your body, the pain that was seeping into every fibre of your body, every nerve and cell, exhaustion taking over. Raising a hand up to cover your mouth as you yawned, Newt chuckled softly, leaning over and patting your knee, before he was changing gears, and twisting on the radio to fill the cabin with the sounds of the classical music radio.

The trucks were parked away neatly within the garage bay when you arrived, the main doors up to anticipate your arrival, but the space was unusually empty, though it was understandable. After cells, members of the team could often be found milling around, sitting at the squad table and chatting, or working over the truck to check and clean equipment, filling the silence with laughter and jokes as they got along, but as you hopped out of the vehicle the second it was put into park, you were met with silence.

The echo of your door slamming shut reverberated around the empty foyer, Newt’s soon following, before he was rounding to your side, a sad look in eyes that normally sparkled brightly, and he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about the kid. I really thought we were going to make it through the day without a black card today.”

“Did the coroner’s say anything about inside?”

“I didn’t even want to ask. We did everything we could, everybody did.” You swallowed thickly, nodding your head, and letting Newt loop an arm over your shoulders to pull you into his side, your head falling to his shoulder, and dragging your aching feet underneath you as you followed after him towards the locker room. You were stained with dirt, blood and grime, and you hoped the water was hot enough to soothe you and wash away your worries, already thinking about the muscle-relief body wash that you had hidden on the second shelf in your locker. “We could get in touch with the hospital, and see if everybody is okay?”

“You could call that hot doctor.” Newt squeezed you a little, a humourless laugh leaving you as you caught sight of his smirk, little energy to reciprocate the joke, but appreciating the way he lifted the mood nonetheless. “What was his name, again? David, Denny?”

“It’s Derek, and you know that.”

“Derek, that’s right.” He sighed, dreamily as he pushed open the door to the locker room, and the smell of multiple body-washes as well as the lingering heat from steam, signalling that the rest of your team had already been through the room and cleaned themselves up. Grabbing the towel and the bag of toiletries from your locker, you kicked off your boots, flexing your toes as your feet were liberated, and letting your socks follow. You were too lazy to even scoop your clothes up from the floor, stripping down to your underwear before wandering away to the shower, and closing the curtain.

Removing your final garments, you reached a hand back out of the closed stall, dropping them to the floor beside where your towel was hanging up, and twisting on the shower. Across the room, in the men’s showers, you heard Newt let out a loud and dramatic groan, a giggle on your lips as he did.

“I have never appreciated hot water more.”

“Speak your truth, Newt.” You teased, hearing his laugh as you stepped under the stream of water yourself, face tilted up into the spray and eyes closing, letting yourself be ridden of the day’s stresses. You didn’t want to look down, and see the colour that the water would run, you didn’t want to see any of it, the blood or the mud, you just wanted to let it all disappear, without having to acknowledge any of it again. Keeping your eyes closed, you reached for the wash-proof bag, unzipping it and feeling inside, fingers dancing over the bottles within to tell their shape.

Shampoo first, scrubbing through the tresses of your hair to remove the built-up grime, feeling the ponytail you’d put it in all slip away, the dull pain on your scalp soothing as your fingers massaged gently through your hair, pressing into the sore flesh, and you finally let a satisfied noise of your own bubble up. The squeaking of the doors on the other side of the room signified that Newt was finished long before you were, padding of wet feet, and as you moved onto the conditioner, you could faintly hear the slamming of his locker through the water as you washed the strands.

You didn’t hear when he actually left, the thundering of the water as it ran over your heart, the pounding of your own heartbeat inside of your head, but you sensed when he had left, the room feeling a little colder when you were alone. If a few stray tears escaped you to be washed away by the water when you scrubbed down your body and let the herbal soak absorb into your muscles, then nobody had to know, letting them be shed in honour of the boy who’d lost his life while trying to improve it.

You worked slowly and silently, wrapping the towel around yourself, and finding it a little easier to breathe as you wiped a space free in the steamed up mirror with your hand to be able to see. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest, leaving you able to take your breaths more smoothly, less ragged and strained, and your headache was beginning to fade. You felt better for being clean, your entire body aching but a little more relieved and nowhere near as tense, and you sighed, hands gripping the edge of the sink.

It was hard to forgive yourself sometimes when you lost a patient, it was never easy to watch someone die, but you’d done everything you possibly could to make it easier, and thanks to your team, he’d seen his family before he passed, and that was a blessing that made everything feel easier to bear.

Taking care of your skin and running a comb through the towel-dried strands of your hair, you were almost falling asleep as you dried it. The repetitive humming of the hairdryer was enough to make your eyes close and mind stop spinning, coming to a halt as everything began to slip from consciousness, your muscles feeling heavy for an entirely new reason, and you jerked yourself back away several times.

Following it all, you grimaced at the taste in your mouth, the bitter aftertastes of your physical reaction to the day still lingering, and so you were generous with the dollop of toothpaste you served yourself as you scrubbed lazily at your teeth and rinsed out your mouth. Scooping up your clothes and pulling on your spare set, you shoved everything grubby and used into your bag to take home, swapped with your fresh clothes, but you didn’t get dressed entirely.

Deep down, you knew that Vince wouldn’t mind if you slacked on your uniform just this once, and so for comfort, instead of pulling on another smart button-up uniform shirt, you went for your hoodie instead, the worn logo of your college in the top corner as it faded, a hole in one sleeve that your thumb would fit through, your hair pulled from underneath the collar to sit limply around your shoulders.

You didn’t care for boots, either, two pairs of socks to keep your feet warm, before you were pulling the sleeves down over your hands, and wandering away to the main room, to try and find your team, and seek reassurance and company within their presence. It was unsettling quiet in there too, only the sounds of Newt’s pen tapping on the table as he worked silently on the puzzles in the newspaper, and the sounds of the almost muted television that Thomas was staring at, one of the older ‘Star Wars’ movies playing on the screen, but from the way he was staring at it, you knew his mind was miles away.

There were only seven in the room, including yourself. Gally and Chuck were playing chess at the kitchen counter, Newt doing the puzzles and Thomas watching television, and Brenda was sitting at the other end of the table with Minho, the two of them each with their headphones in and listening to music, but sitting close enough to one another to seek comfort, and your lips flicked up a little, happy for them, taking it at their own pace. You weren’t sure where everyone else was, but logically, you would assume that they would be sleeping the day away.

Moving across the room, you reached immediately for the kettle, ruffling Chuck’s curls as you passed by, and he huffed under his breath, but a smile was on his flushed cheeks as you glanced back at him, a friendly wink for his complaints, before you were filling the tank up under the tap. Once it was clicked on and beginning to boil, you began to search through the cupboards for what you wanted, smiling as the ingredients came together.

Placing a pan on the stove, you flicked the flame onto the lowest setting you could get, and adding milk to the pan to begin to warm through, without boiling over. Opening up a bag of marshmallows, you popped on into your mouth, chewing at the squishy treat happily, and opening up the cupboard filled with assorted mugs, finding your favourite.

As you found the one you searched for, you placed it down on the counter, before another was following, and another, until there were seven mugs lined up in front of you, all mismatching in size and colour, some with pictures, patterns or writing. A generous spoonful of chocolate powder into the bottom of each one, your personal collection of hot chocolate ingredients, but you were willing to share just this once.

With a splash of boiling water, just enough to dissolve the powder, you topped each one up with the milk as soon as it began to froth around the edges, heated all the way through, and leaving a gap at the top. A sprinkle of marshmallows on the surface of the steaming beverage, and a spray of whipped cream into a pretty swirl, you decorated the top of each one with a few more marshmallows and a dash of chocolate dusting.

They weren’t perfect, there were drips of chocolate and cream along the edges, and they certainly weren’t anything you would serve at a restaurant, but as you placed one down in front of both Gally and Chuck, the looks on their faces were more than enough to confirm that they didn’t care about the appearance.

There was surprise on their features, brows raising as they looked between you and the hot beverages, whispered ‘thank yous’ as their fingers wrapped around it, pulling the mugs towards themselves and staring down at them, small smiles taking over. Minho had the same reaction, and Brenda stopped her music long enough to wrap you into a tight hug as you offered one to her, before Newt was sighing out happily, his head rolling back to look up at you when you'd placed a mug down in front of him. He’d given you a cheesy grin, and told you just how much he loved you, before taking a large gulp, and cursing a little as it burned his tongue, but not letting it deter him from repeating the action, and getting a print of whipped cream along his upper lip to be licked away.

Taking the last of the drinks to be given away, you made your way over to the couch. Thomas had seemingly had the same idea as you, a jumper on and the hood pulled up over his head to hide his face, and he jumped as you placed a hand onto his shoulder. You squeezed in apology as he turned to look at you, the sombre look on his face lightening a little bit as he tried to offer you a smile, twisting to face you a fraction more.

Rounding the edge of the couch to hand him the drink, surprise flickered over his features, before he was taking it into two trembling hands, and bringing it up to his nose to sniff lightly. He poked his tongue out, fishing a marshmallow and a scoop of whipped cream from the top, and he hummed contentedly at the flavour.

“Thank you.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, and you hoped the smile on your face didn’t look too pitying, only able to nod your head as he stared up at you, blowing on the steamy liquid as the cream melted, and your fingers rubbed gently at his shoulder where you still held on, before your hand was sliding away, stepping back a little, and his eyes snapped up from the drink to you, brows furrowing, before he was reaching a hand out, wrapping around the wrist that had been closest to him, and bringing you to a halt.

“Will you sit with me? Please?”

“Of course, I will. Let me just go and get my drink, okay?” He paused in releasing your wrist, fingers unwrapping slowly, and he took a sip of his hot chocolate as he settled back into the cushions. Grabbing at your drink, Newt watched as you went, his brows raising as you caught his eye, and you shrugged, the porcelain hot in your hand as you held onto it, almost enough to burn, and you switched to gripping the handle, swirling it a little to mix the melted cream into your drink.

Sinking down into the couch beside him, he shuffled a little closer, your legs folding under you until his thigh was pressing to your knee as you faced him, mug placed down on the table, and he leaned forwards, matching the positions, before he was running a hand over his face, and letting his gaze find your own.

“Are you okay, Thomas?”

“Not really.” He mumbled, looking completely and utterly exhausted, and you felt sorry for him, true empathy surging through you, and propped your head up on your hand, elbow on the back of the couch, as you looked at him. “You know, I think you lied to me. I think you told me what I needed to hear in the moment, but I don’t think it was the truth.”

You sighed, a short exhale as you tried to find words, and his lips flicked up at the sides, head dipping for s second, before he was looking up shaking his head slightly.

“I’m not mad. You knew what was best for me. I needed you, and you didn’t fail me. Thank you.” He whispered, the words just for you, and your lips pursed, feeling a little flustered at the way he stared at you; earnestly, eyes searching your own. “Will you tell me what happened, though?”

“You don’t want that, Thomas.”

“I do. Please, just tell me about the kid.” His request was desperate, and there was a silver lining to the incredibly dark cloud, thunder and lightning swirling within, and he choked down the lump in his throat as your shoulders sagged.

“He went comfortably. He didn’t feel a thing. I promise.” His eyes closed, a shaky breath let out, and his face screwed up a little as he tried to hold in his tears. He sniffled, before letting out a weak sigh, knowing that he was failing, and as he blinked, his lashes came back wet, a large tear falling along pale cheeks, before another was following. “His parents, they saw it on the news. They came right down, and his mother held his hand as he passed. He got to see his siblings, and his mom and dad. He didn’t die alone.”

He let out a weak cry, and you heard the shuffling at the table, the rustling of the papers as Newt moved, but his chair didn’t scrape across the floor yet, clearly waiting to judge whether or not his best friend needed him or not first.

“His dad was so proud of him, Thomas. He was the oldest of four, he was making all of them so proud, and thanks to you, he passed on peacefully.” Honey eyes that were encased with red opened up to meet your gaze, lower lip wobbling a little as he released it from where it was held between his teeth, and in this moment, he was weak. He wasn’t the lieutenant of the team, he wasn’t a leader or a fighter, he was just a man who’d experienced a tragedy. “You saved him, Thomas. You made his last moments something peaceful and meaningful.” You paused, waiting a second longer, letting him calm himself. “He told me to thank you, on behalf of his family.”

“He did?” You nodded, and his lips flicked up at the sides, a hint of a smile. Lifting a hand, you wiped away his tears, brushing your fingers over wet skin, before you were cupping one of his cheeks in your palm, and his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your touch as he let out a shaky breath. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He smiled, softly, twisting his head to press more into your touch, and you swept your thumb over his face, tracing soft and damp skin, the pad brushing lightly over the upturned tip of his nose, and his face scrunched up a little at the ticklish feeling. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, it just comes to me, I guess. What you need to hear, it’s always just the truth.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lashes fluttering as his eyes remained closed, relaxing into your touch, and the cushions on the other side of you dipped. Glancing over your shoulder, you chuckled a little as Brenda sat down, leaning over to wrap an arm over your waist, her head coming down to rest on your shoulder, and she turned the volume on the movie up, cuddling into you a little as she sought out comfort too, a chuckle on your lips as she did.

You shuffled, sitting to face her a little more, and Thomas moved with you, keeping his face tucked into your hand, before Newt was following. On the other side of the couch, Newt slumped down, patting Thomas on the back lightly, before kicking his feet up on the coffee table, and reaching across to take Thomas’ hot chocolate, the brunette completely unaware of the theft that had taken place. Gally sat in the armchair, and Minho sat on the edge of the couch, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind Brenda’s head, and Chuck sat on the floor.

Nobody said anything, nobody needed to, as you all simply watched the movie that had been chosen, letting the day be washed away as you served out the rest of your shift, ready to go home, and let a bad day be washed away by many more good days to come. Pulling your hand back for just as second, Thomas let out a noise of discontentment, his eyes cracking open to peer at you, a frown forming on his lips.

Lifting up a little higher, you pushed his hood down, adjusting it around his shoulders carefully, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you as everyone else watched the movie, leaning in just an inch, nothing noticeable, but enough to keep the bubble between you both, and your fingers laced into his hair.

A rumbling of bliss left him as your nails scraped lightly at his scalp, playing lightly with his hair to soothe him, the strands still very faintly damp from his shower, and he simply stared at you, head tipping into your hand as his body began to loosen of tension.

“I got you, Thomas, don’t worry.”

He didn’t respond, the first genuine smile you’d seen since the beginning of the shift being offered to you, his eyes closing, and he lifted a hand to wrap around your wrist delicately, fingers smoothing up along the back of your palm, resting over your hand and holding it lightly as you played with his hair. Turning your head to the movie, your attention was split, between what was happening on screen, and more overwhelmingly, with the intense feeling of belonging that was flooding you, never having felt more welcome than you did right now.

[stressisakiller]

Hello Sunflower

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

Hello Sunflower Part 1

Summary: Your soul mark appears on your 18th birthday. What do you do when your father is a part of Hydra and your soul mark binds you to the Winter Soldier.

Warnings: Mentions and slight descriptions of torture, violence and brainwashing

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: 4/23 New edit: fixing some timeline issues and integrating a little of the steve x reader I’m working on. Ok guys I reread this and decided to edit it and make it longer and add more dialog. I hope that you like the changes. I plan on going back and editing the other chapters as well, but that will be between writing and posting new chapters. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future parts. Also I originally got the idea for this after reading Wolf, Partner Gloves... by @revengingbarnes so check it out!

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You have always hated your dad. For as long as you can remember you have hated him. Every time he dragged you with him to "work" at Hydra that hatred grew. It came to a point when he decided that you would be the perfect subject for their new round of super-soldier serum testing.

So, here you are at 10, 10 years old, on this freezing metal table with a syringe in your arm screaming your head off as the serum burns through your veins. Pain. All you can think about is the pain. It feels like every single one of your nerves is on fire, and at the same time, they feel like ice. The pain blazes through you as your DNA is rewritten turning you from the child you are to the soldier that they want you to be. 

Faces come in and out of focus as the scientists look you over, studying you to see how the serum is affecting you. Your head is fuzzy, only catching every couple of words that are being spoken around you. Everything is coming into view as your eyes adjust to the lights and the new information that your DNA is sending. Flexing your hand on the table you feel pins and needles from the tip of your fingers up to your shoulder, causing you to wince. A couple of tears slip from the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming ache the is present throughout your body.

