#but then i figured anyone bringing this up would trigger his fight or flight instincts so have one (1) Entire Dork

[sparkedblaze]

cw implied physical abuse

jack grows up in medda’s house not being allowed belts. they’re one of morris’ biggest triggers - a fact medda had learnt only after buying the boys one each in their first little hamper of clothes - so she got rid of all of them in the house, and swore to morris that they were all gone. that neither he nor his brother would be hurt with one - or with anything - ever again. jack was too young to really wear belts anyway, so it’s not like he minded beyond it being another thing about the brothers he was bemused by, something he maybe made a few jabby comments about because he was a kid that didn’t know better - and didn’t even know /why/ morris was scared of something silly like a little strip of leather. it wasn’t explained to him.

the belt ban is a rule that’s been lifted in the years since oscar and morris left medda’s. medda’s other boys started getting older, and none had the same trigger so she could hardly keep enforcing the rule for the benefit of boys who were never coming back, so she just let it go. a few of the boys wear belts, have them in their old rooms and constantly leave them lying about like they do any clothing item. it’s become casual and normal now.

it doesn’t matter until morris starts visiting again.

he’s sat colouring or something. medda instructs one of the other boys to pick up a belt that’d been left in the hamper of laundry she occasionally does for anyone who needs it, still half-looped into a pair of worn jeans. the belt jingles as it’s picked up, that little metallic sound, and morris reacts like he’d heard a gunshot, dropping his crayons and scrambling back. seeing a male figure stood over him with a belt hanging from their palm, he’s suddenly not in medda’s house anymore. the scars on his back are screaming. his fight or flight instincts are too.

Ohohohohoho

As someone who had trauma with belts

You’re awful

Don’t mind me just

*

I don't normally disagree with Nox's writing, but there's one specification I'd like to make.

Morris doesn't panic when he hears the buckle of the belt jingle together. That sound could be anything. It still makes him jump, but he doesn't panic nearly as much.

It's the slide of the belt on fabric as it's pulled from the loops. It's the scraping sound of the well-worn leather against denim that has him throwing crayons and scrambling behind the couch.

Doggy immediately moves to sit in his lap, snarling and snapping at anyone that gets too close.

He growls at Oscar once, and only once, just in protection mode at this point, trying to keep Morris safe.

Doggy backs down, turning to face Morris, nudging his head under the boy's hand, showing him that he's here, trying to bring him to the present. He looked up at Morris with those big, stupid, honey-colored eyes, just waiting as he waited for Morris to meet his eyes.

[cntritum]

ﾟ 〢    ✕    //      𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃     ⸻       //       ⌜  @erleidn​  ⌟        said   :

gently pokes his cheek. :^)

𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔    𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑦   𝒐𝒖𝒕  𝒐𝒇  𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏  ,        their open mouths  sealing  under the familiarity behind the uncharacteristic touch.    Strange only in how he never grows used to the  heaviness  it brings him.    A clean type of earthiness ;  like that of wood and dew.     Seated nice and wonted on his bones  /   compressing spines  .        Rays of clouded light shut his eyes as quick as he blinks them open again.     Flickering,   like a moving candlestick.     He hears the starting call  /  the dawn chorus outside ;  a soldier’s alarm.     Still new enough in late winter’s weather to notice.   It always was around her birthday.   He swallows a breath of chilled air,  waking himself beyond the stretches and blinks of his adjusting eyes.     her birthday—

A hand reaches up in near-panic,  without thought—   fully alert.   He has her wrist and feels the instinctive twitch at his fingertips.   Panic,  easing to tense  /  unsure.    He uses the faux - grip to jump out of the couch cushions and towards the back of the room,   where he knows his gift is stashed.    His hands fumble at the locks of his chest and he opens it to see a single box in the centre of it:   a plain brown,   tied with discarded red ribbon …    daunting.   teasing.    Just as fast as he set up this determination,   it’s gone.   The fire blown out of him the second he started running with his candle.

He’s scared,    you could say.    More scared than he should be.   The girl would stand by him,   gift or not.    She’d relish in his effort,   good or not.   And yet something grabbed at the heart of him,    squeezing in blood-red agony trickled by the cruel blush of embarrassment over failure.   His skin was hardened and steeled but   strength   doesn’t equate   toughness   and he’s shattering at the weight.    He was going to  try  this year and that was his downfall.    It was listening to Jean when he said she’d want something practical and having Armin say it was more of a care package than a gift.     It was taking Sasha’s advice on making it personal and having to buy a new one when the stitching wouldn’t come out right.    It was asking Historia how to wrap it and deciding on a sealed box instead.   It was the empath and the ego in him fighting  first-to-fist  with a  now-or-never  strike.   Still,    his hand was on it and it’d be a waste to let it rot now…  knowing he only had a few more of these chances left.    Less——  if…  

He bites his lip.    His fingers trickle down on the box and he feels a tingling over his back where he knows she’s watching him.     Confused,   most likely.    Why wouldn’t she be ?     He’s a howling wolf who growls as much as he cowers.    He’s spent his whole life growing fangs for the sake of protecting fragility ;   admonishing his own .     Her tenderness washes him like sewer water.    All they do is prickle blood turn by turn.

❛     I…    ❜       he starts,   and he already tries to rattle his brain for a way to turn that into   What’d you wake me for?   and get out of this forsaken situation.    But here he is,  grip tightening firmly over the side of it and turning his head to face her before his ego could say much else.    Five…. maybe six more chances…  right .

But his eyes can’t quite meet hers when he brings it out.            ❛     It’s your birthday,   and…  I owe you a couple.    ❜       His legs drag him back over the sofa.     He settles down,    elbows leaning over his knees and shoulders weighted by the heat  all over  his body now.            ❛     It’s just a-    ❜       shirt,   he stops himself.   You have to  open  it to find out,   he could nearly hear his mother say,  and it almost brings a smile to his lips.            ❛     It’s dumb.   I was having a hard time over it.   Maybe I’m just too rusty,    ❜       he says,   and it’s probably the most natural he’s sounded all month.    It calms him enough to meet her eyes,   and he’s glad he did.   Even after all these years,  she still felt so impossible to read.    Her eyes,  however,  were always his safest bet ;   and seeing them softens him. 

                                                                                ❛     I’ll do better next year.    ❜

[openheartthot]

Holding On

Part 1: The Inevitable | Part 2: Selfish | Part 3: Letting Go

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 2,551

Warnings: None that I can think of. 

Summary: Ethan can’t live without her. 

***

Ahh guys it’s been so long omg. I know I’ve missed reading a lot of fics but I swear once finals are over I’m gonna go back and harass everyone with my reblogs lmao. This is sort of all over the place, but I figured I’ve been wallowing in my writer’s block long enough! 

Ethan watches her all night.

She’s radiant in a wine-colored dress, her perfectly coiffed golden hair a far cry from the messy ponytails and buns that she used to sport around Edenbrook. 

It’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who’d once started every morning tangled in his bedsheets, who’d held his hand across the table in Derry Roasters.

The same woman who once tried to tell him she loved him in an airport, before he stopped her. 

Pain battles with pride in the pit of his stomach as he watches her flit around the hotel ballroom. She’s completely in her element as she rubs elbows with the elite of West Coast medicine. No longer is she the bright-eyed young intern by his side. 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, Ethan always knew she’d be great.

And yet...he can’t help but worry that he might be too late. 

Her dress is just a bit risqué for a medical conference, but none of the other doctors or representatives seem to mind. They are completely enraptured by her wide smiles and sharp wit. Especially the young, sandy-haired doctor all but glued to her side. Ethan doesn’t miss the way his hand alights on her waist every now and then, nor the wonderstruck way he gazes at her. 

Jealousy roils in Ethan’s stomach, completely unwarranted. He has no claim on her, not anymore.

Ethan turns bitterly back to his scotch, determined to drown his sorrows in the amber liquid before him. One more drink at the bar, and then he’ll leave to continue his pity party upstairs in the privacy of his hotel room. There’s no point in torturing himself with the sight of her with another man. 

He knocks back his drink, and another one appears in front of him almost instantly, though he hasn’t ordered one. 

For a moment, he’s confused. 

But only for a moment. 

He catches a whiff of her perfume before any of his other senses realize she’s behind him. He breathes in deeply, savoring the gentle floral scent that lingered on his pillow long after she left for the last time. 

“Hell of a speech,” Ethan says into the drink she bought him. He can’t look at her-- he’s scared of what he might say if he gets a glimpse of those green eyes.

He’s broken a lot of his own rules when it comes to Camille, but he won’t make a move on a woman in a relationship. No matter how badly he wants to punch her companion in the jaw. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here. You hate conventions.” 

Ethan grits his teeth against the onslaught of emotions triggered by that voice. That soft, silvery voice that he used to have the pleasure of hearing every day. 

God, how he took her for granted back then. 

“To your first keynote? I wouldn’t miss it.” Ethan says, fighting to keep his voice even. 

It’s true. Ethan avoids conventions like the plague, but when he heard Camille was to be the keynote speaker of a conference held in her new home city of San Francisco, he’d booked a flight without a second thought. 

He’s been telling himself it is just to celebrate her success as a former mentor, but he can no longer pretend that he doesn’t have ulterior motives. That he didn’t want to know if she’d come alone, or on the arm of some well-built pretty boy--

“The blonde Clark Kent? Who’s he?” Ethan asks, not entirely on purpose. The scotch has loosened his tongue more than he realized. 

“Adam is... just a colleague.” Camille says, and then Ethan catches a glimpse of red silk and blonde hair in his periphery as she sinks onto the barstool beside him.

He can’t ignore the flicker of hope ignited by her words, but then reality comes crashing back in. They live on opposite sides of the country. He told her to leave. 

“I was your colleague too, once.” Ethan says, immediately wishing the words didn’t sound so resentful. 

“Once.” Camille muses in agreement, and Ethan can’t help but wonder if the bittersweet reel of their relationship plays on a perpetual loop in her mind the way it does in his. 

“So, you aren’t seeing anyone?” Ethan can’t help but ask, unable to shake the growing tingle of hope. 

“No.” Camille says softly, “I don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious.” She stares down at the bar, unaware of the physical ache that the words cause in Ethan’s chest. The cautious tone of her voice hurts more than he cares to admit.  

His Camille, the one who boldly strode past all of the boundaries that he had so painstakingly created, would never be so hesitant when it came to love. 

She’s supposed to be foolish, and headstrong, and impulsive...and it’s Ethan’s fault that she isn’t any of those things anymore. 

Ethan takes another swallow of scotch, for courage, before he turns to face her. 

He had watched her during her speech, of course, and from afar as she made her rounds through the room, but seeing her up-close is almost more than he can handle. 

Ethan meets her eyes, and for a minute, he swears he forgets how to breathe. The rest of the room fades away, and it feels like all that exists is him and her. All he can see through his tunneling vision are those green eyes. 

Those eyes bring him back to Miami, to that first passion-fueled kiss on a balcony under the light of a thousand stars, both of their inhibitions clouded with wine. 

Those eyes bring him back to long nights spent in the diagnostics office, toiling over a case; to her fingers laced in his under the table; to a million little moments shared between the two of them over the course of their relationship, both professional and romantic. 

“Dance with me.” Ethan says. He can’t think of a single other thing besides encircling Camille in his arms and holding her close, even if it’s only for the duration of a song. 

“...Okay.” Camille agrees after a moment, although Ethan isn’t sure whether it’s out of pity, or because, like his, her hands are burning with the need to touch him. 

She follows him to the dance floor, and when she steps into his arms, Ethan can’t stop his eyes from watering. He is convinced there is nothing more right than Camille against his chest, the way her arms slide around his neck, the way that his hands know the curve of her waist. 

“I want you.” Ethan murmurs. He can’t help it, with her in his arms, it’s almost like no time has passed at all. 

Camille stiffens, her arms tensing where they rest against his shoulders. Her gaze flicks to the elevators, and she swallows hard before looking away. 

“You know I’m not interested in being a casual hookup anymore.” 

Ethan’s chest tightens, knowing that he was the one that made her feel cheap, disposable. Even so, his own hurt swells. 

“There was nothing casual about the nights we spent together, not for me.” Ethan says curtly, stung by her implication. 

“For me either.” Camille says in exasperation. “But…” 

“I want to be with you.” Ethan says, the words welcome on his tongue after spending so long pretending that he didn’t miss her. Pretending that it didn’t bother him knowing that Camille was building a new life on the other side of the country. A life without him. 

“Stop it.” Camille falters, missing a step and almost losing her balance. Ethan pulls her securely against his chest, but she avoids his gaze. “Missing me isn’t the same thing as wanting to be with me.” 

“I know,” Ethan insists, refusing to back down. 

“Since you left Boston, I’ve been a shell of a man, living only for your visits. And when those stopped…” He takes a deep breath. “I can’t live without you, Camille, I need you.” 

“That’s not healthy.” Camille snaps, her expression knitting into a scowl. “And you were the one who told me to move in the first place!” 

“I was, and I stand by that. It was the right decision for your career.” Ethan counters reflexively before his voice drops, husky with emotion. “Whether it’s healthy or not, I don’t want to be without you. Not for another second.” 

He dips his head, just enough to let his jaw brush against her temple. 

Camille lets out a tiny sniff, and when he pulls back to meet her eyes, he finds them shimmering with tears. 

“Ethan…” Her lips part on his name, her eyes filled with a yearning so deep that Ethan instinctively tightens his hold on her, his fingers tracing the notches of her spine. 

Slowly, tentatively, she relaxes into him, her head resting on his chest just above his beating heart. Ethan freezes, terrified that the slightest movement will scare her away. 

“I want that, too.”

He doesn’t waste another second. He tilts her chin up, and then her hands are in his hair, tugging him roughly down until his mouth meets hers. The kiss is desperate and consuming, her hands roving over his back and chest while Ethan traces patterns on the exposed skin of her back. 

“I’ve missed this.” Ethan manages before crushing his mouth back to hers. “I’ve missed you.” 

Camille sighs in agreement, pulling him close and melding her body against his until it’s hard to tell where his body ends and hers begins. 

Her hips rock boldly against him, and Ethan bites back a groan, all too aware that they’re still in the middle of a very public dance floor. 

As their frantic kiss slows to gentle brushes of his lips against hers, Ethan smooths his hands over her back, holding her as tightly as he dares. He gazes down at her in amazement, and she stares back, her eyes alight with joy and promise. 

“Is that a yes, then? To being with me?” Ethan asks, trying to keep his giddiness at bay. He doesn’t deserve this woman, not even a little, but if she’ll have him... The rising tide of his hope is an almost overwhelming warmth in his chest. 

“I…” Camille’s voice trails off, and the light in her eyes extinguishes. She pulls back, not quite out of his embrace, but enough for the distance between them to feel insurmountable. 

Ethan closes his eyes, feeling a fresh wave of despair wash over him. He’s too late, too much time has passed. Whatever they once had is unsalvageable. He had known that it was a longshot, but he knows he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t at least tried. 

“I want to say yes, I really do.” Camille says, shaking her head despondently. “But I can’t move back to Boston. I have a life in San Francisco, now. I have an apartment with a great view of the Bay, and my career is finally taking off… You don’t get to follow me and ask me to give all of that up, it’s not fair.” 

She looks up at him, restrained hope in her eyes, as if she’s waiting for Ethan to make a grand gesture, to convince her that he’s worth another chance. 

“Does your apartment allow dogs?” Ethan asks instead. 

Camille looks away, and he can see the disappointment wash over her face. Disappointment in him, for once again choosing to take the path of least resistance, and once again refusing to fight for her. 

“The song’s over, and I’m not interested in making small-talk about my apartment with you. I should go.” She tries to pull back, but Ethan doesn’t release her, maintaining a firm but gentle grip on her waist. 

“It’s not small-talk. You should know I hate that more than anyone.” Ethan says, his fingers pressing insistently against her waist, the smooth fabric of her dress bunching beneath his fingertips. 

