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yeojaa · 4 years

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ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack. general, for now.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch. tags are hard. :(

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~3400

part i.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 10 November, 2019. 2:13 AM.

It’s 2:13 AM when Jeon Jungkook finally finds a match, the familiar in-game sound dragging his attention away from the illuminated screen of his iPhone to the monitor before him. He studies the SR - 3779 and 3761, respectively - and skims burning eyes across the members on each team. Four rocks, including himself, and two Masters.

One of them has a strange name - BIGMELON - that he stares at until he's zoning out, trying to make sense of it. Was his teammate a pervert or just hilarious?

"Good luck and have fun, everyone!"

Your cheer filters through his headphones crystal clear but he's somehow still surprised, head tilting curiously to the side. He hadn't expected a girl to be playing Overwatch at quarter past two in the morning.

When there's no response - he notices no one else is in the voice chat, an oddity for such a high ranking game - he takes it upon himself to keep you company. His username lights up as his finger glides across the ALT key, sleep-worn words breaking the silence.

"Thanks, you too."

Nothing follows until BIGMELON appears once again in the upper left-hand corner of his screen. You have a nice voice, he thinks. "Are you sticking with Widow?"

Jungkook takes in the team comp: Sigma, Hog, Genji, and Lucio. A little unconventional but not wholly un-doable. They're on King's Row, too, which is one of his favourite maps. Balanced enough that people aren't too salty when they get headshot but with enough coverage that he can get clear picks.

"Should I?"

"If you want." A pause and your hero slot is filled with Mercy's portrait. "I can damage boost."

He thinks he can hear the teasing. It's soft and sweet and a little rough - like you'd just woken up.

"Who says I need it?" Comes his immediate response, question chased out of his mouth by a laugh he can't help. It echoes, filling the quiet of his bedroom. He hopes you don't take it the wrong way.

"O—kay, Widow main. We'll see if you get anything from me."

It's an empty threat because you're giggling along with him. It's distracting in the strangest way. The sound bounces around in his ears and he can't help but focus on it, realizing belatedly that he's still sitting in spawn as the timer runs down for setting up defence.

"Are you going to join us?" You quip, emoting right beside his stationary sniper. "I didn't queue just to have someone go AFK."

Mischief colours your words and he laughs again, snorting as he finally presses W. Two sets of footsteps echo in game and he presses SHIFT once he's hit point - and with just a few seconds left to spare - launching Widowmaker's body onto the balcony overwatching it. Mercy follows, Guardian Angel carrying her into the air to alight behind the blue-skinned hero.

As the timer hits 0:01, Jungkook right-clicks, scoping in on the second-floor spawn door.

BOOM.

The kill feed reads DDEOKKOOKI x STRIKER007.

"I guess you didn't need the damage boost."

He can't help the sound he makes - a marriage between a witch's shriek and a pig's snort. It leaps out of his mouth, louder than he intends, and he feels equally bad for you and his hyungs. He's definitely going to get an earful in the morning - or any minute now, when one of them bursts into his room to berate him for being so loud. "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah." The way you speak has him grinning from ear to ear, nose scrunching in amusement. Mercy is flying across the map, healing stream trained on Genji as the cyborg ninja just narrowly misses an errant Hanzo arrow and dashes back to point. "I'm gonna take care of the rest of our team. Let me know if you need anything, O' Headshot God."

You're clowning him hard but he knows it's all in good fun. Still, he likes the nickname and decides to keep it, effectively picking off the attacking team's stealthily half-hidden Junkrat and Ana right after.

"Show-off!"

Then he's dinked in the head - health dropping to 30 from the partially-charged shot. He needs heals like yesterday.

Unfortunately, Lucio is up at choke with the tanks, skating circles around the base of the statue as they hold point. Jungkook doesn't see you immediately - he’s scanning his screen for your witch skin (of course) - only realizing you've appeared at his side when his health bar begins to climb. "Try to stay alive, yeah?"

"My bad," he drawls, scoping in the same instant the kill feed announces two more enemy deaths.

There are only a critical Reinhardt and protected Zarya left. The former falls the moment he drops shield and her bubble doesn't reset in time; the Russian tank dies in the next instant, his charged shot firing the moment it hits 100%.

"Thanks for the damage boost."

"Any time."

Then you're gone, off to support the rest of your team again while he grapples onto a different ledge and continues his oppressive gameplay. He feels a little bad when the opposing team goes double shield tank and swaps their Junkrat for a Pharah. He feels less so when he's slept out of nowhere. Four seconds feels like an eternity when he’s out in the open - vulnerable as a baby lamb in a den of lions.

"Looks like you're really making them mad." You'd been relatively quiet when not tending to him - likely because it was only the two of you in voice chat - and he startles when your comment breaks the quiet lofi he has going in the background.

"I don't know why. I'm just having fun." He's lying. You're laughing.

"Too much fun, I think."

"Maybe they should be better." Jungkook says this like he's commenting on the weather or the colour of the sky - offhand and nonchalant. It makes your giggles come harder. He can hear the scratch of your mic as if you've doubled over and it's now pressed into cotton clothing. He can't help but pat himself on the back.

"Please don't tell me you're going to 'gg ez' them when we're done."

Now he's feigned offense, gasping at the mere thought. "Of course not. I'm not that rude!"

"Well, you never know." You're right. People could be the worst when it came to online gaming, spewing vitriol and hurling insults the moment their egos were bruised (or inflated).

"I promise I'm not an asshole." He's not really sure why he feels the need to make this abundantly clear. After all, he'd probably never play with you again. Korea's density of players was just too great - you were just one in hundreds, thousands, millions.

Still, he smiles when you reassure him you don't think he is. "I'm just teasing. You seem nice."

"I am nice." Spoken in the same instance he lands two consecutive headshots - one on the bouncing, wall-riding enemy Lucio and the other on the momentarily grounded Pharah. You must see that, because you're mocking him in that dulcet tone of yours, caramel coating words and turning them soft like toffee.

"Not according to them." And not that you mind, it seems, because you're damage boosting him as he catches their out-of-position Rein in his sight. He whoops in triumph, eliciting another bemused sound from you.

"You know they're going to do everything to counter you when we go on attack." Which was in sub-one minute, the timer counting down the last thirty seconds of your team's defense.

"Who says I'm going Widow again?"

You're scandalized. "You mean you're not just a filthy Widow main?"

For a moment, Jungkook wonders if this is how his older members feel when he (and Jimin and Taehyung) mercilessly rib them. He thinks it must be and oh, how the tables have turned. He decides he doesn't really mind, though. It's all innocent fun and it's keeping him awake, aided by the cold brew he'd chugged at midnight.

"Woah - says the Mercy player?"

"Mercy is a respectable support, okay!"

"Sure, e-girl."

"Take that back!" How the words explode out of his headphones makes him momentarily worry he might've overstepped but by the way your laughter chases it forward, he knows he hasn't. You can take it just as well as you can dish it.

"Okay, okay. You're a not bad healer." Because he hasn't died yet and last he checked, neither had your tanks. Genji had once or twice - to be expected, given his playstyle - and you had, but that was still pretty respectable.

He can practically hear you rolling your eyes. "Oh, thanks."

"Any time, BigMelon."

"That's ‘daebak’ to you, pal." Had he heard you wrong?

"What'd you say?"

There's a long pause - he's not sure whether it's for comedic purpose or something else. You sound muffled on the other end, as if you're repressing sound. "Because watermelon? Su-bak? So big melon is dae-bak?" Whatever you had stifled earlier disappears, torn away by the pride that shines bright yellow and boisterous in your peals of laughter.

It's such a bad joke that Jungkook feels like he's about to have an aneurysm. Were you Jin moonlighting as a Master support player?

"You're kidding me." He wonders if you hear him above your own glee, giggles making it hard for him to hear himself think. "What're you - a dad?"

You scoff now, parroting his words back to him. "What're you - the pun police?"

Another one?

He briefly considers ALT + F4-ing his way out of this match and away from your corniness. Considers it but ultimately decides against it, instead remaining stoically silent and choosing McCree when the hero selection screen slides into place. His silence will surely speak volumes.

"You know that was funny!" By the way he can practically hear your pout - it's endearing, much to his chagrin - he thinks you know where he stands.

"Not the word I'd use."

"You just have bad taste, McCree." You say it scathingly yet full of mirth, a sniff punctuating the end of your rebuttal.

"Do not!" He returns, just as quickly.

"Prove it. Laugh at my joke!" You're shameless, confident, reassured - it makes him chuckle.

You take it as his surrender though, your own laughter blending seamlessly with his. It goes on for longer than is strictly speaking necessary, crowding like cotton balls in his ears as you leave sprays of your hero - Ana this time - across the spawn walls. He wrecks every one of yours with his own, BAMF displayed in 1440p.

"Hey - stop that!" It doesn't matter that the round is about to start - you're spamming your melee button into him. He immediately does it back, toggling between that and his voice line.

The rest of your team is probably wondering what the hell you're both doing.

"Stop distracting me!" He barks into his mic, deep dimples on full display, nose scrunched adorably. He doesn't really mind - it's clear by his hyena cackles that follow - and he likes when your chorus of shut up's pitch and leap with your giggling.

As he navigates McCree out behind your tanks, he can't help but wish - maybe a little selfishly - that they'll lose this round and go into a best of three. When the opposing team's healers both die - one to Ashe's dynamite and the other to Zarya's high-charged beam - he knows that's not going to happen. Your team's going to cap point and then you're going to be gone - off to the next game and never to be matched with again.

"We did it, McCree." You sound deeply pleased as the last of the defenders fall, leaving point uncontested. The Lucio on your team lingers by the choke, ready to boop any last minute hoodlums; Echo hovers just above the enemy’s spawn, dealing damage the moment any hero comes in view. One of your tanks is already emoting.

VICTORY flashes across his screen.

"We sure did, BigMelon."

The cards come next - they're all for your team, though he isn't surprised. You'd gotten 37 defensive assists whereas he had 27% Infra-Sight uptime. He's sure you both vote for each other, the remaining four going to your other support's Sound Barrier casts.

"Thanks for the carry." He doesn't mean it facetiously. This is some of the most fun he's had in-game in ages.

"You're welcome," you chirp. He thinks you'll leave right after.

Instead, you both sit in voice chat in silence, watching the timer in the upper right-hand corner.

"Do you want to duo?" You ask in the same instance he does, breaking the both of you into a fit of laughter. It's more distracting than he realizes, the FINDING MATCH countdown replacing the end game statistics while you’re both still cackling.

Luckily, you invite him to a group right as he removes himself from queue.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Tuesday, 24 December, 2019. 11 PM.

It’s six weeks and a good three dozen games later - a feat for him, considering how much of his time is eaten up by literally every other obligation he has - when he asks for your name, not realizing the consequences of his action.

“Most people call me Jinny.” He thinks it fits you, bright and pretty and punchy. “What’s your name?”

Jungkook's unprepared for the question, though he shouldn’t be. Of course you’d want to know. Anyone would, if they’d already given their own answer.

He's silent for the longest time, quiet stretching on and on over group voice chat. He applauds you for your patience, how you don't press him on it when the hesitation has descended from appropriate to downright awkward.

"Uh." The word drops like a weight, crashing through the tentative friendship you've built over the past weeks.

"You don't have to tell me," you supply as softly as he's ever heard you. It's the first time you've seemed uncertain - and it bothers him that he's the reason. "I get that we haven't known each other that long."

As if that's actually the issue. He would've told you the night you spent four hours together, taking wins left and right, filling the time in between matches with silly banter that had his jaw aching from laughter. He would’ve told you on that random Thursday, when you’d listened to him talk about his busy day, effortlessly keeping him occupied - and amused - while your SR nearly descended below 3500. He would’ve even told you yesterday, when you’d said you were going to bed, only to be roped into another six games by Jungkook’s eagerness.

It has absolutely nothing to do with time - or the lack thereof.

But he can't say that - can't tell you who he really is - so he improvises as best he can. "My friends call me Jay."

"Jay, huh?" You turn the sound over on your tongue, like you're tasting it for the first time, trying to decide whether you love it or hate it. He hopes you don’t hate it. "Then I guess we're the best J-duo to ever exist."

"Woah, we?" He's only doing it to rile you up, finding it cute when you huff and puff and threaten to let him die in-game. You never make good on the threat anyway; you just like to see him sweat, watching as his health bar drops to measly single digits. "I don't think I agreed to that."

It's your turn to mock him, that same edge turning your words into sour candy. "Fine. You can find yourself a new healer. We'll see how your SR likes that, Bronzie boy!"

Neither of you really take the game that seriously but he gasps like he's been shot.

"No! Don't leave me with them!" The way he howls the plea is enough to return you both to your rightful place - one filled with boisterous laughter and things he never thought would see the light of day.

Because somehow, he's found somewhere he feels safe - a place he feels like himself, with no pretenses or expectations. It’s where he can rant and rave, bouncing from topic to topic like an energizer bunny with no end in sight. It’s, oddly enough, with you.

Connected through voice chat and built by an endless stream of communication - sometimes productive, other times not - the space you’ve carved out together has come to feel like a third home. It isn’t quite what he has with his family or his members but it’s just as nice.

Different, but nice.

"Fine. You're forgiven." You sniff in that peculiar way of yours and he snickers loudly. "How was your day?"

And this is why it is - because it's ordinary. It’s where Jungkook can rest his head and drift for a while without worry of what’s over the horizon, ready to swallow him whole the moment he takes his eyes off the calm blue sea. He's not raised on a pedestal with you, all the weight of his choices resting on his shoulders. He's just a normal guy playing games.

It might not make up for all the years of normalcy he's missed out on - the movies after school, the street markets on weekends, the holiday parties with classmates - but it's enough.