A voice drifts in through the door. A voice that you know all too well, your father. 

"She survived?" You have never noticed how sinister his voice sounds before.

"Yes sir, and it seems like the serum took, we aren't sure how exactly it has altered her yet." The other voice is weaker, trembling, scared of the man in front of it.

"Begin testing on her then, we need to know before we begin training her." 

"Yes sir." 

One set of footsteps retreats down the hallway while the other comes closer. You look towards the door, waiting to face the man that is about to walk in. You make sure your face is blank when the door opens, you don't want him to know you heard the whole conversation.

A slight sniveling man steps through the door and you immediately decide that you hate him. He walks over to you and undoes the straps on your arms and legs.

"Come little soldier, it's time to find out what you can do." He orders, his voice is a little stronger now that he isn't facing your father. He leads you down a maze of hallways, your bare feet make no noise as you follow after him. 

Entering a different room you are met with the site of another metal table as well as a two-way glass mirror, a treadmill, and a large set of weights. The man points you to the treadmill and the tests begin. They force you to run, full sprint until your body shuts down and you fall to the floor, flying off the belt as soon as you hit. When you come back to consciousness they force you to lift more and more weight until you feel your arm muscles give out. The weights come crashing down on you breaking multiple ribs. You are given a day to heal before they begin shocking and beating you to figure out what your pain tolerance is, before cutting you in different places at different depths to discover how quickly you heal.

You aren't sure how many days have passed before you are thrown into your new "bedroom" to rest and heal. A meal of bread, milk, and some sort of meat substitute is all they give you to eat. With every test and beating your hatred for Hydra and the man who called himself your father grows. You haven't seen your father at all during the testing but you know that he has been standing behind that stupid mirror and watching as you are put through every test that the scientists could think of. As soon as he had taken you to be injected, you had decided that this man was no father of yours. No real father would willingly subjugate their child to this torture and watch as it happens. 

You are given no rest before they begin to train you, throwing you into a ring with the other assets, teaching you how to shoot every type of firearm imaginable. You are taught how to throw knives and how to use poison, how to kill a man without leaving a trace and how to evade arrest. They make you into their perfect little child soldier, and you despise them for it. 

Your memories from that point on are disjointed, you know that there is a machine that they would force you into, you can remember the pain, but not much else. Then there are these words, six of them. The scientists say them and you lose all control of your own body. But then they take you back to that other machine and you fall into blessed whiteness. After an unknown amount of time, they decide that they no longer need to take you to that machine or to use those words. All you have ever known is Hydra, after all, there is no way you would turn against them. That's their first mistake. You bid your time, and slowly they give you more freedom. The idiots.

  As your 18th birthday had approached you set a tattoo appointment. You would rather die than let Hydra find out what your soulmate mark would be. You had decided beforehand that you would go in and get multiple tattoos on your birthday to mask the one that would betray the person that fate had deemed you destined for.

 Waking up the morning of your 18th birthday you run to the mirror. Seeing the markings on your skin you die a little inside. It can’t be, he can’t be your soulmate, how are you going to be able to save yourself and him? There on your hip, the size of a nickel, in bright red ink is a star, not just any star but the blood-red star that is a prominent feature on the arm of the Winter Soldier. But that isn’t the only thing that catches your eye. You have another tattoo, on your left bicep a bouquet of marigolds, white daisies, baby’s breath, and yellow gladiolus, with the howling face of a wolf emerging from the center. You hurry around your apartment, hiding your marks with a heavy layer of makeup. You can’t run the risk of anyone seeing them now, not before you have the chance to cover them.

You rush to the tattoo parlor in a panic and tell them the two tattoos you want. You insist that they do both of them while you are there. You cut through the protests assuring them that you have a high pain tolerance and that you heal very quickly. In the weeks preceding this day you had contemplated what exactly you needed. You had reasoned beforehand that just one tattoo would be too suspicious, but now that you have two marks you decide that you only need to get one other tattoo. You know that you will be punished for this but it is worth it, he is worth it.

To cover the soulmate mark on your hip you get a galaxy with stars of all different colors that make up multiple constellations. It takes them most of the day to finish it, walking over to the mirror you study the new art on your hip. It stretches from the middle of your thigh up to your bottom rib. It's large enough that the stars fade into the background, making it practically impossible to tell that one of them is your soulmark. 

The second tattoo is a bird in a cage that spans across the ribs on the opposite side as the galaxy. You have them make the bird abstract, using all types of different objects to create the shape of the bird and the cage. You leave the other soulmark alone, it is impossible to tell that it is a soulmark or at least who it pertains to, not with the other two tattoos vying for attention.

  You leave the parlor late that afternoon and head home. As you open the door to your apartment you are met by the overly happy face of your father. You had expected him to be there but the look on his face causes you to pause.

"My daughter, where have you been? I have been waiting for you almost all day?” the fake concern in his voice makes your teeth clench. In response, you shrug noncommittally,

“I had to run some errands and they ended up taking longer than I expected.” He is suspicious of your lie, but it won't take long for him to discover exactly where you were all day.

“No matter my child, you are here now. As you know you turned 18 today, which means your soul mark has appeared. Show it to me so that we may begin to look for the man who will hold your heart." He oozes smugness, believing that he will soon have the key to keeping you in check. You stare him down, you will die before he finds out who your soulmate is.

"Sorry to disappoint dad,” you spit, “ but I had it tattooed over. I didn’t even look at it. So I will never know who my soulmate is but neither will you." as soon as the words pass your lips your father's face contorts. His rage at your defiance shifting him from your father to the lead scientist of Hydra.

His grip is bruising as he drags you from the apartment and to the lab. The table is freezing as he straps your half-naked body to it. He snarls at you as you glare up at him.

“You think that you can defy me and not face the consequences? You think that I would not punish you because you are my daughter? I don’t give a shit about you except for what you can do for the cause. You are nothing but a puppet for us to use.” he walks away ordering for you to be tortured until you reveal what your mark is. The only condition he gives is that you are not to be killed, after all, they still have use for you.

  You spent days on that table, days of being tortured with every instrument they could think of. You were waterboarded, choked, burned and they paid extra attention to cutting every inch of skin that was covered by tattoos. At the end of every day your father would come in and ask if you had something to tell him, and every day you spit in his face. 

After three days they decide to brainwash you, they can’t wipe you since they need you coherent enough to remember what they want to know. The words wash over you, and yet to your surprise, you still have complete control. You quickly use it to your advantage. You allow them to think it worked, answering their questions as if the soldier is in control. You tell them what you told your father. You didn't look at your mark, you immediately had it tattooed over. They believe you.

After all that must be the truth, you are their soldier and their soldier cannot lie. You are just relieved that they have finally given up, you aren't sure that you could have made it another day without blacking out or losing it.

  When they drag you off the table and throw you into one of the cells you can barely move or even think. Curling into yourself on the hard cot, you allow sleep to take you. Your father doesn't allow you to rest for long, as soon as your body is in mostly working order you are thrown back into training.

“Fight or die.” He states, looking down at you as though you are the scum of the earth. “It matters not to me which you choose.” You act as their soldier and obey their commands as well as you can without losing yourself. Walking into the training ring you are dismayed to see that you are fighting none other than the winter soldier, your soulmate. You fight with everything you have, your hatred for Hydra growing with every bruise and cut you are forced to bestow. You use the moments you have alone in your cell to plan. 

When you were younger you were forced to watch as Hydra wiped and programmed the soldier before they made you into one as well, at this point, you know his words by heart. You start to wonder, if they can make a series of trigger words to turn him into the Soldat, maybe you can come up with a phrase that will help bring him back. You spend the rest of the night creating the sentence that you will use, deciding on a nickname for him that has meaning to you.

Sunflower, that is the name you decide on. They are, after all, your favorite flower and if fate is to be trusted then he is to be your favorite person. The next day you begin implementing your plan, taking the opportunity to speak with him in the moments that you have him pinned down or he has you pinned down. 

  Every time it's the same phrase, spoken to him in Russian, “Hello Sunflower, the sun is up and your dreaming is done." This continues for months until one day Hydra decides that you are fit to go on missions with the Soldier, they believe you to be thoroughly under their control.

Every mission you find a chance to say the phrase to him. In the time you spend with him you learn to read him. He isn’t expressive, Hydra made sure of that, but when you pay enough attention you start to see the minute changes in his eyes or stance. You begin to notice a difference in him whenever you speak the phrase, no matter when his last brainwashing was. He begins to recognize you, even when in full Winter Soldier mode. When you speak to him while training his hits get a little softer and less aggressive, and when you are on missions he speaks just a little bit more.

You are 23 when the unthinkable happens, while on a mission, without the winter soldier, you fall into a river in some backwater town in Europe. You are saved from drowning by a man that you just shot. A man you have only read about in the soldier’s files. Steve Rogers. After retrieving you from freezing water, he takes your unconscious body back with him to the medical wing in the Avengers tower.

As you wake up your first thought is where am I, your second thought is this bed is way too fucking comfortable for Hydra. Your eyes shoot open. The blinding light of the room causes you a headache to make itself known. You start to move, feeling a tug at your wrists, you slowly open your eyes and look down. You are cuffed to the railing of a hospital bed, great. You flop back onto the bed, cursing your luck and hoping that whoever has you is willing to listen. Your gaze shifts to the door when you notice a figure behind the glass. The glass doors slide open, and Steve walks in. This revelation causes you to tense up, even more, you did shoot him after all.

“Oh good you're awake,” he says, noticing your open eyes and tense figure. “Now I get to ask you all of the questions I’ve been wanting to ask for the past three days.” He takes a seat next to you, his whole body screams intimidation. "Who are you? Why did you shoot me? What were you doing in that town and where did you get these?" He questions not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. 

He is holding up Bucky’s dog tags in front of your face and waiting impatiently for you to answer. You want to snatch them out of his hand and place them back around your neck, after taking them from his file about a month ago you haven’t taken them off. You were going to give them to him after you got him out, which you were planning on doing within the next couple of weeks. But now you are stuck here and there is nothing you can do to get back to him. You look at Steve, desperation coloring your voice as you explain, praying that he will listen.

"My name is Y/N, my father is Hydra and forced me to become an experiment, a soldier for them. I was planning on escaping but I never could, I couldn’t escape and leave him there. Not when I could do something to save him. I couldn’t leave him there all alone." It came out in a rush. Your heart shatters as you realize that you have done exactly what you have tried so hard not to, you have left your soulmate in the hands of Hydra. You have to convince Steve to help you get him back.

"Wait a minute, you're Hydra?" He spits at you. Fuck, you forgot that he knew what hydra is and that he hates them with a passion. Well, at least we have something in common.

"Not by choice." You answer quickly, not liking the vehemence in his voice, yet unable to hide the hatred in your own. You notice the way his jaw relaxes the tiniest bit when you say that, if you hadn't had years of practice watching Bucky for the tiniest hints of himself you would have missed it.

"Alright then, who is this ‘he’ you keep mentioning?" Steve leans back, crossing his arms as he waits for your answer.

"My soulmate, the Soldier, the man on the dog tags, James Buchanan Barnes." Steve's eyes immediately narrow, his body goes stiff,

"You’re lying. I watched him fall from that train” His teeth are clenched as he speaks. “I watched him die! There is no way he's your soulmate!" you can practically feel the anger rolling off of him.

"I'm not lying! I swear!” you are terrified of what he will do if you can’t convince him. “Hydra got to him. They made him into a weapon, they brainwashed him and put him on ice when they didn’t need him so that they could control him better. I swear I'm not lying!" You can’t stop yourself from becoming slightly hysterical. Usually, you would remain calm in this type of situation, but this time you can’t. This time it’s Hydra and this time it’s James.

A girl, that you had noticed in the corner earlier, steps forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. You hear her murmur something to him, but you aren’t able to make out what exactly she says. His countenance softens when he looks at the girl and you are reminded of how you sometimes look at James. Turning back to you he stares for a moment before he making a decision,

“Fine, I can’t fully trust you and I can’t let you go, so you will have to live here in the tower, under surveillance. If you want us to trust you, you will have to prove yourself trustworthy." He stands, unlocks your cuffs, and strides out of the room, you understand, what you just told him is a lot to take in.

The girl that was with him turns to you, “I’ll make sure that they have a room ready for you as soon as you are well enough to leave the hospital.” She gives you a soft smile and turns to leave, pausing for a moment at the door.

“I have just one more question.” You nod at her when she pauses, you will try your best to answer it. “I know you shot Steve.” she starts. “But you missed anything important on purpose, didn’t you?" You just smile at her, she's right, but you know nothing you say will change anything. She studies you for a moment before walking out of the door.

  Your arrangement works for a year. In that year you have become close to the avengers that live there. During the first six months you and Steve’s girl, Sarah, spend every morning together. She wants to learn how to fight and you are willing to teach her. You become close, she is the first person in the tower to trust you. In return for teaching her to fight she teaches you sign language. Apparently, one of her siblings was born deaf so her whole family knows how to sign. You become closer to Steve during this time as well, he still doesn’t fully trust you but he is willing to tell you more about his best friend. He always calls him Bucky and you find yourself calling him that too. But they end up moving to DC, leaving you in the compound with mostly Tony for company. Natasha and Clint are in and out of the tower and you come to a mutual understanding. You and Natasha have similar upbringings and it forms a bond, not friendship, but definitely trust.�� 

Then after about a year of freedom from Hydra shit hits the fan. Fury is shot and Steve discovers that Hydra has been a part of Shield since the beginning. You have to escape the tower before Hydra gets to you, so you do. You keep an eye on Steve and Sarah, at a distance, of course, you know they will send Bucky after him and that will be your chance to get to him.

Then the bridge happens and you see your soulmate for the first time in a year. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest as you run towards him. You watch as he attacks Steve, you see Steve's shock as the mask falls off and you hear his heartbroken voice when he calls out for his friend. You hear Bucky’s crushing answer. You run, tackling him to the ground, just like you had done so many times in training. He fights back, you knew he would. You struggle with him, dodging punches and his knife. You are finally able to flip him onto the concrete and pin him down. Your heart in your throat as you stare into the eyes of your soulmate, praying as you speak that he will remember. Knowing that he has an unconscious reminder of you etched on his skin in ink. Here goes nothing. 

“Hello sunflower, the sun is up and your dreaming is done."

Tagged users: @calwitch @writerwrites

[whumpinator]

The Doctor

Heed ze warnings

Warnings: needles and injections, suffocation, mild Emeto, general lab whump, non-con drug use, non-con touching (not nsfw)

If there's anything else you need me to tag or warn for, let me know!

__________

He shivers as he waits for whatever comes next. The chains that bind him are treated with something, some chemical that prevents him with using his powers. Such products are commonplace on the black market, a regular problem for the superhero team.

Where is Garwin’s team?

He can’t really tell what’s going on. He thinks he might be on the floor of a van. Or a truck. Some kind of vehicle. There’s a shaking metal wall to his back and a plastic carpet on his bare feet. The black hood on his head blocks out anything else his keen senses might detect. In all honesty, the hood is what irritates him the most. It smells awful, like mildew and blood, which is likely his own. His nose might be broken. He can’t move his hands to check.

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

But that might just be the stifling hood. Or the panic.

Are they okay? Did I do something wrong, what can I do now?

It’s not nearly long enough before the van stops and Garwin is wrestled to his feet by rough hands, they won’t let up, even when he tries to shake them off. He’s dragged over smooth concrete ground and then what he guesses is linoleum. And even through the hood, the awful smell of pungent chemicals makes his eyes water and the hairs on his nose burn off. He kind of wants to throw up a little. He’s thrown over something, something hard, cold. His legs are lifted up and fastened down and his arms are unchained only long enough to do the same. The position feels familiar, like being at a dentist. A dentist from hell maybe. There’s no padding on the chair and the restraints are so tight they’re cutting into thin layers of skin. It doesn’t take long before his neck is fastened too. His chest. And then they seem to be done.

There’s a horrible moment of waiting. A beat, that feels like your foot missing the third step. Weightless horror, watching to see how far he’ll fall.

And then finally, finally the hood is taken off.

The smell hits him first, so horrible that Garwin is coughing before his eyes adjust the white light filtering from the ceiling and he notices the man standing above him.

“You again.”