“I need to know if your apartment allows dogs. I need to know if I can have Alan put Jenner on the first flight out to San Francisco tomorrow morning, or if I have to wait until we find a new place.” 

Camille’s eyes search his face with obvious confusion. 

“What? I don’t… Jenner?” Camille stammers for a moment as she collects her thoughts, her hands absentmindedly resting on his chest. Ethan feels his heart skip at the casual intimacy of her fingers toying with his lapels. “You want to move out to San Francisco?” 

“Yes.” Ethan says shortly. “When I said I didn’t want to leave your side, I meant it.”  

“Ethan, we’ve been over this. If one of us gives up our career for the other we’ll just end up resenting each other. You’ve been working at Edenbrook for over a decade, I can’t let you give it up for me.” 

“Edenbrook is…wonderful. I have enjoyed working there, but at the end of the day it’s just a job. When I came home to an empty apartment at the end of the day, it wasn’t Edenbrook I was thinking about, Camille, it was you.” 

“But you love Edenbrook.” Camille says uncertainly, her eyes begging for an explanation. 

“I like Edenbrook, most assuredly.” Ethan cups her face in his hands, running his thumbs over her smooth skin. “But I love you.” 

“You…love me?” Camille asks, her green eyes gazing up at him, starry with hope. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and Ethan is sure he’s never seen her look more beautiful. 

“I do.” he murmurs, unwilling-- unable to look away from her awed expression. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” Camille whispers back, a luminous smile growing on her face. 

“Camille, I’ve been a complete fool, I know that. But I have to know… if you still…” Ethan stumbles over his words, his grip on her tightening in thinly veiled desperation. 

“If I still love you back?” she prompts, her light and teasing tone a far cry from her earlier anguish.

Ethan nods, the agony of not knowing threatening to consume him altogether. 

Camille’s expression softens, and her fingers drift to his face, tenderly tracing the contour of his cheekbone.

“Of course I do. How could I not?” she asks with a soft laugh, lifting one shoulder in a bashful shrug that is entirely too alluring. His eyes trail over her exposed collarbone. 

Ethan can’t wait to take her to his suite upstairs and find out if the skin under that red dress is as sweet as he remembers. But there will be plenty of time for that later, after he hears the three words that have been haunting him ever since she boarded that plane. 

“Say it. Please.” Ethan presses his forehead to hers, unbridled joy threatening to bring him to his knees. There are few scenarios that involve the great Ethan Ramsey being reduced to begging, and every last one centers around the gorgeous, brilliant woman in front of him. 

“I love you, too.” 

This time, she pushes herself onto her tiptoes to close the distance beteen them. And when their lips meet, Ethan knows that he has made the right decision. Edenbrook, Boston, he can take or leave all of it, as long as he has her. 

***

Tagging separately since I have no idea if tumblr will decide to work or not :)

[qwertyfingers]

faith healer, come lay your hands on me

here’s a snippet from the self indulgent traumatism (trauma and autism) fic if anyone wants to read it lol. Sam and Cas love to have have problems in the middle of the night. Gen, 2k words, warning for discussions of food scarcity and calming someone down from a panic attack, nothing graphic though. Set in a nebulous late-seasons time period because I respect canon literally not at all. 

It’s the middle of the night, sometime between Dean’s custom of falling asleep on his keyboard and Sam shepherding them both to bed, but before his nightly waking up from a nightmare to wander around the bunker checking the wards. Cas is in the kitchen wiping away mostly-imaginary detritus from the counters when Sam finds him; wild-eyed and looking frayed at the seams. He nods at Cas, but nothing follows it. He just stands there in the centre of the room shaking slightly. His eye sockets look like bruises.

Cas tilts his head and squints, considering, “Are you alright, Sam?”

Sam startles in a big way. Huffs breaths in and out of his nose, forehead crinkling with the effort. “What? I. yeah I’m- I’m fine.” He pauses for a few seconds though, hands twisting at the edges of his shirt like they do when he’s worrying. He makes several aborted attempts to keep talking, each less successful than the last. Kicks gently at a table leg and scowls to himself.  “It is fine it’s just...” but he doesn’t continue, just starts gesturing with his hands, like he’s run out of words.

Cas turns back to his cleaning, watches Sam filter through all of his most common nervous gestures in the edges of his vision, seemingly not comforted by any of them. He clenches his hands, drags them over his jaw and face, tugs his hair through his fingers roughly. He bounces, frenetic, from foot to foot, socked feet making muffled tapping noises on the hard floor. Says nothing for a long time.

Cas doesn’t sleep much, so he measures his nighttimes in completed tasks rather than minutes and hours. He gets through wiping the surfaces, cleaning out the sink, and setting the dishwasher to its self-clean cycle, before he hears anything from Sam.

When he does finally speak, the words seem to burst out of him all at once, quiet but tense and all in a rush — pressured speech it was called, in the books Cas had been reading. He figured at least one person in the bunker should know about trauma’s effects, and twelve years’ experience had taught him it wouldn’t be the Winchesters.

“You know, when Dean and me were kids we- we didn’t always have a lot to eat. A lot of the time we didn’t have enough to eat. And Dean would… Dean would always feed me first.” He stops and takes a heaving breath, then three, hands clenching and unclenching arhythmically in front of him. They’re hovering just above the kitchen counter without touching, arms held awkwardly aloft like he doesn’t know where to put them. He’s curled forward, and down, head and shoulders hunched in. He looks pained.

The instinct to make oneself small learned from a childhood desperately trying to hide from the reality of his own life. Cas has long since chased away the instinct to get angry about their life before he knew them, but he never stops feeling the sadness of it. There is a deep well of agony that will never be truly told.

“The portions were already so small and he’d- he’d do this thing where he’d, like, eat half his meal and pretend to be full so he could pass the rest on to me. Never took no for an answer. And of course at first I was too young to notice what he was really doing, but then I was twelve, thirteen, and he’d still feed me like I was-” Sam winces, coughs out a small laugh, grimaces, drags his left hand over his face. “God, like I was his son. His ‘baby boy’ he used to say. And he was so thin for so long and-” Sam stops himself here, looking winded. He taps the fridge door sixteen times with his right hand as he bites at his left thumbnail.

“And obviously we were both fine in the end, Dean’s big and he’s tough but. Sometimes I get this-” he interrupts himself to tug his hands through his hair, sharp, “god it sounds so stupid but I get this thought that. That if Dean hadn’t had to feed me he’d be as tall as I am now and I get all. Normally it’s fine and I just laugh it off because it’s so ridiculous it is a ridiculous thought.” There’s a wet catch in Sam’s throat, and he’s looking at Cas like he can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or cry.

Cas nods slowly, feeling sombre. “Dean is six feet and three quarter inches tall. He is hardly a small man, Sam.” He tries a small smile, to be encouraging, in-on-the-joke but not poking fun, but he can still never tell if he’s hitting the mark or not. A face has so many muscles, and only so much conscious control over them.

Sam surprises him by laughing and crying at the same time. “He’s six feet tall, and he’s one of the strongest humans I’ve ever met — despite being completely allergic to the concept of exercise and I hate him,” he rants, a hint of panic tingeing his voice purple, “so fucking much, and I’m so tired of his bullshit, and yet sometimes I startle awake at night in a panic convinced that I deprived him of his “true height” by having the audacity to be hungry.” The air quotes are a little twitchy, but the attempt to be funny is probably a good sign. Hopefully. Sam’s less prone to sarcasm as a cover for soul-crushing misery than his brother.

Sam starts rearranging the sauce bottles scattered by the stove, hands jerky with the motion. Cas notes in the back of his mind to put them back in place once Sam calms down — Dean needs the kitchen just so. He’s been prone to his own late night trips down memory lane, lately, and he doesn’t need the added stress of obsessive compulsive cleaning on top of it all.

“I told you it was stupid, Cas,” he splutters, and he’s fully crying now, teetering on the edge of hysterical. “Christ, I feel like such an infant.”

Done with the cleaning, Cas folds his cloth into a neat rectangle, hangs it carefully through the loop of the oven door handle as he passes by. He picks up a clean cloth from the pile in the cupboard below the sink too. He heads towards Sam, movements slow and careful to give him a chance to back away — Sam’s liable to startle like a rabbit even on his best days. Cas has been trying his hardest not to trigger it; the ‘fight/flight/freeze instinct’ as he’d learned. It’s helped him understand a lot of Sam and Dean’s reaction better. He only wishes he’d known about it sooner.

He presses his hand gently to the outside of Sam’s elbow, looks him in the eyes and holds his gaze steady. “It’s not foolish, Sam. But surely, your childhood was full of enough tragedy, that you needn’t add to it.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy and ragged, and his eyes are darting between Cas, and the walls, and the condiments he’s still twitching across the counter. He stops, breathes deep, tugs his long sleeves down over his hands and dabs at his wet face. He huffs a laugh between bouts of sobs, mutters something that sounds like “Yeah, yeah, doesn’t help me stop thinking it though,” but Cas can’t be entirely sure, because Sam’s speaking into his shirt cuffs with hands clamped tight over his mouth.

Cas moves his hand slowly from Sam’s elbow to his shoulder, leans in slow to bring his other arm around Sam’s back and hold him loose to his chest. Sam gasps loudly and sobs, wet, shoves his face into the front of Cas’ shoulder indelicately as he responds with his own arms. He clutches at the back of Cas’ coat and weeps, done with trying to hold it all in. He’s shaking less now, but it’s impossible to know whether it’s progress or if he’s turning further inward without seeing his face.

Cas pulls him closer and moves the hand on his back upwards, rubs it in slow, careful circles across his shoulder blades. Pressure is good, he’d read, especially with flashbacks. Pressure grounds you in the present; a small, physical beacon of something that’s unquestionably real. He’s not sure if Sam notices or appreciates it, but he’s not going to ask; doesn’t want to run the risk of making their home feel clinical.

It seems like the kind of crying where speaking wouldn’t help, so he lets it run its course. He keeps up the pressure at Sam’s back, and takes his palm to pet at Sam’s hair, something he’d seen Dean do so many times. Sam seems to jump at first, coughing once into Cas’ sodden shirt, but doesn’t move or ask him to stop, so after a long moment of awkwardly holding his hand still on top of his head he strokes his fingers out, and Sam sighs on the end of a gurgle.

Cas hears words now and then, ‘stupid’s and ‘christ’s and once, bafflingly, ‘fucking lucky charms’, but for the most part Sam seems content to simply cry until he stops. It’s not a quick thing. The air stills around them as Sam calms, gentled down from wracking gasps to sniffling tears, to simple heavy breaths.

Extricating himself is a clumsy affair even for Sam. His arms seem to catch, held in that clutching shape by the tension of the moment, and he has to slowly roll all of his joints loose. He unfurls slowly, like a flower in sunlight, until he stands back at full height. He does look brighter, now, and he carries the crackle of something almost like grace in him, Cas thinks. Peace always shines out of a person.

He grasps Cas’ upper arm for a moment, takes the offered cloth to dry his face before handing it back to Cas and gesturing at the front of his shirt. From the wry, wrinkled-nose smile he throws him as he steps away, Cas thinks he’s also realised the shirt is already a lost cause, but Cas pats himself down anyway, something to occupy his hands for a moment.

Sam leans back briefly to rest against the counter, then gets a different idea and twists around toward the cupboards. He takes out three cups, some chamomile tea, fills the kettle up to the line drawn on the side in red sharpie. “Thanks, Cas,” he whispers with his head in a cupboard, ears tinting red. “I - heh - think I needed that.” He huffs a laugh again, some genuine mirth in it now. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s quite alright. How are you feeling?” Cas can feel himself gazing a little too intensely, watching for Sam’s reactions, but he’s not worried. They know eachother well enough now that Cas can predict what would happen if it got too much; Sam would tell him knock it out, would you, would punch him lightly on the upper arm. He’d most likely try to crack a joke that would land flat, because Sam and Cas have never understood eachother’s humour very well, even when Sam isn’t sleep deprived and beginning to fade at the edges. Cas would apologise and start cleaning again just to keep out of his way. Out of his hair, as Dean would say. These are familiar dances.

Cas also knows he’s not likely to do it though, that Sam is used to his staring. And then he’s blindsided by another thought — that Sam is used to him. His presence and his quirks and his whims. Cas feels himself smile at that, warm, knowing that it’s true. They’re standing in the kitchen, in their home, and Sam just got snot all over his shirt — the shirt he’ll have to wash, manually, and iron, because he’s not really an angel anymore, doesn’t have the grace to maintain his signature look without effort anymore. The shirt that he’ll still choose to put on each morning when he could choose something simpler — because he trusts Cas enough to subject him to his 3am childhood trauma meltdowns. Cas is a human, with inexorably fallible human hands, and Sam is willing to hand him his heart in the quiet hours of the morning for a little field surgery. Cas almost thinks he feels a little sick.

[wandas-sunshine]

A Soldier’s Spring - Chapter 3

Summary: She was one of Hydra’s secret weapons; a female winter soldier. And Bucky can’t let her go through what he did alone. everything is coming back to her, and he’s the only one that can help her become human again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mention of gunshot wounds

Word Count: 3867

Previously on A Soldier’s Spring | Series Masterlist

Eventually, (Y/N) had calmed herself down from her little panic attack. She knew she didn’t have time for reckless emotion. She stashed her weapons under the bed, and managed to wash some of the blood out of her clothes. She had even gotten up and taken a shower. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bathed. Not that she remembered much of anything. By the time she stepped out, the water had gone ice cold and she’d nearly scrubbed her skin raw in an attempt to wash away any trace of her past, of the awful things she had done.

She didn’t manage more than a few hours of sleep, mostly just laying awake and listening to the quiet. Her thoughts weren’t so unbearably loud anymore, but they were more consistent than she was used to. They started to get this way after a particularly long mission she thought. It was strange, like her head was full for the first time. Her memories on the other hand, there was hardly anything there apart from the past day or so. Her memories on the other hand were essentially nonexistent beyond the past day or so. Ever since she had been given her mission. Trying to think beyond that just made her head throb.

Come morning, she hauled herself out of bed and smoothed her hair out. Her mostly dry clothes were pulled back on. She kneeled beside the bed and retrieved some of the weapons from underneath it. She had to go out, so going unnoticed was going to be key. Too many weapons and it would be a dead giveaway.

She reloaded her guns, tucking one into the holster at her hip, another was tucked safely into her waistband. She carefully slipped three knives into each of her boots, and strapped her dozen throwing knives into place around her thighs. That would have to do. She slid her room key securely into her pocket and hung the do not disturb sign on the door.

She needed a plan, a proper one. Needed to figure out where the hell she was, get something into her stomach, maybe score some cash if she was lucky. Not that she got lucky very often.

She flipped her hood up and slipped out of her motel room. She kept her head low, her eyes constantly scanning for any sign of danger. As she made it closer to the center of town, the streets grew unreasonably crowded. It had her on edge. Hydra could be hidden anywhere in the massive sea of people.

It was all so strange. Everyone was going about their lives as if the entire world wasn’t shaking and crumbling to the ground around her. (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to go through life completely oblivious to everything awful going on right under her nose. To be one of those girls walking down the street with a boy, just laughing, and flirting, and not worrying about the next time that she would have to fight for her life. She figured it was nice.

Her goals were repeated in her head, a sort of mantra. Anything to keep her focused as she weaved through the crowd. She caught bits of conversations here and there in a language that felt oddly familiar even though she couldn’t make out the words. Her frustration grew more and more. She was never going to get somewhere safe. Maybe she could find a city name, maybe even a map. She just needed a starting point.

Half an hour had passed, and (Y/N) was skittish to say the least. She had never planned to stay out in the open for so long. But between her unfamiliar surroundings and the unexpected crowd, she couldn’t move at a particularly good pace. Eventually, she had followed the current of people to an outdoor market.

She did her best to blend in with the bustling crowd, following the flow from booth to booth. She was a good thief, it had been engraved into her brain right alongside the killing. She had managed to pocket a couple pieces of jerky, an orange. She’d even gotten a wallet, though it was almost entirely empty. She was positive she was in the clear as she slipped a fresh roll into her jacket.