He eats it up like he's been starved of it.

"Busy. Really busy. I had dance practice all afternoon and forgot to eat so I'm dying now." There'd been a time - about three weeks in - when he'd chosen his words more carefully. He'd been worried he might let something slip but he's found what feels like the sweet spot now, where he can tell you about his day without thinking he’ll suddenly shatter the image you have of him.

It's not always easy - he has to remember to never mention names or intimate details - but it's better than nothing. He can finally tell someone about his day like he wants - all of the good and the bad, too.

"You should make something to eat!"

He's used to your reprimands but he still laughs, crossing his long legs beneath him as he readjusts in his computer chair. "But we're in queue."

"Jay!" It comes out devoid of static, clear as the waning sunshine that filters through his blinds and reflects particles of dust that drift lazily through his bedroom.

"I'll make something after we win." He knows what you're thinking - that he's gone and jinxed your whole night. You’re weirdly superstitious, something he's learned only recently.

As if right on cue: "Shut up!"

Your words sweep his expression up with glee and giddiness, like a kid on Christmas morning; lines dig themselves into the bridge of his nose and the delicate skin beneath his eyes. Jungkook tells himself it’s the usual pre-game jitters but he knows it’s more than that.

It’s you and that infectious giggle that careens through his headphones, making him see everything in a pretty haze of warmth.

He’s not sure when you’d started having this particular effect on him - maybe since the beginning? - but he feels it now, clearer than ever. Every tinkling laugh makes his heart speed up, thump around his chest like a baseball missing its mark. The sight of you logging in elicits the biggest, possibly dorkiest smile, all slightly too-big front teeth and deep dimples. You have him rushing through his post-practice showers and devouring dinner in half the time he usually would just to get online a minute more quickly.

There's just something about you.

And sure - a part of him wonders whether it's all in his head (as if it could be anywhere else). Wonders if he's seeing you through rose-tinted glasses, doing to you what so many do to him. Was he in over his head, praying to a deity that didn't even know he existed?

Sometimes it felt that way - a little out of reach, like childhood crushes and summer love and wishing upon a star. Certainly far too much for a blossoming friendship of just a month and a half.

But then you laugh and it's Pop Rocks fizzling in his stomach and he knows that no - it's there and it's real.

Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

notes. i love overwatch and i love jeon jeongguk. what more can i say? :)

1K notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 3 years

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Before you read, here’s the previous chapter.

Skyward

Ao3

Chapter 1: Earthbound, Heavensent

The brake lever squealed as Katsuki yanked it hard, a toothpick clenched between his teeth as he cast a look at the elevator. The ancient metalwork shuddered and groaned as it came to a screeching stop within the shaft, its rusted top barely brushing the jagged top of the stone roof. I keep tellin’ the old man that damn elevator is too ancient! Katsuki thought bitterly, leaning back in the torn cloth stool on which he was perched. The wire elevator door squeaked as the miners wrenched it open; the mine cart was even squeakier as they wheeled it in across the coal dust-covered metal tracks. Katsuki crossed his arms as he squinted at their haul.

“What do we have?” Vlad grunted as he crossed the rocky mine, a massive wrench hefted on his shoulder. He didn’t wait for his workers to answer, plucking up a black slab of stone to inspect it critically. “Coal again, huh? The market’s becoming saturated with the stuff… If we don’t start finding something more valuable, then we’ll be out of business.” He tossed the coal back into the cart. The men looked defeated as they pushed it away, preparing to unload it alongside the mountains of coal they’d already mined that day.

Vlad strolled to a large wheel attached to the machinery lining the blue stone walls. He gripped it with his gloved hands, grunted as he turned the rust-covered wheel to shut down the mine workings for the day. The pipes overhead squealed and shuddered and groaned as high-pressure steam changed course within their bowels. Just as Katsuki was slipping down from the stool, a pipe released a high-pitched whine and began to swell up, bulging with building-up steam.

“Boss!” he exclaimed, and as Vlad whipped around with narrowed eyes, the pipe aneurysm burst. “Damn it!” Katsuki cried as hot steam gushed from the open pipe just mere inches from him. The heat bloomed across his forearm and legs, the water vapor hissing against the cloth of his overalls and white cotton shirt. Somehow he managed to avoid being scalded as he scurried to the nearest bypass valve. “This damn mine is gonna be the death of us, not the market!” he yelled over the wailing steam.

As he closed off the pipe, it shifting the steam pressure to another path. The stream of vapor rapidly dwindled until only condensed water dripped from the jagged-edged hole in the metal. Katsuki sniffed in disdain, rolling the toothpick around in his teeth. Vlad only growled at the busted pipes and pulled the brim of his hat down over his blood-red eyes.

“If this keeps up, we’ll all be starving soon,” he mumbled. He tapped the wrench against his broad shoulder with a small sigh, then lifted his hat to look at Katsuki. “All right, lad, your turn to lock up for the night. Go grab yourself some grub first; I know you skipped lunch today to repair the elevator.”

“Yeah, only on your orders, old man!” Katsuki retorted snidely, trying to retain his pride as his stomach yowled and scratched within his belly. His mouth twitched in discomfort as the beast of hunger raged inside him. It would be a pain to trek to the village, even if it was ten minutes or so, but… he could really go for some meatballs about now. His boss tossed his head invitingly, indicating for Katsuki to follow the miners on their departure. Snorting, Katsuki grabbed his bag and stomped after them.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, leavin’ a kid like me to lock up the mine,'' he huffed as he tromped alongside the large man. “What if I get eaten by wolves, huh?”

“You, eaten by wolves?” Vlad laughed, tilting back his head as he guffawed. “I’d be more concerned about you eating them !”

“Come on, now, I ain’t some beast !”

“Are ya sure? You’re pretty beastly to me, youngun,” Vlad teased and threw a burly arm around his neck to yank him close. Katsuki snarled as his nose was pressed right into his sweaty armpit, dank with sweat and toil and the tang of coal dust. As Katsuki squirmed around, bleating to be released, Vlad continued to chortle and dug his knuckles into his scalp, mussing up his ash-blond hair.

“Fuck off, ya old geezer!” Katsuki finally managed to yank his head away and sucked down a breath of fresh air, relishing the taste of dew and earth replacing the musty sweat of Vlad’s armpit. “ You’re the beast! You smell like a dump; you go home to yer wife smellin’ like that?”

“At least I have a wife,” Vlad grinned. Katsuki flushed in anger and looked away; a few paces away, fellow mine worker Tetsutetsu— and the only one around Katsuki’s age— was regaling an older gentleman about his lovely wife Mina who was cooking his favorite dish that night. Katsuki wasn’t exactly jealous or anything; why the hell should he be concerned about things like that? Still, it did get lonely, living by himself in his house on the hill.

“Fuck off,” Katsuki repeated. His quiet tone made Vlad hum thoughtfully and gave him the sense not to push the issue further. Katsuki wasn’t jealous or anything, not at all. He just lived his life, working in the mine and trekking back to his shack on the hill— day in, day out, all by his lonesome.

Katsuki stopped at the general store in the middle of town, while Vlad and the other workers continued on, trundling home to their wives and families. Katsuki’s expression was pensive as he quietly ordered some meatballs from the young woman manning the counter; though the place was mostly a general store, the old woman who owned the place also had a little to-go diner set up in the corner, mostly because the miners trekked by on both their morning and evening commutes. The woman filled a metal thermos with steaming, sauce-coated meatballs and he fished out some crumpled bills to pay.

As he walked the path he came, he used his fingers to fish out some of the meatballs. He popped them into his mouth, silently chewing with lidded eyes. His footsteps crunched on the dirt path, echoing through the fields flanking him on either side. His only accompaniment was his shadow, bobbing alongside him as the bright white moon cast him in its gentle light. He actually did hear a coyote howl in the distance, making him look into the hills with a slight shudder. As he did, he caught a glint of pink light in his peripheral vision.

“What the…?” He stopped on the path as he squinted at the strange pink light twinkling in the inky black sky. He could almost mistake it for a star, except it was slowly descending to earth.

“It’s heading toward the mine!” He took off down the path, ignoring the canteen of meatballs swinging against his thigh. He was too concerned with getting to the strange, slowly falling star dropping towards the mine. The pink glow grew brighter and brighter, flickering like a soft flame.

Within, he thought he could see… a body?

“Is that a person ?” he exclaimed in disbelief. Finally, he came to the scaffolding overlooking the large shaft leading down into the mine. The glow was heading downwards, towards the center. He slammed his meatballs down, cursing as they fell over and sent sauce spilling across the wood; he hurriedly righted it, cursing again as it scalded his skin, and looked back to the strange falling person.

He could see clearly now; it was a girl in a white nightgown, the fabric and her short-cut chestnut hair gently fluttering as ribbons of pink magic streamed around her. She drifted down over the large platform holding the winch, so Katsuki scrambled up the rickety steps on all fours to clamber like a beast across the platform. He stood up on the edge, panting slightly from his feverish dash, and held out his arms.

The girl gently floated down, the wisps of rose-colored magic swirling around her like water. It tickled his skin as it flickered around him, and it was cool like water, too. It rose goosebumps on his skin as it rippled over his arms, soon joined by the soft kiss of her cotton nightgown. She suspended over his touch for a second, the magic swirling around them like a storm, before it slowly retracted into the glittering gemstone pendant hovering above her neck.

“Whoa…” he murmured, his red eyes reflecting the beautiful coral of the pendant. It has a gold insignia painted on its round surface. As the light retreated within its translucent surface, the girl stopped hovering and flopped down into his arms. The sudden weight shocked him, bringing him to his knees. He groaned as he just barely held himself in a crouch, arms straining to keep the girl from plummeting out of his grip and into the mineshaft below. He crab-walked his way away from the edge, hefting her over the edge of the platform and gently laying her down.

“Damn, girl,” he huffed while rubbing his burning muscles. “You couldn’t have drifted a few feet left?” He crossed his legs underneath him as he caught his breath, looking down to inspect the strange girl that had fallen from the sky.

His eyes slowly drifted up to the sleeping girl’s face, and he drew in a sharp breath, because this time he didn’t even have words to express the beauty his eyes beheld. She looked so peaceful as she slept, her plump lips slightly parted as she breathed slowly. Her short brown hair framed her face, which was pale despite her rosy cheeks. He reached out to stroke his knuckles across the soft skin of her cheek in a featherlight touch; she felt cold, and he wondered how far from the sky she’d fallen if the chill of the atmosphere had seeped into her skin.

“Just where did you come from?” he murmured. She dozed on, her chest rising and falling with unlabored breaths. He grabbed a nearby blanket, inspecting it for grease stains as he unfolded it, before gently laying it over her snoozing form. He pulled back the blanket a little to peer at her strange necklace, but it just gleamed typically in the moonlight, showing no hint of the strange magical power at play just a few moments before. “Strange…” he said aloud before covering her again, tucking the blanket under her chin.

He still had to close the mine. Grabbing his forgotten meatballs, he got up and piled almost all of them in his mouth by the time he made it down the stairs. His cheeks bulged like a chipmunk as he began cleaning up the mine. Every so often he glanced up at the platform, but the mysterious girl slept on, peacefully unaware that she’d drifted down from the sky like an angel.

After an hour, he’d finally taken care of all the tasks for closing down the mine. He scampered back up the stairs to find the girl just where he’d left her, though she did hum something unintelligible and shift a little under the blanket. With the way her head was turned, he could see her chubby cheeks shining in the moon.

“Guess I’ll call you ‘Cheeks’ since I don’t know your name,” he chuckled with a slight smirk. He squatted down, bundling her into his arms; now that it wasn’t unexpected, she was lighter than he realized. He easily held her close to his chest as he stomped down the stairs, carefully tucking her in one arm as he doused the lanterns at the mine entrance and closed the gates behind him. The girl murmured something and buried her nose into his chest, smiling faintly as she breathed in. Heat tinged his ears as she snuggled into him. “Do you have any idea who you’re cuddlin’?” he muttered, but couldn’t help but smile a little. She was kind of cute, for a girl who fell from the sky.

He eventually shifted so that he was carrying her piggyback, the blanket wrapped around her to shield from the night wind. Her head bobbed gently against his shoulder with each step he took down the long, winding path leading up the hill, where the silhouette of his humble home was barely visible against the starry night sky and cloudy mountains in the distance. As he walked, the moonlight bathed him in its gentle white glow; his shadow walked beside him, with that of the girl wrapped around him like a cocoon.

He glanced up as the light was suddenly eclipsed to see the shadow of a plane passing over the full moon. He scowled at the bird-like silhouette; it circled the moon like a hawk, spying on the earth below. That’s a bad sign…

He pushed the girl up on his back before setting off at a quick pace. The mysterious appearance of the girl and that strange biplane in the sky were undoubtedly linked, and so he needed to hide her before the moonlight betrayed them… because the sky could not be trusted.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

#kacchako #bakuraka #bakugo x ochako #ochako x bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochako #my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha

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waywardaardvark79 · 5 years

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Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1, Episode 5: Bloody Mary

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you.

Pairing: eventual Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, show level violence

Word Count: 8,660

A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule. Tags are open.

It was dark, the little bit of moonlight that was able to penetrate the thick canopy of trees was your only light. The only sounds were the crunching of leaves and the snapping of twigs under your boots. It was eerily quiet, almost as if you were the only living thing there, and you couldn't help the feeling of dread that washed over you.

You picked up your pace, your heart pounding in your chest, branches slicing through your skin as you ran as fast as your legs would carry you.

"Dean!! Sam!!" you cried out, desperate to find them, desperate to find anyone, really.

You finally had to stop running, your lungs on fire, your muscles burning. You doubled over, your hands on your knees as you sucked in large breaths of the crisp night air, jerking up right when you heard a twig snap.