“Welcome to my laboratory. I trust your trip was comfortable?”

“Look, I’ll be honest, I’ve had warmer welcomes.”

The man gives him the barest hint of a smile, those violet eyes just as unsettling as they were before. Everything about him looks sterilised. From the pristine state of his black lab coat and the white turtleneck underneath barely wrinkled. The hardness of his gelled blonde hair. He’s standing next to a table, which is higher than the metal chair Garwin is tied to, so he can’t see what’s on it. He doesn’t like that.

“Ever the dancing monkey, you are. I noticed that while I was watching your news broadcasts. You’re very interesting Garwin.”

“I perform to please. Tell you what, let me go, right now, and I’ll show you just how interesting I can be.”

“Oh there’s no need for that.” He turns to the table. Garwin struggles against the restraints helplessly as he picks up an empty syringe.

“Alright. Let me clear on this” Garwin spits. “Where the fuck is my team? What did you do to them?”

“Frankly, Garwin” the man begins, and he growls. He doesn’t like the way this guy keeps using his first name. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. If you’ve hurt them, I swear-“

“I’m not a very powerful person Garwin. At least in terms of physical abilities, the way you are gifted. And I’m not a schemer either”

Gar watches him suspiciously as the syringe is filled from a small unlabelled bottle, with a red screw-on lid.

“I like to call myself an opportunist. I noticed that you were abandoned, outnumbered. So, I took a risk. And see how it has paid me off?”

He approached the boy lying helpless on his operation table and smiled at the way he pulled away, as far as the restraints would allow. It did not stop him from pressing a hand gently to his cheek, pushing his face down to allow an area of neck, completely vulnerable.

“If your team is around, doubtless, they’ll come to you. And I’ll have them then, to play with. Until that day, I’m set for what I need.”

Garwin whimpered as the needle broke skin and the plunger was slowly pushed down.

The sting only lasted a second. And then the man withdrew himself and placed the syringe back down onto the table.

“Who” Gar breathed. “The fuck. are you?”

“I’m a Doctor” he replied. “That’s all you need to know.”

Garwin’s mouth suddenly became dry, but not out of fear. It was something artificial, something he couldn’t control. His chest began to ache in a rather frightening way as it began beating wildly out of his control and with every pump, it felt like it sent waves of blistering hot pain to the rest of his torso. Garwin wriggled his toes, trying to mitigate the hurt. The open wounds on his chest, the bruises that the boots of his kidnappers had left felt like they were opened anew. Like a thousand flies were feasting on them, he could smell them rotting from where he lay, choking desperately.

“Wh-wha” he gasped “Wha’d you do to me?”

“A simple but effective device. I designed it” Garwin felt his eyelids being pulled at, was helpless as the doctor shone a little torch into them.

“You’re crying” he noted simply.

As it happened, Gar was too exhausted and in too much pain to do much else. He should be planning. Thinking of a way to get out of there, punch this villain in the face. All he could do was lay there and cry, hoarse, loud sobs.

The doctor picked up a scalpel, methodically cutting away Gar’s shirt to reveal the heaving chest underneath. His fingers skimmed the bare skin and lightly rested above his right shoulder.

“The pain starts . . . here, doesn’t it?” And he pressed down.

He did not get anything much more coherent than a loud wail. He did not expect much else. Sighing, he picked up a second syringe, undressing it from its sterile plastic wrapping. The second bottle, also unlabelled, had an icy blue lid. He sanitised the area of neck this time before injecting, and waited until the body before him went still before talking again.

“You don’t need to concern yourself too much. These are just preliminary tests, nothing major. Now, I know you have typical blood vessels. That’s good to know. This second serum will test your nervous system.”

Gar didn’t have the mind to process what he was saying. Slowly coming down from his blistering fever, the air of the room around dropped to a lower temperature, soothing. As he relaxed, the metal of the chair he was tied began to turn icy, and though he tried to tense up against the effects, he could not. He could not so much as wriggle his toes or even blink his eyes. And he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move his chest up and down to breathe, couldn’t open his mouth wide enough to breathe, he needed air. Oxygen. Please.

“You can breathe you know” he heard the doctor vaguely, as though through a radio. “Even though it feels like you can’t. That’s the beauty of this solution actually. It keeps everything in the body up and running but because it’s no longer in your conscious control, it feels like you’re dying.”

Gar whined, aware of how pathetic he must look.

The doctor smiled kindly at him. “It will be okay. The dosage will wear off in about two hours. I’ll let you settle in until then.”

He called someone in- an intern, it looked like, with a labcoat similar to his. She was wearing a gas mask however. Gar wondered if it had something to do with the smell of the chemicals that was laden about the air.

“Hose him down. Find a nicer uniform that suits his place better. And burn his old clothes.”

The intern nodded.

“Holding cell A110. Any mistakes and you’ll be transferred to testing, do you understand?”

Gar closed his eyes, struggling to contain his panic. They couldn’t burn his uniform but he was heartlessly aware of how little he could do to stop it. But there was one thing he could.

Somehow, his tail was unaffected by whatever the hell the villain had poisoned him with. If he could hide that from protection, maybe, just, maybe, he would be able to curl it up at the base and leave the rest of it limp, to avoid detection.

And that way, he’ll keep Orbita’s Day Watch within his possession.

_____

TAGLIST: @lonesome--hunter @misspelledwitch

[ahockeywrites]

One Chance is All Some Get - 1

Part Two - Masterlist

Word Count: 10.3k Warnings: swearing, talk of blood, talk of needles, discussion of mental health

The monthly blood drive that happened in the winter at NYU Langone on Long Island was one of the few times the Islanders voluntarily went to the hospital. This time, Mathew had a fling going on with one of the nurses who would be helping so dragged Anthony along for moral support. It wasn’t that Anthony didn’t want to go, he just hated needles. Anything he could do to stay away from needles, he did. He hated blood tests, vaccinations and was certain that donating blood would only bring him closer to his fear. Mathew knew of his fear but hoped that he could get over it temporarily to be his wingman.

Sarah adjusted her short white coat, being on the accelerated MD program at NYU Long Island meant that she had less time to learn the same skills most student doctors learnt in 4 years. However, it did mean that she was able to take part in the blood drive, even if it was just taking the observations of the patients that came in. It was something she took pride in as she was doing one of the most basic tasks, she was always willing to do the tasks that no one else wanted to do because she knew it was the only way she could work her way up the ranks to becoming a qualified doctor.

Her short brown hair was tied back into a small bun and she had her stethoscope around her neck, allowing her to check the most basic functions of the human body. She read her list of things to do one more time before leaving the staff room:

Introduce yourself to them

Make sure they have signed the consent forms

Take their height and weight and check that their blood volume is enough to donate a pint of blood

Take a small amount of blood from their finger and ensure that there is enough iron in their blood to be able to donate

Ask them about their travel history and if they have undertaken any risky behaviour that may mean they are unable to donate

Invite them to take a seat in the chair and give them a drink of water

Answer any questions they may have

Only seven simple tasks to remember, she reminded herself. Sarah walked out of the staff room and made her way to the attending doctor who was in charge of the drive. They had each been given a tablet with the names of the patients they would be seeing and when they checked in to their appointment. A few names jumped out, namely Mathew Barzal and Anthony Beauvillier. 

Now, Sarah wasn’t a massive New York hockey fan, especially coming from New Jersey, but anyone who spent more than one day on Long Island had heard of them. They were the up and coming players for the New York Islanders and had a large social media following. Their looks were just an addition to their spectacular hockey skills.

Anthony kept tapping his foot. It was his way of showing nerves, his plan for the day before Mat had dragged him here was to enjoy his day off, maybe try cooking something fancy and watch Netflix all day. But no, he was sitting in a stuffy hospital waiting room, waiting for some doctor or nurse to hook him up to some machine that was going to steal his blood, then he was going to be told that he couldn’t do any heavy lifting on that arm for the rest of the day. It was the same procedure as every blood test that he had for the Islanders and he was going to hate every moment of it. The soft voice of the receptionist called him and Mat over to collect the papers they needed then they had to wait for one of the student doctors to call them through. They both nodded and went to fill in the paperwork. She had also given them some water that they were told to drink slowly, which apparently was going to help when donating blood. Anything Anthony could do to make the donation go quicker, he would do.

It was an unfamiliar room to Sarah, but familiar equipment and she thanked the heavens that she had been trained on similar machines. She swiped her identification badge on the reader attached to the keyboard and signed in to the computer. Quickly, she read through the patient information for Andrew Parkinson, he was her first appointment of the day and noted that he previously had iron deficiency anaemia but had been treated for this using iron tablets and knew that this could be a potential boundary for him donating blood today. She collected her stethoscope from the desk and left the small room to enter the waiting room. 

“Mr Parkinson for the blood donation?” Sarah asked, trying to be confident. Sarah looked over the room and noticed a man, with blond hair walking over to her and when he was close enough she offered him her hand to shake which he accepted. “Hi there, I’m student doctor Sarah Milkins and I’m going to be taking you through the first stages of your donation today if that’s okay with you sir.”

“Of course it is,” Andrew said, “lead the way.”

As soon as Anthony heard the soft voice, he looked up wanting to see who it could belong to. He saw a young woman, she couldn’t be older than 25, pushing up her black-rimmed glasses which matched the stethoscope on her shoulders. Even the pens that were in the pocket of her white coat matched. But what made her stand out was her scrubs, he had never seen someone wear a pair of dark blue, unfitted scrubs so well. He smiled at her, but she had already turned her back to him and was leading another man to her consultation room.

“Mat, what was the name of the nurse you were seeing?” Anthony asked his friend, hoping that it wasn’t her because he would do anything but break the bro code.

“Urm,” Mat had to rack his brain to try and remember her name, “I can’t remember but she was definitely a blonde, and she was tall.” Tito let out a sigh that he didn’t even realise he was holding. “Why?” Mat asked, “got your eye on one here?”

“If I do, just be glad it's not your girl,” Anthony replied, with a roll of his eyes.

Sarah was glad to hear that Mr Parkinson had been keeping up to date with his family doctor with regards to his anaemia and was even happier when she completed the finger prick test to show that his blood contained enough iron for him to donate. It was even better when he mentioned that he hadn’t travelled out of the state in the past 6 months. “Mr Parkinson, I am happy to report that your blood volume and iron levels are high enough to donate today,” she said with a smile. “Do you have any questions for me?” she asked, he replied with a shake of his head so Sarah continued, “so, if you could just finish your water whilst you’re waiting in the chair, I’ll send one of the nurses over to you.” She pointed towards chair number 6 and walked him there. “Thank you again for donating.”

Three minutes. Three minutes to fill in all of the information that the system needed. Sarah was thankful that she had been making notes on the computer as she spoke to Mr Parkinson as it made filling in the additional things a lot easier. She took a quick look at her next patient and saw that they would be accompanied by a social media team. This confused her until she saw the names, it was the New York Islanders who she noticed on the list before. A little sigh escaped her lips before she covered her tablet with the case and walked out of her consultation room.

Anthony noticed as soon as she walked back out from the consultation rooms. He noticed how she looked a little awkward standing there, but it allowed him to take in her beauty even if he knew this was likely to be the only time he ever saw her. New York was a big city, 8 million people and she was just one of them.

“Mr Barzal, Mr Beauvillier and camera crew?” Sarah asked meekly, not wanting to accidentally say the wrong thing.

Placing his hands on his thighs to help him stand, Mat said, “I guess that’s us.” Anthony nodded not believing that he was going to be in the same room as her, let alone caught on video with her.

“I’m student doctor Sarah Milkins and I’m gonna be conducting your observations today,” Sarah began as she started leading the gaggle of people down the corridor. She opened the door to her little room and offered Mat and Anthony the seats on the opposite side of her chair. “I’m not too sure what the camera crew want to do, but I’m just gonna ask you guys a few questions, take your height and weight then do a little blood draw which is just a pinprick on your finger. If you guys don’t have any immediate questions, shall we get started?”

“We’re just gonna be filming the guys, so just try and keep this as normal as possible,” one of the guys with a camera said.

“I’ll try my best. So, I’ve got both of your files up so as long as you don’t mind answering the questions in front of each other, I’ll ask you both at the same time,” Sarah questioned the boys.

“I haven’t got an issue with it,” Anthony said, looking up into Sarah’s green eyes. Her eyes then flicked to Mat who agreed with his friend.

“First question, any new tattoos and piercings in the last three months?” Both boys shook their head and Sarah quickly typed the information into the computer but something kept drawing her back to Anthony’s eyes. “Second of all, any trips out of the United States, not including Canada, in the last three months?” Another nod from both of them confirmed that she was able to move onto the height and weight measurements. 

“Now, it’s not that I trust the official NHL data, but if you don’t mind I’d like to take your height and weight, this is to make sure that your blood volume is high enough to donate,” she had to keep this professional, it wasn’t like she had them sat in their boxers in front of her, they were there to do something she did every other month. The boys nodded and the camera crew started giggling when they noticed the height difference between Sarah, Anthony and especially Mat. 

Sarah knew she was short, standing at 5 foot exactly, but she didn’t take into account how much shorter she was than the two hockey players as she walked through the hospital corridors. “If you don’t mind, Miss Milkins, could we film this?” one of the camera crew suggested, and Sarah knew that this would be quite funny.

“Yes, just don’t make fun of how short I am,” she said with a laugh. She was used to the jokes about her height and even made some herself when she could think of them. Everyone in the room agreed and made sure they were camera ready. As Sarah motioned for one of the boys to make their way to the height and weight measure, Anthony gave Mat a look to silently tell him to go first. He was incredibly flustered, he didn’t even know why. This was a professional setting and all he had to do was ignore the pretty girl who was looking after him at this moment. Oh, and the needles that he would have to encounter slightly later on.

Sarah took the notepad out of her pocket and found a pen on the desk too. “So, Mat,” Sarah whispered, but she then remembered that she was being filmed so would have to speak up a bit more. “Mat,” this time she was able to get the attention of everyone in the room. “Height is 6’0, and weight 189lbs. Perfect blood volume for donating today! Anthony, would you like to replace Mat on the machine?” Sarah asked politely, whilst writing down these numbers.

Anthony nodded and went to stand on the machine. He noticed Sarah’s eyes as he stood in front of here, slightly awkwardly. They glistened emerald green under the annoyingly bright medical lights and he just wanted to stare into them, but he knew that it would be strange, especially as they had barely known each other for 10 minutes and would probably never see each other again.

“Anthony, just shuffle to your left to make sure we can get the most accurate reading if you can,” Sarah spoke softly, she didn’t want to make this too awkward for him as she could sense that he had some nerves around donating blood. She sent a smile his way, just to ease him.

“Urm, yeah, sure,” Anthony grunted as he moved less than an inch but this allowed Sarah to get the correct readings.

“That’s, 5’11 and 182lbs,” Sarah said and quickly wrote that down. “So, boys, both of you have got enough blood to donate about a pint today! Have you got any questions for me?”

Mat and Anthony shook their heads and looked towards the camera crew who did the same action. Sarah thanked everyone in the room for their time and encouraged the boys to finish drinking a pint of water. She also pointed them towards some of the nurses who would be taking their blood today.

“Miss Milkins, would we be able to get a photo of you and the boys for social media? If you don’t want to, that’s fine but it’ll be nice to get one,” one of the camera crew suggested. Sarah was slightly shocked but agreed nonetheless. She slotted herself between Mat and Anthony and let the crew do their thing with some portable lights and a professional camera. This was not what she expected to be doing when she woke up that morning.

“And we’re done,” the man said, “just jot down your Instagram and Twitter handles for us so we can tag you and send you the photos.” He handed her a small pad of paper and she scribbled it down and handed it back.

“Right, if you head over to Jane, my colleague over there. She’s the one waving,” Sarah laughed. “She’ll get you set up for your donation! Thanks for coming today and donating and I hope to see you soon!” Anthony and Mat waved to Sarah as she went back to the small examination room to put the information into the computer. 

Sarah let out a sigh, she didn’t even realise she was holding one in. Mathew Barzal and Anthony Beauvillier were not your average blood donors and the fact that she had been the person to take their observations was incredible. She had never tended to anyone of their star nature and was thankful for the existence of patient confidentiality. 