“I’m sorry, honey? You have to pay for that.” A woman’s sweet voice called to (Y/N) through a thick accent. She froze in her tracks, eyes flickering around for the best way out of the situation. She wasn’t thinking straight, she was being greedy. She had enough food. But the warm, familiar scent had been too much for her to resist.

“I’m so sorry,” She dropped her gaze from the middle aged woman who had spotted her. “Please understand, I’m sorry.”

With those words, she turned on her heel and bolted back the way she had come. She ran as quickly as possible through the crowd. There was a bit of a ruckus behind her, shouting and arguing. She could practically feel someone chasing her. Her nerves were on fire, and her instincts were fighting to take over. She had to hold back from shoving people out of her way and simply sprinting full speed. But she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She didn’t dare look back at her pursuer for fear of seeing the familiar face of one of her handlers.

She came skidding to a stop as a firm hand clamped around her arm. Her eyes flashed with unbridled danger, a first warning not to test her. She took a step away from the stranger, twisting away from him like he’d burned her.

“Don’t touch me.” She growled, her body language reminiscent of a cornered animal. Her brain screamed for her to get out at any cost, to just get away from it before things got worse.

“You need to give back what you stole, or pay for it.” The man demanded with a tone dripping with authority that did nothing to ease her fight or flight instinct. She grit her teeth.

“Calm down, (Y/N).” The voice cut through, but she hardly processed it.

“I can’t do that.” She stated, eyes flicking over faces as the crowd grew around them. Attention was being drawn to her, and that was the very last thing she needed. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go.”

She backed up as far as she could, but the flow of the crowd had ground to a halt. Her (y/e/c) eyes went wide and wild, stormy with terror.

Then his hands were on her again, and the world felt like it was imploding. The air was sucked from her lungs, her body burned like every atom had been dipped into acid. She released an animalistic snarl and her free hand gripped his forearm with such strength she was sure it would leave a bruise in the shape of her hand. She pulled it towards her, using his grip on her for leverage until she felt the bone snap under her enhanced strength. The man screamed in agony, but she didn’t even flinch. She aimed a jab at his ribs without a care for the damage she dealt. As he crumpled to the ground, she stared at her hands. What had she just done?

People had their phones out, all trained on (Y/N). She turned again and pushed her way through the horde of curious strangers. Law enforcement would be on their way, and she feared that those videos would have her dragged kicking and screaming back to her cage. She didn’t know if she was headed towards safety anymore, but she had to run somewhere.

The ride in from Wakanda was unbelievably nice. T’Challa had sent Shuri and a handful of the Dora Milaje with Bucky. The idea was that it would be easier to sneak him into a country where he was a wanted criminal if he was smuggled in by a visiting royal on business. He had no reason to argue.

He’d tried catching up on some sleep, and writing in his journal, but nothing was working. His mind was already preoccupied. Thoughts of the mission were plaguing him, making it virtually impossible to focus on anything else. He was terrified to be in the field again. He hadn’t been put under that sort of pressure since he’d been taken into Wakanda. Something in him worried about being around her, that piece of his past, would trigger something deeper in his mind. If he turned back into that...that killing machine, there was no guarantee that his friends would stand a chance. Everything they had brought down upon themselves would be for nothing. But more than anything, he knew that he needed to try and help. For Steve, of course. And for her.

“We’re here.” One of the Wakandan warriors announced, and Bucky blinked himself back into reality. They’d pulled up to what almost looked like an apartment complex from the outside. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that rundown building wasn’t it. Steve had told him that Tony had helped fix up their little compound, but that didn’t seem like it was up to Stark’s standards.

He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to obscure his face, and climbed out of the vehicle they’d all been piled into. He grabbed the two bags he had brought, and Shuri gave him a reassuring smile as if she could read his mind. Who knew, maybe she could.

“Good luck, sergeant. Let us know when you’re ready and we’ll bring you home.” She told him. A smile danced on his lips for a millisecond. Wakanda really had become like his home, and they all had welcomed him like long lost family.

“Thank you.” He nodded a tiny goodbye, and headed for the door. The frosted glass door swung open easily under Bucky’s touch. He stepped inside and jumped a bit at the sound of a chipper female voice.

“Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y.” She spoke. Stark had definitely helped with this place. “I’ve alerted Captain Rogers of your arrival.”

Bucky stepped a bit farther into the wide open lobby. The inside of the building was nice, much nicer than the outside let on. It was chic, sophisticated. It didn’t feel particularly homey aside from the table that had been set up with various books, papers, and other possessions scattered about it. The walls were a pale blue, matched to a dark grey tile. It reminded him of Stark and nothing of Steve.

Before he bothered analyzing any more of his surroundings, the elevator doors opposite him dinged open. Steve stepped out with a wide smile. He looked different, nothing like the Steve that Bucky was so used to. His hair was longer now, and not nearly as neat. His beard wasn’t shaved off, he’d let it get scruffy, and it suited him. A few strides, and the two men met in the middle of the room. Steve pulled him into a bruising hug that Bucky returned.

“It’s good to have you back, Buck.” Steve stepped back and gave his best friend a firm pat on the shoulder.

“It’s good to be back for a while.” Bucky replied. 

“Come on, let me show you around the place.” Steve nodded for Bucky to follow him. He hiked his bags back up onto his shoulder and did just that. Steve showed him the living area complete with a massive tv and every gaming system he’d ever heard of. It even had a pool table. Then he was shown the training gym, the room they’d dedicated to medical treatment, and the kitchen. Steve walked him through the upper floors, pointing out everyone's rooms. Music came from behind Sam’s door. Nat and Wanda were talking on Wanda’s bed when the two men peeked in. Even Clint had his own room in case he came around.

“Mine’s at the end of the hall. We’re the only ones staying up here right now.” Steve announced as they stopped at the room he’d saved for Bucky. “So if you need anything you can always come find me.”

Bucky didn’t miss the worry in his best friend’s voice. He’d gotten awfully good at picking it up recently. He hated it. Hated just how fragile it made him feel. Everyone treated him like he was going to fall apart at any moment. He hoped he wouldn’t treat her that way. Assuming they got to her at all.

“Relax, punk. I’ll be fine.” Steve did relax, even just a little bit. Bucky punched his friend’s arm. “I’m just gonna unpack and settle in. Probably try to catch up on my sleep.”

Steve nodded his approval and promised to wake him up in time to eat. Then, for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, Bucky was alone with his thoughts. He settled his things into his room. He tried to make it feel more like his hut in Wakanda. He put his clothes away, laid his journal and his phone on the stand by his bed. He laid down in the plush bed Tony had provided. But his damned head wouldn’t quiet down.

He knew exactly what she was going through. It was agony. The fear, the emptiness. He wanted to set her free. When he finally escaped their grasp, he had Steve. He didn’t think this girl had anyone, and he would never forgive himself if he let her go through it all by herself. He was the only person who could understand.

(Y/N) was absolutely panicked as she headed back to the safety of her motel room. She hoped that maybe they wouldn’t track her there. It was stupid, immature even. She hadn’t made it halfway back by the time the sea of people began parting for several men in uniforms — she counted five of them. Her heart was racing, her throat was getting tight. Her mind felt cloudy, like every piece of her was fighting against itself.

“(Y/N), you need to stay calm. Don’t let them take you over again.” The voice pleaded with her. She pressed a hand to her head and took a deep breath. It wasn’t working, she wasn’t calming down. Her brain was going fuzzy around the edges, all of her thoughts trying to turn to static. “Stay with me.”

“Mom,” (Y/N) whimpered...to herself? To the voice? It was fading into the static, slipping through her fingers. It was so quiet now. It was being taken, and she needed it back, she needed her mommy.

They were closing in now, and she knew she was a goner. Like she was teetering at the edge of a cliff just waiting for the final push. She was waiting for the final push back into the bloodred princess.

“Please get back.” She pleaded desperately with the officers. The voice that came out hardly sounded like her. It sounded like that broken, terrified 17 year old that Hydra had trapped inside herself. She was scared, she could feel her training fighting to take over and mute her emotions. It was do or die, and judging by the guns trained on her, that was a literal statement.

It was a blur as her instincts kicked in. She dodged bullets and landed kicks and punches with the agility only a super soldier was capable of. She took a few hits. Her nose was bleeding, maybe broken. She knocked them down one by one, over and over until they finally stayed down. Once the danger had been subdued, her brain started to clear. She took notice of the searing pain in her left bicep. Her trembling hand pressed to the spot and she groaned softly when her hand came away wet with blood.

Fuck.

The walk back to her motel room took far less time than the walk into town. Turns out that people tended to steer clear of you when you’re covered in blood, brandishing a gun like a madman. She didn’t have a lot of time, she knew that much. She didn’t know who would be coming, but she wanted to get the hell out of dodge before she found out.

She stripped out of her blood soaked clothes and threw them in the tub to wash out. She set to work on her wounds with a calm, experienced hand that she didn’t realize she had. Getting the bullet out and stitching herself up would have to wait. She made herself a tourniquet and bandaged herself up.

Once the bleeding had stopped, she scrubbed the blood from her skin. She wasn’t even sure some of it belonged to her. This was the second time she’d done this in the past 24 hours and it most certainly bothered her. She washed out her clothes and hung them up to dry a little, then ate what was salvageable from her meal. She was so tired, all of her energy was gone. But she knew better than to fall asleep until her body recovered a little. It could be a death sentence. She just needed to stay awake…

Bucky had managed to fall asleep, but the girl found her way into his dreams too. He saw her, beautiful, and powerful, and every bit his equal. He saw her being tortured, watched the scientists break her down to nothing. She screamed for help, screamed for him to save her.

He knew it was only a dream when he woke up, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He replayed the sounds of her screaming, of her begging in his head. He only stopped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that Steve had called him down for dinner in the living area. He took a moment, splashing some water onto his face and tying his hair back. He needed to relax.

He joined the team, in the living area. They were all lounging around, talking and eating bowls of something that smelled exceptional. Steve motioned to the bowl he’d set out for Bucky with his spoon, and he flashed a thankful smile as he sat down.

“Wanda cooked, so you don’t have to worry about getting food poisoning.” Natasha joked. He rolled his eyes playfully and tucked into his food. Everyone talked and joked. It reminded them all of better times. It was comforting really. They seemed to be taking it quite well, Bucky thought, the whole being nationally wanted criminals thing. Eventually, Steve sat his empty bowl aside and stood up.

“I think we should talk business. If we get this mission debriefing out of the way tonight, we can get started first thing tomorrow.” He said. This caught Bucly’s attention. Steve had Tony’s AI pull up a file and project it for everyone to see. It showed a few grainy photos of a woman, the girl that Bucky remembered, but she was all grown up now. She was dressed in dark clothes. In one of them she was totally decked out with weaponry standing at the side of a motorcycle. In another, she was in the middle of a fight with someone who was clearly losing. There was only one that was a clear show of her face, but there was nothing behind her eyes, no emotion evident anywhere.

“This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Steve went on. Bucky couldn’t look away. “People refer to her as the bloodred princess. We need her. She’s one of Hydra’s best kept secrets, a specially trained assassin completely under their control.”

Bucky could feel all the eyes in the room shift towards him. He had sort of expected it. She was him, and nobody knew for sure what to expect from either of them. But he didn’t look away from the pictures. Her name was (Y/N). He’d never heard it before. She was even more human in his mind than she’d ever been.

“So, wait, we got another Winter Soldier situation?” Sam asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards Bucky. Steve gave a sharp nod.

“Bucky knows what we’re up against. He’s our best chance of getting to her, and she’s our best chance of destroying Hydra forever.” Steve explained as calmly as he could. He was protective, not that any of the others cared that Bucky had joined their fight. Hell, they’d fought a civil war for him.

The debriefing went on. Steve told them where she’d last been spotted and that she may have gone rogue. He ran through their plans, made it very clear that they were going to try and help her. She would be brought back, and if they could get her to cooperate, they’d take her to Shuri and get her fixed up too. Soon enough, they were dismissed, and Bucky was the first to leave for the safe solitude of his room. He had a lot to think about now. They didn’t begin the mission until morning. That gave him the rest of the night to pull himself together And that had just become a great deal more difficult.

“Hey, Sergeant.” A sultry voice called out from behind him, and he turned around to see Natasha with a friendly smile. “You have a second?”

He nodded, leaning against the doorway to his room. She leaned herself against the wall across from him and simply looked at him for a second, her eyes examining his face.

“You seemed sort of uncomfortable back there. I didn’t know if that was about (Y/N) or Hydra or…” She trailed off as if giving him an opportunity to answer her. He didn’t take it, so she kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to Steve. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this.”

Bucky smoothed a hand over his hair. Any logical part of his brain knew that she was right, that he was too close to the situation to deal with it properly. But the rest of him was screaming. Weren’t they all too close to the situation? Every member of their team had a bone to pick with Hydra. So what if his was a little bigger? She wasn’t sure what to make of his silence.

“I just wanted to tell you that you won’t have to lead the charge. I’m making sure of it.” It didn’t exactly sound like she was reassuring him, but more like she was threatening him to stay in the back and bite his tongue. “You know where my room is if you want to talk. Goodnight.”

Bucky slipped into his room and changed his clothes. He wasn’t exactly tired, but his other option was taking a shower, and he was pretty sure that would only force him deeper into his thoughts. He sank onto his bed and closed his eyes. He’d really thought he’d escaped all of it. But helping people was in his blood. He couldn’t leave people to suffer, not anymore. And god, (Y/N) was suffering.

@dragonofthenorth0726​ @nightshade7117​ @believeitseeitdoit​ @stuckyandsciencebros​ @this-is-mycrisis​ @xmtd5​ @someonekeepstakingmyusernames​ @greeniemoon​ @wayward-student-philosopher​ @messedupmyfuckinglife​ @yourwonderbelle @booboobella01 @kpoplover1306-depressedgirl315 @heybbyitsdarkoutside @silver-winter-wolf

[shireness-says]

Proximity

Summary: Killian Jones is not an idiot. Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Will it ruin his chances with a beautiful stranger forever? ~2.3K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: The other day, I made a fool of myself in a restaurant, and @optomisticgirl was kind enough to laugh at me and tell me it should be a prompt. So, here we are. Thanks also to @snidgetsafan, my utterly stellar beta. She is French and trapped at home, and would like me to tag my “going outdoors whenever you want” porn. You’ve been warned. 

AO3 tells me that this is my 50th fic! Thanks to all of you who have been here since the beginning. Stay tuned - I’m planning something special to commemorate the milestone, which I should be launching in the next few days.