Your hand flew to the back of your jeans, ready to grab your gun, but coming up empty.

"Shit." you said, realizing that you had no weapon.

You scanned the area, feeling eyes on you, but unable to see anyone or anything.

"All right, asshole! Come the fuck out! I know you're there!" you shouted, turning in a slow circle. "Come on! I'm right here! If you want me, come and fuckin' get me because I'm done running!"

You whipped around, the sound of approaching footsteps setting you on high alert. You felt your body tense, your heart hammering in your chest, your palms sweating as you prepared yourself for a fight.

"Dean?" you breathed out as he stepped out of the tree line, never more relieved to see him, "Where the fuck are we? I've been looking everywhere for you and Sam." you said, running towards him.

"Stop." he said, raising his gun and pointing it at you.

You came to an abrupt stop, throwing your hands up, "Hey, it's me, De. It's Y/N." you said, confused as to why he was looking at you with such hatred, the hatred he usually reserved for whatever monster you were hunting.

"I know who you are." he said, his tone cold. "Why? Why'd you do it?" he asked, his gun still trained on you.

"I...I didn't do anything. I don't know what you're talking about." you said.

"Don't bullshit me!" he roared, you shrinking back. "I should've figured it out. I think part of me knew, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that you could ever do something like that." he said.

"Dean, please. I...I didn't do anything. I promise." you said, daring to take a couple steps towards him.

Dean shook his head, "I should've done this a long time ago." he said, the sound of a gunshot echoing through the trees.

"Sam, wake up." Dean said, Sam jerking awake in the passenger seat, confused.

"I take it I was having another nightmare." Sam said, Dean turning around in his seat to wake you up.

"Yeah, another one." Dean said before tapping your leg, "Come on, Y/N, wake your ass up." Dean said, your eyes popping open, your body jerking back, recoiling away from him. "Hey, you okay, Singer?" he asked, looking at you with concern, the complete opposite of how he was looking at you moments ago in your dream.

You let out a slow breath. "Yeah." you said, sitting up. "Just a weird dream." you said, trying to brush it off. "You have another nightmare, Sam?" you asked, wanting to get the focus off of you.

"Hey, at least I got some sleep." Sam said.

"You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this." Dean said to Sam before focusing back on you. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, De. Are we here?" you asked.

"Yep. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio." Dean said as Sam picked up the newspaper with Steven Shoemaker's obituary circled.

"So, what do you think really happened to this guy?" Sam asked.

"That's what we're gonna find out. Let's go." Dean said, the three of you getting out of the car and heading towards the building you were parked in front of.

The three of you walked into room 144, the morgue. There were two desks, the empty one had a nameplate that read Dr. D. Feiklowicz, the other one belonged to the morgue technician.

"Hey." the morgue tech said.

"Hey." Dean returned.

"Can I help you?" the tech asked.

"Yeah, we're the, uh...med students." Dean lied.

"Sorry?" the med tech asked, obviously confused.

"Oh, Doctor." Dean said, pausing a moment as he tried to remember the doctor's name, "Figlavitch, didn't tell you?" he asked, stumbling over the name. "We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper."

"Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch." the tech said.

"Oh, well he said, uh...oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?" Dean asked.

"Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want." the tech explained.

"An hour? Ooh, we gotta be heading back to Columbus by then." Dean said, looking over to you and Sam.

"Yeah." Sam said, going along with Dean.

"Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out." Dean said.

"Uh, look, man...no." the morgue tech said,

Dean laughed a little before turning around and mumbling to you, "I'm gonna hit him in his face, I swear."

You smacked him on the arm before shrugging off your jacket and handing it to Dean, pulling down the front of your tank top just a little before stepping up the to morgue tech.

"Hi." you sweetly said, giving him a big smile.

"H-hi." he stammered out, his eyes laser focused on your chest.

"I know you're not supposed to let us back there, but we came all this way." you said, leaning down over the desk a little. "I would really, really appreciate it if you let us see the body." you said, brushing your hand over his.

"I...I don't know." he said, Sam reaching for his wallet, prepared to pay him off.

"Oh, come on." you said, smiling sweetly at him as you trailed your fingers up his arm, "I bet you could tell us more than that silly doctor could. I can tell you're a smart guy." you said, leaning down until your face was inches from his, "And I got to tell you...smart men just do something to me." you said, in a sultry whisper, the morgue tech's eyes bugging out.

"S-sure. I...I can show you. Follow me." he said, flustered.

"See." you said, winking at him. "I knew I was right about you." you purred, the morgue tech swallowing loudly before walking away.

"I thought I was gonna have to bribe the guy." Sam said, a smile on his face as he shook his head.

"Not with the money we earned." you said, gesturing between you and Dean.

"You guys won it in a poker game." Sam said.

"Yeah, but I mean, come on, Sam, I had everything under control. You really shouldn't doubt my skills. There's nothing that a little flirting can't fix." you said, taking your jacket from Dean and slipping it on, "Well, that and boobs. Yeah, having boobs is a big help." you said, adjusting your tank top and bra. "Let's go boys. We ain't got all day." you added before walking away.

"Now, the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding." Sam said, as the morgue tech pulled back the sheet over Steven's face.

"More than that. They practically liquefied." the tech said, looking only at you.

"Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?" Dean asked, uncomfortable with the way the guy was staring at you.

"Nope, besides the daughter, he was all alone." he said, still only looking at you.

"What's the official cause of death?" you asked.

"Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure." the tech explained.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, the tech ignoring him.

"What do you think it was. I bet you have some interesting theories of your own." you said, the tech smiling at you.

"Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen." the tech said, you nodding your head.

"And, uh, what do you think could cause something like that?" you asked.

"Capillaries can burst, see a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims." the tech said, trying to impress you with his knowledge.

"Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor." he said.

"Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper." Dean said.

"I'm not really supposed to show you that." the tech said before you stepped towards him.

"Please, it really would be a big help, and you want me to do good on my paper, don't you?" you asked, your finger tapping the middle of his chest.

"O-of course I do, but I could get in a lot of trouble." he said.

"What's life without a few risks? I have a feeling you can be a pretty big risk taker." you said, Dean shaking his head in the background, completely annoyed. "You know, maybe when we get done with this paper...well, if I get all of the information I need to do well on it, then I could take you out for drinks. You know, show you how much your help meant to me." you said, running your tongue along your bottom lip.

"Oh, God." the tech breathed out. "I...uh...I'll be right back with that, that report." he said, bumping into some equipment as he scrambled from the room.

You turned back to Sam and Dean once he left the room, laughing under your breath, "It's like shooting fish in a barrel." you said.

Dean scoffed, "You know, sometimes you just..." he said, not finishing his statement as he stormed off.

"What the fuck's up his ass?" you asked Sam. "He should be happy. I got him what he wanted." you said.

Sam shrugged his shoulders, "He, uh, he just gets moody sometimes. You know that." he said, even though he had a pretty good idea why Dean was so pissed off.

You nodded your head, "Yeah, we better get him something to eat if we want to be anywhere around him for the rest of the day. He's ridiculous when he's hungry." you said before walking out after him.

The three of you were walking down stairs, "Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing." Sam said.

"His fuckin' eyeballs exploded, Sam. That is not the typical sign of a stroke." you said.

"How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually ever been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?" Dean asked, speaking only to Sam.

"Uh, almost never." Sam replied.

"Exactly." Dean said, still refusing to look in your direction.

"All right, let's go talk to the daughter." Sam said.

You grabbed Dean's arm, stopping him, "We'll be right there." you said to Sam, waiting until he left to turn to Dean, "What's your deal?" you asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he said.

"Really?" you asked. "Cause I got a feeling that you're pissed at me for some reason." you said.

"Yeah, really, Y/N. Now, can we go? We got more important shit to do than stand here talking about your imaginary feelings." Dean clipped out.

"Fine." you shot back, shrugging your shoulders. "After you."

The three of you walked into the Shoemaker home. There was a large picture of Steven Shoemaker on a desk, men dressed in black suits and women in dresses filling the room.

"Feel like we're underdressed." Dean said, looking at everyone in the room.

"Yeah, you can say that again." you said, the three of you walking through the house towards the back.

A man pointed you in the direction of Donna and Lily Shoemaker, Steven's daughters.

"You must be Donna, right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Donna said, looking up at him.

"Hi, uh...we're really sorry." Sam said.

"Thank you." Donna said, confused about who the three of you were.

"I'm Sam, this is Dean. We worked with your dad." Sam said, not introducing you.

Donna looked over at her friend then back to Sam and Dean, "You did?" she asked before focusing on you. "Who's she?" Donna asked, looking at you.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." you said, introducing yourself. "I'm...I'm." you said, pausing as you tried to come up with something.

"My girlfriend." Dean said, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into his side. "So, this whole thing." he said shaking his head. "I mean, a stroke." he said.

"I don't think she wants to talk about this right now." Donna's friend said.

"It's okay. I'm okay." Donna said, assuring her friend.

"Were there any symptoms?" Dean asked.

"Dizziness? Migraines?" you added.

"No." Donna said, her younger sister Lily turning around.

"That's because it wasn't a stroke." Lily said.

"Lily, don't say that." Donna scolded.

"What?" Sam asked, curious to what the little girl meant.

"I'm sorry, she's just upset." Donna said.

"No, it happened because of me." Lily insisted.

"Sweetie, it didn't." Donna said.

Sam got down on eye level with Lily, "Why would you say something like that?" he asked.

"Right before he died, I said it." Lily replied.

"You said what?" Sam asked.

"Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror." Lily said, pausing a moment, "She took his eyes...that's what she does."

"That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault." Donna said.

"I think your sister is right, Lily. This wasn't your fault." you said.

"There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?" Dean asked.

"No, I don't think so." Lily said.

The three of you were back inside the Shoemaker home, making your way upstairs to check out the bathroom.

Sam pushed open the door, dried blood still on the floor, "The Bloody Mary legend...Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?" Sam asked.

"Not that I know of." Dean said, walking into the bathroom while Sam crouched to the floor and touched the dried blood.

"I've learned to pretty much assume that everything is a real thing." you said, following after Dean.

"I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary." Sam said before looking up at you. "We did it ourselves as kids." he said to you.

"Yeah, until Dad came in and told us to stop being idjits." you said, looking around the bathroom.

"Well, as far as we know, nobody dies from it." Sam said.

"Until now." you said.

"Well, maybe everywhere else it's just a story, but here it's actually happening." Dean said.

"The place where the legend began?" Sam asked, Dean shrugging his shoulders as he opened the medicine cabinet.

"I don't see why not." you said, turning back to face Sam. "I mean, all stories have to start somewhere."

"But, according the legend, the person who says B-" Sam stopped himself, closing the medicine cabinet because the mirror was facing him. "The person who says you know what gets it, but here-" Sam said before Dean interrupted.

"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah." Dean said.

"Right." Sam said.

"Well, something's definitely going on. I mean, you can't still think it's a freak medical thing, even if it doesn't follow the legend to a T." you said, Sam nodding his head.

"I've never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out, but maybe Y/N's right. Maybe it's just not following along exactly with the legend." Dean said.

"It's worth checking into." Sam said, you and Dean nodding in agreement.

The three of you were leaving the bathroom, "What are you doing up here?" Donna's friend asked, startling each of you.

"We...we had to go to the bathroom." Dean said.

"Who are you?" she asked, eyeing the three of you suspiciously.

"Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad, and this is my girlfriend." Dean said.

"He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself." she said.

"No, I know, I meant-" Dean tried before being interrupted.

"And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So, you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming." she threatened.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." you mumbled.

"All right. All right. We think something happened to Donna's dad." Sam said.

"Yeah, a stroke." she said.

You scoffed, "It wasn't a stroke that killed him." you said, Dean elbowing you.

"What she means to say is that what happened to him...well, it didn’t have signs of a typical stroke. We think it might be something else." Sam said.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Honestly? We don't know yet, but we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth." Sam explained.

"So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead." Dean said.

"Who are you, cops?" she asked.

"Something like that." you said.

"I'll tell you what. Here." Sam said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a pen and paper, scribbling down his cell number, "If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary...just give us a call." he said, handing the paper over to her before the three of you walked away.

"All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof, like a local woman who died nasty." Dean said as the three of you walked into a library.

"You're right, but it's not gonna be easy. There are so many different versions of who she is." you said.

"Right, one story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, and there's a lot more." Sam said.

"My favorite is that it's actually Queen Mary I. She was the daughter of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. She was plagued with phantom pregnancies, that's why some people say she appears holding a baby, but anyway, she signed an act that resulted in the Marian Persecutions where Protestants were burned at the stake. That's how she earned the name Bloody Mary." you said.

"Whoa, you're nerd is showing." Dean teased. "Why don't you guys just tell me what we are supposed to be looking for." Dean said, you giving him a gentle shove for his comment.

"Every version's got a few things in common." you started, Sam taking over for you.

"It's always a woman named Mary and she always dies in front of a mirror. So, we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill." Sam said.

"Well, that sounds annoying." Dean said.

You chuckled, "Anytime there's reading involved you always say it's annoying." you said, nudging him.

"You always say it's annoying." Dean mocked, nudging you back.

"No, it won't be so bad. As long as we..." Sam trailed off, looking at the computers which all had out of order signs on them.

"Well, shit." you said, Sam chuckling.

"I take it back. This will be very annoying." Sam said.

You were back in the motel room, you and Dean busy researching while Sam slept, the two of you deciding to let him sleep instead of waking him up for help.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I got nothing." you said, closing your laptop before looking over at Dean.

"Yeah, me either." Dean said, a little frustrated as he looked over at Sam, "He's gonna be pissed that we let him sleep."

You glanced over at Sam, "He needs it." you said, the two of you slipping into silence.