Even if her photo was going to be posted online, she wished that it wasn’t the Islanders that had come in to donate. It would have been a better story to tell to her parents if Jack Hughes and Nico Hischer came in because then she would have been star-struck and probably would have collected autographs for her sister, who swore that Hischer’s hair was the best thing known to man.

Rebecca, the receptionist, one of Sarah’s friends from high school and her housemate, was star struck when Sarah said that she did their observations. “I am going to need a drink after this,” Sarah exclaimed, “I hope my face doesn’t get plastered all over the internet.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Rebecca asked, “You know I think you should get out more.”

“Getting out more is not the same as a hockey team that I don’t even like posting photos about me,” Sarah sighed. “If it was the Devils, I might not be as concerned, but I guess that’s what we get for living in New York.”

“We're still on for the Mets game and drinks after on Saturday?” Rebecca asked, hoping she didn’t shoot down the idea. Sarah knew she needed to take a night off from studying and she did enjoy baseball, it was the drinks after she knew she wasn’t a massive fan of the idea of.

“We won’t stay out too late?” Sarah needed her sleep and was not prepared to give up too much of that for the nightlife of New York.

“Of course, we can’t have little miss perfect staying out past her bedtime now, can we,” Rebecca joked. Sarah responded with a swift roll of her eyes and told her to get lost. She sent Rebecca a quick wave as she headed back to the waiting room to collect the next donor.

Mat had seen that look in Anthony’s eyes before but didn’t want to prod too far because he was about to be hooked up to donate blood. “Marie, you have to come and see these veins,” the nurse exclaimed. Her accent was definitely southern, Texas perhaps, Anthony thought. He wondered why the nurses were getting so excited over their veins, to him these were just the vessels that allowed his blood to get back to the heart and reoxygenate so he could perform at his best on the ice. Yes, they were pretty prominent, but he had seen people on his own hockey team with more visible veins than his.

“My lord,” the second nurse exclaimed, “I’d certainly have wanted test subjects like these two when I was learning.” Anthony shot Mat a worrying look, slightly concerned about what the nurses could be plotting against them. They wouldn't be held hostage for all the student nurses to learn their skills on, would they? He was thinking too much, surely? “Aw sweetie, no need to worry,” the second nurse told him. “Just a quick pinprick.” Yeah, like he hadn’t heard that before.

Anthony looked over to see Mat in conversation with the southern nurse as his blood started to collect on the machine. He needed to relax, that’s what they always told him when he was preparing for a blood test. Sighing, he closed his eyes and balled his hand into a fist. Thinking of rural Quebec and how he couldn’t wait to get back over the summer when the season was finished. The greenery, the sun beating down on his bare chest, a beautiful girl on his arm, anything to take his mind off of the needle that was being placed into his arm. 

He was nervous, to say the least, but was glad that the camera crew were currently occupied filming Mat talking to one of the nurses. The nurse was able to get the donation needle the first time and Anthony was able to start his muscle tension exercises. Deep breaths, he told himself, it will be no longer than ten minutes, last time you were done in 6. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the laugh of a girl, was it the nurse that did their observations? He hoped not as he really did not want a cute girl to see him like this. Without opening his eyes too far, he peeked across to see her walking someone to the consultation room. 

As he let out a deep breath, Anthony heard the beeping of the machine. Success! He had finished his blood donation and this time without tears. It was the little wins, he told himself. The southern nurse made her way across to detach Anthony from the death trap and he waltzed over to join Mat who was drinking a mug of coffee to rehydrate himself. He picked up a Gatorade from the selection along with a small bag of chips and sat in the comfy chair. The camera crew wanted him to do a small piece to camera about how easy it was to donate, he sniggered at that one, and where people in Long Island could come and donate. 

It was easier than he thought and was happy to only have to record it twice, it took Mat at least 5 attempts to even get the first bit right. Anthony was happy, he had donated blood to a good cause and now all he wanted to do was leave and get some Chinese food in his stomach. Mat and Anthony made their way back through the donation area, signing a few cards that the team had brought for them. He felt on top of the world, and had no idea why. As he walked outside the hospital, the cold New York air hit him straight in the face.

“So, which one was she, eh?” Mat asked, to which Anthony replied with a roll of his eyes. Like he was openly going to tell his best friend but more importantly the big mouth of the team which of the healthcare staff he had a tiny crush on.

“None of your business and I’m probably never going to see her again so it doesn’t matter,” he replied, trying to convince himself more than his teammate.

Sarah sighed, one more patient to triage then she could have her Wednesday evening to herself, a bottle of wine and whatever takeout she ordered. She looked at Rebecca and the two of them shared a look that only they could decipher. It meant they would be having sushi for dinner and Rebecca started to place the rolls that she knew the two of them would want in her UberEats basket from their favourite place. All Sarah had to do was get her head down and finish her day of work quickly. Luckily, the next patient was a regular donator and knew the whole procedure. She was able to get them processed quickly and headed to the staff room to collect the small number of belongings she had brought with her. 

Her locker was the furthest away from the entrance, but she didn’t mind. She looked forward to graduating to a bigger and more accessible locker in the future, but hopefully in the emergency department. Backpack, wallet, phone, coat, scarf, beanie. One more once over of the locker to ensure that it was fully empty, which it was, and Sarah was ready to go home. She was incredibly thankful that she did not have any classes or have to be up early for her psychiatry rotation so she could have the entire bottle of wine she desired that evening.

As she passed the reception desk, Sarah saw that Rebecca was waiting for her with a hot chocolate for her to keep her hands warm on the drive back to their apartment in Bay Ridge. The two shared a car as it kept the cost of maintaining it low, they both worked at the same hospital so driving was shared between the two of them. Sarah would take the morning drive and Rebecca would drive them home in the evening. It was a dynamic that worked, and they couldn’t thank the heavens more for each other.

The drive to their apartment wasn’t too long, and after watching the world go by for 45 minutes or so, Rebecca pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex. They both exited the car at the same time and Sarah was faster to reach the elevator so called it down for them. Music softly played in the car and Rebecca informed Sarah that she had ordered dinner and it should be at their door in about 20 minutes which gave both of them time to change into something comfier and get started on a bottle of wine. 

Time passed quickly once the food arrived and the girls enjoyed being in each other’s company for the first time in what seemed like ages. Sarah was always busy with assignments or in the hospital and Rebecca was working full time as a receptionist whilst taking night classes to try and get into law school. They were focussed women which is why they were the friends that everyone would marry each other if they hadn’t found other people by the age of 40. Platonic soulmates, that’s what everyone called them and it was the best way to define them.

Thursday was filled with assignments for the two roommates. Rebecca had a 2000 word introduction to property law and a 3000-word essay on an interesting criminal case that she had found. It wasn’t like Sarah had the day easy, she was tasked with reading and taking notes from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, Section II, on depressive disorders. The book wasn’t light reading in the slightest, but this interested Sarah. She worked through the chapter and was able to do some outside reading into how they are treated, through a combined approach of medication and what is sometimes referred to as ‘talk therapy’. 

The two had consumed more coffee in one day than was considered healthy, but they did this to ensure that they had a free weekend and could ensure that they were able to enjoy their time off. It was uncommon for them to have an entirely free weekend but it was worth it so they could see Rebecca’s family. They were coming across from Trenton to spend the Saturday with the girls and both of them couldn’t wait to spend time with them. Both of their families were close, but when Rebecca’s family had moved from Newark to Trenton when they were in college, it became more difficult for them to meet up regularly. This was why it was special for the two girls.

By 7 in the evening, they had both decided they had done enough work for the day and made their way to the kitchen to try and decide what they should make for dinner. After a quick rummage through the cupboards, they settled on a simple carbonara. It wasn’t overly simple but didn’t stretch either of their culinary abilities. “Want to watch anything in particular on tv tonight?” Rebecca shouted from the living room. Sarah popped her head out from behind the door frame to say that she didn’t care as long as it wasn’t reality tv to which they both laughed. “How about your hockey boys?” Rebecca questioned.

Sarah raised one of her eyebrows in confusion, unsure of what Rebecca was talking about until she checked the TV set to see the Islanders warming up before their game that evening. “Eugh,” she sighed. At this point, Rebecca was the only person who knew that she had helped them with their blood donation, but Sarah kept reminding her that it was only observations and not actually taking the blood for their donation. The difference was subtle to the majority of people, but Sarah always tried her best to explain different medical terms to people, sometimes it was easier than others. 

They agreed to watch the game together so Sarah quickly finished plating up their food and Rebecca walked through to collect some glasses of water. Due to the fact their apartment was pretty small, they didn’t have a proper dining table to sit at and eat food, usually, it was a quick affair at the kitchen island but the girls chose to change the scenery up for once by eating on the couch. The game was only a few minutes into the first period and it didn’t look like they had missed much which they were thankful for. 

It was a well-fought game for the Islanders, even Sarah had to admit a 2-1 OT win over the Bruins was impressive even if they weren’t Jersey. She did sneak a look at Anthony during the intermission interviews and it hit her that she had met, not just one, but two hockey players. Sarah knew that she didn’t have a chance with a professional hockey player because that would involve actually seeing them again and in a city as large as New York, the stars would have to align for them to even notice each other in passing.

The Islanders social media team had waited until after their Thursday night win to post about Mathew and Anthony visiting the hospital to donate blood. They even found out that Anthony’s blood had made its way to the neonatal unit at the hospital and it had helped to save the life of a baby girl. As soon as he had discovered this, Anthony made a mental note to try and get in contact with the family and invite the girl, when she was well, to a game on his behalf. He felt proud, he was able to overcome his fear and help save the life of someone. Before, he thought it was silly to voluntarily go and get poked with a needle, but when he heard that it had saved someone’s life, it felt different. He knew he would donate blood again. 

The photo taken at the blood drive was present on the screens around the arena and was also posted online. The team made sure not to tag Sarah in the Instagram and Twitter posts to try and avoid the chance of harassment but included her handles on the attached articles because they knew that fewer people would read the article. It was smart, but Anthony didn’t read the article, he just went on Instagram and saw that she hadn’t been tagged so he assumed that she would be the one that got away.

Anthony checked his calendar, realising that he had an appearance to make at the New York Mets game and questioned why his past self had agreed to it. He wasn’t the biggest fan of baseball but as he thought over it, he was relatively happy to have said yes. A night off, with some of his teammates, a few beers and nachos. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything, everything seemed to be going wrong for Sarah. First of all, her alarm didn’t go off on time so she had to rush to get ready for lunch with Rebecca’s parents. Second of all, the red shirt that she had planned on pairing with black skinny jeans had just disappeared so she had to settle on one that was black and covered in small flowers. It showed off a bit more of her shoulder than she was hoping but it was nothing that her puffer jacket wouldn’t keep warm. Third of all, their apartment was out of coffee, so instead of making a vanilla latte and putting it into her travel mug, Sarah had to fork out five dollars for one made at Starbucks. Finally, after all of this, she had to run to catch the train into the city but missed the one she had planned on taking, closed its doors the moment her foot touched the platform. 

She audibly sighed when she sat down at the table alongside Rebecca’s parents. James and Rachel were lovely people and Sarah couldn’t have picked a better set of parent’s to be friends with. They understood the demands of a college degree such as an M.D. as they had both attended college followed by graduate school. Nonetheless, they were glad to see that their daughter and her best friend were enjoying themselves living in the Big Apple. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock for the girls, as they had grown up on the other side of the Hudson river and often went across to New York for the shopping experience but living in a city that big was. The difference from living in college dorms to an apartment was something the girls knew they wanted to share.

Lunch passed quickly, and the four of them made their way across to Citi Field in preparation for the afternoon game. As they were waiting for some food to snack on during the game, an announcement caught Sarah off guard. “And today we welcome as special guests, your very own, New York Islanders!”

She had to make sure she had heard the announcer properly and she did when she saw the faces of two people she had helped at the hospital just days prior on the big screen. Aside from Mathew and Anthony, there wasn’t any face that rang a bell, even when they introduced each of them. It must have been because she would rather settle down with a book rather than watching grown men balancing on a knife’s edge on ice and body slam into everything. 

Even being a fan of the Devils, she enjoyed the atmosphere of the game as opposed to the actual game on the ice. Occasionally going to a game was a simple way to meet up with old friends and catch up with how they had been doing. The social side was what interested her rather than the actual sporting side. Sarah did have to admit that following some of the Devils players on social media was amusing, especially P.K Subban, he seemed to think he was a social media star alongside being a defenceman. But this was the team she had grown up watching, not the Islanders.

The four made their way to their seats and were happy that they hadn’t missed any of the game. It was an interesting first experience for Sarah, as she had never been to a baseball game. Her parents never really took her along to sporting events but she grew up learning ballet and she attributed her patience and perseverance to that. She wished that she had more time and money to continue the hobby, but a college degree brought her classes constantly and more debt than she wished to make sense of.

Although she had never been to a game before, she was able to pick the game up quickly, especially with a few pointers from James and Rachel. Yes, there were a few things that she struggled to understand but to a first-time viewer, she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to understand everything immediately. It turned out to be a rather exciting game and the four were enjoying the atmosphere, eating the snacks they had bought and watching sports. 

She wondered if her life would have been different had she spent more time watching professional sports rather than studying and dancing. But then she realised that she wouldn’t have become the person she was and she loved herself for who she was, and anyone who tried to get her to change wasn’t worthy of her friendship. Sarah prided herself on only being friends with people who respected her, especially after an incident in high school. It was never spoken about, but the people who cared about her knew about it and always looked after Sarah when she dealt with friendship issues. She kept her friendship group small and her walls high, but sometimes that was necessary.

Sarah looked around, trying to find the correct route to the bathrooms. Every arena was different and that never made needing to go any easier. She asked Rachel if she knew the route, thankfully she was able to pass across some basic directions to help Sarah. Head up and just follow what Rachel told you, it’s not that far, she told herself. There wasn’t a line so she was able to head straight in and out quickly. 

It took her a few moments to regain her bearings and start walking again because it seemed like as soon as she started she was stopped by a firm chest. “God, I’m so sorry,” she started apologising to the mysterious stranger she had just crashed into.

“Hey, no worries,” the stranger replied as Sarah stepped back to notice who it actually was that she had walked into. “Aren’t you that nurse from the blood drive?” Anthony asked, thanking the heavens that he might have actually found the girl.

“I was at the blood drive, but I’m not a nurse,” she laughed. He wasn’t the first person to think she was a nurse and wouldn’t be the last. “I’m one of the student doctors, I’m in my final year and help out at the blood drive once a week.”

“Well, urm,” Anthony stuttered, “thanks. Maybe I’ll see you again?” 

“Yeah, if you come along on the same date in two months I’ll be there,” Sarah smiled.

“Thanks, and sorry for crashing into you,” Anthony apologised.

“No worries,” Sarah replied, “maybe see you then?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching her turn around and walk back to where she was sitting.

You’re an idiot, Anthony thought to himself. Surely, there was something better he could have said other than maybe I’ll come to the blood bank again. It might have been a good cause, but it would involve him overcoming his fear once again, but maybe for her, he could? 

Sarah returned and the Mets had just started the fourth innings. She informed Rebecca, who she was sat next to about who she had walked into. Rebecca’s mouth hung open and her mother had to ensure that she was okay before asking why the hell her daughter was catching flies. Immediately, Rebecca launched into the entire story of two of New York’s elite sportsmen who had come to their hospital and how Sarah was the one to do their observations. If that wasn’t enough to shock James and Rachel, Sarah bumping into Anthony outside the toilets would have been.

“How crazy,” James exclaimed. His wife agreed and told the girls that fate must have been on their side that day. Sarah thought about it as the game continued, on the train home and in bed that night. Was it really fate? Or just two people who lived in the same city accidentally meeting in the same place twice? Meeting might have been exaggerating slightly, they had been in professional circumstances the first time and bumping into someone accidentally at a sports event certainly wasn’t ideal either. She tried to push the constant confusing thoughts out of her head as she tried to sleep.

Anthony was thinking the same things as he made his way to bed that night. Why couldn’t he have struck up a proper conversation with her? Why did he assume she was a nurse when she clearly told them she was a student doctor? He was a self-aware idiot who needed help talking to girls. But it wasn’t like he could just go back to the hospital, with the description of the girl and ask them to tell him who she was. He had to hope that fate would bring them together once again.