Tagging: @kmomof4, @katie-dub, @thejollyroger-writer, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @ultraluckycatnd, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shardminds

~~~~~

Killian Jones is not an idiot.

(It feels weird to say that, but Killian really feels that it bears mentioning under the circumstances. State it for the record, as it were.)

In most circumstances, he’d go so far as to call himself of greater than average intelligence. He’s smart and charming and quite the conversationalist when the situation calls for it. 

Unfortunately, he’s also plagued by a problem - the uncontrollable urge to say something, anything when he finds himself forced to share space with another person. Elevators are his ultimate nemesis, coaxing him to say all manner of stupid things he regrets immediately.

Unfortunately, it’s not limited to elevators. He only wishes he were that lucky. And unfortunately, it seems to crop up at the worst possible times. Such as at the soda dispenser at lunch.

You see, there’s an excellent deli just around the corner from his office. It’s nothing really exceptional just to look at the building, but the food inside is something else altogether. The bread is homemade and the cookies are fresh and the meat is always stacked tight and high and it may just be a sandwich, but there’s just something about it. There’s no other place he’d rather go for lunch.

It’s busy, today; that’s a thing that can happen at noon on a sunny Wednesday. He and Robin and Will know well enough to come early so they can get a seat, but they also know to get out once the order lines start backing up. While his friends duck out, however, Killian detours to refill his soda cup; like any truly respectable lunch spot, the machine is self-serve and the refills are endless. 

And that’s where the real trouble starts. 

Getting a refill of Coke is fine; it’s hard to muck that really. But Killian makes the mistake of stepping to the side to put a lid back on his cup, and when he looks back up to head for the door, she’s there. A woman. In his immediate space, right next to him filling up her own cup at the dispenser. She’s gorgeous, too - a blonde haired, green-eyed dream with a trim athletic figure and legs for days.

Maybe that’s why he can’t fight it - the irrepressible urge to say something, anything. In another setting, he might have managed something charming and flirtatious. But they’re in a state of shared space, and unfortunately, the blabbermouth urges that this triggers override any other instinct or effort. 

He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he finally speaks; it’s somehow pitched lower than normal into something almost cartoonish, or like a theatrical sotto voce gone horribly wrong. 

“They’re leaving without me!” he declares before fleeing for the door, unfortunately not fast enough to avoid the look of utter confusion on her lovely face as he goes. 

He regrets it as soon as he reaches the swinging door, an impressive four steps later. Unfortunately, it’s too late to take the words back at that point. 

(Worst of all, maybe - besides the fact that his friends are decidedly not leaving without him, instead waiting patiently just outside the door - is the fact that she hadn’t even looked his way before he’d made an utter fool of himself. It simultaneously hurts his ego and makes Killian want to kick himself for bringing this upon himself.) 

“Someone’s got a look,” Robin comments with a smirk. “What’d you do?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Do you ever do or say something that you just… immediately regret?”

“Nope!” Will chirps back cheerily. “Pillar of decorum, me.”

“More like utterly shameless,” Robin quips back. “What’d you do this time, Jones?”

Robin and Will wind up in stitches as the sorry story of the sorrier encounter unravels, not that Killian blames them (much). He can’t believe himself either, and if it was anyone else, he’d be laughing too. 

“It was one of those moments where I just wanted to ask myself, ‘what the hell is wrong with you’, you know?” Killian says to conclude his lament. “I don’t know if you saw, either, but she was stunning, too. Which just makes it worse, somehow - of course I’d make a fool of myself in front of a beautiful woman.”

“Ah, don’t take it too hard,” Robin tells him with a consolatory pat on the back. “What are the chances that you’ll see her again, anyways?”

———

The chances are higher than any of them thought, as it turns out. It seems she must have started a job in the same building that houses their publishing office. He’s not quite sure where; there’s too many options to narrow it down. All Killian knows is that he keeps seeing her in the lobby and the parking lot and outside the windows.

(Mostly, he just ducks out of sight or around corners so that she can’t see him. It’s becoming a problem.)

Killian can’t help but admire her from a distance, even if he intends to never let the blonde see his face again for fear that she’ll remember the very stupid thing he said at the deli. She wears a series of trim skirts and tailored pants that always mold perfectly to her slight frame, and her hair has this bounce to it that’s just mesmerizing. Even if the sunny color hadn’t caught his attention, the way those curls move certainly would have; it’s hair that makes a man dream of sinking his hands into those curls, though he knows those are inappropriate thoughts to entertain about a woman he doesn’t even know, and doesn’t ever intend to.

That doesn’t mean he’s not horribly, disgustingly fascinated and smitten. 

The thing about his particular office building is that it’s older - beautifully so, with ornate carvings at the corners and tall ceilings that keep him from feeling quite so trapped inside. Older buildings, however, tend to have quirks, no matter how charming and architecturally pleasing they are. One of the particular quirks of this building is a series of elevators that seem to alternate breaking down in no discernible pattern. The beautiful original elevators from the 1940s have been preserved, to gorgeous effect, but it seems like their parts need replacing more than newer models. Technically, he could take the stairs; however, he works on the 8th of 10 floors, and most days, it just doesn’t seem worth the effort (or the workout) to haul himself up and down all those flights when he could take the elevator in a fraction of the time. Theoretically. Killian has learned from his own experience and that of his coworkers that it depends on the day. 

And today is not his day. 

It starts out fine, as he gets in the elevator to make his way down to the street for lunch. It’s a beautiful day out, and though he’d planned to reheat some leftovers - and in fact, had left a tupperware full of last night’s pizza in the break room fridge - with this kind of weather, Killian can’t bear to stay indoors a moment longer. It couldn’t hurt to go get a sandwich from the deli, anyways. 

Things get a little more complicated when the elevator stops on the sixth floor and his mystery blonde steps into the car. She’s distracted by her phone when the doors open, and takes a moment before stepping in; in fact, the doors start closing as she steps through the opening, causing her to startle a bit. 

“Those things will nearly take your arm off!” Killian blurts out in a mixture of nerves and horrible impulse rooted in space constraints.

(Elevators: once again, his nemesis.)

The blonde looks at him strangely at that, only to double take when she apparently recognizes him from before. “Hey, weren’t you the guy from —” she starts as the elevator begins its descent. 

“I don’t think so,” Killian quickly interrupts.

“No, no, at the deli, weren’t you the guy —”

For better or worse, the elevator chooses that particular moment to stop. Not a regular stop either, where someone might step on from another floor on the way down - the elevator breaks down between floors with a horrible, grinding halt that Killian knows means they’ll be stuck until the repairmen or fire department can pry them out. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, not quite under his breath - though then again, nothing is really out of earshot in the tight confines of an elevator. Of course he gets trapped with the one person he’s been avoiding for weeks. 

At least it causes her to drop that particular line of questioning for the moment. Her gaze has turned fearful, somewhere between concerned and panicked, as she looks across the little box at him. “Has this happened before?”

“More than anyone likes to admit,” Killian tells her. “Welcome to the Misthaven Building. It’s practically a rite of passage.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Eh, don’t think about it too long,” Killian advises. “They’re good about getting us out quickly anyways. Just got to give the building manager a call.”

This is his third time trapped in the five years he’s worked in the building; he’s well used to the ritual of reporting the situation and being told to sit tight. Like he has any other option. Still, his companion’s face relaxes when he tells her that people are on their way and they should hopefully be out within the hour.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, if we’re going to be stuck together.” It feels like more of a concession that he’d like, but truthfully, there’s nothing about this situation that he’s a particular fan of. Except, of course, the woman herself, but there’s no changing the multitude of mortifying circumstances under which they’ve met. “I’m Killian Jones. I’m with the publishing company up on 8.”

“Emma Swan,” she smiles in return. “Just started with the law firm on six.”

“A pleasure, Swan. Or, at least, as much of one as it can be under these circumstances.”

She laughs. “Same, I guess.” He should have figured, though, that she wouldn’t just let their previous encounter go - especially after finding out that she’s a lawyer. “Are you sure that we didn’t meet before at the deli?”

Killian sighs heavily. “Meet would be a strong word, but aye, we did. A little passing encounter at the soda machine.”

“I thought so!” she grins. “No offense, but it was an… interesting encounter.”

“Oh, none taken. That’s the polite way to put it.” That doesn’t stop him from blushing at the memory. That ridiculous voice, seriously. He still can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, it was… not what I expected,” Emma admits.

“I’m sure it’s not, since it’s not what I expected to say either. I’ve been kind of kicking myself ever since.”

“Why did you say it, then?” Emma asks with an amused smile.

Killian scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. “I wish I had a better answer, but… do you ever just feel the urge to just say something, anything when you’re forced into close proximity with someone? Just to feel the air?” Emma nods tentatively. “I’ve got a particularly bad case of it.”

“Ohhhhh,” she exhales, as if in realization. “That would explain the arm thing when I got on the elevator too, then.”

“Precisely. There is no limit to the amount of stupid and ridiculous things I will say in elevators.”

“It was kind of what made me remember you,” Emma admits. 

“Of course,” Killian groans. “I swear I’m not usually so awkward, around lovely young women or otherwise.”

“Now that I know the story, it’s kind of charming,” Emma assures him. “At least I think so.”

“You’d be the first.”

Conversation gets easier now that they’ve talked about the elephant in the room. Emma proves to be just as charming as she is beautiful - funny and smart, with a great sense of sarcasm that weaves through their conversation. He learns that she’s just moved to town to be closer to her family - her brother is a county sheriff’s deputy in the area, and her sister-in-law a teacher - and she’s got a five year old son at home that she loves more than anything. Killian is even more impressed as he realizes she must have finished law school with an infant and as a single parent. Somehow, he gets the feeling that there’s nothing she can’t or won’t do if she sets her mind to it. In turn, he tells her about himself - the shenanigans he gets up to with Robin and Will, his brother states away, all the little coffee shops and quiet nooks he’s found since moving here himself. It’s easy to forget that they’re trapped when he’s enjoying their conversation so much, even if they are sitting on the floor of the elevator. 

All too soon, however, the car jolts back to life, making its way down to the lobby at last. Killian struggles to his feet as the car moves, before reaching down to pull Emma back to her feet as well. Even if she wasn’t wearing some very impressive and spindly heels that undoubtedly affect her balance, it’s the chivalrous thing to do. 

“Thanks for this,” Emma tells him once they’re finally back on the solid marble floors of the lobby. “I definitely would have been freaking out if you hadn’t been there.”

“It was my pleasure, Swan.” And it truly was; the circumstances may not have been ideal on the surface, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, as they’ve brought him into the company of an enchanting woman. It’s easy to realize that he wants more than just today; knowing that, Killian quickly screws up his courage. “I don’t suppose you’d want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner? I promise I make a much better date outside of elevators.”

“I’d love to,” Emma smiles, setting Killian’s heart soaring in joyous flight. “I’ve got to find out what you’re like in more normal settings and situations, after all.”

(He’s happy to prove he’s much better - and less vocal - at sharing space for more pleasurable reasons.)

[jacensolodjo]

Things Tony knows about Logan that others seem to not (sometimes even Logan himself):

he is actually ridiculously intelligent. He constantly says otherwise ("I'm just a dumb animal") but he is very smart. He also has like a giant encyclopedic knowledge pool, which he frequently uses to finish the weekly crosswords that Tony has given up on.

Logan actually really is more organized than his living spaces would make it seem. Tony has sometimes caught him "tidying" up the lab space "out of boredom".

Logan has nightmares, and Tony has learned how to deal with them in a way that keeps them both safe from Logan's natural reaction to stress being he pops his claws.

Logan actually has far more money than he really knows what to do with, and thus has never been "impressed" by Tony's wealth, or anyone else's. While Tony is definitely richer than Logan (nothing will change the fact that Tony is a billionaire while Logan is actually "just" a multi millionaire), Logan still isnt really one to fawn and actually gets flustered when Tony tries to give him expensive stuff ("Logan, wouldnt you prefer a penthouse instead of a dingy loft?" "I'm fine where I am, Stark.")

Logan almost seems to have a need to bring homeless youth back to his place for at least one night where they arent sleeping in an alley. While he does donate to various charities (as does Tony), he finds direct aid more fulfilling. One day, Logan found a pile of Stark Industries branded backpacks filled with basic necessities such as toothbrushes; travel sized shampoo, conditioner, and soap; period related stuff like pads and tampons; 5-packs of underwear and socks, as well as a couple (non Stark Industries branded) shirts and pants designed to stretch and retract based on wearer preference; a number of other things that are mostly for morale (such as books and some basic art supplies); a veritable handful (at least 5) of gift cards that are basically pre loaded debit cards with at least $100 on each w/ instructions on where to get more supplies and offers for employment at basically any business that is in some way connected to Stark Industries. Predictably, Logan was flustered by this quiet gesture but Tony also knows Logan doesnt like to make a big thing of stuff anyways. Logan said thanks in his own way and Tony drops off more bags from time to time.

Logan knows how to cook practically anything, and does so whenever possible. He also bakes sometimes. Sometimes when he plans on being gone a while he will do a Parent Going on Vacation Without Kid(s) Thing by making a bunch of meals and stuff, label them, and stick them in the freezer/fridge for Tony so he isn't relying on Jarvis or the local restaurants the entire time Logan is gone.

Logan can fall asleep anywhere at the drop of a hat but not everywhere likes him doing it. Sometimes he forgets he is half Adamantium, and so sometimes he will accidentally "trap" Tony in the bed when he goes to sleep. Tony, as with the nightmares, has figured out how to get "untrapped" without also triggering Logan's fight or flight instincts.

[glottia-arts]

Through the eyes of a frozen Rough Patch

You guys remember how in the cover image post I said this was a little thing? Well, this is actually longer than my last fic. So take of that what you will-

This fic started from writing out little snippets of background information for Neo on his character page and went out of control. I could have written about his adventures with the Dweller children, but nah trapped in Vanessa’s home was where my thoughts went to. Sorry if the story is a little vague with certain parts, I wanted to make Neo suffer more mentally by including his favorite child. The vagueness stems from the alternate AU’s of what happens to Aura.

For those that don’t know; Helios is Neo before being unfrozen and renamed. Then Aura is the name Giant Subcon Dweller chose to go by in life.

Warning: There is mention of blood and death.

Word Count:  7,959

EDIT - 3/23/2021:  This version of the story is no longer accurate to the canon of the story, and I’ve edited an updated version that can be read here now. Keeping the OG posted for the memories! _____ 

It was cold. Very cold. Everything was tinted blue and somewhat obscure. Odd given his vision was fine prior. What happened to the world?

Helios attempted to look at his surroundings, but couldn’t. His head remained stuck in place. Attempting to shift his body gave the same results. Frustrated with his body refusing to cooperate with him, the cat grumbled as he glanced around with his eyes.

Everything was somewhat hard to see, due to his vision shifting oddly. From what the Rough Patch could make out, he appeared to be inside someone’s home. On his left, a tall side stand loomed over him. Beyond the wooden furniture, he noticed a door. Changing his perspective in the opposite direction, the corridor extended further. The hall was decorated with torn wallpaper and had another door placed at the end. He could hardly make out what was further beyond the door, but taking a guess, it was a window. These surroundings weren’t giving the cat any sign on his location or why it was so frigid.

Though he had no inkling to what was going on, Helios convinced himself that he’d done something to his eyes. While looking around, a yellow color followed along with his vision. He’d have to try to communicate with the children over this issue. At least if he ever worked out how to move.

Hating to go on with this, but being the Bush Cat’s next best option; he began whining for help. Waiting a few minutes between each call, nothing happened. No one came. Where was the person who lived here? Helios hoped nothing bad happened or that he was abandoned again.

Ten minutes had passed before he started whining anew, this time meowing loudly. He stopped as he heard the noise. It sounded odd. Meowing once more, Helios noticed besides the sound, there was fog in front of his face. That wasn’t there a minute ago. Meowing again, the mist obscured his vision further. The only time he’s seen something similar this was-