"I, uh, I'm sorry." Dean finally said.

"What?" you asked.

"I kinda snapped at you after we left the morgue." he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Ah, it's no big deal...shit like that just happens. I mean, we never get a break from each other. We're always crammed together, it was bound to happen. Plus, I know I'm not the easiest person to be around." you said.

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, I'm not the easiest either." he said.

"You got that right, Winchester." you teased. "I mean, the things I put up with." you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean scoffed, "And what things do you have to put up with?" he asked.

"Oh, all sorts of things." you said, smiling at him.

"You know, I put up with a lot of your shit, too." he said.

"Pfft...sure you do." you said, rolling your eyes as you got up to grab a beer, passing him one before sitting back down and grabbing your bag of M&M's.

"I do things for you all the time." he said before raising his beer to his lips.

"Mmm hmm." you hummed out as you opened the bag of candy.

"I bought those for you." he said, pointing to the bag.

"Yeah, cause you ate the last bag, and you didn't even save me any." you said before popping a few M&M's in your mouth, "Besides, I do shit for you all the time, too." you added.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "I do more for you." he said, knowing he would rile you up.

"Please." you said.

"What? I do. I always let you take the first shower." he said.

"No, you don't. We have to argue about it for thirty minutes first, then SOMETIMES you just get tired of hearing me talk and give up." you said.

"You're still getting the first shower." he shot back.

"Well, I always give you my extra food because I know you're still probably hungry." you said, holding out the bag of M&M's to him.

"Yeah, cause a couple fries or a half eaten slice of pizza really feels me up. It's so generous of you to give me your scraps." he said.

"Well, see if you get anymore fries from me." you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, how will I ever survive without those two extra fries?" Dean sarcastically asked.

"Ah, here's a good one. I'm always your wingman, and I do a good fuckin' job. You know, weedin' out the crazies, or coming in to save your ass if a crazy slips by me." you said.

"Hey, I do the same thing for you." Dean said, pointing his finger at you.

"No, you intimidate everyone at the bar, so no one even talks to me." you said.

"It's not my fault none of them passes the test." Dean shot back.

"The last time we went out and a guy approached me at the bar...you looked straight at him and told him to fuck off." you said.

"Oh, come on, Y/N...the guy was clearly a douchebag." Dean argued. "I was savin' your ass."

"Oh, don't start with the savin' your ass thing, cause I'm constantly savin' yours." you said.

"You're delusional, Sweetheart." Dean said.

"Oh please, look at the last case we worked." you said.

"For Jerry?" Dean asked.

"Uh...duh." you said.

"How in the hell did you save my ass on that one?" Dean asked.

"Really, Dean? Oh, I don't know maybe kissing you to calm your ass down so the fuckin' demon wouldn't wear you like a suit." you said.

"Oh, you did that for me? See, I was thinkin' that was all for your benefit." he said.

"Don't flatter yourself, De." you said.

"You know, if you ever want a repeat of that...all you have to do is ask, Sweetheart." Dean said, a smirk on his face.

"Who's the delusional one now?" you asked.

"Don't you dare sit there and tell me you didn't like it." he said.

"Meh." you simply said, shrugging your shoulders.

"Meh? Meh?!" Dean asked, offended. "Are you serious right now?"

"Did I stutter?" you asked, knowing you were pushing his buttons.

"W-what? No, I...I..." Dean trailed off, shaking his head. “Get over here, Singer.” he said.

"Why?" you asked, one eyebrow raised as you grabbed your beer.

"Because Dean Winchester is not meh." he said, "And I'm gonna prove it."

"De, you just referred to yourself in the third person. That's pretty meh." you teased.

Dean jumped to his feet, quickly closing the gap between the two of you as Sam jerked awake, "Why'd you guys let me fall asleep?" Sam asked, impeccable timing as always.

"Sorry, Sam." you said before turning to face him. "We, uh, just thought you needed it." you added, Dean stepping away from you and taking a seat.

"I was gonna say cause I'm an awesome brother. You know, letting you out of all the boring research, but I guess you like that part. So, what did you dream about?" Dean asked, your own nightmare about Dean flashing through your mind.

"Lollipops and candy canes." Sam said.

"Yeah, sure." Dean replied.

"Must have been some terrifying fuckin' candy canes." you said before draining the rest of your beer.

"Did you guys find anything?" Sam asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?" Dean asked as Sam sat up.

"Yeah." you said, popping a few more M&M's in your mouth before standing up to grab another beer, "Frustrated is an understatement."

"Did you guys really try to find anything or were you just sitting here drinking?" Sam asked.

"Of course we did, Sam. We looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, fuckin' sucks to be that guy, but no Mary." you said.

Sam fell back on the bed, "Maybe we just haven't found it yet." he said.

"We've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know...eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary." Dean said, Sam's cell phone ringing , a look of concern coming over his face as he listened.

"Well, De, maybe it's Mary after all." you said.

Charlie, Donna's friend, was sitting on a park bench crying. Dean was sitting on the back of the bench, his feet wide enough apart for you to sit between, and Sam was standing.

"And, they found her on the bathroom floor, and her...her eyes...they were gone." Charlie sobbed out.

"I'm sorry." Sam said.

"And she said it." Charlie said, you and Dean looking up at Sam. "I heard her say it, but it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?"

"No, you're not insane." Dean said.

"Oh, God, that makes me feel so much worse." she said.

"Charlie, listen, we...we think something is going on here. Something that's gonna sound crazy." you said.

"Something that can't be explained." Sam added.

"And we're gonna stop it, but we could use your help." Dean said.

Charlie was in Jill's room, her friend that died. She locked the door after her, and crossed the room to open the window where you, Sam, and Dean were waiting to enter.

Sam entered first, Dean tossing him a duffel bag before climbing through himself, holding his hand out to you to help you through once he was inside.

Sam was going through the bag on the bed, "What did you tell Jill's mom?" he asked.

"Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things." Charlie said, Sam pulling something out of the bag while Dean closed the curtains, "I hate lying to her." she added.

"Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights." Dean instructed.

Charlie turned off the lights, "What are you guys looking for?" she asked.

"I don't think we really know yet." you said.

"But we'll let you know as soon as we find it." Dean said.

"Hey, night vision." Sam said, holding out a camera to Dean, Dean turning on the night vision for him, "Perfect." Sam said, the camera aimed at Dean.

"Do I look like Paris Hilton?" Dean asked, Sam walking away instead of replying.

You chuckled, "Oh, one night in Dean Winchester." you said, referencing Paris Hilton's sex tape. "That'd be something to see." you added.

"Really?" Dean asked, whipping around to face you, a smirk on his face. "As good as I think you'd look in night vision...I think I'd prefer full color, special lighting...you know, pull out all the stops." he said.

"Oh, and what makes you think I would ever do that?" you asked.

"You were the one who said it would be something to see, Sweetheart." he said.

You nodded your head, "Doesn't mean I want to join in." you said. "Besides, you couldn't handle me, Cowboy." you added, winking at him before joining Sam at the closet.

"You guys done?" Sam asked.

"Sorry." you said.

"So, I don't get it. I mean...the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?" Sam asked.

"I...I don't know, Sam." you said.

"Beats me." Dean said as Sam closed the closet door, "I want to know why Jill said it in the first place."

"Yeah, I mean...how fuckin' stupid was that?" you asked, cringing a little when Charlie cleared her throat. "Sorry." you said, glancing over at her.

"It's just a joke." Charlie said.

"Does any of this look like a fucking joke to you?" you asked, coming off a little harsh.

"Well, somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time." Dean said.

Sam was in the bathroom, filming around the mirror, stopping when he noticed trickles of something running out from behind the mirror.

"Hey!" Sam called out, you, Dean, and Charlie turning to look at him, "There's a black light in the trunk, right?" he asked.

Sam carried the mirror out to Jill's bed and laid it down, upside down. Dean tossed him the black light and Sam pulled off the brown paper on the back of the mirror before shining the black light over it, a handprint and the name Gary Bryman glowing back at him.

"Gary Bryman?" Charlie asked.

"You know who that is?" Sam asked.

"No." Charlie replied.

"Are you sure? This is really important. Just think for a minute." you said.

"I told you no. I have no idea who that is." Charlie said.

You, Dean, and Charlie were sitting on a bench, waiting for Sam.

"So, Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy. Two years ago he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry, but nobody got the plates or saw the driver." Sam said.

"Oh my God!" Charlie exclaimed.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Jill drove that car." she said, you and Dean looking up at Sam.

"We need to get back to your friend Donna's house." Dean said.

The three of you were in the bathroom of Donna's house, hunched over the back of the mirror with a black light, a handprint and the name Linda Shoemaker written across the back.

"Linda Shoemaker." Sam said.

"Maybe it's the mom." you suggested before the three of you went back downstairs to talk to Donna.

"Why are you asking me this?" Donna asked.

"Because it's really important." you said.

"Look, we're sorry, but she's right. It is important." Sam said, much gentler than you.

"Yeah, Linda's my mom, okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident, and that's it. I think you should leave." Donna said.

"Now, Donna, just listen." Dean said, trying to reason with her.

"Get out of my house!!" she yelled before running upstairs.

"Yeah, I don't think it was an accident." you said, after Donna left.

"Oh my God. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?" Charlie asked.

"Maybe." Sam replied.

"I think I should stick around." Charlie said, worried about her friend.

"All right. Whatever you do, don't-" Dean tried to say before Charlie cut in.

"Believe me, I won't say it." she said.

Sam was looking at some papers posted to a bulletin board while you and Dean were at the computer.

"Wait, wait, wait...you guys are doing a nationwide search?" Sam asked.

"Yep." you replied.

"The NDIC, the FBI datebase...at this point any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me." Dean said.

"Yeah, me too." you added.

"But, if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town." Sam said.

"I'm telling you there's nothing local. We've checked, so unless you got a better idea." Dean said.

"Look, Sam, I've been wracking my fucking brain trying to come up with something, but I'm coming up empty. The only thing I've noticed that might be a thing is the way she chooses her victims." you said, Sam nodding his head.

"Like there's a pattern." Sam said.

"Yeah." you replied.

"I was thinking the same thing." Dean said.

"With Mr. Shoemaker and Jill's hit and run." Sam started.

"Both had secrets where people died." Dean finished.

"Maybe she's punishing them." you suggested.

"Right, I mean, there's a lot of folklore about mirrors, that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them." Sam said.

"Right, right. So, maybe if you've got a secret, I mean, like a really nasty one where someone died then Mary sees it, and like Y/N said...punishes you for it." Dean said.

"Whether you're the one that summoned her or not." Sam said.

"Well, I say it's the best theory we've had so far. Now, we just need to track down our Mary." you said.

"Take a look at this." Dean said before printing out another picture, passing it over to you and Sam when it finished printing.

"T-R-E." you said, looking at the letters on the mirror, a woman lying next to a mirror in a puddle of blood.

"Looks like the same handprint." Sam said, looking down at the photo.

"Her name was Mary Worthington, an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana." Dean said.

"Well, boys." you said, looking between the two of them. "Looks like we're headed to Indiana."

"I was on the job for thirty five years, detective for most of that. Now, everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder, that one still gets me." the Fort Wayne detective explained.

"What exactly happened?" Dean asked.

"You guys said you were reporters?" the detective asked.

"We know Mary was 19, lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, and dreamt of getting out of Indiana, and being an actress." Sam said before you jumped in.

"And we know the night of March 29th, someone broke into her apartment and murdered her, cut out her eyes with a knife." you added.

"That's right." the detective said.

"See sir, when we asked you what happened, we wanted to know what you think happened." Sam said.

The detective pulled some files from a file cabinet, "Technically, I'm not supposed to have a copy of this." he said, opening the file to reveal the same photo the three of you had seen earlier, "Now, see that there? T-R-E?" he asked.

"Yeah." you and Dean said in unison.

"I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer." he said.

"You know who it was?" Sam asked.

"Not for sure." the detective replied.

"You had to have someone in mind." you said.

"There was a local man, a surgeon, Trevor Sampson." he said, pulling out a picture of the man, "And I think he cut her up good."

"Now, why would he do something like that?" Sam asked.

"Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial T. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell T's wife about their affair." the detective explained.

"That sounds like motive to me." you said.

"Yeah, but how do you know it was Sampson who killed her?" Dean asked.

"It's hard to say, but the way her eyes were cut out...it was almost professional." he said.

"But you could never prove it?" Dean asked.

"No, no prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous." the detective said.

"Is he still alive?" you asked.

"Nope." the detective said, sitting down and sighing, "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret, but she never could."

"Where's she buried?" Sam asked.

"She wasn't. She was cremated." he said.

"What about that mirror?" Dean asked, nodding at the on in the picture, "It's not in some evidence lock up somewhere is it?"

"Ah, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago." the detective replied.

"You have the names of her family by any chance?" Sam asked.

The three of you were back in the car, Sam busy talking on the phone.

"Oh, really? Ah, that's too bad, Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot of money for that mirror. Okay, well maybe next time. All right, thanks." Sam said before hanging up.

"I'm gonna guess that it wasn't good news." you said, leaning up from the backseat.

"So, that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques, a store in Toledo." Sam said.

"So, wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes? " Dean asked.

"That's what it sounds like to me." you said.

"Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow." Sam said.

"Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, there is. When someone would die in a house, people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped." you said.

"So, Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit." Dean said.

"Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it." Dean said.

"I agree. Hell, I say we just smash all of em'." you said.

Dean chuckled, "You just like breaking shit." he said.

"So do you." you argued, Sam's phone ringing before Dean could reply.

"Hello." he said, a look of concern on his face, "Charlie?" he asked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I thought we made it pretty fuckin' clear what would happen." you said under your breath.