He thought about asking Mat for help, but then remembered all the failed dates he was always going on. It had to be one of the older guys on the team, the ones who were married. Anders, as the captain, was always a safe bet. He was caring and commanding in the way only the captain of an NHL team could be. Anders was also amazing when it came to giving advice. 

“Tito,” Anders spoke at practice the following day, “I just don’t know how you expect me to give you advice when you know basically nothing about this girl.” Anthony’s face frowned, but he understood where he was coming from. It wasn’t like the two of them had been on a few dates and he wanted to take the next step. “General advice though, don’t fuck up when talking to a girl.” Anthony had to let out a laugh, it wasn’t like he wanted to destroy any of his chances with any girl, it was that sometimes his awkward side came out. He knew it was normal to get slightly flustered when talking to someone attractive, but all he wanted was to meet her again so he would be able to have another chance.

Sarah checked the order on her phone one more time. Being the student doctor meant that she was often tasked with going on a coffee run. She didn’t mind though, she was just looking forward to the days when she could be the one offering treatment, even if the psychiatry ward wasn’t where she saw herself in the future. Unfortunately, she had to head to a Starbucks that was slightly further away from the hospital due to the usual one being out of almond milk which is what Dr Jones had in his coffee. Sarah warned the staff about this but they informed her that it was okay and rounds could wait until she got back. They also said that they would let her help with some procedures on the patients when she returned which made her become more excited to return to the hospital.

The scarf the young girl was wearing engulfed her body, but it kept her warm, and that was all that she cared about. Fashion was second to being warm and comfortable, especially in the New York winter. It was only a five-minute walk to the coffee shop which Sarah was thankful for as she wanted to spend as much time in a building with heating as possible which was completely understandable. She watched the small amount of snow as it fell on her short walk and some of it stayed on her coat until she entered the shop. It wasn’t a busy day, but she had arrived earlier than the estimated time suggested so she found an unoccupied seat easily and busied herself on her phone. The peace and quiet was something Sarah rarely had time to enjoy working in a hospital so she savoured the short amount of time she was in it for.

Her enjoyment was cut short by a group of rowdy people who walked in to collect a to-go order like she was. They were directed to sit down near where Sarah was sitting and she hoped that her order was almost ready so she could try and get away from the people causing all of the noise. “Fancy seeing you here,” Sarah heard a voice from behind where she was sitting and slightly turned her head to see a slightly dishevelled Anthony Beauvillier. She greeted him awkwardly, not really sure how to address someone you had only met twice and one of those times she was being filmed and the other was a complete accident. 

“Are you waiting for coffee?” he asked, mentally face palming as he asked. Of course, she’s here for coffee, it’s a coffee shop, what else would she be here for? Anders said don’t fuck up and what was the first thing he did? Fuck up.

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, trying to hide a laugh at how nervous he seemed. “As the med student, I’ve been tasked with grabbing some coffees before we start rounds.”

“Isn’t there a coffee place closer to the hospital?” Anthony asked, genuinely curious. He was almost certain that when he brought Mat for an operation the other month he stopped by the one that was right outside. 

“There is, but they were out of almond milk. So here I am,” she said, laughing slightly. Anthony nodded in understanding hoping that he would be able to ask for her number rather than stutter over his words once again.

“I know this seems really random,” he started, not really sure how to phrase it without seeming weird, “but fate had brought us together three times and I’d rather not risk it again. Could I maybe get your number?” Anthony reached up to scratch the back of his neck, he couldn’t have fucked up another time, could he? 

“Yeah sure, pass me your phone,” Sarah responded with a smile. She was glad that he had asked her rather than her asking because she would never have been able to. She was always the quiet one in her group of friends, but she didn’t need to be loud to be noticed. Her academic achievements showed off more than she could ever say. Anthony quickly pulled his phone out of

his pocket, unlocked it and found the contacts section. Sarah found the add new contact section and typed in her name and number. “There you go,” she exclaimed just as the barista called her name. “Text me?” she asked Anthony who responded with a swift nod of his head.

He was still in shock, how on earth was he actually able to ask her for her number and why on earth did she actually give it to him? Anthony made his way back to the group of hockey players and Anders quickly pulled him aside. He asked Anthony if she was the girl and a few questions about her so he could attempt to figure out the situation. It wasn’t like he was going to share anything that he found out, he just wanted the best for his young winger and if that involved a girl, he was going to be happy for him.

The entire conversation with Anthony had thrown Sarah off but she knew that she couldn’t let it bother her professionally so went back to the ward as if nothing had ever happened, and was able to help with a few patient diagnoses and even suggested medications to her superiors who were impressed with the knowledge that she had in the subject. They even asked if she was considering a residency in the field because they would love to have her on board. It wasn’t like she could say no, instead she told them that she was keeping her options open and wanted to experience as many fields as possible before choosing her field. Even though she knew that there was only one place that she saw herself, in the emergency department.

She eventually found time in the day, 4 in the afternoon, to rest her legs for the first time in what seemed like days. Sarah loved the time she spent in the hospital and was beginning to learn how to survive on little sleep and lots of coffee. She also enjoyed the variety of patients she was seeing and the fact that they were actual human beings not just case studies on a piece of paper. Helping people was always something that she enjoyed doing.

Rebecca was adding the final touches to the roasted vegetables as Sarah made her presence known in their apartment. Sarah placed her backpack down on the couch and quickly followed the scent of salmon to the kitchen. “Becca,” she groaned, “you take too good care of me.” Rebecca shook her head as she continued to plate up the dinner. The conversation that the two had over their food, and a glass of red wine which according to Sarah was acceptable because it promoted blood thinning. 

Sarah mentioned it when they were clearing up, which wasn’t the smartest idea she had ever had because Rebecca almost dropped the dishes into the sink. “You saw him again?” Rebecca exclaimed, wanting to make sure she had heard her best friend right because there was no way that she had seen a group of the Islanders in a Starbucks and had given her number to Anthony Beauvillier.

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I mean, I gave him my number so it’s probably gonna be hidden in a pile of other, prettier girls numbers, but hey. I tried, and that’s all I can do.” Rebecca sent a soft smile in her housemate’s direction, she knew that there had to be a reason for fate to bring them to the same place three times. It couldn’t just be a coincidence anymore, could it?

Anthony sunk into the soft material of his and Mat’s main couch, wishing the world would just engulf him. He groaned into one of the cushions as he tried to release all of the awkwardness that his body held. Mat tried to get him to talk, especially when he noticed that he was talking to a girl at the coffee shop but Anthony was stubborn and refused to say anything. Mat was the one who had a better track record out of the two, but Anthony didn’t need to hear his best friend bragging about all the different ways he had seduced different women into his bed in different states across the country. He needed advice on keeping the same woman around him.

Yes, he had previous girlfriends but none stayed around longer than two months or however long it took for them to get intimate a few times and he hated that. Anthony wanted to form a connection with someone, he wanted to come home from a long road trip to someone waiting in bed for him, he wanted someone who was available to go on dates with him regularly. He wanted love. And it was proving harder than he wanted it to be to find.

Matt Martin had decided that this losing streak needed to end, so he took them to an all-expenses-paid training camp on Cape Cod during the few days they had between games. As an experienced player, he knew that taking some time away from watching tape and having failed set plays occur during training was the best thing they could do. So he found a place that fit their needs and was able to cater to their weird athlete diet. They kept in shape by taking part in a variety of watersports and using the spacious gym facilities that were on offer. It also allowed Anthony to pull Anders aside once more to try and get advice on what to do. 

At this point, Anders was close to telling him that he needed to do something but refrained from saying it in those words as he knew that this was a difficult thing for a teammate to bring to him. “Just text her,” Anders told him, collecting a towel to wipe away the sweat forming on his brow as the two completed some interval training on the treadmill.

“I would,” Anthony replied sarcastically, “but what do I say?” Anders noticed the genuine concern in his voice, did this girl he had met all of three times really have such a hold over him? All he could do was give the most sensible advice he could think of and told him that he would try and ask some people under the radar for more information but stressed that he needed to actually get in contact with her. 

Anthony told his captain that he would try his best but his anxious feeling never seemed to go away, especially when he opened up her contact to send her a message. He kept thinking of everything that could go wrong, and never the positives that he could get out of it. Yes, he might not get a girlfriend out of it, but even gaining a new friend would be much better than not even trying. But he pushed these thoughts to the side, well, as best as he could, before moving to work on some hand-eye coordination tasks alongside some of his potential linemates.

The three day trip to Massachusetts came to an end much quicker than all of the Islanders wanted, but Barry Trotz was pleased to see that they were rejuvenated from their time away and was able to try the same drills they had done previously and this time they were a lot more successful. This translated to a successful win streak against the Rangers and Flyers and they all decided that it was the right time to celebrate.

Vodka shots, tequila shots, sambuca shots. If it was liquor, it could be found in the private room that the Islanders had booked for their celebration. Anthony had meant to invite Sarah, he did send her a simple text telling her that this was his number, but he couldn’t justify throwing her into the life of a WAG when they were barely even friends, so he simply told her that he was going on a night out in celebration which she completely understood, he had worked hard for his job as an athlete and deserved to celebrate.

Sarah didn’t want to scare Anthony by mentioning that she was doing her rotation in the emergency department in case she was at the closest hospital to him and someone needed immediate attention. She thought it was a long shot, but at around 1 am she heard a voice that she recognised. Dr Stevens was the doctor she was shadowing and he had just been introducing the two of them to the patient who was a lovely elderly couple where one of them had a fall and they were recommended to visit the ED to make sure that they were all okay. 

She was instructed to begin some basic observations and took a few samples of blood to send down to the labs; it was a procedure that she had done many times on her colleagues and models but one she was unfamiliar with on elderly people as their veins weren’t always as visible. The couple were lovely and continued to encourage her even as she struggled but it was the motivation she needed as she was able to collect the appropriate number of vials needed to test for a variety of conditions.

James, one of the nurses, had begun to start looking after the crowd of boys by first, taking some general observations of each of them to make sure that they were not suffering from over intoxication. He thanked the lord, even though he was an atheist, that they were just drunk. He was able to collect some water for the two who weren’t injured then was able to take a quick look at Mat’s hand. James quickly called over Sarah for help when it came to attaching an IV and Dr Stevens had made sure that if he wasn’t looking after her that the most experienced nurse would be assisting her, tonight that being James.

Sarah was shocked to see Mat with a bloody rag covering his wrist, covering what looked like a relatively deep graze. James informed her of the situation and that she needed to attach him to an IV and would be observing him putting in a set of absorbable stitches to quickly solve the small issue of his graze. She agreed but Anthony and Matt, who for some reason thought that they needed a father figure at the hospital, kept trying to distract her. It wasn’t like she minded chatty patients, in fact, they were some of her favourites because it meant that she was able to find out more information about conditions they had, but drunk people weren’t her forte. However, she was beginning to notice that a night shift in the emergency department consisted of more drunk people than she thought.

One of the other nurses, Shelly, was able to lead Anthony and Matt to an empty bay where they were given a few more bottles of water and some snacks to help them sober up. Occasionally, someone would stick their head in to make sure that New York’s Long Island’s finest were doing okay. 

It was relatively easy to hook Mat to the IV and he was pretty comfortable when James began to stitch up his graze. He had experienced it multiple times and more often than not there was no pain relief so the small amount he had been given was a lifesaver. He did continue to chat to Sarah as if he was competing for Canada but she understood why. Hospitals were not a nice place to be at the best of times and if this made him more comfortable, then he should do that. It wasn’t up to her to tell him what made him comfortable, that was completely out of bounds.

A few minutes passed, and Sarah had begun to start Mat’s discharge paperwork and that included sending a small report to the doctors at their training facilities. She imagined if she were one of them, she wouldn’t be too impressed to hear that one of her star forwards had slightly injured himself, but that was for Mat to explain. She was simply documenting what she saw and the procedures that were undertaken. 

2:53 in the morning. Anthony had sobered up enough to call the three of them an Uber to their respective places and he also thanked Sarah profusely for looking after them too. She was humble, simply letting him know that it was her job, even if she wasn’t getting paid for it. He also promised that as a thank you, he would take her out on a date. Sarah was almost sure that when he woke up, hopefully fully sober, he would have completely forgotten about that so she simply brushed it off with an “of course Anthony.” What else was she meant to say? It wasn’t like she could whip out her phone and just say, tell me the date and time and I’ll be there. This placement was preparing her for a job in a hospital. She couldn’t do that to any other patient, or their family members, so why was Anthony different?

“Professional hockey player, absolutely filled out, oh, and you have a crush on him,” Rebecca told Sarah like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sarah felt her cheeks heat up as Rebecca went further down the list, it wasn’t like anything that she said was wrong, it just wasn’t what she had hoped to hear at 8 am over a coffee with her best friend. She sighed as she went to pick up the steaming mug of coffee, not sure how to respond.

“Yes, yes and maybe?” Sarah replied, not really sure how to admit to the small amount of feelings she had begun to feel about the winger. The pair had been sporadically messaging each other, mainly a well done for a three-point night or how was the er today? Nothing more than that, but Sarah wanted more but knew that he might not feel the same way and accepted the small amount of communication with him.

Anthony, on the other hand, was sweating and not just from the painful workout that they had just been subjected to. He knew he needed to ask Sarah out on a date, sooner rather than later, because he was certain that she would be able to find someone with whom she could hold more intelligent conversations. She was a medical student, after all, he told himself. As he sat on the small couch in his bedroom, he checked Google Maps searching for a small coffee shop where he could ask her on a weekend, casual date. He picked one that looked nice enough, and just went for it.

Anthony: Hey, this might seem out of the blue but I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee sometime this weekend? I’m not playing until Monday and I’d really like to see you

And now he had to play a waiting game, but he didn’t have to wait as long. Once he had returned from collecting a parcel, a care package from his mother containing things that he missed from Quebec, he checked his phone to see a reply. He smiled to himself, even if it was a rejection, he wasn’t being ignored which in his books was a massive win.

Sarah: Hiya! That sounds like a great idea, I’ve got a small research thing to do, but I can do that whenever. Text me when and where and I’ll be there :)

The first thing Anthony did was text Anders and let him know. His captain was pleased for him and was happy to hear that he had taken the initiative even if he was worried. But now, Anthony had three more days to worry about something else.

Rebecca shouted through the hallway to try and get Sarah’s attention. Sarah had left her phone in the lounge as she went to change into something more comfortable and it wasn’t like she expected Anthony to reply so quickly either. “It says,” Rebecca started before Sarah swooped in to take the phone out of her hand and held it to her chest. There was no way in hell that Sarah was going to let Rebecca find out that she was going on her first date in 4 years, let alone with Anthony Beauvillier of the New York Islanders.

As she raised one of her eyebrows, Rebecca looked over quizzically at her best friend. “Tell me who that text was from and I’ll drop it completely,” she bargained knowing that even though she was studying law there was no way in hell she would be able to get any more information out of Sarah.

The two shared a look and Sarah knew that Rebecca wouldn’t push, or at least she hoped. “Anthony,” she said, wishing that she either assumed who he was or didn’t care enough to ask. Rebecca’s jaw dropped in shock, did Sarah Milkins really just say that she was going to go for coffee with Anthony. Anthony Beauvillier. Number 18 for the New York Islanders. It wasn’t like it could be a different Anthony as he was the only one who both of them knew and that Sarah would have told Rebecca if she had even been talking to anyone else.

Rebecca tried to get hold of the phone but Sarah quickly ran back into her room and locked the door before she could be asked any more questions. “I’m saying yes, we’re going to Maman at 3 o’clock on Sunday, I’ll be back before nine,” Sarah shouted through the door. Eventually, Sarah let Rebecca into her room and let out a little scream of excitement. They spent the rest of their afternoon discussing date attire and just tried to stay as calm as possible.

[imagine-it-to-be-true]

Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 2

Hey guys! So, originally, this story was supposed to be a One-shot. But because of the overwhelming amount of requests I’ve received (thank you so much sweeties, by the way), I’ve decided to make it into a three parter. This is part 2, and the first part can be found on my blog. I’m not sure when I get around to writing part 3 as uni starts back up today, but I’ll try my best not to keep you in suspense for too long. This part is more centred around chaos than romance. Nothing belongs to me (including the GIF) Also, warnings: violence, blood, death.