A loud break could be heard from down the hall, practically making the Rough Patch bolt out of his skin and overgrowth. His eyes shot to the right, observing the corridor to see if someone was coming.

What appeared to be another door had slammed open, crimson light shining out of the opening. Black smoke began wafting in the room as a figure emerged from the other side, diamond-shaped red eyes searching the hallway.

Tensing and borderline hyperventilating, a memory triggered in his mind.

__________

A massive shadow had cast over him, bringing him to halt his actions. Turning to face the door the shadow protruded from, Helios nearly shrieked seeing the large imposing figure. They were taller than any adult he had seen, but the odd thing was that they were dark as night yet glowed a haunting red with matching eyes to boot.

Every instinct in him screamed to run. His feet wouldn’t move. Fear and the desire to help whoever was trapped clashing with each other.

“Oh, another guest?” The woman paused at seeing the alarmed cat take a step back at her words “Please don’t tell me you’re leaving me too…”

She sounded very miserable, had someone left her already? Now Helios felt bad that he feared the stranger. But his senses never let him down. Perhaps it was because she was an adult. That has to be why he’s primarily scared of her. Struggling to calm himself, the brightly tinted Bush Cat pawed his way to the large woman.

Observing his struggle, the mystery woman calmly knelt down. Now above eye level, she gave out soft words of encouragement. Her words easing his tense body.

“It’s all right, I won’t harm you. That’s it you can do it. By the end of this, I’m certain we’ll be very good friends. I can even make you any treat you like~” She calmly waited, sending more reassuring words as he approached.

By the time he reached her, she had her hand out, a gesture he recognised instantly. He was still shuddering in fear, so smelling her hand wasn’t an option. Moving along with the process, he leaned his left cheek into her waiting palm. She cooed at him and began rubbing and scratching along his cheek.

Helios’s shaking form started settling as she tended to the cat. The woman’s hand was cold, but probably because she just arrived from the snow bedded forest. Helios didn’t even realize there someone else had survived the massacre; everyone he encountered on his way to this place had been frozen solid. The calm that started taking over his body turned to sorrow, thinking of all the individuals he knew, now gone.

A twinge of pain pulled him out of his miserable feelings. The woman’s cool touch seemed intense. He normally loved when in winter the children would pet him with their freezing hands, but this felt outright unbearably frigid.

Pulling aside to avoid the uncomfortable feeling, the cat noticed the once black and red hand was now coated with white frost. Immediately his mind registered that she was the cause of the snow, as well as the now frozen kingdom.

Panic and adrenaline flooded his body, putting him in flight mode. Helios hardly turned away before she roughly grasped him by the throat, yanking him back to face her.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN ENTER MY HOME AND ATTEMPT TO FREE THAT TRAITOR!? HE NEEDS TO THINK ABOUT WHAT HE’S DONE! YOU’RE JUST A PATHETIC NUISANCE WHO WAS BETTER OFF LEFT DEAD WITH ALL YOUR OTHER LITTLE FRIENDS! YOU AND ALL THOSE OTHER HORRIBLE PEOPLE DESERVE IT! CONSTANTLY GETTING IN THE WAY OF MY HAPPINESS!”

Tears began spilling from the frightened cat's eyes as she yelled at him. Helios knew she planned to freeze him, just like the other villagers. He could still hear the screams reverberating off the town walls.

In a last-ditch effort to at least go down fighting, and an act of attempted revenge for all those that she hurt, the Bush Cat extended his claws and scratched as strong as he could against the cruel woman’s fist.

She wailed as the Rough Patch’s claws pierced her flesh, blood dripping onto the once fine carpet. Realizing she was about to release the annoying animal because of the injury, she managed to retain her grasp by slamming the pest against the wall. Hard.

Helios ceased to move, beginning to black out. The last thing he remembers is feeling a chill spread through his body.

__________

Helios felt even colder now. And it wasn’t from the ice. He remembered where he was and who he was with. The destroyer of the forest.

He observed as she made her approach down the hallway, searching for something. Once she arrived at the front door, it seemed her brief search ended. Turning around, she strolled back down the hall, but not before pausing to glance his way.

Feeling like an animal caught by a hunter, Helios whimpered behind his frozen prison.

“I thought I overheard something, but I suppose it was just the wind. Or... was it you?” The monster tilted her head in question at the cat. He refused to answer her and tried to keep his sounds silenced.

After a pause, she began laughing uncontrollably. “Oh Vanessa, you always know how to tell a wonderful joke.” Humming in amusement, she continued on “You’re no longer with us, so it can’t be you. Ah, such a well-behaved cat, wherever did you come from?” She placed a hand over his frozen head, stroking it mindlessly. “No matter, you’re better off now. So good, so calm. Never wanting to abandon your princess. Oh, what a faithful subject you are.”

She confused Helios. Was she unaware that he was in fact alive behind the icy barrier? Given her mannerism, he assumed perhaps not.

“I suppose you deserve a treat for your good behavior, you have been quiet for three whole days. I prepared cookies, would you like to share?” She paused, seemingly waiting for the statue to reply. “Of course you do, I’ll get right on it~”

Shifting to return to the room she entered from, she yet again halted. The woman’s head quickly snapped back, glancing to the secret door. “Someone else has entered my home uninvited. Perhaps they would enjoy cookies as well.”

The remark of offering a treat meant nothing as she headed to the door, unlocking it. Raising the latch up, she stepped down the secret staircase, quietly closing the door behind her.

Helios had his eyes glued to the door, feeling dread over someone else falling victim to the dangerous woman. He hoped that whoever had entered the home would escape safely, along with the person trapped below.

It wasn’t long before he could hear the murderer, shrieking out unintelligible comments. She sounded even angrier than when she had captured him. The new person yelling was angry, but not blinded by hatred to where their words blurred together.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!? HE DIDN’T DESERVE IT! THEY DIDN’T DESERVE IT!”

No… oh no… please, anyone but her.

He recognized that voice.

“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!! HE BETRAYED ME! IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU AND YOUR HARLOT FRIEND WANTING HIM SO BADLY, HE AND I WOULD BE JUST FINE! WE WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPILY MARRIED BY NOW! BUT YOU HAD TO GO AND TAINT HIM! YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST SAT BACK LIKE THE WORTHLESS OBEDIENT DOLL YOU ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!”

The further the monster went, the angrier and louder she got. Helios was unaware one could be this loud. Even screams he’s heard echo from the confines of the forest couldn’t be compared to this.

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? HE LOVED YOU, SO MUCH SO IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SICKENINGLY SWEET HAD I NOT KNOWN HOW YOU ARE VANESSA! WHO YOU TRULY WERE! A SELFISH CONTROLLING BRAT WHO WAS DESTROYING THIS KINGDOM SLOWLY FROM THE INSIDE OUT!”

A brief pause made the Rough Patch believe his friend was struck down, but she continued on with a tone that made him believe she was crying “N-NOW HIM AND EVERYONE ELSE ARE DEAD, ALL BECAUSE OF YOUR SELFISHNESS!!! YOU WEREN’T EVER HAPPY IF YOU WEREN’T CONTROLLING SOMEBODY! YOU WEREN’T GETTING YOUR WAY WITH ME, SO YOU MOVED ON FROM TRYING TO CONTROL ME TO YOUR BOYFRIEND! HE LOVED YOU SO MUCH HE NEVER EVEN RECOGNIZED IT! WHEN HE FINALLY STARTED SEEING WHO YOU REALLY WERE, YOU FELT THREATENED AND TRIED TO KILL ME. WHEN THAT WASN’T WORKING, YOU BANISHED ME TO THE MOUNTAINS!”

“REALLY NOW!? HE HAD BEEN SPENDING SO MUCH TIME WITH YOU, LEAVING ME ALL ALONE! YOU COULD HAVE FOOLED ME WITH WANTING TO KEEP HIM FOR YOURSELF! I THOUGHT HE WOULD BE LEAVING ME FOR YOU, BUT IT SEEMS I WAS PROVEN WRONG! YOUR LITTLE FLOWER FRIEND HAD CAPTURED HIS ATTENTION, I SAW HIM HOLDING HANDS WITH HER IN THE MARKETPLACE. I BET THAT STINGS FOR YOU AS WELL, YOU BACKSTABBER! YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND AURA, WHY’D YOU HAVE TO GO AND BETRAY ME SO? WAS IT BECAUSE YOU COULDN’T STAND BEING NUMBER ONE IN EVERYONE’S HEARTS!? OR WERE YOU JEALOUS I HAD SOMETHING YOU COULDN’T HAVE!?”

“FOR THE LAST TIME, I DIDN’T WANT HIM! HE WAS MY FRIEND! AND I DON’T BELIEVE YOUR STORY WITH THE FLORIST, SHE’S NEVER BEEN ROMANTICALLY INTERESTED IN HIM!” Another pause, but as Aura continued, her own voice grew dark as well “AND DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME YOUR BEST FRIEND, YOU’VE NEVER TRULY BEEN A FRIEND TO ME. IF WE EVER DID HAVE A FRIENDSHIP, IT DIED THE DAY YOU KILLED YOUR MOTHER QUEEN VANESSA!!!”

It was dead silent after that. Helios feared for his friend's life. The ice interfered with his hearing, thus he had no clue if both women were still interacting.

Moments afterward a loud crash could be heard, along with the Queen’s angered cries. Soon the noise faded.

Quiet once again, the tired Bush Cat closed his eyes. He hoped this was some sort of nightmare and that Aura was still on her vacation.

Later when the monster Queen returned through the front door, he had to accept that this was not in fact a dream, but a living nightmare. She had returned with blood lingering on her hands, and the Rough Patch knew it wasn’t her own.

__________

The years passed slowly for Helios. Dealing with a psychopath and witnessing murders while confined to one spot took its toll on his mind. It wasn’t long into his imprisonment before nightmares developed. 

Sometimes they involved the unfortunate who previously wandered through these blood-stained walls, others revolving around the original kingdom’s denizens fallen to the embrace of death.

Often his thoughts would turn to Aura, the events of what had transpired still tormenting his mind. That day often repeated in his dreams. Usually, it was a carbon copy of the day. On days his mentality was questionable, the nightmare changed for the worst.

The developed version of the nightmare replaying the most began with loud screams and crashes emerging from below the house floors. Soon, Queen Vanessa would enter from the cellar, dragging Aura’s lifeless body behind her. A trail of crimson following the pair as the Queen hummed a happy tune. Catching view of his friend, her Dweller mask fell to reveal a black emotionless face with blood trailing from her mouth. Her clothing torn and bloodied from sharp black claws. Helios could do nothing other than watch as her body was pulled further down the hall, before the Queen repositioned her and froze her in place. Aura’s body would face him, frozen eyes staring straight through him. He would hear her weep, or even lash out at her killer or even himself.

Those dreams were the worst for him; he couldn’t take the sight or sound of her so broken.

Not so frequently, the dreams would shift to moderately good ones. Ones where Aura had escaped or even prevailed over his captor. Ones where she returned and released him from his confinement.

Then there were the rare ones, memories and dreams where he would play with the Dweller children in the forest. Before the hunters became more problematic. Before the Queen eradicated her kingdom. Just pure contentment in the dense green forest.

Those were his favorite dreams. But that’s all those were now. Just dreams and memories…

Queen Vanessa had done no better in bettering his mood. From the day he was frozen solid til currently, the Queen only left her manor once. That was to pursue Aura. Otherwise, the senile woman stayed in her home of solitude.

With no one around, she conversed or laughed to herself or one of the dozens of frozen figures that now littered her home. Often she enjoyed talking to another figure that lingered upstairs or himself. Perhaps due to them being the most troublesome for her before she froze them, but were now dubbed as ‘obedient followers’. Helios wondered if the other captive is in a suspended state as himself or if they died like the rest.

The rag-doll creature was the worst of them both on defying the Queen. They tried to talk their way out of the mess, sounding similar to her when luring in unsuspecting beings. It was a total failure and in a last-ditch effort; The creature pulled out a knife, plunging it into the Queen’s chest. That was their last mistake; the attack failed and made the already mad woman angrier. Unexpectedly, as she reached for them, their form changed to that of a serpent. The creature easily outmaneuvered the surprised woman, slithering to the upper floor before she caught up and finally captured them.

Not one for violence, he couldn’t really blame the creature for doing what they did. The insane woman deserved some form of retribution. Even if it did little good slowing her down.

The mysterious rag-doll was more than likely the weirdest creature he had seen enter the home. Second going to small child-like figures. Starting out they appeared regularly, but over time they petered out.

They were similar to Queen Vanessa, but ultimately different. Their bodies were black as the Queen’s, but outlined in what appeared to be purple. The only glowing aspect to them being what he suspected was their face, a bright yellow light. If it weren’t for the odd coloring and spectral likeness, the Bush Cat would believe these creatures were a part of the Dweller children group.

The child-like figures were the most common individuals to enter the manor. Some met a frozen fate, others getting lucky and escaping. Unlike foreigners who entered the mansion, practically every one of the spooky figures took notice to Helios. A few recognized what he assumed was his ‘species’, a Bush Cat. Often those that recognized the name would gently pet his head before going about their business. Others would stare as if thinking they somehow knew the breed.

Helios became numb to most visitors. All the horror and death was becoming routine in his life.

One thing was obvious; He was angry. Angry at both the Queen and himself. She didn’t deserve to do this to innocent souls. The Bush Cat wished he could do something, instead of sitting here like a caged animal. Frustrated to no end, unable to move nor try to save those who entered their unknowing grave.

Though he hated this situation, two good points developed from it. Better senses and knowledge.

Helios didn’t know at what time it had happened, but the yellow following his eyesight had faded. At least for his left eye. His right still held the yellow vision, but that wasn’t a point of interest for him anymore.

Around the same time is when he noticed his senses had heightened. Every once in a while he’d be able to hear the Queen speaking to her other captive from the upper floor. Oddly enough, he now picked up her quiet footsteps as she traveled through the rooms. Even if someone came through the cellar door or a window, he could hear it and even get a general sense of their position.

To his reluctance, Queen Vanessa had been teaching him many things. Useful and mundane things that could bore him to sleep. In talking to herself, she revealed bits and pieces of information regarding her home, foods or even certain activities. They weren’t the most relevant or interesting to learn, but learning was helping him understand the human language further. He knew several things most birds wouldn’t pick up.

He hoped one day he could learn something new, but from an outside source.

__________

The passage of time now eluded the frozen Bush Cat, days blending together. He knew not how long he was trapped or his overall fate, but he knew he was tired. Tired of everything.

All the death, the insane monologuing and the cookies. Helios wished he would be put out of his misery already.

How long had he been stuck here, suffering through this? It seemed like forever. He couldn’t tell day from night, the light leaking through the windows never changed. He couldn’t even learn through the chattering Queen. Her sleep schedule was near non-existent and she appeared to be mentally living in the past, repeating words and thoughts like a broken record.

His nightmares were still frequent, but everyone he once knew faded. Nameless faces replacing them.

Recently, new dreams had come to him. At first, they started with seeing some creature appear in the manor. His first thought was it being the Queen, but the more the figure explored around he noticed the differences.

Though the new person shared a black and red theme with the Queen, they had their own distinctions. What appeared to be a lighter-toned mask covered their face, and though their eyes did not glow crimson, red X marks were shown. Similarly, where the mouth would be, the same tint of red visibly shown. Helios couldn’t make out what the creature wore, but it resembled a long billowing cloak.

The Bush Cat believed in ghost stories as many Dweller children had, but he never thought he might see one. Even if this was a dream. He might be jumping to conclusions on believing they were a ghost, but he knew nothing else that floated without some form of assistance! They weren’t flapping their arms like birds or having someone hold them above floor level. Given their height, even if they didn’t float, they’d easily tower over Queen Vanessa.

The dreams meant nothing to him the first few times the ghost appeared, but when the shadow finally took notice to the Rough Patch is where Helios freaked out.

“So it seems trying to observe her has led me to you.”

Even in this dream, the cat was still frozen, so he just stared in confusion behind his icy mirror.

The dark figure moved closer, causing the cat to shake in reaction. Even if they weren’t Vanessa and felt no immediate anger toward them, he was nevertheless frightened.

“Another individual that did not originally belong. I wonder, how did you reach this world? I seem to recall you, just... different.” The ghost observed the cat a moment longer before peering around the corridor again. “Though in spying, it appears I am bound to your general line of sight. Unfortunately, you are the only other conscious residing in this house.”

Glancing back to the Rough Patch, the figure stated one last detail before departing the dream. “I’ll try to keep my next few visits brief.”

True to his word, the ghosts next few visits were short. Helios couldn’t tell if he was getting the information he sought about the Queen or not, but didn’t mind the company.

Maybe he’s finally going insane. Dreaming of some ghostly entity who slightly resembles his captor, but a lot nicer. Was he becoming desperate for some form of normal interaction? Probably. Helios was just glad that when they spoke to him, it wasn’t insane chatter or one of the hot or cold moments he’d often have with Vanessa. The praise followed by belittling messed with his head.

The ghost even showed up once in a while during a nightmare, quelling the unwanted night terror. If Helios could thank him, he gladly would.

That became their routine. It continued for some time, up until the ghost’s final visit.

With this new dream, the Bush Cat and shadowy figure were still in the manor hallway and much to Helios’s delight, he could move. Walking over to his acquaintance, the mobile Bush Cat wondered what he was doing as he stared down the cellar door’s staircase. Peering over himself, he saw nothing interesting.