The three of you had Charlie in your motel room. She was sitting on bed, her head on her knees while you, Sam, and Dean were throwing sheets over the mirrors, turning some to face the wall or floor.

Sam sat next to Charlie, "Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes, Charlie. It's okay, all right." Sam said and Charlie slowly looked up. "Now, listen...you're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass or anything else that has a reflection, okay? As long as you do that, she cannot get to you." Sam said.

"But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?" she asked.

"No, no, not anytime soon." Sam said.

Dean sat down on the bed, "All right, Charlie. We need to know what happened." he said.

"We were in the bathroom, and Donna said it." Charlie said.

"That's not what we're talking about. Something happened, didn't it? In your life, a secret...where someone got hurt? Can you tell us about it?" Dean asked.

"N-no. I, um...no, nothing happened." she said.

"Charlie, if you want our help we are going to have to know what happened. Trust me...we've all seen and heard worse." you said.

"I had this boyfriend. I loved him, but he kind of scared me too, you know? One night, at his house, we got in this fight, then I broke up with him, and he got upset. He said he needed me and he loved me, and he said Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself...and you know what I said? I said go ahead, and I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have." Charlie said before breaking down into tears again.

The three of you were back in the car, rain beating down against the windshield.

"Kind of seems like Mary is playing a little fast and loose with the rules here. I mean, Charlie doesn't deserve to die." you said.

"Yeah, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault." Dean said.

"Both of you know as well as I do that spirits don't exactly see shades of gray. Charlie had a secret, someone died, and that's good enough for Mary." Sam said.

"I guess." Dean said.

"You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror." Sam said.

"Oh, come on, Sam." you said.

"Why? What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean, she moves around from mirror to mirror so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So, maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it." Sam said.

"Fuck, I don't know, Sam. I think we should just smash everything." you said.

"How do you know that's going to work?" Dean asked.

"I don't, not for sure." Sam replied.

"Well, who's gonna summon her?" Dean asked.

"I will. She'll come after me." Sam said.

"Sam." you sadly said, "Don't do this to yourself." you pleaded.

"You know what, that's it." Dean said before pulling the car to the side of the road, "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret...that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares, and the calling her name out in the middle of the night. It's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her, or hell, why don't you take a shot at me? I mean, I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place." Dean said.

"I don't blame you." Sam said.

"Well, you shouldn't blame yourself because there's nothing you could've done." Dean said.

"Hey!" you yelled, getting their attention. "It's nobodies fucking fault, not yours, Sam, and not yours, Dean. The only thing to blame is the asshole that did it. Sam, I can't imagine what you're going through. I know it has to be fucking horrible, but you have to stop. You are letting your guilt eat you alive, and you have no reason to feel guilty. I'm just scared that if you keep this up, you're just gonna be a shell of your former self, and I don't want to sit by and watch that happen. You did nothing wrong, Sam. "you said.

"I could've warned her." Sam said.

"About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! Besides, all of this isn't a secret. I mean, we know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway." Dean said.

"No, you guys don't." Sam said.

"We don't what? What is that supposed to mean?" you asked.

"You guys don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything." Sam said.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Sam asked.

"Sam, this is fucking stupid." you said, leaning over the front seat.

"She's right. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it." Dean said.

"Y/N, Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it, and you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now, we're doing this. You guys have got to let me do this." Sam argued.

The three of you were outside of the antique store where the mirror was supposed to be. Sam was busy picking the lock on the door while you and Dean kept watch.

"Well...that's just great." Dean said as he walked in, the shop full of mirrors, before pulling out the photo of Mary's body to look at the mirror in the photo, "All right, let's start looking."

The three of you split up, searching the store before meeting up again.

"I got nothing." you said.

"Maybe they've already sold it." Dean said.

Sam raised his flashlight, the beam of light stopping on a mirror, "I don't think so." he said.

Dean pulled out the picture to compare the mirrors, "That's it." he sighed, "You sure about this?" he asked Sam.

Sam sighed, "Bloody Mary." he said, looking over at you and Dean, both of you giving him an unsure look. "Bloody Mary." Sam said again, Dean turning to see a light coming in through the store.

"I'll go check that out. You guys stay here, be careful. You watch his back, Singer." Dean said and you readied the crowbar you were holding. "Smash anything that moves." he said before taking off towards the front door.

Sam said the name for the last time, you and him standing in front of the mirror waiting for Mary to appear. The sound of someone breathing caught your attention, and you noticed Mary out of the corner of your eye. You raised the crowbar and smashed the mirror, following her to the next mirror and smashing that one too.

"Come on. Come into this one." Sam said before looking oddly at his reflection.

You noticed that Sam seemed to be having trouble breathing, and noticed a trickle of blood coming out of his eye.

"Sam? Sam!!" you said, dropping the crowbar to grab onto him, everything changing once you touched him.

The first thing you noticed was how dark it was, and you looked around trying to see where you were. You were in a bedroom, but it wasn't one you had ever been in before.

You could make out a figure laying on the end of the bed, and you stepped forward trying to see who it was, "Sam?" you asked, once you realized it was him, but he didn't seem to hear you.

You watched his hand come up and wipe something from his face, his eyes immediately focusing in on the ceiling. You looked up, following his gaze, and there she was, Jess. She was pinned to the ceiling and you watched in shock as she burst into flames, Sam screaming out for her.

Suddenly the scene changed again, and you watched Sam jerk awake like he just had a horrible nightmare. You looked over and noticed that Jess was sleeping peacefully beside him, but before you could say anything you were back in the store.

"You dreamed about it before it happened." you said, looking at Sam.

"You never told her the truth, who you really were." the reflection in the mirror said, Sam now falling towards the ground. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning...you had them for days before she died. Didn't you? You were so desperate to ignore them, to believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her alone to die?!? You dreamt it would happen!!!" Mary yelled, you leaving Sam's side for a moment to pick up the crowbar.

"Shut the fuck up you psychotic bitch." you said before you shattered the mirror.

"Sam, Sammy!!" you heard Dean yell, turning to see him next to Sam on the floor.

"It's Sam." Sam said, before looking over at you, a shocked expression on his face, you subtly shaking your head telling him now wasn't the time.

"God, are you okay?" Dean asked Sam, looking at the blood on his face.

"Uh, yeah. "Sam said, the two of you still focused on each other, Sam looking like he had a million questions for you.

"Come on. Come on." Dean said, pulling Sam up.

"Here, let me help." you said, Dean putting one of Sam's arms around his neck, you doing the same on the other side.

A crunching sound stopped you all in your tracks, the three of you turning around to see Mary crawling over the broken glass.

"Fuck." you said before the three of you fell to the floor, all you of bleeding from your eyes.

Dean was able to reach a mirror, and he held it up so that Mary was forced to see her own reflection.

"You killed them. All those people! You killed them!" Mary's reflection said, Mary choking to death and melting into a puddle of blood moments later.

"Crazy fuckin' bitch." you said as Dean tossed the mirror down, shattering it.

"Hey guys?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?" you and Sam asked in unison.

"This has got to be like...what? Six hundred years of bad luck?" he teasingly asked, Sam chuckling weakly.

"Don't even fuckin' joke about that, De. We are the last three people on Earth that need bad luck." you said.

Dean pulled up in front of Charlie's house, "So this is really over?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's over." Dean said, nodding his head.

"Thank you." Charlie said, shaking his hand.

"You take care of yourself, Charlie." you said before she got out of the car.

"Charlie?" Sam asked, causing her to turn around, "Your boyfriend's death...you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen." Sam said, Charlie giving him a faint smile before turning back around.

Dean playfully hit Sam, "That's good advice." he said before driving off. "Hey, Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam said.

"Now that this is all over, I want you to tell us what that secret is." Dean said.

Sam turned in his seat to look at you, the two of you having a quick silent conversation. He had tried to pull you aside earlier, and ask you how you knew what he was dreaming, but you brushed him off, saying that it was just a lucky guess, Sam knowing instantly just how full of shit you were.

"Look...you're my brother, and Y/N is like a sister to me, and I'd die for you guys, but there are some things I need to keep to myself." Sam said to Dean before looking back at you, "I mean, all of us have secrets, things we don't tell each other, right?" Sam asked, you subtly nodding your head, letting him know that you knew what he meant.

Dean chuckled, looking at you in the rearview mirror, "What are you agreeing with him for , Y/N? I don't think you can keep a secret. Especially not from me...I always get it out of you one way or the other." Dean said.

"Yeah." you said, pausing for a moment as your mind raced with different things to explain what happened to you back at that store. Maybe Dean would know. Maybe he could help you. No, no, you couldn't tell him, not until you knew for sure. "You can read me like a book." you added, turning to look out the window as your guilt over keeping him in the dark started to eat away at you.

Tags: @22sarah08 @miraclesoflove @deans-baby-momma @spnae @hawkeyetrained

#supernatural #series rewrite #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #dean x you #reader insert #dean #sam winchester #spn #spn fic

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takadasaiko · 5 years

Text

Second Chances: Chapter Six

FFN II AO3

Summary: Steve has every intention of returning the Infinity Stones to their correct place in the timeline and heading back to his own. His problems start when he makes an impulse decision to jump over to 1946 and Peggy decides to go back home with him. It only gets more complicated from there when Howard tags along with them to 2023. Tony lives fix-it fic. Pepperony.

Chapter Summary: Steve tries to figure out how to best handle the situation without admitting to Tony that he's brought not one but two people from the past into 2024.

Chapter Six

Howard had always liked a good challenge, and convincing Steve and Peggy that he had reluctantly given up on the idea of going with them had certainly been one. Peg lived in a state of suspicion with him - especially after his fib over the vile a few weeks before - and Steve had called him on his tendency to misdirect and straight out lie more than once during the War. He had been questioning when the ruse would be up, but now the question seemed to be which one of them would take a swing first. Howard lifted his hands in defense. "It's not nearly as bad as you're thinking it is."

"No, it's worse," Steve snapped.

"How? You talk to your buddy - Tony, right? The one that set you up with that suit - and he'll be able to send me back to the same day I left. No biggie. I'll even get to deliver Peg's letter."

He glanced over to find Peggy massaging the bridge of her nose, all of the earlier joy and excitement completely washed out of her. "That's never been the issue Howard. I'm staying, but if you go back seeing all of the advancements, everything that could suddenly have Starkon it rather than whatever name should have been attached —"

"Ouch, Peg. You think I'm here to, what? Steal technology? Like I can't come up with my own?"

"You don't have to steal anything to alter your own timeline in ways that can't-"

"Like taking Peggy from it?" Howard cut Steve off, the amusement no longer lining his voice. He'd expected pushback and plenty of eye rolling, maybe even a swing in his direction, but this was rich coming from them. "Yeah, neither of you have a lot of wiggle room on that one. I'm not going to destroy time and space by being here. Not how it works. Hell, I could meet myself and three generations after me and all it'd do is make for a potentially awkward situation." He pulled in a breath, trying to reel in the burst of temper along with it. "I just want to see it. Walk through Manhattan and then I'll go home like I was never here at all. You've seen it, Peg gets to see it…. All I'm doin' is asking for a chance to peek through the curtain. That's it. No harm done, I swear."

The breeze pushing at the trees overhead was the only sound for a long moment as both Cap and Peggy stared at him. Finally Steve loosed a breath. "We'll have to get ahold of a couple of people to make it happen."

"See, not so bad," Howard responded, his tone light again.

Cap didn't look entirely convinced as he pushed forward. "C'mon."

Peggy followed immediately, falling into lockstep with him. Howard waited half a beat before hurrying to join them. Well, it hadn't been smooth, but at least he'd made it.

___________

The first thing he did was grab a newspaper. June 2024. Okay. That wasn't…. terrible. Not great, but not terrible. He'd been gone just a little under a year then, even though it had only been a couple of weeks for him. That added complications, sure, but at least it wasn't decades this time.

Steve had no idea if his apartment would have been leased to someone else, but that was his second stop. If he were lucky - really lucky - the key would be….. there.

"Checkin' to see if the maid cleaned while you were away?" Howard popped off behind him as Steve ran his fingers along the top of the trimming around the door. He held up the key that he found there and Howard chuckled, lifting his hands in defeat.

Steve fit the key into the lock and turned, hearing the mechanisms shift and the lock slide out of place. He turned the knob and pushed inward. He was met immediately by the muted sound of the television. He was sure he didn't leave one on. Mostly because he didn't even own one when he'd left.

"Someone kept it up," Peggy said cautiously and Steve made a small sound of acknowledgement.

He was halfway to telling Howard to wait outside when the creek of the old, pre-war apartment's floor sounded a warning and Peggy shouted as Steve spun, meeting his attacker to block the blow aimed at him. Both men froze and he found a set of dark eyes on him. "I'll be damned," Sam Wilson managed. "Cap. You're back."

His lips tilted at the corners and he lowered his defenses. "Yeah, Sam. I'm back."

"With friends," the other man said uncertainly, motioning to Peggy and Howard.

Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah…. Sam, this is Peggy Carter and Howard….. Stark."

The younger man's expression inched towards amusement. "Hell, Cap. He's gonna kill you."

Steve didn't even have to ask who he was. He was well aware. "Yeah, I know. I, uh…. We're going to fix it. I'd rather let him know after we get Howard back to the past."

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "So…. she's staying?"

"She is," Peggy grumbled, obviously irritated at being talked about without being included.

"But he's not?"

Steve could feel the tension building in the room between the questions and the lack of names and the overall vagueness that wouldn't set well with anyone. Peggy had squared her shoulders next to him and Howard…. okay apparently the tension was all Peggy. Howard was halfway into the apartment. His fingers drifted over the TV that Sam must have brought with him when he'd taken over Steve's lease, dark eyes wide as he explored every inch.