Andromeda’s POV

The sensations were weird. First, I had been in a lot of pain around my stomach region. I could hardly breathe, let alone express my pain to the handsome-yet-creepy, blonde stranger taking care of me. Though I’m sure he knew. I mean, even I knew I was dying, and he was helpless to save me, so I didn’t bother speaking. I could see the concern in his eyes and hear his sweet whisperings as he stroked my cheeks and wiped away my tears. But these little comforts were not enough to stop the hurt. Then, when I saw him holding a huge syringe, it sent me into panic mode. I never liked needles, not to mention ones which were about to inject unfamiliar liquids into me. But he reassured me it would help, which calmed me down. Not like I could defend myself in that moment anyways. I guess it couldn’t hurt me more. It turned out he was right. After a few minutes, I noticed the pain slowly going away. Maybe it wasn’t the liquid, but the fast-approaching release of death, I wasn’t sure. My cries began to slow, and I could feel more pleasant sensations, such as the pale man stroking my hand with his thumb, gently massaging circles into it. Then, he asked,

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?”

Gasping for air, I attempted to speak,

“Andromeda,” came my whispered reply. With my half-opened eyes, I was able to see his perfect lips draw up in a smile. Focusing on his features, I didn’t even realize that my pain was entirely gone, and I was feeling rather loopy. I watched the man bend down closer to me, brushing my hair back and running his ice-cold knuckles down the side of my neck. Suddenly I felt a sense of vulnerability. I felt his cool breath hitting my ear as he whispered,

“Do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.” I was confused and fear began to resurface. I had gotten away from one creep, only to be taken by another. This man scared me to my core. But before I could dwell on my thoughts, I saw him quickly lean down towards my neck, as if he was about to kiss me. That was not what happened.

Indeed, I momentarily felt his cool lips touch the sensitive skin of my neck. But then a sharp pain erupted. Whatever it was that he injected into me was definitely helping. I was aching again, though differently this time. It was a dull, electrifying, fiery sensation, which immediately spread from my neck to my brain, and all the way down to the tips of my toes. My body was on fire, but it was not as intense. If one were to be scratched over and over and over again, pain would increase. This was what I was going through. It was continuous and that was making it worse. An hour had passed, then two, then I lost count. I couldn’t see anything anymore, my vision clouded. Yet I could still hear him. He never seemed to leave. Others would come and go. Time would pass and I would feel needles in my arms. I assume he kept injecting me with whatever it was, which managed my pain; probably morphine. I learned his name was Caius from others who had come in and spoken to him. Caius. What an unusual name. But it fit him.

He had injected so much morphine into me that the dull burning sensation eventually stopped. That, or perhaps I adjusted to it. I could not tell how much time had passed, but by now, it had been a while, for sure. I had given up. If it were not for his constant voice, and feeling of his icy hands touching my own, I would have believed I passed on. But eventually, my vision slowly began to return. I hadn’t felt injections in hours, and no pain returned, which was strange.

The entire time I lay there, presumably dying, I thought of my life. Who would miss me? I had no parents. Both died in a car crash when I was 12. I was in the back seat and miraculously survived. Given no time to adjust to the tragedy, I was immediately placed in a foster home in New Haven, where I experienced endless amounts of bullying. But as with all foster children, my stay was temporary. For the next five years, I bounced from one home to the next. This made me reserved, quiet, and untrusting. I was socially awkward and had very few friends. My main comforts came from the company of animals. Truthfully, I got used to this solitary existence, finding that I expressed myself better through storytelling than the spoken word. In fact, my unfortunate childhood did not impact my standing at school. I was always a good student, and this landed me a fully paid scholarship to NYU where I completed a double degree in journalism and history. The lack of family and friends allowed me to dedicate all my time to my studies and work, which was conducting research for my professor. Then, after graduating, I decided to make a drastic change and start fresh with a move to Europe. For the last two years, I had spent my time travelling several countries and writing articles on historical artifacts, buildings, and churches. I sold my stories to networks as a freelance historical journalist, living alone and moving often from place to place. In fact, Volterra was my last stop in Europe before I planned to relocate to Egypt and focus on Pharaonic history there. Not many of Volterra’s tourists knew about the building I had been photographing, which was off the main street and down an alleyway. It was not glamorous, but historic, which drove me to it. That is where I was and what I was doing when I was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a dark alleyway.

My life had been flashing before my eyes over and over again. I wanted to live. To do better. To be better. I was sick of being alone. So, when my vision began returning, I was filled with motivation to live. Really live. Finally, I could focus my eyes. I stared up at what appeared to be a bed canopy. It was velvet, and dark red in color. To my right, I could sense the smell of burning candles. It was so prominent that it made my nose burn. My hands were balled into fists, grasping the cotton sheets and I could see that I ripped holes in them. How much pain was I in that I ripped a bedsheet with my bare hands? I then noticed something strange. I was not breathing. Since when was I not breathing? This frightened me immensely, and I bolted into an upright sitting position. As I did, the bed violently shook. The canopy swayed as if it would collapse at any second. Did I do this? I’m a weak little girl who couldn’t even fight off a drunk man in an alleyway, how was I doing all this? I heard a sound to my left and immediately snapped my head towards the source. It was a young woman – girl more like it – that I did not recognize. She had strange red eyes, much like my rescuer. But she frightened me more than him. There was a certain evil surrounding her, I could sense it. How, I did not know. All I knew was that she did not wish me well.

“Hello, Andromeda.” She spoke coolly.

I looked at her, suspicion and confusion painted over my face.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“Master Caius told me.”

‘Master?’ that sounded strange. Not something a girl would call a man. What was this, a sex trafficking operation? Before I could speak, she continued.

“He has been by your side. He will return any minute now. He went out hunting for you.” She spoke like an information-giving robot: just spewing facts, unmoving, her expression unchanging.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Hunting… that’s not necessary. I- I don’t eat meat.” Her expression finally changed. Her smirk transformed into a creepy smile, and she let out a laugh.

“Believe me, dear girl. It is not exactly meat he will be returning with.” She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. Two guards opened the bedroom door for her and shut it as she left. So, they have my room guarded. I guess they aren’t going to let me leave.

I was not in a hurry; I needed to see Caius. Thank him. And ask him how he was able to fix me. Was I remembering correctly that he bit me?! What a strange thing to do. I looked down on my stomach, which was completely injury-free. Then, I reached my hand to the back of my neck, trying to feel any bitemarks there. Nothing. What the hell? I did not understand. I had a lot of questions and needed answers, the most pressing of which was why my throat was on fire. I would have asked the girl, but something in me yelled to keep my distance from her; that she was dangerous. Slowly, I stood up from the bed, noticing that the white dress I had on when I was shot was no longer on me. Instead, I wore a soft, white nightgown, with lace on the collar. It seemed like a typical garment from Tudor England, or something. It was unlike anything I had seen in any mall or shop. Come to think of it, the entire room had a historic, gothic feel to it. The décor resembled a royal palace.

My feet hit the marble floor and I began walking around the room, making my way to the bookshelf. There, a massive assortment of books awaited. However, they were not the typical books one would find in a normal home. These were all historic and ancient. I picked up a copy of the Iliad. Looking at the bindings, I could tell the book was old. More interestingly, it was still written in Homeric Greek – not a language many would be able to read. Whoever this belongs to was most definitely smart.

Suddenly, I felt the burning in my throat worsen. The sensation intensified to the point where I was nearly panicking. Ready to run for the doors and ask the guards for help, I heard footsteps approaching.

The door swung open, and the man… Caius walked in. No longer dying, I could properly admire his features. He looked perfect, truly. Not a single flaw on his face or skin. His nearly white, blonde hair carefully combed back behind his ears. He moved towards where I was sat in an armchair and knelt in front of me. Immediately, I was filled with a calmness. It was like I was home. I cannot describe it completely, but it was as if all problems were erased, and I was safe. This was the second time I managed to judge a person based on feelings, all within the last few minutes. First with the young woman from earlier, and now Caius. Before he could speak, the feeling was gone, and replaced once again with unease and danger, as I watched the young woman reappear, dragging a man by his wrist. Behind her, the guards entered the room and stood on either side of the man. I could feel that he was not dangerous, as the fear was practically radiating off him. The woman stepped behind him and gave him a push towards me.

“Dinner,” she stated coldly. I looked from her to the frightened man, to Caius. I could see annoyance on his face, as he turned to her and spoke.

“Must you, Jane? Do you not know of patience?”

“Forgive me, Master Caius. You were not one to show patience often, and I do learn from you.” She stated simply.

When Caius turned to me, I was grasping my throat, which was burning almost unbearably. “What is happening?!” I choked out.

“I know this will not make sense to you right now, and I will explain everything, I promise. But the only thing that will stop the ache is if you drink blood. You need to drink this man’s blood.” Caius whispered to me, out of earshot of the poor man.

I froze and looked at him with wide eyes, face in complete and utter shock.

“WHAT?! What did you just say?!” I exclaimed, not believing what I heard.

He sighed and leaned in once again, whispering. “In order to save your life from your injuries, I was forced to turn you into a vampire. You need blood, and you need it now. Trust me.” He tried again.

“I WILL NOT! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” Hastily standing, I pushed him away. My intention was to give him a normal, hard push so that he gets the message. But nothing prepared me for what happened. When I pushed him, he went flying across the room and hitting a marble column, which shattered on impact. Immediately, the room was filled with noise and dust as the column went crashing down around him. I pushed myself into the corner of the room and watched in terror. That impact would have killed an elephant. Yet Caius, simply rose, brushing dust off his blazer and pants. The evil woman – Jane as he called her – appeared emotionless as she turned her attention from Caius to me.

“Fine. More for us then,” she said. What followed, was simply too much for me to handle.

First, I heard Caius yelling, “Jane, NO!” In one swift motion, she tore the frightened man’s throat with her teeth. Blood gushed out from the wound, spilling all over the white marble floor. I screamed in terror. But what was even more terrifying than the poor man’s death, was the smell of his blood. It was driving me crazy. It was like nothing I had ever experienced it. I craved it. Needed it. And was so close to taking it all for myself. But with any remaining strength I had left, I stopped myself. This was not me. I was a vegetarian because I cared for the well-being of animals. There was not a thing in the world which would force me to do anything to harm another living soul. So, I curled up in a ball in my corner and rocked back and forth, trying to focus my senses on anything other than the delicious smell of blood.

“I will deal with you later. Take him and leave, now!” I heard Caius’ voice. “You are not to come here again; you are not to see her! Now go!”

“Yes, Master Caius.” I heard her disgusting, venomous voice once again as she left. The doors closed and the room was filled with silence.

I momentarily thought Caius left too, but then I felt the sensation of safety return to me.

“How did I do that?” I ask with a shaking voice.

“You are a new vampire. For the first few weeks, you will be stronger than the rest of us. This will pass, and you will adjust.” He said gently.

I continued hugging my knees and rocking. Caius continued.

“This is not how a newborn should experience the first moments. But Andromeda…” he hesitated, “You need to feed. If you do not, it will only get worse. Your awareness will seize to function, and you will eventually kill more than you would have otherwise.”

With no response from me, Caius reached for my hands, placing his own over them. This woke a rage inside of me. I grasped his wrists and pushed him backwards. His back hit the wall, not as hard this time. I began speaking.

“You did this to me. You made me this… this… monster. This is on you. You should have let me die. Now, because of your selfish need for heroism, I will murder countless others.”

We both rose to our feet. He gently approached me again, saying my name, but I held my hand up to block him. “Get out. I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.”

With that, I pushed him towards the direction of the door. He paused,

“Andromeda-”

“GET OUT!” I picked up a glass vase and threw it in his direction, and he finally left. I sat down on the cold marble tiles, pressing my back against the wall, and screamed in agony.

[chubbydino]

fool’s gold 12 days of christmas

DAY 3 || lestappen (flashback)

12 days of christmas in the fool’s gold universe!

read on ao3

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

Snow hurt like a bitch. Max’s nose went flat to his face as he sailed headfirst into a snowbank, probably looking like an absolute fuckup, ass in the air, snowboard folding over his arse.

Sure enough, the momentum sent him backward, flinging his face back out of the snow and landing him in a sitting position, balls deep in powder.

“Fuck,” he spouted, cheeks burning from being dragged across a thousand mini ice crystals. His nose hurt, and he couldn’t tell if it was melted snow or blood or snot leaking from it as he blinked his way back to reality.

“You okay?”

Charles slid to a stop beside him in an effortless arc of skimanship. Or whatever it was called.

Max waved him off. “Yeah. Dunno what happened there. Jesus Christ.”

“You’re bleeding.” Charles clicked his way out of his skis and propped them upright in the snow.  He looked handsome, even in a hand-knit beanie that had a pom pom on the end. Charles said his grandmother probably looked at a knitting magazine and neglected to notice the hat model was a girl.

Max brought his fingers to his nose and sure enough, they came away red.

Fuck, his dad would kill him when he got back.

“Lodge isn’t too far,” Charles said, surveying the mounds of snow like they weren’t all exactly the same. “Want to walk the rest of the way?”

Max smiled with blood on his teeth. Charles’s accent made him sound like someone was adjusting the pitch of his voice with a turntable.

Suddenly green eyes were right in his face, appraising him. Max was tempted to spit, just to get a reaction. Instead, he grinned.

“Do I look tough?” he asked.

Charles frowned, his dark brows knitting together. “You’re bleeding a lot. Here.”

He dug around his pockets and produced a plastic wrapped set of tissues. He pulled a few out and brought them to Max’s nose.

Max carefully folded his hand over Charles’s, delighting in the way Charles’s smile melted into something fond at the touch. Max liked that about him—he never took anything for granted. Max didn’t either. He was always one loss away from things he didn’t like to think about.

Good thing he kept winning. Soon—very soon, he hoped—he would have a crown on his head and he’d be able to forget all of the bullshit.

“This is why you’re supposed to wear a helmet, Max,” Charles said, his vowels sliding around. “It is very dangerous not to.”

Max shrugged. “I like to live life on the edge, Char. Makes things exciting.”

“All risk, no reward.” Charles muttered.

Max smiled, tipping his head back a little more. “This is a reward, I think.”

Nobody ever complimented his ability to flirt, because Max didn’t have it. He didn’t even have the balls to make the first move at Pierre’s when ehh and Charles kissed for the first time, though when his dad asked he made sure to say he couldn’t keep guys off him. Girls either.

In reality, he drank a lot, got stupid, and sometimes found his way against somebody’s mouth, but not for very long.

Now he didn’t drink very much. He didn’t have to.

“Hold le mouchoir,” Charles said distractedly.

Max grieved the loss of Charles’s hand, but did as told. He also really liked the view of Charles pulling his gloves off with his teeth, exposing pink-tinged fingers that began to fiddle with the straps on his snowboard.

Max pulled the tissue away to check it, and with a few more dabs he discovered the bleeding had stopped. He pulled an extra tissue and balled it up methodically, stuffing it up his nostril, hidden from view. He was pretty good at that now.

“Oof. Don’t know if I can stand up,” Max said, reclining in the snow. “Might need an airlift.”

“Very funny,” Charles muttered, plucking Max's boots from the snowboard clamps.

Max closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the forest. Naked branches clacked together in the breeze, pine needles shook like maracas, and Charles’s nylon ski jacket hissed as he fiddled with the board.

“Come on,” Charles said, smacking his foot.

Max let out a hum. “Lay down with me.”

His dad would be immensely disappointed when they inevitably walked up to the lodge instead of Max sliding in first on his board, Charles second. He didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t want to have to make everything into a competition.

Charles looked like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters as he crawled over to him, gloves returned to his hands. Shame.

He made a very French noise as he flopped onto his back in the snow.

“Someone is going to hit us,” Charles muttered. “We are right in the line.”

“Fuck them,” Max said. “I’m mortally wounded.”

“You are dramatic, mate."

Max laughed. “Am I?”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to find Charles staring at him, his catlike lashes fanned over his eyes. He had no right to be that good-looking as a teenager. Charles didn’t have any problems in the flirting department—in the anything department, really.

“You have a perfect life,” Max said, smiling at him.

Charles laughed. “I have a pretty good life, yeah.”

Utter confidence. Charles didn’t have a single thing to wish for. His dad loved him, his brothers loved him, and he had some of the greatest mentors in the FIA to point him toward the crown. Life would turn out exactly the way he wanted it.