“The trigger that will set events into motion soon approaches.”

Confused, Helios glanced up toward the man seeing that him staring back.

“Soon the events that were written long ago shall take place, while those like us are forced to observe. But who knows, with many similar to us present, circumstances could change. Let’s hope if so, you can make it out of this my friend.”

The dark figure slowly extended a hand out from their cloak, moving the appendage near the Bush Cat’s head. He promptly stopped as the Bush Cat flinched away. Hand retreating, he nodded towards the cat.

“I understand. You have plenty of time to heal and if you ever accept my touch, I look forward to the day.”

Helios felt remorseful at his own reaction, but that’s what turned him into a frozen bushsicle. It would be easier if the figure wasn’t imposing in looks like the Queen. He felt some relief that the man didn’t think negatively of him for it.

Turning to face the cat, the man bowed his head “I’m afraid this will be the last time you see me. As the one who started the world’s events approaches, I shall step back once more to watch where fate will take this reality. And observe if the makers plan to change times course as before.”

The ghost certainly knew how to get Helios’s head spinning, whatever he was speaking about didn’t register to the cat’s brain. Events? Fate? A time course? The cat couldn’t process it and wanted to understand what the spirit meant, and as luck had it, his companion began to disappear.

Helios barked out to the mystery man to no avail, scene fading black.

Waking up, the Bush Cat had more questions than ever. His dreams were weird to develop that far. Unless the ghost man was as real as he stated, but the tired cat would think it over later.

Brought back into reality, the dazed cat discovered the source of what caused him to wake. Loud thumping echoing from the awning. If it was someone who planned on coming inside the manor, they certainly took a unique approach. He knew the front entrance had been frozen shut, but most entered through the basement. Never through the second floor of all places.

At least it was something new, he thought.

They made it inside the home nevertheless. He picked up that the Queen was also upstairs talking with a sculpture and was surprised she hadn’t taken notice of the intruder. Even if they stopped moving for whatever reason, it was evident the woman was unaware of their presence. Luck sided with them once more as the Queen left the upper floor, traveling downstairs. Moments after she set foot into the other room, he could hear scurrying from upstairs. It didn’t take long for the sound to cease.

Helios focused as he listened for further actions. No noticeable sign of movement led the Rough Patch to give up. The trespasser would be caught eventually.

Not that long after, a set of quiet footsteps began ascending the basement steps. The Rough Patch felt bad; Scarcely more than one being entered the home, now he had to deal with hearing double the cries of fear.

A purple colored hat with a yellow band broke into view, rousing his interest on the mystery intruder. He’s never seen a hat like that around the village or in the possession of wanderers. When the person’s head entered into sight, Helios felt his heart plummet. A child had infiltrated the lion’s den. Tears began forming in his eyes, sick at the thought of another child victim.

Observing her further, he noticed the girl’s blue eyes glancing around the dim halls, filled with curiosity of the new area. Brown hair shown tied in a ponytail followed the child’s movements as she peered from the stairwell. Deeming it safe she began climbing further, still cautious. The curious cat could see the kid wore a long shirt that matched her hat in color. In contrast to that, a yellow cape with a giant zipper attached to the front flowed from her shoulders. Once she was fully in the hall, white pants and brown boots were revealed. The child struggled to shake off whatever moisture had clung to her lower clothing items, before setting her sights on him.

Had Helios not been in a state of panic over the kid, he’d be delighted to see her. She was absolutely adorable and her observing him with childlike innocence added to it.

The young girl looked worried she began approaching the frozen statue. Her curiosity still stood, but she was wary of him as well. Close and within almost touching range, the child’s bothered expression turned sad. She knew what had happened to him.

Upon close inspection, there was a sense of familiarity with her. He couldn’t place his paw on whatever it was.

Reaching out to touch the unfortunate cat, a resounding voice echoed through the dwelling, startling the child off her feet.

“WHO’S THERE? WHO DARES ENTER MY HOME!?”

No no no no no!!! The Queen took notice of the kid; Her footsteps approaching from the right-sided door.

Fear painted the young lady's features, but she managed standing on shaking limbs. Looking back and forth between the ice statue and the door, she reached for him again but stopped. Instead, opting to pull something out of her pocket.

Helios didn’t have enough time to figure out what she planned before she slapped whatever was pulled out onto herself, instantaneously altering her image then dove through the exit to his right.

As quickly as the kid had closed the door, the alternative one at the opposite end opened. Stepping out into the hallway, the Queen began chuckling to herself. “Another guest for my home? How fortunate.”

He didn’t know what praying was exactly, but given how he’s heard the word used prior, he felt like he should do it for the child.

The Queen made her rounds of the corridor, toying with the child in the opposing room. Attempting to draw her out. Thankfully, the girl was wise enough to remain unseen.

Hearing the sound of her instrument, the Queen stepped in through the furthest door on his side of the hallway. Seeing this the cat began wailing, trying his hardest to move. As with past attempts, he failed. His body still refused to respond to him. Desperate, he bit at his enclosure, earning no result.

The killer Queen exited the room and began pacing through the hall again, indicating that she had not captured the kid.

“Come out little one, don’t be shy.”

Still the child ignored the woman, much to her irritation.

Piano resounding once more, the Queen re-entered the end door.

As soon as that door opened, the one beside him followed suit. The young girl quietly tiptoed out of the room, closing her door in sync with the Queen’s.

Visible to him once more, he could take in her appearance change. She opted for a bleaker tone to better hide within the darkened home. Different shades of red, purple and blue had taken place of her previous color scheme.

He didn’t get to examine her very close because after a few seconds of making certain the Queen wasn’t coming out the other door; The girl sprinted down the hallway, a large key in hand.

Hearing her flee upward put the cat at ease until he heard the angered Queen comment on her instrument.

“My lovely piano! Oh, when I find you, you’ll be receiving the same treatment!”

Eyes blazing brighter than ever, the Queen re-entered the hall seeking vengeance. Running down the hall with unnatural speed, the Queen made it up to the second floor in no time.

Panicking the Rough Patch tried once more gnawing his way at impenetrable ice, failing yet again. Frustrated for what felt like the millionth time, he yelled.

Tears that he believed dried long ago poured down his face, disappointed he couldn’t help save a poor soul. Another child at that.

What good was he!? Was all that time spent saving children from other deadly situations just worthless? He let all the kingdom’s children down by not stopping the icy menace, now he’d be letting this young girl down.

The odd tears kept falling, Helios struggling to still them to concentrate on the situation at hand. He didn’t completely settle down, but relaxed enough where he felt minor pain against his chest. In turn, he felt colder than before. Wails reduced to sniffles, he could faintly hear upstairs.

“Found you!” Thump.

Fear shot through him. No… not another child. Please, not another! He hadn’t experienced pure terror in forever, but with it rose fury. Hissing, the Bush Cat sensed something unusual happen. He was unclear what it was, but felt a strange chilling sensation.

“You’re close by, aren’t you?”

Helios’s anger derailed. Wait. That’s right, someone else was here. Did she freeze the first intruder?

Movement from one room to the next, the cat wondered what the Queen was doing. Typically down here, she would pace in the hall, waiting for her victim to appear. Why was it different upstairs?

Her footfalls faded to whatever area she entered, barely audible footsteps following in toe.

Helios sighed in relief. The child still lived.

With the kid’s exit, both parties were now out of his hearing range, leaving him in the dark. Silence lingered through the home, thoughts rising to the Bush Cat's mind. He contemplated why a child was here. The girl wasn’t even attempting to escape, but seeking further access to the manor. Did the Queen have a family keepsake of the child’s? Was it a part of some childish dare? Or did the girl just like exploring places she shouldn’t, regardless the danger?

Whatever the reason, she was lucky to survive this long.

Recalling his dream, maybe the phantom had been talking about the kid? No, he was just a figment of Helios’s imagination. The kid was a kid! A brave and possibly foolish one, but still a kid.

With all the diverse characters he’s seen while in confinement, the Rough Patch supposed he wouldn’t be shocked if the young lady was special.

Something still bugged him about her; Why was she familiar? He kept repeating the question in his head numerous times. He’s certain he’s never laid eyes on her prior. The Bush Cat may not know how long ago Queen Vanessa froze him, but he imagined it happened long before the girl was brought into the world.

Maybe she descended from a child he previously knew. Issue was, no one really immigrated outside the domain. This kingdom tended to stay within their own little circle, but accepted trades and people from other lands with restrictions.

A vague image of someone came to his thoughts. One had traveled beyond the border several times. Helios knew them, but couldn’t quite recall their identity. His head began hurting from overthinking, perhaps he would consider this another day when his emotions weren’t running rampant.

The Queen soon graced his presence and she was not in a favorable mood.

“I can’t believe that little brat got away! She even made off with that thing. It’s not like she could use it to its fullest, not unless she was apart of that family. Even so, the secrets are lost to the ages of time. Especially with the loss of the last family member.”

She began cackling madly at her own inside knowledge, but paused seeing the Rough Patch.

“However did you wind up like this? Did that brat touch you? I can’t have my precious little pet leave me so soon.”

Leaning down, Queen Vanessa ran her hand over his chest scrutinizing him. The cat was astonished because he could feel her touch. It wasn’t just her touching a layer of ice; It was skin to bush contact. He winced slightly at feeling her pull some shards of ice out of his body. Soon after, a familiar chill traveled through his chest. The air that he felt disappeared, cool ice replacing the feeling.

“There you go, good as new! I won’t let you be reduced to a mischievous mongrel again, you still need to learn your place. I’ll just have to watch you closer.”

Petting the Rough Patch like a delicate porcelain doll, the mad woman hummed. In an instant, she changed her tune, slashing at the wall behind him. Helios whimpered at the familiar yet drastic change.

She left him alone after that, surprising him immensely. She didn’t berate the child nor him for the rest of the day. Nor one more slash mark against the walls. Heck, not even flipping him over in dissatisfaction. The Queen just continued on her day.

Helios had learned two things that day. One: If the child ever returned, she wouldn’t leave the manor alive. Two: Helios unknowingly had a temporary respite from his icy cage.

New discovery in hand, Helios would try for days figuring out how the ice dissipated.

After mulling it over and watching if the ice would evaporate on its own, but didn’t, Helios concluded that he had somehow melted the ice.

It shouldn’t even be possible; He was just an ordinary, magicless Rough Patch. Queen Vanessa was the sole magic user that he knew of, and she didn’t unfreeze him. The Queen was quite surprised over it herself, and from her musings, it shouldn’t have happened. Whereas she believed the child held responsibility, Helios knew better as his only lead was himself.

Recreating the action was easier said than done. The Bush Cat had accomplished little that day, only biting at the ice and becoming emotionally exhausted. Biting was instantly off the table; That would have altered the ice near his face, not his chest area. Emotions? He didn’t believe he could recreate the variety of emotions he experienced, nor could he cry on demand.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to recreate the tears though, as when they fell prior that day, ice shards formed and dug into and pierced his skin. Maybe that’s how the ice disappeared from around his chest. It moved someplace else.

Well, if he couldn’t force himself to cry, he’d do the next best thing. Helios stuck his tongue out, placing it against the frozen wall. He waited for several minutes, but all he felt was the cool surface his tongue touched. The ice had not spread to stab muscle.

Disappointed, the Rough Patch went to withdraw his tongue, but noticed there was one teensy problem; His tongue was stuck.

… in hindsight, he should of just spat at the ice.

If possible, Helios would have flailed. Instead, he settled for verbally complaining and sought to separate his tongue from the ice. The more he tried to pry his tongue away, the more painful it got, so he reluctantly stopped.

Grumbling over his misfortunes, the Rough Patch needed to cope with the appendage bound to one position.

He took a small break between plans, not wanting anything else to go awry.

After his brief recess, he figured he’d take a shot at the emotions matter. His tongue was glued to ice; The situation couldn’t get any worse. At the very least, nothing would happen.

Thinking back to the time, he attempted to recreate the fear he felt for the young girl. Focusing on that, he shook in distress, but noticed no tingling sensation or outside air. Not wanting to lose momentum, he tested anger. He felt odd once the negative emotion stirred up, but overall that’s the only thing he felt.

Releasing his hold on the emotion, the peculiar feeling passed. He now had his answer; Anger was the key emotion he needed to concentrate on. It made sense given it was the ice wielders primary mood. Determined, Helios began his ice melting training.

Several days went before he was rewarded for his efforts. He noticed a slight breeze of air against his foliage. Helios mentally patted himself on the head, proud over the progress made. He didn’t celebrate for long as he knew the battle was just beginning, so he continued on his mission.

Over time, the Bush Cat succeeded with dissolving the ice little by little, much to his delight. Meanwhile, Queen Vanessa grew on edge from the thawing cat, often needing to re-freeze him. Her own paranoia increased, compelling her to check up on him more than usual.

Helios realized this simple issue could develop into a significant problem. The Queen would soon notice his thawing wasn’t a result of the child, but him breaking free on his own. Wondering if this was a two-way street, Helios began investigating if he could refreeze himself. This took several attempts, but it confirmed he could both freeze and unfreeze.

To his displeasure, he learned that it was simpler to freeze than to defrost. With Queen Vanessa’s diligent eyes watching him, he had even less time to practice the latter.

But his crowning achievement went to him finally freeing his tongue. Though it took a while, his tongue was finally back where it belonged. 

The Bush Cat may not be far along with his training, but if he properly figured this out, he might just be able to leave yet.

__________

It had been many weeks before the hatted child returned to the remote dwelling, company in tow. Helios had made limited headway in unfreezing himself, the most being part of a limb, but if he could he would rush right out to the girls.

One minute the girls are racing away from the deranged Queen. The next the Queen had blasted the front wall off the manor.

Helios did not expect Queen Vanessa to go to such extreme lengths to kill them; She was angrier than the Rough Patch initially assumed. The hatted child’s added company certainly added to her fury.

In creating a wider entrance, light seeped into the darkened home, in turn inviting a flurry of snowflakes. The Queen paid no mind to the damages nor the snow littering the carpet, following the guests that she must have failed to kill.

With her leave, the Bush Cat began working at unfreezing himself. This instance had proved to be challenging. Usually melting the ice took time, but now it seemed impossible.

Biting at his confines, Helios noticed the snow-filled home. It was just dusted lightly a moment ago, now the floor was submerged under inches of white. He couldn’t see much through the gaping hole, other than the ongoing blizzard that kept shifting from strong to weak states.

Perhaps other than the weather shifting accordingly with the Queen’s hatred, it also influenced the stability of the ice she had placed. If that was the case, the Rough Patch could only bide his time and wait.

Hoping for the girl's safety, the Rough Patch kept his eyes fastened to the entrance. The only thing visible was snow, but every so often flashes of light reflected on the frozen particles. Red and Yellow were the hues seen from whatever actions were taking place. Blue appeared to be a part of the equation as well, but Helios struggled to determine the tint given what covered his sight. Whenever that color flashed, the ground occasionally shook.

The worried Rough Patch believed he put two and two together after another tremor. Someone was fighting the monster and possibly standing their ground. He never thought he’d live to see the day.

He wished he could view the battle other than just the lights; The concept of someone opposing the Queen without dying fascinated him. Maybe they possessed a magical element as she did. Regardless of how they were doing it, they were tactful. If the Queen pursued someone and they stood a threat, she wouldn’t toy with them. She’d go at them full of rage and bloodlust, using her ice unwittingly. Overpowering others was simple for her, she never put strategy into cornering someone. The individuals in turn would be too frightened to rationalize nor knowing how to confront the hellish brute of a woman. So whoever was battling her went about this level-headedly.

The war continued on for another half hour before bright hues and raging winds halted, the largest shock wave that had taken place that day rippling through the ground. It was powerful enough to even shake the manor, knocking over many objects. With the blizzards hasty retreat, an enormous bundle of snow visibly rose then subsequently fell. To him, that indicated an explosion.

That was the last tremor he felt, calmness and dreaded anticipation filling the void. The Rough Patch searched the sky for further signs of struggle, but there were none. Just a normal, peaceful snowfall. Closing his eyes, the Rough Patch waited for the Queen’s potential return.