The inventor crouched down in front of the entertainment center, fixated. "Is this a television?" he managed, and Steve was sure he'd never heard his old friend impressed until that moment. Great. The twenty-first century was going to give Tony's father an aneurysm and there'd be no sending him back. That'd be about the way things played out.

"Yeah…" Sam answered uncertainly.

"And these?" Howard asked, pointing at a collection of various boxes below the TV.

"Uhh… Blu Ray player and gaming systems." He turned to look directly at Steve. "Am I allowed to tell him that?"

"I'm not sure he'd give up until you did," Steve huffed and kept a wary eye on Howard as he continued to explore like a child on Christmas morning shaking gifts under the tree.

"So," Peggy cut in. "Sam, was it?"

"Wilson," Sam acknowledged, reaching a hand out to shake her. "And you are the Peggy Carter. Co-founder of SHIELD."

"Not anymore," she said tensely.

"In our timeline you are. Still makes you damn impressive. Ma'am."

She cracked a small smile at that and Steve found his friend's gaze back in him. "We thought you were gone."

"I took a detour."

"I can see that."

"And you moved into my place."

Sam looked sheepish. "We knew how long it took you to secure a place in Brooklyn that wasn't crazy expensive, and it just…. we couldn't let just anybody take it."

"We?" Steve echoed.

"You've missed a lot in the last few months."

A loud crash sounded off from the kitchen and the three vets jumped, all ready for a fight. Howard peeked around the corner from the kitchen. "Everything's good. It's fine. No irreparable harm done. You weren't attached to those big red bowls, were you, Sammy?"

Sam paled slightly. "You broke my popcorn bowl?!"

___________

There was a shrill squeal that accompanied the five-year-old piling into the middle of the bed. Tony was halfway to sitting before his sleep-addled mind pieced together what was happening. He heard Pepper groan at his side and he reached up blindly, catching Morgan's around the shoulders with his arm and dragging her down into a hug she couldn't pull out of. Morgan squirmed and giggled, but her daddy had her locked into the bear hug, a smile tilting his lips even though his eyes were still closed

"Daddy! Let goooooo."

"Nope. I'm sleeping."

"No you're not!"

"Uh-huh."

"Nu-uh!"

"How did I end up with two kids?" Pepper groaned, and before Tony knew it there was a pillow being awkwardly smacked in their general direction.

"Pillow fight!" Morgan announced.

"Tony, I swear if you let her up —" his wife warned, but he was already loosing his grip.

"What can I say, hon? She's just too good. Regular contortionist. There's no holding her."

Morgan went after her mom first, Pepper laughing as she shielded her face. It wasn't long until she turned on her father too, and the Stark household dissolved into giggly chaos. By the end up it Tony was standing on the bed, feet sinking into the memory foam mattress, and in a standoff with his daughter.

"Drop your weapon or face Iron Girl!" Morgan announced in all seriousness and Tony had to swallow the burst of laughter.

"I thought you'd be at least thirteen before I became the villain. What'd I do?"

"Jumped on the bed and taught our daughter terrible habits," Pepper deadpanned from the bathroom that she had retreated to in order to stay as far away from the waging war as possible.

"You tried to blow up the world," Morgan told him matter-of-factly.

"Wow. I am bad. You're right," he said with a grin.

"I'm gonna beat you!" Morgan announced and threw the pillow, adding sound effects that sounded at least vaguely like the energy beams from the Iron Man suit.

The cube of fluff hit his shins and Tony made a show of going down, bouncing against the bed and flopping out. He felt Morgan creep closer and he cracked an eye open. "You saved the world. Good job, kiddo."

She grinned, showing off her newly missing tooth. "Can I have cinnamon toast for breakfast?"

"Definitely." He scooped her up on his way to rolling off the bed. "Pep, you want an omelet?"

"Just a smoothie. Do we have spinach?" she called from the bathroom.

"We do."

"With banana, please."

"I think I can manage that."

"No strawberries!"

"I know!" he chuckled as he slipped his feet into his slippers, flexing the fingers of his right hand. Stiff and a little slow, they still moved on command, even without the brace. It had been a full week since he'd had to use it, Peter's altered formula for Extremis proving to do the job without leaving his brain itching for more. The kid was good, he had to give him that. The real test would come when the nerve damage was fully repaired and he completely cut himself off from the localized doses. All he would have to rely on was the glowing ARC reactor in his chest to keep his heart beating, but that was hardly abnormal. Strangely enough it had almost been like welcoming back an old friend.

"Boss, Peter Parker is calling in," FRIDAY's voice echoed as Tony and Morgan made it down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"What's the kid doing up at this hour?"

"Fighting bad guys?" Morgan offered.

"Maybe. If so, he missed curfew and his aunt's gonna kill him."

"What's curfew?"

Tony glanced down, finding a big pair of brown eyes latched curiously on him. The questions never ended and he loved it. "When you need to be home," he explained to his daughter. "FRIDAY, put him through."

There was a click of the call connecting as Tony grabbed for the ingredients he needed, Morgan hopping from a stool to the table top and sitting there. She started to cross her legs on the table, but one look from her dad stopped that in its tracks. She gave him the most innocent grin he was sure he'd ever seen. He shot her a look. "Halo's a little crooked there, missy."

"Mr Stark?" Peter's uncertain voice echoed over the speakers.

"Good morning, Pete. You're up early."

"You too."

"If I told you I wasn't would you feel guilty?"

There was a long pause on the other end. "But FRIDAY wouldn't have…. you're joking aren't you?"

"Yup." Tony started sprinkling sugar and cinnamon on the bread. "What's up, kid?"

"Oh, uh…. hows's the new dose working out? Still lasting?"

"So far so good, but I doubt you called me at six in the morning to find that out."

"Daddy, more cinnamon," Morgan instructed and be quirked an eyebrow before dumping more on. She gave a nod of approval.

"Not that I don't like hearing from you, kid, but —"

"CaptainRogersisback."

It took a long moment for his pre-caffeinated brain to work through the run-together words, and even as he did he had trouble believing them. His hands stilled, his eyes unblinking. "What?"

"Captain Rogers is back," Peter said again, slower this time.

"Back?"

"Yeah."

"How…? And how long?"

"I don't know the details. I shouldn't even be telling you…."

"Like hell you shouldn't," Tony growled. "Where'd you hear it?"

"Uhhh….. through the Avengers grapevine."

Avengers grapevine? What did that even mean? Tony hadn't been thatfar out of the loop. "Where is he?"

"His place. In Brooklyn. From what I heard," Peter said, his voice entirely uncertain.

Tony pulled in a steadying breath. "Okay. I'll get to the bottom of it. Just…." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Peter didn't need any other pressure on him right then. "Thanks, kid. You did good."

"Really? I didn't break some kind of code or something, did I?"

"Probably, but you kept the one that mattered. I'll be in the city today. I'll drop by and we can talk after you're out of school."

"I'm… on summer break?"

"Right. Okay. Good. After I get done one Brooklyn."

"Do you need the address?"

"No, I've got it." He glanced up at the speaker. "End call."

"Is Uncle Steve in trouble?" Morgan asked from the table.

"He's got some explaining to do," her father grumbled.

"Can he explain after you make cinnamon toast?"

Tony blinked at the half put together breakfast he'd promised his daughter. "Yeah, sweetie. Uncle Steve can wait."

___________

It was one delay after another. First breakfast, then Pepper decided she needed to go into the city that day too, so instead of hopping in the car and going, Tony was waiting on his wife and daughter to get ready. She could tell him all day long that she needed to go into the office for this or that, but she hadn't let him drive the two hours from their cabin into the city alone since they had moved back out. He had the OK from every doctor that mattered saying that he could drive again, but that didn't seem to satisfy her. What if something happened? It was a lingering, albeit unspoken fear, and as much as he would like to he couldn't quite hold it against her. Or tell her no. It was one less thing she had to worry about, even if he knew he was doing better than he had been in a long time.

"Do we get to see Pete?" Morgan asked as she bounded down the stairs, fully dressed and ready to go.

"Yep. After I talk to Uncle Steve."

"Can I see Uncle Steve too?"

"Why don't we let your daddy talk to him first? You can help me at the office," Pepper offered and she looked ready for a board meeting. Maybe she really had been planning to go in that day.

Morgan made a face at the idea and Tony reached out to ruffle her hair. "I won't be long."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"You ready?" Pepper asked as she grabbed the key fob from the ring by the door.

"Any chance you'll let me drive?"

Surprisingly enough she tossed the key his way and he reached up, thankful that his fingers chose to wrap around it rather than let it clatter to the floor. If it was a test or not really didn't matter. He felt like he'd won something in that. One more small step forward.

The trip was filled with Morgan's chatter in and around Pepper filling him in on the meetings she had scheduled for that day. Happy would meet her there and make sure Morgan wouldn't be too bored. Tony was sure that their head of security just lovedthe idea of being put on babysitting duty.

By the time he dropped them off at their New York headquarters plans had changed five times before finally settling on calling Peter to come keep her occupied. He left the situation in the best of hands before turning the Audii towards Brooklyn, his mind racing in the fresh silence. They had told him that Cap hadn't made it back, which they had all taken to mean that something had happened to him. What, they couldn't be sure, but popping back up nearly a year later didn't make any sense. Not telling Tony that he was back made even less. He had thought that, after everything, they were good. When he had left they had been good.

Tony pulled the car up to an apartment building that he'd never seen in person. It was old. Pre-war. Just the type Cap would have gone for. Sam Wilson had moved into it when Cap hadn't come back, so he must know that Steve was home. Who was next in the so-called Avengers grapevine was anybody's best guess. He still wasn't sure how Peter had found out, and he'd been too surprised that morning to press the kid on it.

A tap came at his window and Tony jumped in his seat, turning to find a patrol cop leaned down. "You lost, buddy?" he asked, but as Tony rolled the window down he watched surprise take hold.

"Nah, I'm good. Just here to see a friend."

"Holy crap. You're Iron Man."

"Used to be."

"I heard what you did…. everybody did. Are those —"

He was motioning to the scars that lined the right side of Tony's face and the former Avenger immediately opened the door. "'Scuse me, but I'm already late. You mind?"

"Oh yeah. Yeah, sure. Listen, if it's not too much trouble, my son is a huge fan of yours."

Tony offered a thin smile. "Sure, what's his name?"

A scrawled signature and photo later Tony was on his way up the flights of stairs, feeling it by the time he reached Cap's floor.

He stopped at the door, pulling in a shaky breath and steadying himself. It was fine. He'd get answers and that irritating, nagging feeling of being purposefully left in the dark would dissipate. Cap was always annoyingly consistent in having his reasons for doing things. He reached up, ready to tap against the door as it pulled open from the inside.

Suddenly Steve Rogers was standing right in front of him, a look of surprise plastered on his face. "Tony," he breathed, a little guilt around the edges of his name.

"Knew you were forgetting to tell someone something, huh?" Tony tried for a quip.

"Steve, is really like to see —" The woman who owned the voice rounded the corner and slammed to a stop. "Oh. Hello."

Steve sucked in a breath. "Tony, this is —"

"Peggy Carter," Tony finished for him, the first real smile touching his lips since that morning. "This is all making a lot more sense."

"You're not mad?"

The question sounded too small to be coming out of Captain America's mouth and Tony cracked a grin as he stepped into the apartment. "Well, you're not gonna shatter time and space, I don't think. I'm sure her new timeline will find a way to compensate." He turned to meet his friend's eyes. "You deserve a little happiness after everything. I get it, Cap."

A rush of air left the older man. "You don't know how good it is to hear you say that."

"That doesn't mean I'm not gonna hold this over your head until one of us finally bites the dust."

"Cap, did you say Tony? Your inventor friend?" a voice called out and Tony looked over. That voice sounded like —

"Holy shit," Tony breathed as Howard Stark rounded the corner.

___________

TBC

Notes: And to think I thought this chapter was going to be on the short side... I had a lot of fun with this one. Pepperony fluff, Iron Fam, and Tony realizing that Steve not only brought one person back from the 40's, but two... the other being his dad. I've been looking forward to this chapter for a long time lol Even more so the next chapter.

Next Time: Tony tries to process what's going on and Steve asks for help.

#Endgame fix it fic #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Howard Stark #Tony Stark #Pepper Potts #Morgan Stark #Peter Parker

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originaldetectivesheep · 6 years

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Tales of the Missing 23 - A Sausage Party

It's a well-known fact of life that the best of intentions can sometimes have the worst of consequences; what is somewhat less obvious is that the reverse is sometimes true as well, and the best outcomes can come from the worst and strangest sources.

A Sausage Party

The starless sky was as black as the bottom of a thirty-foot well, but the high old bricks piled up in and over the narrow streets, and the maze of the North End back of Hanover Street still burned like a baking pizza oven. It was past one, maybe past two, for all the flaring blaze of lights out of Rico's 24-Hour Pastry cared, and Jeff was in absolute pieces sitting down under the A/C drip, feet way down off the old high corner curbstones, leaning near as putting his head through the caution-cone marked pickup full of vinyl siding and old furniture parked illegally down the alley. The heat. The late. Beers and craft beers and canned Gansetts watching the game and more beers and old Scotch and cigars down under Breccia's and the heat that didn't quit, no water, and way in back of that was what got them out here in the first place – what all that beer and whiskey and bros bros bros was trying to forget.

Lionel chewed on his lip. This was bad. Dude had to rally. You go out with the guys, try to forget and shed that off and make a new start, you take some damage, naturally, but there was damage and there was damage and this was real bad. You didn't get a fresh start poured into an Uber off a North End curb where you busted so bad you didn't eat your cannoli. He had to keep this going – Matt and Yang and Pete were all out, Will like batmanned while they were in the pastry shop, and Sam and Jhon'd ducked out after the game, handshakes and daps and keep-your-chin-ups before the night even really began. It was only him and Jeff left – him and Jeff and Will but where the hell was Will even dude wasn't answering his texts – so as far as fixing this got, it was really only him.