Max had his dad, who bit pieces off of him and called it growth. But he had a good life, and he knew that.

“I feel like we should make out,” Max said.

Charles burst into laughter. Max loved that sound.

Yeah, loved.

Charles rolled up onto his side, all puffy coat and pom poms.

“Don’t bite my tongue again,” he warned as he leaned in.

Max smiled wide. “It’s called being sexy.”

Charles devolved into laughter, tucking his face into Max’s chest.

Max laughed too, infected with all of the happiness that always radiated from his secret, perfect boyfriend who wouldn’t be a secret much longer.

Yeah, Max thought, he had a good life too.

[bxtchforstyles]

The greatest headache ever

Harry Styles x Meredith Cooper

(part of the hey doctor series)

When Harry starts getting headaches bad enough to where he has to go to the emergency room, Meredith is there to help. This is the story of how they met.

Warning: mentions of hospitals, slight mentions of needles, just medical things.

Word count: 2.1k

gif not mine.

Whenever Meredith worked overtime at the hospital, those always seemed to be the same days that Harry didn’t have to go to the studio, or the days that Harry had something planned for the two of them.

Meredith was the definition of a workaholic, making it very difficult for her to often go home on time after her shift. Harry tried to get her to take more breaks as the years of dating her went on, but she never let up.

He would say, “baby, I’m only looking out for your health.”

To which she would respond with, “actually, I’m looking out for my patients health.”

She was at the hospital doing rounds, or maybe at the office seeing patients. She was always working.

So, maybe it was unbearable for Harry to never get to see his girlfriend, but when he really thinks about it, her working overtime at the hospital was the reason he met her.

FLASHBACK:

Grueling headaches were an often occurrence for Harry, so it never really occurred that he would end up in the emergency room from utter exhaustion.

“Good evening, Mr…” She looks down to find out what Harry’s name is on his chart, “Styles, correct?”

He nods, furrowing his eyebrows and wincing as another sharp pain echoed through his head.

“Okay, well I’m doctor Cooper. It says here that you’ve been having ongoing headaches for a while, so what made you want to come in?”

“Um…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head, “I was at the studio, and I had been standing for a while and I sorta fainted.”

“Hm,” Meredith looked down, expecting any other injuries, “so, I’m guessing you cut your wrist on the way down?” There was a white bandage with blood showing through it wrapped tightly around his wrist.

“Yup.” He laughed as she began to unwrap the bandage, “Not to sound rude or anything, but you look a little young to be a doctor.”

“Unless you are suggesting that I am incapable because of my age, which I don’t think you are, then I take you saying I look young as a compliment.”

“Of course I meant it as a compliment.” Harry shakes his head with a small chuckle, making Meredith smile.

“Ouch.” She winced along with Harry once the bandage was all the way off of his wrist before she set it on the medical tray next to her. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to need stitches.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, “Are you being serious?”

“Do you really think I would joke about something like that? C’mon, I’m not that cruel.”

She was being honest, and Harry liked that about her. She wasn’t trying too hard to fit the entire doctor role that most of the arrogant doctors did.

She patted his shoulder as she stood up from the rolling stood she was sitting in, “I’m going to go grab a suture kit, I’ll be right back to fix you up.”

“I see you’re taking a liking to one of your patients over there.” Meredith jumped as she stood in the supply closet, turning to find Maggie, one of her friends (and colleagues) behind her.

“What?” She asked as she reached for the suture kit she had been looking for.

“Ya know,” Maggie snatched the kit for Mer’s grasp, “nurses are perfectly capable of a couple stitches, that’s their job after all.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing the plastic container with all the tools necessary inside of it back, “I had some free time, he’s a pretty interesting guy, actually.”

“Guy? That’s it?” Meredith sees her friend's jaw drop, “Do you not know who that man is?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in response, “What do you mean? He’s a patient...”

“You’re about to suture the wrist of like the most famous popstar ever, Meredith!”

She whipped her head back around, “What? Who? Wait, what’s his name?’

Another one of the girls who works with the two of them walked up to where they were standing in the hall, appearing to have been eavesdropping. “Does she seriously not know who Harry fucking Styles is?”

The name definitely rang a bell, and Meredith had definitely heard it before, but she just could remember exactly where.

“What is he? A singer?” She looked towards Maggie, making her groan.

“Mer! You literally listen to his music!” Maggie smacked her friend in the back of the head, making her hiss from the sudden contact, “You know that one song that you were obsessed with over the summer, golden?”

Meredith nodded before her jaw dropped, “Oh my gosh! He wrote that song?”

Maggie copied her previous motion, nodding before turning her friend back towards where Harry sat, pushing her forwards. “Go get ‘em tiger!”

When Meredith walked back up to Harry, she stumbled a bit before setting all her supplies on the small, metal table that sat next to his bed. “Sorry that took so long, you are apparently the talk of the town all over the hospital.”

“Ah,” Harry only tucked his lips into his mouth, “really thought I was off the hook when you pretended to not know who I was, ya really had me sold.”

“Um…” the girl trailed off awkwardly, “I didn’t know who you were.”

"Oh, Im sorry, I shouldn't have assumed that you knew who I was.” He spoke, the shock in his voice was still quite apparent though. "I guess after a while of being recognized everywhere I go, I learned to act as if everyone knows who I am, and have the worst intentions. It's the best way for me to assure that my integrity is saved.”

Meredith nods, "I know I'm not famous or anything, but I somehow understand that.”

Harry's wrist was still obviously hurting, she could tell by the way he flinched every time she came close to touching.

"Okay, you may feel a small pinch when I insert the numbing agent, but after that, the stitches should be smooth sailing.” Meredith grabs his wrist, just above his injury, she had the syringe filled with lidocaine in her other hand, "ready?”

Harry nodded before she quickly inserted the syringe, beginning to numb the area. For a moment, it looked as if all of the color had completely drained from his face, his eyes falling closed.

"You doing alright?” Meredith light-heartedly asked, trying to ease the tension as she finished numbing Harry's wrist.

He looked quite dazed, as if he was in a trance, "I think I'm alright.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair, still having that void look in his eye.

Meredith stood up again, "Why don't I go get you a cool washcloth to put on your forehead while we wait for the numbing to fully kick in, you look a bit pale."

Harry smiled, "That would be great, thank you.”

When Meredith returned from the sink outside the procedure room, Harry was still slumped back in the large chair, his forehead glistening with sweat.

"Here ya go.” She smiled, placing the washcloth soaked with cold water on his forehead. He was surprised by the cool temperature at first, but he sighed in relief moments later.

"Okay, so I'm going to get started on the stitches now, if you're all settled.”

"Yeah, I'm okay, go ahead.” He held his injured wrist out to her.

It only took around thirty minutes for Meredith to finish the stitches, and once she was done she was already suggesting other treatments for Harry's headaches in question.

"I honestly think that you are getting these headaches from just pure exhaustion, the symptoms you are describing sound much like the type of migraines I had in med school, and with such a high stress level job, it would make sense why you wouldn't be getting enough sleep, correct?”

Harry bows his head, "It is true that I could probably use a little more sleep.”

Meredith begins to jot something down on the chart, "and some more water, since you also seem to be showing signs of moderate dehydration.”

"Whatever you say, doc.”

It was beginning to get harder and harder for Meredith to keep her level of professionalism, because all she could think to herself was is this super hot, famous, heartthrob flirting with me right now?

It was safe to say that she was beginning to understand why so many girls, including her own colleagues, found this man so enticing.

"Okay!" She quickly broke herself out of her daydream, "I think that's all I can really tell you, sleep more and drink some more water. But, if you start doing those things and you are still getting headaches, please don't hesitate to come back.”

"And as for the stitches?” He questioned, making her furrow her eyebrows.

¨What do you mean?” She countered immediately feeling stupid when he responded.

"I mean, won't I have to come back to get them removed?"

"Oh! Yes, I would say fourteen days." Meredith was mentally face palming at this point as her embarrassment took over.

She wasn’t even a huge fan of his, hell, she didn’t even know who he was a hour ago, so the reason she was stuttering like a blubbering idiot was beyond her.

“Can I just come back here?”

“Yup, I’ll be here.” She says with a bigger smile than she intended as she handed Harry the medical forms for him to fill out.

“Thank you so much.” He said gratefully as she said her goodbyes before walking out of the room and into the hall, where Maggie, and many other nurses stood, seemingly waiting.

An array of questions began to be shouted from many different people, some including:

‘How was he?’

‘Did you get his number?’

‘Is he coming back?’

Meredith was appalled by the amount of shouting going on, when everyone was well aware that the man they were desperate to know about, was only behind the very thin, wooden door.

“Are you guys fucking insane? Patient confidentiality!” She defended, adjusting her white coat before beginning to make her way back towards the nurses station at the end of the hall.

******

Meredith wasn’t expecting to ever see Harry again after he came in to get his stitches removed, which was a long, drawn out process because of Harry’s attempt to stall the doctor.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him again either, she would have been perfectly happy to. He was charming, and didn’t seem too arrogant, which was something she completely adored about him.

But it wasn’t until about three weeks after he had gotten his stitches removed that she felt someone approaching her on the cereal island that she stood in Whole Foods.

“Meredith?” She turned around, being met with a surprised look at Harry. “Sorry, can I call you that?”

She laughed at that, “I mean I wasn’t expecting you to call me doctor when I’m not even your doctor anymore. Can I call you Harry?” She countered his question.

He let out a sigh of relief, remembering how down to earth Meredith really was for being someone with such a high profession. “Well, I’m not your patient anymore, now am I?”

She looked back at the shelves, picking up her choses box of cereal, throwing it into the basket that was hanging around her wrist.

“I guess you do know who I am, don’t you?”

“I do now.” She responded, not really knowing what else to say.

Harry on the other hand, was debating whether or not it would be inappropriate to attempt to make a move on his doctor. Was she even technically his doctor anymore? He didn’t know.

He was always very straight forwards through, which was something he prided himself in. “Would it be weird if I were to ask you out on a date?”

Meredith liked the game that they were continuing to play, the one where he would ask her a question, and she would counter back with almost the exact same one. “Would it be weird if I were to say yes?”

“I guess that answers both of our questions.”

It was safe to say both of them left the grocery store blushing and smiling like idiots.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villainsicle | Part 9

One day, I will learn to write comfort. That day is not this day.

Sorry that this isn’t especially plot-heavy, more of that will be coming soon. Tbh, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this one, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby​

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, conditioned whumpee, drugging, (offscreen) syringes, biting, dehumanization, feeding tubes, implied blood drawing, blood, restraints, unreality

Trainer’s fingertips pressed into Villain’s chin, curled gently around their jaw, gentle but firm, as an artist considering a piece. Their thumb stroked down, along the line of Villain’s jaw, tracing old scars that metal wires had again and again carved into skin.

Villain’s breathing was slow, pushing against the hold ever so slightly, but not fighting it. Merely molding around it. Their eyes were closed, tightly so, their teeth clenched with similar force.

For a few seconds, they breathed, simply and steadily.

“Surgere.”

The flow of a dripping faucet sent feeling back through Villain’s fingers, pins and needles flooding them as they again felt the sterile leather beneath. The sensation of pressure returned to their jaw, reminding them of the hold placed there, supporting their head.

With a few questioning blinks, Villain opened their eyes. Trainer smiled.

Though Villain could not understand the words they spoke, the tone itself was enough to send a flush of warm through their chest. They had tried-- they hadn’t been exactly right, but they had tried, and they had gotten close. They knew they had; Trainer’s face told them all they needed to know.

Without a thought, Villain nuzzled their head into the hand wrapped around their face. A gentle scratch on the chin responded.

It wasn’t often like this-- not so gentle, not so patient. Learning new commands would generally follow a simple pattern. The expected behavior would be demonstrated, whether through hand gestures or video or some other medium, and the command word given. They would do their best to follow through, their errors corrected, until they understood. When the command was next given, they would perform.

The process was simple and curt. For most behaviors, it only took a matter of hours. If it was especially complicated, such as when they had learned to perform off-leash reconnaissance, the training would be spread out over several sessions over several days, but such was uncommon.

This command, though... They could hardly remember how long they had been working towards it. Days, at the very least. Weeks, maybe. Yet, their every attempt failed.

And, still, Trainer smiled. There was no correction-- they did not so much as hold their crop in their off-hand. Only smiling. Only scratches. Only reward.

With their other hand, Trainer pushed a small item between Villain’s teeth. They held it on their tongue.

“Manducare.”

They bit down, the flavor of artificial fruit washing over their tongue. A treat-- a reward they weren’t often given.

They had done well. Villain smiled.

Trainer gave them a moment to swallow before straightening themself. Villain fought back the urge to whine as the hand on their jaw moved to place itself on their shoulder.

“Sede.”

Villain closed their eyes.

From their shoulder, the pressure of fingertips bloomed into a swarming numbness, flushing through their arteries and leaving their digits tingling, just for a moment. Just a moment, until their numbness overtook all.

Around them, the world was blue. They took a breath. Their body did not. The air here was thick, moving like a gel through their windpipe and settling in their lungs. There, it stayed, searing with cold as ice against bare skin.

Cold. Too cold. They shivered, feeling, for a moment, the smoothness of leather beneath their fingertips. The blue around them brightened, white spiderwebs running along its walls, blaring light seeping in through the cracks.

Another breath in sent more chilled air into their lungs. The cracks grew. Villain screwed their eyes closed, snapping their hands to their temples, choking down more cold air. Through their eyelids, they could see the cracks, the light, the webs. The facade breaking. They willed it together, willed plaster in the cracks and shadows over the light, but the damage did not so much as slow.

They choked on their own breath.

“Surgere.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain gasped awake, jerking upwards, before nearly immediately falling back onto the bed beneath them. Sharp lights ran circles around them as they shook their head. When the world was at last clear, their thoughts felt to have been mixed in a blender.

They blinked a few times, raising their head, only then realizing that a figure had been standing over them, likely for quite some time. Medic’s face cleared up along with the last vestiges of their field of vision.

Villain flinched as the snap of fingers echoed through the air. Again, they shook their head, only then truly awaking.

“I thought they trained you to snap out of it quicker than that.” The doctor tutted. Behind them, a door drifted closed, clicking as it did. “You’ll get used to it again, I’m sure.”

A whine fell dead in their throat. The hospital room was empty asides from them and Medic-- upsetting them would likely lead to... behavior corrections. Or worse. Just because these people spoke to them didn’t mean they wanted them to speak back.

Especially not Medic.

“That’s that, then.” The doctor turned away, striding across the room. Every clack of shoes on tile sent shivers along Villain’s spine. “Leader finally gave into sense.”

Villain clenched their teeth.

“Or... hm. I thought you would be more upset about that. I suppose they trained you not to listen, either. Hm.”

Medic hummed, messing about with something on a countertop before turning back. A syringe was poised in their fingers, but notably missing its needle. They returned to Villain’s bedside.

“They were awfully worried about your collapse. Agreed to let me keep you here, under observation, until I deem you healthy again.”

They adjusted the syringe in their hand.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” Medic smirked to themself, just for a moment. “I don’t think you’re even listening.” Their shoulders slumped.

“Os.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

A thumb forced its way between Villain’s teeth, pulling their mouth open. They fought to shake their head, to release themself, but found an unseen array of hands pressing down on them, holding them down to the headrest below, fingers digging into eyes and pulling and hair and earlobes.

Pathetically, a whimper escaped their throat. It prompted no response.

Vision blocked, they could only feel the next happening.

The taste of plastic filled their mouth as it scraped along their tongue, forcing itself further and further into their throat, scratching along the length of their esophagus until, at last, it stopped. Their desperate urge to cough was only stopped by their complete inability to do so.

With nonchalance, the finger forcing their mouth open removed itself, allowing Villain to snap their jaw closed. One by one, the other hands drifted away, leaving them panting, eyes locked upon the white ceiling above.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Good. That should help you behave.”

Villain blinked, a bitter taste of medicine and plastic quickly dissipating from their tongue as they returned to wakefulness. Medic moved to cross the room once more, the syringe in their fingers notably missing the liquid that had formerly filled it.

They couldn’t help but notice the numbness creeping along their tongue and up their fingertips.

“You know, Supervillain had somewhat of a point. You are quite the little marvel. Let’s get some samples before you drift off.”