Silence accompanied him, the peacefulness of it nearly lulling him to sleep. Queen Vanessa didn’t come back as he expected, but a familiar tingling sensation was felt. The feeling wasn’t coming from just one spot; It was everywhere. Eyes snapping open, the cat focused on the barrier surrounding him. His vision swam, but merely because of the ice altering everything more than usual. The frozen layer began to vanish on its own.

Fascinated by the process, Helios watched as the layer of blue ice faded from his sight. Full-blown color now greeted his eyes after an eternity of imprisonment. He developed a minor headache from the overflow of rich color, but he didn’t mind.

Feeling the last of the ice fade away from his body, the cat didn’t want to move. He was nervous if he did, it would reveal that this was just some hopeful dream.

What sounded to be the falling of objects emerged from adjacent rooms, the other victims also thawing out. Lack of movement informed him they were not as fortunate as he was. Even so, their remains were now freed and he was at least thankful for that.

He took no notice to the dying white light that once radiated through the corridor, snow disappearing along with it.

Sniffling, the cat moved his long aching tail around, attempting to build up confidence.

Was this just a hopeless dream?

Taking his time, the cat gently shifted on his paws. The action an odd sensation.

Was the nightmare finally over?

Barely pressing up, the cat lightly bounced up and down. A broken yet happy smile eased its way onto his face, growing larger the higher he sprung.

Was he really free?

Jumping up to peak height several times, the tears freely fell as the smiling Bush Cat cried out in glee. In elation, Helios began running in small circles, rapidly expanding through the hall. He filled the halls that once echoed with screams of terror with jubilant laughter. A victim who had happiness and hope sucked from them now enjoyed the call of life and freedom.

Helios tripped over himself in his antics, but he didn’t have a care in the world as he stumbled to the floor, tears and giggles still emitting from him. Not wanting to rise back up, he just rolled back and forth, taking in the once forgotten movements. The clashing emotions began getting to him, inducing hiccups. Coughing, the overzealous cat rolled over onto his belly.

Coming down from his high, the Rough Patch’s hiccuping and coughs eased away, leaving the cat to himself. Or so he thought. A shadow protruded from the spacious entryway, startling the cat into an attack position. He was ready to fight the assailant if need be.

Now looking to the entryway, the silhouette struck him as familiar. The newcomer made his approach through the home.

Approaching a nearby candelabra, the flame light revealing them to the Rough Patch. He was frazzled at their presence. Blinking several times as he still did not believe it, the ghost floating before him was the same one from his dreams. Or one that looked strikingly identical. The ghost in his dreams had a slightly odder shape frame and face, but both undead shared the same height, regal demeanor and overall accommodating presence. Helios couldn’t compare clothes as the dream one was virtually bathed in black, while the one before him wore an orange jacket with a yellow undershirt.

The ghost stopped their approach several feet away from Helios, cautious himself of the cat’s posture. Before he could get a word out, the cat fled.

Overloaded with the past hours' affairs, Helios ran from his acquaintance. He preferred not to deal with the reality that they were real right now. Nor wanting to go through any further surprises. He traveled through the new unexplored territory of the ruined manor, evading the specter and his associates.

Little did the free Rough Patch know, he’d be in for many more surprises the next time he awakened.

[lots-of-character-imagines]

Connected by Chance (Pt. 1, Frank Castle x Reader)

Summery- Reader meets Frank under an odd set of circumstances.

Words- 2013

Warnings- Language, shooting, minor character death, blood (it’s Frank, what do you expect?)

A/N- Part two anyone?

During the day, you worked your average Joe job at the bookstore seven and a half blocks away, you got your coffee from the cafė three blocks away, and you drop a dollar in the tin of the old man outside the bank. Routine. Yet at night, there was a different person. Gone was the mild-mannered, polite wallflower who sorted through books, at night there was a silent observer, who would and had killed. It didn’t matter why. There were already enough vigilantes with a sad sap backstory for one city. So not why you do it, but why do it? Funny how one word changes the meaning.

The air in your apartment felt stale. Like someone spent more time out of it than in. Or maybe not in at all. In fact, it would be entirely believable was it not for the random pieces of clothing thrown about mixed with dishes, and old bottles scattered on open surfaces. And quite honestly, you do spend most of your time out.

You shoved the key into the lock, the door begrudgingly coming open after a shove of your shoulder. You walked across the small space, floorboards giving the occasional groan of protest. Your feet took you to the bedroom, fingers deftly throwing open the drawers of the wood dresser and pulling out a black hoody, grey t-shirt, and jeans. You shrugged out of the slightly dressy shirt and pants and pull on your selected garments. You walked back to the door, even with the lights off navigating through the shadowed apartment. Knife in your left boot, gun tucked in the back of your waistband, a second knife strapped to your waist, hidden by the hoodie. Just a normal night out.

                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You're perched on top of a building when you see him, legs beginning to ache from being in the same position for so long. Your first instinct is distrust, if someone is as crazy as you to be hiding out near a back alley at midnight, they must be trouble. You can’t see his face, hidden by a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Hunched shoulders, hands jammed deep into jean pockets. He’s big but making an effort to look smaller. More unassuming. Your instincts start to go into overdrive. Fight, or flight? Stay and take a chance, or leave and be safe? You should wait you figure, you’ve been trailing your main target all night, trying to see if he’s a threat that needs to be eliminated. Why let one man stop you? But there’s something that keeps you from moving. In a frozen stance, fingers wrapped around the grip of your gun. Why is he in a dead end alley? Should you be looking into trailing him instead? Something feels wrong. You wait and watch not letting your eyes leave the man.

The man stops at the brick wall that makes up the back of the alley. You watch, your target is supposed to show up here any minute. There’s no coincidence that another guy is here too. You take a deep breath, you’ve got five minutes before your first target shows up and it all goes down. You feel a light drizzle start to fall on your back. It slowly begins to soak through to your skin, but you don't move. The man pulls a gun and slowly takes him time methodically loading and cocking it.

A sound from the other end of the alley brings you back to your current mission. The man who was dealing not only dangerous, but deadly and tainted drugs had finally made an appearance. You decide it’s best to take the shot from your perch, and haul ass and hope the man on the other end of the alley didn’t know what happened and can’t see or follow you back. Or shoot at you either.

You raise your arm and take aim. Your finger pulls the trigger, at the same time you hear a second shot ring out. The target drops, and before you can second guess your feet launch you down onto the fire escape. In another leap, you’re on the street below. Your gun is raised as you steadily advance toward the second man. In hindsight, you realize taking a running start at a man with a gun is generally a bad idea, but you didn’t really pause to think. The man holds up his hand but doesn’t drop his gun.

“What the hell was that?” you growl feet taking a stance ready to stand your ground.

“You with him?” the man asked, his voice was deeper than you expected.

“No,” you spit, “but that doesn’t mean you get to shoot him.”

“Were you going to?” the man asks, head cocked slightly as if trying to get a better look at your face.

“As a matter of fact, yes! So what the fuck are you doing here?” you say, licking your lips, and squeezing your gun tightly.

“I-,” whatever he was going to say, he doesn’t finish. His eyes roll back in his head and he goes down like a sack of bricks. Shit. Did he really just pass out? You’re frozen in place as you look over his now prone form. On closer examination, you notice that his hoodie is soaked in something too dark to be water. So it’s blood then. Is it his, or some poor bastard's that got in his way?

Now, here you were in a soon to be murder crime scene, with a dead guy, and one who was soon to be if you left him. Great.

You sink down to your knees next to him and hesitantly poke his arm. You realize that that's not going to tell if he’s alive or not. Slowly, you let your fingers search for a pulse on his neck. It’s there, but sluggish. Most likely blood loss, from what appeared to be a gunshot judging by the rip on the hoodie.

You realize that you need to do something now, or leave. You stand up, so what he got shot? His problem and he did shoot another guy. You turn on your heel, but you can’t let yourself walk away. He’s bleeding out into a cold street. You can’t leave him, what if he has a family? Maybe his wife and kids are looking for him as you stand there watching him die in a dirty alley.

You groan and turn around. As carefully as you can, you manage to lift him in a standing position slumped over you. Wonderfull. How the hell do you carry him two blocks, all the way up a set of steep steps, without him dying? You huff, and start half dragging him. At some point, he seems to wake up a bit, and his feet stutter forward every other step. You’re halfway there as you count the steps.

“So,” you say in between breaths, “you get shot a lot? Or is this your first time?” You weren’t expecting an answer, but the man seems to chuckle. Or is he choking on blood? Hard to tell at the moment.

“Okay big guy, almost there,” you grunt. You must have spoken too soon because his legs give out and you almost fall over. You hope no one sees you because it’s Tuesday night and you’re hauling a murderer back to your apartment at three in the morning. You get inside and drag the man up the stairs stopping every few steps. If he makes it through this, you figure, he’s probably going to kill you for not just letting him die.

You practically kick open the door to your apartment and shove it shut behind you. You make a bee-line to the bedroom as best you can while navigating the obstacle course of your home while dragging a very heavy grown ass man.

You heave him onto the bed and take a deep breath. Now, the gunshot wound. There's no way you're wrestling him out of his clothes, so scissors it is. Modesty could be damned, he can’t die on you now. You run to grab alcohol, first aid kit, extra gauze, the strongest painkillers you own legally, and scissors.

You realize you should have put something under him because your bed now looks like someone died- nope, don’t go there. You use the scissors to shear open the front of his shirt and hoodie.

Okay, clean entry wound, did it go through? Nope, bullets still in you decide after rolling him to his side. You’ve dug bullets out of your legs and arms, but you don’t have as much experience with something so close to vital organs. You take the tweezers and dunk them in the alcohol. Rolling him back onto his back you try to level your breathing. In, then out, in, then out. How hard can it be? It's like playing operation. Just with an actual human.

You dab at the bloody wound, before digging in, literally. It must have really hurt you figure since the man's eyes flutter open and he cries out as you search for the offending piece of metal in his side.  

“Shit! What the fuck are you doing!” he howls, starting to thrash away from you.

“You have a goddamn bullet in your side genius, trying to help here!” you shoot back still working around the tweezers. He throws his head back and growls through his teeth, but stops moving as much. That's a good start, he hasn't killed you yet.

“There's booze to your right,” you hiss. He makes a grab at the bottle, almost spilling it. Your tweezers finally hit metal. Carefully you pull out the bullet. It’s all in one piece, finally something going right for you.

“Got it,” you laugh. Quickly you make work of dabbing at the wound and stitching it up. You pack gauze over it and bandage it to his side tightly. You thrust two of the pills at him, which he takes without giving a fight.

You flop back in the chair next to the bed and sigh. The man (you realize you don’t even know his name), you wince as he shifts back with the bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He looks like he might be a John, or maybe a Robert? You have no idea, his name could be fucking Nemo at this point and you wouldn't care.

“Thank you,” you look up when you hear him speak.

“You’re welcome, asshole,” you answer.

“Why am I the asshole?” he asks, looking over at you with something close to a smile on his face, must be the painkillers.

“Cause, you shot someone, got shot at some point, passed out in front of me, and then made you drag you back here because I felt bad for you. Plus, I don’t know your actual name so asshole works until you tell me your real name,” you say, rubbing your forehead with your hand that was free of blood.

“Fair enough,” he pauses, “Frank.”

You chew on your lip, “Wait, like the Punisher? Are you fucking with me? I dragged the fucking the Punisher back to my apartment and let him bleed all over the place?”

He chuckles, but cuts it off with a wince at his side, “Pretty much.”

You groan and look up at the ceiling before he spoke again, “And who are you? If I remember right, you had a gun on me.”

“No, not you, the guy you shot,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at you, “like I said, still had a gun on me in the end.”

“You shot him first!” you argue back.

“Looks like you would have done it if I hadn’t.”

“I’m Y/N. I shoot people too, and since I saved your sorry ass, how about you not tell anyone?”

“Seems fair enough,” he answers.

[takadasaiko]

Demons at the Door: Chapter Twelve

FFN II AO3

Summary: Agent Gale causes a lot of trouble for the Keens.

Chapter Twelve: Making a Choice

It was everything he could do to ignore it. It just kept buzzing and buzzing and the caller on the other end couldn't seem to take the hint. The discussion was over. Done. He wouldn't be answering that day. There was too much at stake and he couldn't and wouldn't let himself be manipulated out of what he needed to do.

"You can't ignore him forever."

Tom shot his wife a glare that lacked the usual danger it would have had it been directed at anyone else. He knew that she had been trying to give him space to process everything that was happening, including how he was going to go about approaching the Board. She was in favour of letting them know only as much as he had to to have them give him the resources he needed to get to the bottom of everything. It wasn't that she was advocating for or against Howard, not really. She was nudging him to look at all the angles. He appreciated it. Really he did. Most of the time. He took his phone out of his pocket and hit decline, his expression daring her to comment on it.

She rolled her eyes and reached around to shift the diaper bag that was dangling from her left shoulder. "He's trying to open up communication. I know that's not always your strong suit…"

He shoved his phone in his pocket, his now free hand returning to the stroller that held their snoozing child. "Wow, thanks, babe," he grumbled.

Liz loosed a sigh to his left and he felt her shift a little closer as they walked towards the park. "You know that I'm not saying you should trust him, but you might learn something new if you talked to him, kind of like you have with Scottie."

"I just… need time," he managed, his gaze firmly set on the concrete path in front of him. "Things are really delicate right now with the Board and everything. I have to be careful how I move forward. I'll only get one chance at this." He closed his eyes briefly, a sigh escaping. "He lied to me the whole time, Liz. He… I don't know. I mean, if he'd just come to me with it, I would have gotten it."

"Maybe," his wife murmured. "It's hard to say what you could have accepted and what you couldn't have. If you'd come to me in our first marriage I don't know if I could have just accepted it."

"Yeah? Because I seem to remember you demanding a few truths."

She elbowed him in the side. "You owed me that if I believed it or not."

He flashed her a grin, her words lighter than they might should have been. "I know," he acknowledged. "And now I tell you more than you ever wanted to know."

Liz snorted and shot him her own smile. "I'm well aware. You want a table or did you pack a blanket?"

And there was the signal that she was going to be willing to drop the subject for now. Tom felt a wave of relief rush through him. "You wanted a picnic. Pretty sure that requires a blanket."

He watched his wife roll her eyes again and grin, reaching down to scoop Agnes out of the stroller as he popped it over the curb to start for a relatively even patch of grass in the park for their planned picnic. They'd been talking about making a family trip out to the park for months, but between his investigation and Kate Kaplan killing herself to set things in motion with the suitcase of bones, things had just gotten too complicated. They had been determined that day, though. Agnes was only going to be young once, and they both were determined to give her as close to a normal life as possible.

Tom squatted down to grab the bag with all the picnic supplies in it from beneath the stroller, pulling back and looking up at the sound of Liz's startled voice. "What the hell is he doing here?"

He turned, squinting against the late morning sun. He could see a figure traipsing towards them, a badge hooked to his jacket and a pair of aviators covering his eyes. He had two men with him, both wearing FBI windbreakers.

"Agent Gale, whatever question or accusations you have for me can wait," Liz snapped as he drew closer. "I have the afternoon off and I'm with my family."

"Good thing I'm not here for you then, isn't it, Agent Keen?" He turned and his gaze fell on Tom who had stood, brushing his hands off against his jeans. "Thomas Keen? You're under arrest. Place your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say-"

"Hey!" Liz snapped, shifting Agnes and stepping forward. "This is crazy, and bordering on harassment, Gale. Whatever you've come up with to hate me for, Tom has nothing to do with it."

Gale wrenched Tom's arms back behind him hard enough to pull a grunt from him and he felt the cuffs click into place. He had to resist the urge to strike out at him, no matter how hard his fight or flight instincts were kicking in. Of all the times for this to happen, this could have been one of the worst. "While I'm sure everything revolves around you, Agent Keen, I have an arrest warrant that says otherwise for your … husband? Are you two actually married? The paperwork was all kind of vague."