Lionel sat down next to Jeff, sliding his cannoli box on over next to him. "Hey," he said. "Hey, man; Jeff, let's pick it up. Let's go back over Breccia's; we can sit upstairs and not choke on cigars, take another glass of that Aberlour and finish tonight off good, aight? We had a good time, right, man? This isn't the kind of night that ends with a pastry box getting dripped off the roof." Something splashed down on the plastic as if to make a point, but Jeff still shook his head.

"No – it's no good. I – I can't stop thinking about her – all these girls we seen and you and Matt talked up, I kept seeing her face. No good – ashes, ashes in my mouth. I'm not going to be right again." This was worse than drunk, and this wasn't something that was going to get fixed by just eating the damn cannoli.

Lionel took a deep breath, in and out, lips pursed like he was blowing a ring of smoke into the still, baking air. De profundis. Preach it – might as well. "Jeff, it is not about her, and it is not about any her; it is about you, and getting you to where you can get your head up out of the gutter and see again. Jeff right now you are down, like we are down, in this maze of brick-oven streets and deep-cut cobbles and we cannot see the moon and stars up above our heads, but that ain't mean we cannot get up onnatoppa these buildings and make ourselves a new vista, cannot do the work and make the climb and reach the mountaintop. But worse than that right now Jeff you are not looking up; your eyes are down in the street-grate mulch of depression and self-pity and you think, just because you washed down here with cigarette butts and people's Dunkin Donuts cups, that you belong there, that you got to fill your eyes with the world around you because it is the world around you, right now, like that's permanent.

"But Jeff I'm telling you that you are meant for more than this! You been to the mountaintop, and you can get there again! Roll up, man, roll over – just because you down in the gutter don't mean you don't got the right to look up at the stars! Look up, and if you ain't see them, you know they're there – you can get yourself up, up where you can! This place right now ain't all of it! How you're feeling now, you ain't gonna feel forever! Look up! Maybe not right up under here right now, yeah, because I ain't positive it's water dripping out of that A/C thing, but inside! Stand up! Look up! You're free, now, man – you're free to pick out your own way!

"There's no such thing as love at first sight – we're grown, you know that the same as I do. Don't worry about that – don't worry that you don't find some crazy meet-cute out of the movies. Alls you got to do is get it right, do it right: one step at a time, take care of yourself, keep swiping right, start small, be smart, stay real. You can do this, man. I know you can. Ain't I known you forever? Come on, Jeff – how're you gonna not believe in yourself when everyone else is believing?" Jeff had his head up, half up, now, bleary-eyed but like he was getting it, half getting it, and Lionel stared deep into his eyes until he nodded back, deep breath catching in his throat that wasn't a sob, and wavered himself up to his feet, one hand on the truck fender.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Lionel said, standing up and trying to flick the liquid off the top of the cannoli box without burning his hand. "You're all right – we're gonna be all right. Now just eat your cannoli and we can –" – and someone screamed from over the other side of the light-spilling pastry-shop door.

"Ginks! Keergs! Weirdos! Fuck off and take your smiley whale with you, you Vines hobos!" She was an angel, a vision with honey-browned legs going all the way up to jeans shorts cut off right short of where they wouldn't be legal outside a Miami rap video, a killer angel with her blonde ponytail floating over a military-green DuckTours crew shirt, brandishing what looked like shit for real man a hot dog at a bunch of scared golf-visor preps. "You fart-huffing tonsil burps! That's it, fuck off! But you ain't gonna not get what's coming to you, meatlords! Take that!" She threw the hot dog, and from the face of the guy it hit, limpid meat water splattering his immaculate pink polo, you'd think he was about to aneurysm and volcano blood out his ears like a burst water main.

Jeff was past Lionel with the slightest push of his hand even though shit, the first thing you know living in the city is do not get involved when someone flips out and starts throwing meat at people, and hands up in front, pacifying, unarmed, he took a wavering step towards the girl. "Take that! And that! Eat flaming pork asshole death, chowderboys!" She had, shit, she had a whole pack of hot dogs who the hell carries around hot dogs in case they need to throw them at people, Jesus, and slurpy meat sticks were flying out of her hands, shedding water like firework rounds in a bullet hell, and whoever the fuck those people were, whatever the fuck they'd done to her, they were running in confusion, sobbing threats and fevered screams and the angry howls of car horns as they fell through blind corners into traffic, desperately trying to get away. "Yaaah! Yaah! That's right, failpogos! Get the FUCK out!"

"Hey," Jeff said, hands up, only now getting her attention, "are you all right? What's wrong – what did –"

Her green eyes blazed a broadside, and it looked like all Jeff's white-knighting was getting him was a target swap. "WHAT? Since when is this your beeswax, fuckhorse? Get tubed!" She wound up, plastic crunched together in a spinning sidearm softball fist, and she was out of hot dogs but not out of hot dog package, and it blew and expanded and flaffed, the last nitrate dregs spreading as the wet plastic blew out before it made contact, a soft, stinking plotch dead into the middle of Jeff's shirt. She gave him the finger with both hands as he stood there, brain completely pranged, then spun on her heel and stomped off up the cobbled streets and into the night.

Mechanically, Jeff started unbuttoning his shirt to throw it in the gutter where he'd been sitting; it'd been full of cigar smoke anyway and now it was covered in hot dog water and this late shirtless dudes walking out of the North End attracted zero comment. "Yeah, I guess that's me learned," he said, pulling it off, careful to not get any more crap on his hands than there already was. "I thought I could do something, maybe make something out of it, but when a chick – or really, shit, anybody – is chucking hot dogs at people, you got to leave well enough alone, right? Right? Lionel?" He looked up, and Lionel was staring past him, up the road where she'd gone, barely conscious of the cannoli box still in his hands. "Lionel?"

Lionel shook his head. "Oh. Shit. Sorry, my bad. I was just thinking – thinking about her."

"What? The girl who was throwing hot dogs? Why? Do you know her?"

He shook his head again. "No. But – I got to. I think I'm in love."

"What."

Lionel shook his head again. "You know I said it doesn't happen, but I think I got that thunderbolt the old guys talk about round here. One look and bam, man, that's it. I want to know her. I want to help her – that lady needs love, and the love of Jesus Christ. And better sausages. And I wanna be the one who gives her all of that." He was still looking up the street, damn near on misty-eyes, and for the first time that night, Jeff smiled, smiled for real smiled, and his laughter banked and bounced and echoed up off the bricks and out into the wide dark sky.

further Tales of the Missing ...

#fiction #talesofthemissing

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hannahberrie · 7 years

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Snowbound (part 2/2)

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Eleven, Mike Wheeler Characters: Jim Hopper Rating: K WC: 4183 Summary: When El invites Mike to spend the day at the cabin, Hopper finds himself supervising a sleepover he didn't sign up for. Two-shot.

[Part 1] [AO3]

[A/N]: I really strived hard to make sure Hopper has the right balance between protective parent and being caring and sensitive. This user supports a strong Hopper and Mike bond!

While Hopper had been absorbed with his case files and Mike and El had been absorbed with each other, a lake-effect snowstorm had completely taken over Hawkins. The forest had been swallowed up in a hectic mess of billowing snowdrifts, falling sleet, and howling wind. The world beyond the front step of the cabin had been reduced to a dark void, accented only with the snowflakes illuminated by the porch light.

“Shit,” Hopper muttered, dragging a hand down his jaw. He attempted to take a step forward, but the snow on the porch was already a couple feet deep.

He turned to the kids, who were both looking up at him worriedly. “Wait here,” he instructed, “I’m going to be right back.”

“Where are you going?” El asked, placing a hand on his arm. Her eyes were wide with concern, and she was starting to shake from the chill entering the cabin.

“I’m just gonna check on the car,” Hopper explained, placing his hand over hers, “I’ll be back in 10 minutes, tops.”

“Be careful,” El replied, “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll try,” Hopper smiled gently and gave her a small nudge.

“Good luck,” Mike offered, looking up at Hopper earnestly.

Hopper nodded in response, zipped up his coat to his neck, and carefully stepped outside.

The snow was well up to his knees, which, considering Hopper’s height, made it pretty deep. He kept his head low as he trudged through the forest, wind and snow pummeling him from all sides. The walk back to the road felt far longer than it did earlier, and when he finally made it to the car, he realized the entire walk out here was futile.

Snow had piled up so high that the car’s door handles were almost completely obscured. To try and shovel the car out would take all night, and even then, there was no way that he’d be able to drive in horrific conditions such as these.

Great.

With a series of muttered curses, Hopper hurried back to the cabin. By the time he’d reached it, his face felt numb, his legs were sore, and he was almost certain that his entire body had turned into a popsicle.

Mike and El were huddled side-by-side when he entered, clasping each other’s hands. They’d apparently disassembled their fort while waiting for him, and were now anxiously seated on the couch. When the door burst open and Hopper rushed in, they leapt up, shoulders slumping in relief.

“Papa!” El exclaimed. She ran to him, hugging him tightly despite how cold he was. “You’re back!”

Hopper slammed the door shut behind him before returning El’s hug. “It’s alright, kid,” he assured her, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

“It’s scary out there,” El mumbled, sounding slightly sheepish She took a step back and rejoined Mike’s side, looking slightly more at ease.

“Yeah,” Hopper nodded, “There’s no way we’re going out there tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked, brow furrowed.

Hopper eyed both of them and took a deep breath. “It means Mike’s gonna have to stay here. I can’t drive in this.”

El gave a small gasp before clamping her mouth shut tightly, absolutely shaking with excitement.

“Really?” Mike asked, sounding completely thrilled.

“Yes,” Hopper sighed, “Your mother’s gonna kill me, though, so there’s that.”

“It’ll be okay!” Mike offered quickly, “I’ll just call her and say I’m sleeping over at Dustin’s!”

“Yeah!” El agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

At this point, it wasn’t like Hopper had any other options. “Fine,” he sighed, voice heavy with resolve.

Mike and El exchanged a pair of grins before Mike darted away to go use the phone.

El was still shaking in place, looking so excited, Hopper almost worried that she would combust.

“Don’t look so happy about this,” Hopper told her, only half joking.

El just shook her head. “I’m not!” She squeaked out, trying (and failing) not to smile.

“Uh huh,” Hopper said dryly, “I’m sure you’re completely torn up by the whole thing.”

El nodded, eyes sparkling. “It’s really sad. Poor Mike.”

Moments later, Mike returned from his phone call. “Alright, we’re good!” He announced confidently, “I handled it.”

“Good job!” El congratulated him (for…making a phone call? Hopper was honestly confused).

“Thanks!” Mike replied, turning to El with a dopey grin.

“Alright then,” Hopper muttered, already mentally formulating a plan for the rest of the night. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got a spare sleeping bag around here that you could use.”

He walked away from the kids and moved to the secret latch in the middle of the living area floorboards. With a tug, he pulled the door open and descended into the cramped, bitingly cold crawlspace. As he began searching through the numerous towers of boxes and junk, he could still hear El as she spoke up from above.

“Papa, Mike could sleep in my bed,” She offered, kneeling before the crawlspace, “There’s room! We could share.”

Hopper gave a bark of a laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“But—“

“No buts,” Hopper opened a box labeled camping gear, but it only contained a broken tent pole and a couple fishing bobbers. Ok then. “I think Mike will be just fine in the living room.”

“Can I sleep in the living room, too?” El asked.

“No,” Hopper answered.

“El could sleep on the couch, and I could sleep on the floor,” Mike suggested.

“No.”

“Mike and I could sleep on the floor together.”

“No.”

“If we went in El’s room, she could sleep in her bed, and I could like, sleep on the floor near her bed.”

“No.”

“We could sleep on the floor by my bed together.”

At this point, Hopper was pretty sure that he was going to have an aneurysm.

“No!” He repeated, just as he finally found the sleeping bag (it was stuffed into a box labeled misc. stuff ). He came back out of the cellar crawl space, closed the latch behind him, and rose to his feet, dusting all the cobwebs off his legs. He really had to clean this place up sometime. “Mike can sleep on the couch, I’m going to sleep in my room, and you —,” He pointed to El, “Are going to sleep in your room. Alright?”

“Alright,” Mike and El echoed dejectedly.

“Great, glad that’s settled.” Hopper handed the sleeping bag to Mike, who turned to move over to the couch.

“Wait,” El’s brow furrowed, “Do we have to go to bed now? It’s only six-four-five.”

Oh. Right.

Hopper hesitated. “I guess not,” he relented.

“We can watch more TV,” Mike suggested. “I bought some movies.”

“Okay!” El chirped back.

While the two returned to the couch, Hopper realized that he was now going to have to prepare something for them to eat. If he had known that Mike was going to be spending the night, he would have attempted to get something nicer, but the surprise snowstorm meant that their meal would have to consist of frozen TV dinners. Thankfully, he had enough for all of them.

Hopper headed into the kitchen. As he took the frozen packages out of the freezer, Mike and El sat beside each other on the couch.

“Are you sure you wanna watch Sixteen Candles again?” Hopper heard Mike ask.

“Yes,” El replied.

“But we watched it last time.”

“I like it.”

Why Mike even owned a copy of Sixteen Candles, Hopper wasn’t exactly sure. He was pretty certain that either Nancy or El had something to do with it. Either way, any Monopoly-esque crisis was averted when Mike gave in and put his copy of Sixteen Candles into the VHS player.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but Hopper found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on cooking dinner while his daughter was cozying up to her boyfriend on the couch. While earlier, the two had been mostly tucked out of eye range and Hopper had been distracted with case files, now he had nothing to do but watch and listen while he waited by the oven.