The doctor returned with a glistening needle in hand-- this one far thicker than the last.

Villain bared their teeth.

“Ala.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The heartbeat monitor harmonized with the throbbing in their head. With each tug they made against their restraints, the throbbing was ignited anew.

Firm straps were stretched across them as a spiders web-- curled around their wrists and forearms, ankles and legs, chest and neck and forehead. Each was pulled tight enough that the slightest inch of movement was impossible. That didn’t stop them from struggling, though.

Every moment that passed, though, their protests grew significantly weaker. They pretended not to notice, to compensate by applying even greater effort, but they couldn’t deny it. They dared not look at their arm, but the feeling of warmth draining from their veins was plenty to know what was happening.

Though they could not move their head, they were able to see as a lab-coated figure appeared into their periphery, clipboard in hand.

“Let me go! You fucking sicko, let me go!”

They looked at Villain. They had no face.

As the doctor moved from their field of view, Villain felt, helplessly, as the warmth thrumming in their veins slowly dripped away, as did their consciousness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“That should be plenty.”

Medic held a small tube at eye-level, squinting to look at the crimson within, as if the liquid was some sort of discovery. As if it had not been stolen from Villain’s veins.

Though they were not restrained, they did not dare look at their arm. The feeling was awful enough.

They had expected it to hurt, but, if anything, it felt as little more than a tingling sensation. Like the volume had been turned down... they tried to shake their head to clear the fog from their mind, but forgot their intentions before they could carry them out.

“I’ll see what Leader was making such a fuss about, then. Are you asleep yet? No, not yet. Hmm.”

Villain laid their head back against the pillow below, gaze locked on the ceiling above. They could’ve sworn that the cracks in the plaster above were swimming.

Medic placed the vial and needle down, moving again to Villain’s side, this time at the foot of their bed. They knelt down, taking the edge of their pant leg in their fingers.

“Capere.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain took a step back, finding their heel met with the cold steel of the wall behind them. They trembled in chorus with their own heavy breathing.

“Leave me alone.” They pulled back their upper lip, baring their teeth. “Please, please leave me alone.”

The figure across from them took a step forth. Their facial features were difficult to make out-- especially since Villain had already destroyed the room’s only light.

“Capere.” The figure spoke, tone even, measured, yet clearly intended as a threat. One of their hands was occupied at the moment by a stick, made of metal, with a loop of wire at the end. They swung it back and forth, bouncing it against their leg.

“Please, please, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Villain tried to take another step back, but found that there was no room left to retreat.

“Capere.”

They shook their head as violently as they could manage, hoping it would, at the very least, demonstrate something.

The figure moved closer, raising the catchpole.

From up close, their face could be seen much clearer.

The catchpole moved closer, closer.

Villain lurched forwards, sinking their teeth into Medic’s hand.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Shit!”

Medic stumbled backwards, nearly tripping on the slick tile floor. Villain returned to consciousness with the taste of blood in their mouth.

They felt shallow breaths wrack their body, breaths that they could hardly control. Even with the taste flooding their mouth, the feeling in their tongue had been replaced nearly entirely by an overwhelming sensation of numbness.

Villain looked up, their head full of cotton and their nervous system flowing with static.

Medic panted for a moment, holding one hand with the other, scarlet seeping between their fingers even so. If they were afraid, they did not show it.

Instead, their countenance reflected nothing but fury.

“We-” They panted. “Have a lot of training to catch up on.”

[just-my-fandom]

One After Another (Cisco Ramon x Allen! Reader)

Chapter 1

Table of Contents

Part 1; Reader and Cisco meet their son from the future. Nora and their son admit to why they can’t go back to the future.

Request; Hi yes! Can I request a story? Or two long parts? Where the reader (Barry’s twin sister) and Cisco are married and reader is actually pregnant, and Nora shows up with a boy couple years older than her, and they reveal to be Barry and Iris’ daughter and the boy is reader and Cisco’s son, Dante? You don’t have to if you don’t want! Not forcing!

Tag list; None currently.

. . .

“Are you sure you dont want to know the gender?”

“I’m positive, Ralph,” You nod your head slowly, once, hands at your stomach and holding up your glass cup of (Favorite/Drink), “I mean, it’s not a big deal to me. We’ve already decided on names, Dante for a boy and Nora for a girl, simple,”

“But you guys could have a huge gender reveal party!” Ralph pleas, when Barry gets up to answer the door that was knocked on twice, “You could have party poppers, or have Joe dress up in a diaper!”

“I’ll kill you,” Joe threatens, and you snort, looking over your shoulder when two figures step into the living room, both darting their eyes around the living room as to scan each member of team Flash,

“I’m sorry,” Your brother rubs the back of his neck, brows pinched together as Cisco shifts in his spot beside you, arm along the back of the couch as his free hand held his wine glass- lucky, “Who are you guys?”

“I’m Nora,” The girl hesitates, hands wringing together, “Nora West-Allen,”

Before anyone can question on her last name, the boy next to her shifts, his eyes flicking to you, “I’m Dante,” You feel your chest tighten strangely, “Dante Henry Ramon,”

You feel Cisco cough on his wine, his hand behind you covering his mouth as he looks up at the young male, his brows pinched as his eyes then flicked to yours, “What?”

“I know this sounds super weird!” Nora tosses her hands in front of her, watching as her aunt and uncle stared at each other, before looking back up to her and Dante, “But we need your help,”

“I thought we were done with time traveling,” You sigh, tiredly, Cisco cocking his head in a “seriously?” motion, so you shrugged,

“What-what can we help you with?” Barry stammers, eyes narrowing slightly in thought,

“Dante and I were able to come to the past,” Nora explains, “Which is where we helped you destroy that satellite,”

“Wait, you’re a speedster?” Cisco points to Dante, your son forcing out a nervous laugh and a nod of his head,

“Great,” You murmur, so everyone looked to you, “I lose my speed and my son gains them,”

“Uh, you actually get your speed back after you give birth, Aunt Y/N,” Nora smiles, and watches as your lips pull upwards,

“Seriously?” You punch the air, free hand on your stomach, “Yes!”

“Okay,” Cisco shakes his head, standing up, “You’re telling me that the baby inside her right now,” He points to your bump, then raises his finger to Dante, “Is you?”

“Exactly,” Dante nods, “But I’m from 25 years in the future,”

“So you’re saying,” Barry runs a hand down his face, hand resting at his chin, “You’re my-our daughter,” He gestures to Iris, “And you’re my nephew?” Dante nods,

“I was named after both dads brother and Grandpa Henry,” He explains, looking to Nora, “Nora was named after Grandma Nora,”

“I see it as a win-win,” You grin, Cisco gesturing a hand out to you in disbelief,

“How are you so calm?”

“We’ve seen weirder things than this,” You remind, grasping the edge of the couch to stand, “Get me up, I can’t stand watching you drink wine while I’m stuck with (favorite/fruit) juice,”

“Why don’t we go to STAR Labs,” Iris speaks up, watching Cisco take your hand and raise you to your feet, allowing you to fully get a look at Dante, “We can figure all this out there, let you guys explain,”

. . .

“This is...”

“Weird,” Cisco finishes Barry’s sentence, looking to his brother in law who nods, both watching the two speedsters race around the speed lab, a mix of purple and yellow lightning blending with (favorite/color),

“Man I really miss my powers,” Your lips purse in a pout, hands curled under your stomach as your eyes easily kept up with the two speedsters,

“Can you really believe that’s our son up there?” Cisco murmurs, your eyes flicking to him, smiling at the grin on his face, “No matter how weird this is, it’s cool as hell,”

“I just can’t believe that we have a son,” You glance up to the running speedsters, “I was pretty sure Baby Ramon would be a girl,”

“Okay, we both know I was routing for a boy,” Cisco reminds, and you laugh, head tilting back with a grin.

“We need to be responsible with this,” Barry speaks up, your smile faltering as you look to him, “We need to find a way to send Dante and Nora back, and fast,”

“Yeah, I kind of agree,” Cisco purses his lips, “Even though this did ruin the “find out the gender at birth” scheme we were going for,”

Two figures speed to a stop behind you, your body turning to look to Nora and Dante both grinning at each other, them then looking to their parents in front of them,

“Okay guys,” Caitlin steps up, ordering the two to give her a hand, where she pierces their finger with a needle, “This is gonna link us up with your biometrics,”

“And these scrunchy things,” Cisco nods, moving in front of Dante to clasp the device around his wrist, “Is gonna analyze your connect with the Speed Force,”

Both teenagers nod as they both in sync look at their devices, grinning at each other before sprinting back around the speed lab,

“And what does it say?” Barry asks Caitlin, who types up the screen in front of her,

“A quick analysis of their DNAs show patterns that are familiar to all of you,”

“I knew it,” You nod, pursing your lips, “They’re our kids,”

“Well of course, Dante’s got my amazing hair,” Cisco twirls a lock of his hair, grinning when you shake your head.

“What about them being stuck here?” Barry continues, watching the quick interaction between his sister and best friend,

“Everything’s normal,” Cisco mutters, his own eyes on his screen as you move next to him, “They both have the speed force in their systems, they’re just... not going fast enough to open up the portal back to their timeline,”

Barry nods as his phone vibrates, glancing down with a short huff, “Damn, I was supposed to meet Singh at CCPD an hour ago,”

“Be safe,” You demand, your brother nodding before he speeds off, allowing you to look back up at the two speedsters, smiling lightly before looking back down to Cisco, his eyes looking up to meet yours before his hand presses to your bump, winking,

. . .

“I can’t believe I’m wearing the same tachyon enhancer my dad used to meet Supergirl for the first time,” Nora grins in excitement to her cousin next to her, who allowed Cisco to make adjustments to the same advice on his chest,

“I know, right?” Dante nods, gesturing to the device, “Mom had one too. But just the thought of them meeting Supergirl- cool as hell,”

“Alright,” Caitlin laughs, stepping back from Nora, “You’re both all set,”

“Did all these suits shrink?” The team looks up to Barry pulling at the bottom of his old Flash suit, your nose scrunching, “And why does it smell so bad?”

“Because it’s the one you used when you swam against King Shark, Uncle Barry,” Dante snickers, Barry nodding in realization,

“We should get going,” Barry presses his lips together as Dante and Nora frown to each other, Nora nodding in agreement, sadly,

“Then this is goodbye,” Dante says, clapping his gloved hands together as he glances to you, where you smile, softly, “It’s good to see you again, mom. I guess I’ll see you in a minute,”

“It was great meeting you,” You nod, “Even if it was six weeks too early,”

Dante laughs, glancing to Cisco, who holds up a pointed finger, “Answer this for me. Do I keep my long gorgeous locks even when I’m in my fifties?”

Dante holds up a finger to his lips, Cisco’s eyes widening in terror as he looks to his wife, where you laugh and snort against your hand, watching as Dante moved to the side of Barry Nora wasn’t at.

You wait, patiently, when the three speedsters rush off, looking over when Wally speeds up next to you, his hand at your arm, warningly, “Did they already leave?”

“Yeah, why? What’s up?” Iris asks, Wally shaking his head as he releases you,

“We have to stop them,”

Your eyes flick in alert to Cisco, flinching in alert to the explosion heard from behind the doors,

. . .

“Sorry I was too late,” Wally leans forward on his elbows, looking up to Nora on the labs bed, Dante and Barry both holding ice packs to their heads, “We got their Gideon to scan Nora and Dante’s blood samples,”

“Whatd she find?”

“Negative tachyons,” Wally sighs, your brows pinching as you glance to Cisco next to your chair,

“Negative tachyons?” Cisco questions, “So what, instead of speeding you up they slow you down?”

Wally nods, warily, Cisco frowning and huffing, “Well damn I was just joking, that’s a real thing?”

“Yeah. Ava and her team at the time bureau have encountered them before, but no one knows where they come from or how they’re generated.”

“Like Dark Matter for the space time continuum,” Barry nods,

“Exactly. They’re keeping Nora and Dante from entering the Speedforce,”

“Okay. I’ll work on this, you guys go help Ralph with the Gridlock crime scene,” Barry demands, ordering Dante and Nora to stay at the labs,

. . .

“We have to tell him,” Dante leans against Cisco’s desk as he watches Nora stare at the group photo of their family, his eyes staring down at the floor, “Uncle Barry at least deserves to know,”

“Nora,” Barry speaks up, so both Dante and Nora looked up at him, “What happens to me? In the future?”

Nora, Dante and Barry all stand in front of Gideon’s screen, the bright words, “FLASH VANISHES IN CRISIS,” shining in their faces,

“How long?” Barry orders, Nora tapping the screen so a new news article shined, saying, “25 YEARS LATER- FLASH STILL MISSING,”

Barry clenches his jaw, Dante clearing his throat, “You never come back,”

Barry glances back to look at him, then Nora, “How old were you when it happened?”

“I was born a few years before you vanished, I was at the age where I don’t have memories, but Dante, was,” Nora answers, shortly,

“Youre not stuck here, are you guys?” Barry realizes, Dante glancing down at his feet before looking up at his uncle,

. . .

“So you’re not stuck here,”

“No, we’re not,” Nora glances up to look at Iris, who sits in the seat in the corner of the West living room,

“So the reverse tachyons in your systems?”

Dante looks to Caitlin, “Were put there because of us,”

“Are you kidding?” Cisco asks, leaning on the couch beside Ralph, “Do you know how many credit card points I just blew just trying to get rid of those negative tachyons? I just bought a brand new spectral tachyeometer when I could’ve taken Y/N on our Fiji get away,”

“Why didn’t you guys tell us about this before?” Iris asks, “And why tell us when Y/Ns not here? She will be thrilled to know Dante gets to stay longer,”

“We can’t tell Y/N,” Barry instructs, Cisco looking up at him with pinched brows,

“And why not?”

Nora lifts her wrist to show the hologram of the same news letter from earlier, Cisco sitting up to read it more clearly,

“Barry never returns?” Cecile gasps, looking over to Cisco,

“Y/N doesn’t even know I disappear,” Barry explains, “And she can’t know. Not now,”

“And why not?” Cisco repeats, “You just want to throw it at her last minute as if we don’t know it’ll happen years in advance?”

“We don’t know what the news will do to her,” Barry reasons, gesturing to Dante, “She could go into early labor, complications can happen due to stress,”

“When uncle Barry does vanish later, mom falls into depression,” Dante tries, Cisco looking to him, “The realization of her losing not only Grandma Nora and Grandpa Henry, but uncle Barry disappearing, it takes a huge effect to her,”

“That’s why you came here,” Joe points to Nora, “To see your father,” Then Dante, “And your mothers brother before he vanished,”

“Well,” Iris stands up, Nora glancing up to her, “Looks like Dante and Nora will be able to train some more, after all,”

Dante and Nora look to grin at one another, Barry announcing to meet at STAR Labs in the next hour, “We’ll make an excuse as to why Dante and Nora are able to stay longer,”

. . .

“Babe? We’re home,”

You look up from the stove with pinched brows, stepping in the entrance of the kitchen so you see not only Cisco, but Dante,

“We?” You question, Dante pressing his lips together with a wave, “Were you not able to get him and Nora home?”

“Actually, yes,” Cisco nods, setting down his jacket, “But, Barry has decided to let them stay longer, train them more on their powers,”

“Will it not affect the future?” You ask, glancing up at Cisco when he moves up to you,

“Barry’s got it all under control,” Cisco nods, “Dont worry,”

“Okay,” You sigh, hands at his torso as you look to Dante, “Well. Welcome home I suppose. Why don’t you go get settled in the guest room, since, you know. Your bedroom is still a nursery,”

Your son laughs, nodding, “Yeah. Thanks mom,” You watch as he disappears down the hall, glancing up at your husband of three years,

“Mom,” You repeat, Cisco smiling as your eyes flash with warmth, “I’m never gonna get used to it,”

“Two more months,” Cisco reminds, hands slipping from your waist to your stomach, hands under your shirt, “And we get to meet baby Dante,”

You laugh, nodding, hands sliding around his neck to tangle in his hair, “I love you,”

“Mm, not as much as I do,” Your husband teases, leaning forward so his lips met yours, hand sliding to your back to pull you closer, so your stomach pressed to his,

You release a sigh against his mouth, smiling as you lean back, “C’mon, I made your favorite,”