"Yeah, and I want to see the name on it that would issue a warrant to you for this." Liz growled and Agnes started to fuss, reaching out for her father.

"Careful, Agent Keen, or you'll be taking a trip to holding too."

Tom caught her gaze. "Liz, it's fine. Stop. Whatever they think they have, they don't." He offered Agnes a smile that usually could get a giggle out of her. "It's okay, baby girl. I'll be home by dinner, okay? We'll come back out tomorrow and feed the ducks? How does that sound?"

That didn't seem to sway the one year old and tears started to roll down her face as she reached her chubby little hand for her daddy, breaking his heart.

Gale jerked him hard, forcing him to straighten from where he'd been leaning down at eye level with his daughter. "I wouldn't bet on it, buddy. You're going away for a long time."

Tom shot Liz one more pleading look not to do anything they'd both regret before Gale shoved at him, starting him down the way and towards the vehicle they'd come in, Agnes' cries echoing behind them and Liz's expression leaving him with a sinking feeling as they shuffled him into the black SUV and shut the door.

She was going to kill Gale. She could handle him coming after her, but her family? That was unacceptable. He wouldn't have given Tom a second look if it hadn't been for his obsession with Reddington. He wanted Red, and to get to Red he was trying to get to her, and to get to her he was going after Tom.

Liz knew that Tom thought she'd go to Cooper. Maybe she should have, but she didn't want to put her team any further in the crosshairs than they had been already. The call had been made though, and it was a waiting game as the information was gathered. She'd gone home, Agnes impossible to console until she finally cried herself to sleep. Liz had just eased her into her crib when a knock came at the front door and she cringed.

Agnes stirred, but didn't wake and Liz tiptoed to the door and looked out to see Howard Hargrave through the peep hole. She opened it, her father in law offering her a grim smile as she motioned for him to come in. "They said they were arresting him on charges of espionage, evidence tampering, and murder," she told him as he moved past her. "What did you find?"

"Talk to me about Viktor Fokin," he said as she shut the door.

"Fokin?"

"That's the murder charge. The espionage and evidence tampering are linked to it. Apparently your Task Force has had him as a person of interest in the case before and ruled him out. Agent Gale is opening it back up with new evidence."

Liz cursed softly.

"Did he kill him?"

"Excuse me?" Liz snapped, her nerves raw.

Howard held his hands up in mock surrender. "I'm not judging. I'm well aware what my son is capable of. I know enough about the St Regis program to know that it's very possible. I just need the facts before I go in."

Liz sighed. Tom was going to be pissed. "No, he didn't pull the trigger, but he was involved."

"Who pulled the trigger?"

"The woman we arrested for it: Gina Zanetakos."

Howard nodded thoughtfully. "And these passports that disappeared from evidence?"

"I got them for him… When his former handler was trying to kill him," Liz confessed softly. Great. Just perfect. Gale was trying to bring them both down and he'd picked a decent case to do it with. "Listen, I know you and he-"

Howard offered her one of his charming smiles. "It's alright, Liz. I'll have him out in no time. This… disagreement between us won't stop that."

She nodded slowly, turning her next words over carefully. "I don't know how much you know about Bill McCready. Tom's old handler with St Regis."

"I know who McCready is."

Liz pulled in a steadying breath. She'd watched Tom suffer through each new piece of evidence coming out and ripping a new whole in him along with reopening old wounds. This needed to be said, no matter how much her husband might protest it if he were there. "Tom won't admit it, but McCready was probably the closest thing to a father figure he had growing up. He took him in at fourteen and knew all the right things to say to manipulate him into doing exactly what he wanted him to do. He managed to instill some pretty twisted views in pretty deep and one of those…" She stopped, watching Howard watching her. "One of those is that he has to be useful for anyone to care about him, and the moment he's not they throw him away. He's gotten… better about it, but the idea is still there. I don't think it'll ever fully go away."

"Scottie didn't help that when she had him beaten to hell," Howard huffed.

"And neither did you by using him like you did."

Howard blinked owlishly at her. "I did what I had to to protect him. If he'd known about his mother going in, he'd have trusted her to be like him. I don't think I need to tell you how unique my son is. Just because he fell in love with you and was able to break away from his handler for you doesn't mean Scottie was. She's continued to choose her operation over our family since the day I married her. She may care about him, but it wasn't enough. You saw what she did to him."

"I hear you, but think about what Tom sees. He didn't know which one of you to trust going in and he chose to trust you, and you betrayed that trust. You betrayed him. He thinks that's all you wanted from him. If it is, then you need to go back to New York now and I'll find another way to get him out."

Howard stared at her for a long moment before clearing his throat. "I'll have him home to you in a few hours. Thank you again for calling me, Liz."

She watched him leave without another word and sat down hard on the couch, not certain if she'd made things better or worse by contacting him.

He was cuffed to the table, which seemed a bit extreme for the fact that he'd been mostly cooperative. Agent Gale didn't seem to like his answers a great deal, but surely he hadn't expected Tom to simply fold under pressure. The man was jittery, never stilling too long as he spoke. "You see, Mr Keen, I think that you were employed by Raymond Reddington. That he hired you to assassinate Viktor Fokin in 2012."

"Thinking it doesn't make it true," Tom answered easily and leaned forward. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the FBI four years ago: I got a call for a job interview in Boston. I went to Angel Station because that's where the man I thought was the headmaster for the school-"

"That's right," Gale cut him off. "A teaching position. Funny. You don't teach anymore do you, Mr Keen? Kind of like the end of yours and Agent Keen's first marriage, your current work status is vague at best and buried under more red tape than it should be. A consultant of some kind? Is that it?"

He leveled a cool look at him. "You seemed to think you know a lot more than you really do."

The agent moved quickly and leaned across the table, close enough that it would have made most people uncomfortable. "I know that your name is associated with more than a few of the files I've gotten my hands on from your wife's cases with her Task Force. I know that you pop up again and again in files so redacted by the time they get to my desk that sometimes your name's not there at all, but it's you. I'd bet my last dollar it's you."

"You'd lose it then," Tom answered easily. He didn't know if he would or not, but he wouldn't flinch. Liz had told him enough about this man to know he walked a thin line and it was only a matter of time before he tilted off to one side or the other.

"I don't think I would. I think you have a trail of bodies behind you, Mr Keen. Maybe you even still work for Reddington. Is that how you met your wife? Reddington's assassin and his FBI agent on a leash? Some sort of warped little story there?"

Tom tilted his head and smirked. "You've got a very active imagination, Agent Gale. Anyone tell you that?"

A chuckle escaped the other man and he straightened, motioning at Tom as he spoke. "Okay then. Okay. Play it that way. You still think you're getting out of this, and you know, with anyone else you might have. All you're doing is making it harder for yourself in the long run."

There was a knock at the door and it opened, someone outside motioning for Gale's attention. Tom watched him step out, leaning just a little to get a view of what looked like a very, very irritated Julian Gale. He couldn't quite hear what the news was, but if he were to make a guess it was that Liz had called Cooper and that he was about to walk free. Dark blue eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall. 4:30 PM. He'd be home in time for dinner, just like he'd said.

After several long moments Gale returned. His expression was dark as he glared at the younger man and Tom didn't bother to hide his own smirk. "I'm sorry, Agent Gale. Something you wanted to tell me?"

"I don't know how you did it, you smug bastard. They may be cutting you loose, but this isn't over." He reached forward, uncuffing him.

Tom met his gaze. "Yes it is. I don't know what sort of obsession you have with my wife, but it's done." He stood, flexing his stiff wrists a little. "Don't come anywhere near my family again."

"You threatening me, Keen?"

He shot him a look before starting for the door.

Ten minutes later he'd retrieved his phone, wallet, and keys in record time and was escorted towards the lobby to leave. He had thought there would be a chance that Liz would be waiting on him, but he hadn't expected Howard Hargrave. The realization hit like a blow to the face. Liz hadn't called Cooper.

His father was speaking to a man dressed in a suit and looked like the upper ranks of the FBI rather than a field agent. Howard motioned to where Tom has paused, not missing his exit, and shook the other man's hand, moving towards him. "I don't think they'll be making that mistake again," Howard chuckled as he clapped a hand on his son's shoulder like nothing had happened between them.

"This changes nothing," Tom growled lowly.

"Not here," Howard warned.

The two men exited the FBI building silently with the exception of the occasional wave Howard gave on the way out, showing just how well connected he was, if the release on his day-so hadn't been enough.

Tom felt an irrational surge of irritation at the sight of the town car waiting for them. "I'll grab a cab," he muttered, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"I wish you wouldn't. We need to talk, son."

"I don't have anything else to say, Howard. I said it all, and you said enough."

"You didn't give me time to say much of anything," Howard pointed out tightly, but then stopped, pulling in a deep breath as if he were trying to steady himself. "Please, Tom. Give me the drive to your apartment. If at the end of it you feel the same way, you can get out and…" He paused, his expression strained. "I'll never reach out to you again. You can go on with your life and I will make sure that nothing connected to me or your mother touches you or your family ever again. Please, just one chance."

Tom squeezed his eyes closed, a sharp breath leaving him. "Fine."

He followed Howard to the town car and slipped into the back with him. Silence filled it as the driver started forward.

"I know you're going to the Board," Howard said after a long moment.

"If you're going to try to talk me out of it-"

"No. I was. Or hoped you'd change your mind somewhere along the way, but… I think you should. Go to them."

Tom blinked owlishly. "Why?"

His father loosed a long breath. "Because there's a chance I'm too close to this."

The confession hadn't been what Tom was expecting.

"Your mother lied to me for years. She entered my life to spy on me. Finding that out after so long shook my understanding of everything I thought I knew about her, but you… I worried you'd give her the undue benefit of the doubt because of your own history with Liz."

"I just want to know the truth." The words rode out on a breath, barely whispered, and Tom saw a smile tilt Howard's lips at the corners.

"You're a good man, if you believe that yourself or not. You've got a better heart than anyone that's gone through what you have has a right to. I'll be stepping down as CEO of Halcyon, at least until your investigation into your mother is complete. The Board will give you temporary control. The DNA test will prove who you are and with your mother and I both unable to act as CEO, you'll be the majority shareholder. They'll watch your every move, but you'll have the resources you need and I won't…. get in your way."

Tom let the words sink in, the city passing them by outside the car's window. Howard might not think that Scottie cared about them, but he was willing to step aside and let Tom find out. "What changed your mind?"

"I lied to you. I did what I thought was best in the situation, but… I didn't consider everything. I didn't think-"

"Didn't think I'd find out?" Tom snapped.

"I didn't think you'd mistake it for a sign that I don't love you just as much now as I did when you were a child. I didn't consider everything you've been through."

Tom leaned back in the seat, turning to look out his own window as his mind raced. He didn't know what Liz had said. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but something had struck a nerve in Howard and changed his tune. What he was saying made sense, but it didn't explain everything. "That doesn't explain the photos. You knew where I was. Why did it take you so long?"

"A little under a year and a half ago you were shot and taken to the hospital. My man that had been tracking you wanted to be sure before he reached out. He'd been wrong before." The car pulled around and came to a stop outside of the Keens' apartment building, but Tom didn't budge. "He ran the DNA and it matched. I was out of pocket for several months at that point, overseeing an operation, and by the time he got the information to me I was starting to find evidence that Scottie wasn't who I thought she was. That's the truth, son. If I'd been home when you were injured, this might have all turned out very differently."

There was a long stretch of silence between them as Tom let the words sink in. Timing. It was a simple answer, one that he might have given if the younger man had given him the chance to when he'd shown up unannounced, but he didn't think he'd have believed it then. Now, sitting in the back of the car outside his own home with the sun sinking lower in the sky outside and what sounded like the truth put out into the open, the simple answer rang true. It still hurt, but it rang true. "No way to change the past," Tom murmured and finally turned back towards him. "All we can do is change the future."

"That's what I'm trying to do, son. If it's between you and locking Scottie away for what she did, I'd rather choose you."

Tom swallowed hard and gave a small nod. "We'll talk to the Board together. Make sure no one's going to send you off to prison too."

He made a small sound of acknowledgement. "I appreciate that. The lawyers will likely be in touch tomorrow about everything, just to wrap things up and make sure Agent Gale stays away from you."

"Okay." He turned, pausing with his fingers wrapped around the door handle. "Thank you. For coming for me."

He heard Howard give a soft chuckle. "Always."

The front door unlocked and Liz startled from her dozing state on the couch. "Tom?" she called, halfway to her feet as she heard the door close behind him. She rounded the corner from the couch so that she could see down the hall and she paused. He looked worn and tired and she waited. It had been a dangerous gamble to call Howard and one he might not have the energy to forgive her for right away. He would, given time. He always did.

"Hey," he said thinly.

"Hey. How'd it go?"

He nodded, tossing his keys into the bowl and running a hand through his hair, standing it on end more than it already was. "Dropped the charges. Howard said the lawyers would be in touch."

Liz reached out, the movement a little hesitant. "I'm sorry."

"For what? The fact that Julian Gale arrested me or that you went to my father to have him get me out?"

She winced at the tone and watched as he ghosted past her towards the kitchen, going for a bottle of water. "Gale," she said after a long moment, her voice firm. "I'm not going to apologize for doing what I needed to to get you out."

Tom turned and leaned against the counter and she watched the tiniest movements of his expression as he thought his next words over very carefully. She let him have the distance between them, trying not to add to the pressure, but she wasn't going to back down either. She'd done what she had to. He wouldn't have done any differently in her shoes and if he gave himself half a chance to think about it he'd see that.

If he didn't, this could turn into one hell of a fight with as raw as his nerves had been lately.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, unscrewing the cap to the water bottle. "I don't know how I feel about it yet," he said slowly, working through the words with care. "He gave me a ride home and we talked."

"Yeah?" she prompted, inching forward. He didn't move away so she leaned, half seated against the breakfast table to listen.

"He's stepping down."

"From Halcyon?"

"Yeah. He already knew I was going to go to the Board and he said he'd step down and out of the way." He took a long drink from the water bottle. Finally he looked over. "He said if he had to make a choice he was choosing me. Do I even want to know what you said to him?"

"Probably not," she murmured with a hint of a smile, and after a moment she saw him trying to echo the expression. She reached out a hand, palm upward, and wait half a beat until he took a step forward to take it. She pulled him a little closer and stood straight so that she could wrap her arms around his middle, her cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart, and she focused in on the way he held onto her. "I know this wasn't the solution you would have wanted to go with, but Howard could have walked. It probably would have been easier for him to."

"You really want to believe he loves me, don't you?"

"I do."

"Why?"

The question made her pause and she leaned back just a little, her husband's arms still locked around her shoulders and hers around his middle, but she looked at him. "Because…. I know how hard it is for you to accept that someone can love you just for you," she said softly.

A laugh escaped on a breath and he shook his head, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I love you."

"I love you too," she promised. It was an emotional roller coaster that she knew well and trying to decipher what a man like Howard - or Reddington - really wanted in the end was nearly impossible. There were signs though. Little things, like when they went against their own selfish instincts for the child that they had once loved. It was enough to make her think that, despite everything they had become to survive in the world and every mistake that made those same children question them time and time again, there was still a chance for them. Words meant nothing in their world. Anyone could string together a few pretty words to make someone believe what they wanted. It was action that mattered, and that day Howard had made a choice to take action for Tom. If he would stand by his promise, only time would tell, but that choice meant something. For the man that she loved that was struggling with emotional wounds re-opening after so long, it had to mean something.

Notes: Sorry for the delay on this! I hope everyone stateside had a great and safe Independence Day weekend this past weekend. I've been kind of all over the place, so it took a little longer to write ahead enough I was comfortable posting the next chapter. Here it is though! And with Agent Gale, no less. I'm going to miss him next season... really sad they chose not to bring him back.

Next time - Tom and Howard meet with the Halcyon Aegis Board while Liz confronts Red.