It took everything within Hopper to not butt in when El leaned in to whisper something into Mike’s ear (what were they talking about?), or when Mike yawned and almost wrapped his arm around her as he stretched (that old move? really?), or when El nuzzled her head into his shoulder and smiled (there was nothing wrong with cuddling, Hopper had to tell himself several times).

25 nerve-wracking minutes later, Hopper had successfully assembled three TV dinners. He called the kids over to eat, allowing them to take the two dining chairs while he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Sixteen Candles was still paused on the TV, and as the trio continued to eat, Mike kept glancing over at it, distracted.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, turning to look at Hopper.

Hopper eyed him back. “Yes?”

“Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“That’s that one space movie, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Then no.”

Mike frowned. “What about Ghostbusters?”

“Nope.”

“Tron?”

“Nope.”

“E.T?”

“Listen, kid, I don’t really go to the movies much,” Hopper admitted. “I usually just catch whatever’s on TV.”

Consequently, that meant that Hopper had been unwillingly watching a lot of All My Children lately, but he decided to leave that fact unmentioned.

“You should watch more movies,” Mike insisted, “They’re really good.” He took another bite of his Salisbury steak and continued, pushing the food into the corner of his mouth, “We could watch them together! I already showed them to El, and she really liked them.”

El nodded in agreement. “I did. Mike is good at picking out movies.”

“Really?” Hopper asked as Mike blushed modestly.

“I just go to the rental store a lot,” he said, “and the theater.”

“You’re still really good,” El gushed, looking across the table at Mike as if he was the most enthralling thing since the creation of sliced bread.

Hopper briefly eyed El’s heart-eyed gaze before turning his attention back to Mike. The boy was looking up at him earnestly, anxiously, and in that moment, Hopper recognized the same drive that he’d seen in Mike earlier this morning, when they were walking through the snow. Mike wanted Hopper’s approval, he wanted to impress him.

“I’ll tell ya’ what, kid,” Hopper said slowly, “If you guys can find a movie that I like, I’ll watch it with you.”

“Really?” Mike gawked.

“Why not,” Hopper shrugged, “Besides, I’m curious to know what you’ve been filling El’s head with these days,” he added jokingly.

El stuck out her tongue at Hopper, while Mike was already hurrying to finish his dinner. “I brought a lot!” He said excitedly. At the rate in which he was eating, Hopper was genuinely concerned that Mike was going to choke. Miraculously, he didn’t.

“We should show him Star Wars,” El remarked, also now hurrying to finish her dinner, “That’s the best one.”

“Not Sixteen Candles?” Mike teased.

El nudged him from across the table.

After dinner, the kids got the movie set up while Hopper cleaned up. The storm was growing louder and ever-the-more furious outside, so Hopper lit the living room fireplace and grabbed some extra blankets.

While Mike seemed excited about the whole thing, a part of Hopper worried that El was secretly resentful. As much as he wanted to protect her, he didn’t want to be completely suffocating.

Hopper offered to make some popcorn for the kids, so before the movie started, he headed back into the kitchen to pop some kernels. El, who was endlessly fascinated by the concept of popcorn, offered to help.

As the kernel-filled pot warmed on the stove, El held its handle tightly. Her eyes were narrowed with steadfast determination, as if she dared to looked away she would miss the big moment when the kernels exploded to life.

Hopper looked back at Mike, who was currently fast-forwarding through the commercials on the VHS tape, before mumbling to El, “You doing okay, kid?”

El glanced up at him, perplexed. “Yes. Why?”

“I don’t wanna…” Hopper hesitated, searching for the right way to phrase the sentence, “Ruin the movie, for you guys, or anything.”

“Ruin it?” El echoed, turning to look back at the pot, “How?”

“You know,” Hopper said unhelpfully, gesturing back to Mike, “Being with you guys.”

“You were with us earlier,” El said dryly, “Supervision? At the table?”

It was her version of sarcasm, the way her voice remained so flat, and yet questioning. It made Hopper chuckle, and he gave her a playful nudge. “I know. I just…I don’t want you to hate me, alright?”

“I don’t hate you,” El replied. “You just worry too much.”

“I don’t worry too much!”

El gave him a look.

“I just want you safe,” Hopper amended, “You’re still my little girl.”

El smiled shyly as her cheeks flushed pink. Before she could reply, the first kernel began to pop, and she gasped excitedly.

5 minutes later, they had a big bowl of popcorn for the three of them to share. El and Hopper moved back to the couch and took their seats. El sat right in the middle, keeping the bowl of popcorn seated on her lap.

“Are you ready?” Mike asked enthusiastically, to which Hopper and El nodded. Mike pressed ‘play’ on the VHS player and quickly joined them on the couch, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

Hopper would never have considered himself a big sci-fi or fantasy enthusiast, but he wound up enjoying the movie more than he thought he would. Mike was eager to explain all the confusing technical aspects of it, and El was amused to point out that Hopper was just like Han, and that Dustin had the perfect Chewbacca impression.

By the time the film ended, the popcorn bowl was emptied, and it was well after nine o’clock. As Hopper got off the couch to turn off the TV, Mike and El looked up at him expectantly.

“Did you like it?” El asked at the same time that Mike asked, “What was your favorite part?”

“It was good,” Hopper admitted, “I think the parts with the lifesabers were pretty cool.”

“Lightsaber,” Mike corrected, while El giggled.

“Lightsaber,” Hopper repeated, to which Mike grinned.

“Mike says I have the force,” El told Hopper proudly.

“Not the actual force,” Mike added, “But basically.”

“We’re going to be Han and Leia for next Halloween,” El continued.

“I thought Leia liked Luke?” Hopper asked, brow furrowed.

“NO!” Mike and El cried out, faces scrunched up in disgust.

“Alright, then!” Hopper held back a laugh as held up his hands in defense.

“You’ll have to see the other two,” Mike said.

“Maybe next time.”

“So, Mike can come over again?” El asked excitedly.

“Maybe,” Hopper cautioned, though internally, he already knew the answer was more along the lines of ‘probably, most likely, definitely, yes,’ especially if El had anything to say about it.

The clock on the wall read 9:30, reminding Hopper just how late it was getting. “Alright, it’s getting late,“ he stated, “We gotta get you guys to bed.”

“Already?” El pouted.

“Already,” Hopper echoed. He motioned for Mike to follow him towards his room. “C’mon kid, you can borrow something to sleep in,” he offered.

Mike nodded and got off the couch. He gave El a small smile before following Hopper back to his room.

Hopper walked over to his dresser and dug around before finding an old t-shirt and pair of flannel sweatpants.

“They’ll probably be a little big on you, but I think you’ll manage,” he said, pulling the items out of his drawer and handing them to Mike.

“Thanks,” Mike replied, taking the clothes.

Hopper nodded and turned to leave his bedroom, allowing Mike some privacy to get changed. He was moving to the doorway when Mike stopped him.

“Hey, Hopp?”

“Yeah?” Hopper turned to look at him. The kid was still standing by the dresser, holding the pile of clothes and fidgeting in place.

Mike hesitated slightly before saying, “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“It’s nothing, kid, really,” Hopper assured him, “I just gotta make sure you’re safe.”

“I know, but I just wanted to say,” Mike continued, words spilling out faster as he started to babble, “Thanks for like, spending time with us and whatever. I know it must be super boring for you.”

“It’s not boring,” Hopper said truthfully. “I had fun with you guys.”

Mike snorted. “That’s a first.”

Hopper frowned. “What do you mean?”

Mike hesitated again, looking uncertain as to whether or not he should keep talking. After a moment though, the words came tumbling out even faster than before. “It’s just — my dad never wants to watch movies with me, or play D&D. He doesn’t even care about all the campaigns I make, even when I worked really hard on them!”

Hopper was slightly taken aback by the outburst, but as he let it sink in, he wasn’t exactly surprised, either.

My parents don’t really care what I do anyways, so it’s not a big deal.

I’m sure they care.

I guess.

Hopper spoke carefully. “Well, maybe he just doesn’t understand it all. Did you try explaining it to him?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Mike adverted his gaze and shuffled his feet, “But he just thinks it’s all dumb ‘kids’ stuff.’ He wants me to try out for basketball next year. I hate basketball.”

“What about your mom?” Hopper asked, “Do you try talking to her about these kinds of things?”

Mike shrugs. “She doesn’t care. I mean, she cares about me, but I can’t really talk to her. I can’t tell her about The Upside Down or anything! I can barely talk to her about El! She just cares about like, school, which is boring.”

Hopper was a little unsure what to do with all this information. Most prominently, his heart went out to the kid. After years of shutting himself out from the world, Hopper definitely knew how hard it was to have no one to confide in. Mike was still a kid, and for him to already feel so isolated was worrying, to say the least.

It was in that moment that Hopper, ever-the-protector, took it upon himself to make sure Mike didn’t have to go down the winding, miserable path of isolation that Hopper himself had frequented far too often.

“Well, listen,” Hopper finally said, causing Mike to look back up at him, “If you need someone to talk to about stuff, you can talk to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Hopper shrugged, “Anything, you know, guy stuff, whatever you want. Can’t promise to be much help when it comes to girls, though.”

“Well, that’s what Steve’s for,” Mike said, before hastily correcting himself with, “I mean, yeah, that’d be sweet!”

Hopper decided to let the Steve comment slide. He crossed the room and gave Mike an affectionate hair ruffle. “You’re a good kid,” Hopper stated firmly, looking him in the eye, “Don’t forget that.”

Mike gave a small smile. “Thanks.”

Hopper nodded and left then, leaving Mike with some privacy to get changed.

El was still in the living room, setting up the couch with some extra pillows and blankets for Mike. When she saw Hopper emerge, she looked up expectantly. “Is everything okay?”

Having that talk with Mike stirred up a new swell of emotions within Hopper. Looking at El’s face, still so young, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by the need to make sure that she never felt as shut out from her family as Mike did with his.

“You know you can talk to me, right, kid?” Hopper asked.

“Yes...” El looked at him warily. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Hopper assured her, “I’m just making sure.”

El wrinkled her face up in a bemused sort of way. “Okay,” she replied, turning back to her task of getting the blankets to lie just right on the couch.

Hopper watched her work for a few minutes before saying something he hoped he wasn’t going to regret later.

“You know,” he said with a sigh, turning his head up to look at the ceiling, “If you two promise to behave, I guess you could both sleep in the living room.”

El gasped, eyes wide with disbelief and hesitant excitement. “Really?”

“Sure.”

El dashed over to Hopper, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I’m gonna keep my door open, though,” Hopper warned her.

“Uh huh!”

“So you two better not be up talking all night.”

“Okay!”

“Or watching TV, or anything.”

“Okay!”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“We will!” El hopped up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek, and she was actually so excited that Hopper saw her hover off the ground for a moment. “Thank you, Papa.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Hopper replied, blushing for the second time that day. He ruffled her mop of curly hair, and El giggled happily.

Mike came out from Hopper’s room, sporting the pair of borrowed night clothes. They were several sizes too big, but it was better than nothing. “What’s going on?” He asked, looking back and forth between Hopper and El.

“I can sleep here!” El explained, motioning to the living room floor. “With you!”

“Awesome!” Mike exclaimed, before glancing over at Hopper and adding, more soberingly, “I mean, that sounds good.”

Hopper gave him a smile before he began to help them prepare for bed. More blankets were brought out, the lamps were extinguished, and the fireplace coals dwindled. A nest of blankets, pillows, and the sleeping bag was crafted in the middle of the living room, and as Mike and El crawled inside, Hopper turned off the last lamp and walked towards his own room.

“Goodnight,” Hopper called out to them.

“‘Night!” Mike and El chimed back.

Despite Hopper’s previous conditions, Mike and El did stay up late talking. Even over the muted roar of the storm outside, Hopper could hear their soft whispers floating through the slightly ajar doorway of his bedroom. However, their secretive conversations didn’t cause all the alarm that it had earlier that day.

You just worry too much.

He did. Hopper worried and protected and cared for what he loved so adamantly that it became his undoing. He knew this no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

But he was changing, learning.

El was growing up, yet another thing that Hopper knew no matter how much he tried not to think about it. She was going to move on, make her own choices, and become her own person. That included whom she wanted to date. And honestly, if she was going to be seeing someone, Hopper had to admit that he couldn’t think of anyone better than Mike.

His thoughts faded to black as Hopper drifted off to sleep, listening to the sounds of muffled snowfall and murmured laughter.

When Hopper awoke the next morning, the storm had ceased. The wind was still, the sky had cleared, and several feet of fresh powder had accumulated. Hopper pulled himself out of bed with a sigh, prematurely exhausted knowing that the strenuous task of shoveling a path to the car lay ahead of him.

There was still time for coffee first though, that was a given.

As Hopper quietly exited his room and entered the living area, he could see that Mike and El were still fast asleep. The faint winter sun that shown through the window illuminated them as they lay on the floor — a tangled heap of wool blankets, cotton bedsheets, and flannel pajamas.

Mike, snoring, was sprawled out in a way that made his limbs seem even lankier than usual. His hair was splayed out on the pillow beneath his head, and his arm was loosely wrapped around Eleven. El, also snoring, though not as loudly, was cuddled up beside Mike. Her head was rested on top of his chest, her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, and her lips held a faint smile as she slept blissfully.

At a previous time, the sight might have made Hopper lock into protective, preventive, suffocative mode.

But now, on this subdued winter morning? He felt his heart warm.

El was happy, she was safe, and she was loved.

At the end of the day, that was all that Hopper could ever hope for.

#mileven #stranger things #mileven fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #mike wheeler #eleven #hopper #st #berrie fics #mike x eleven #eleven x mike #*

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