#emwrite

[rottingformerfirstmate]

It's lonely without Izzy. Edward feels his absence like he's been run through, and the sword is still there to catch against the walls whenever he rounds a corner and twist inside his guts as sharply as Izzy's dry humor. While Edward is not alone--never more than twenty feet from Stede, not that either of them feel a desperate need to keep the other in sight--he can't help how the hole where Izzy should be swallows any semblance of joy in interacting with anyone else, even Stede. He should still be here.

The cheap table and chair set Stede bought for the kitchen has only two seats, and Edward can't look at it without wondering where Izzy is supposed to sit. It's absurd when Izzy didn't dine with them, but Edward feels entitled to irrationality right now. Stede said as much while Ed laid on top of the dirt they buried Izzy beneath, pretending he could still hear him breathing, whispering all the words left unsaid into the damp earth.

Izzy wouldn't want a chair at their table anyway. The version of Izzy Ed remembers, the one that mocked his flights of fancy, would scoff at the idea and perhaps knock over the vase of lillies Stede arranged so carefully. He'd call this a waste of everything Edward is.

Then again, there's a version of Izzy that Edward didn't know well enough to realize his existence until after they were broken beyond repair. It was still Izzy who painted his face in gold and sang for them at Calypso's birthday. His last words in life were a comfort for Edward. That feels like the Izzy Edward knew as well as the back of his hand, but the open softness in his face and the peaceful acceptance of endings does not.

Rather than thinking too hard about whether Edward really knew Izzy at all, he sits cross-legged opposite Izzy's makeshift headstone with his eyes on the tarnished shine of the ring knotted into the cravat. He can't figure out why they denied Izzy a burial at sea, and no one has explained, which Edward suspects is because it has already been laid out for him. The several days between Izzy's death and funeral are a grizzly blur of which Ed has little memory beyond a soul-churning ache for Izzy to be beside him again. He forgave Edward before he died. It wasn't enough because he only did it to get the words out while he still had the chance, not because he was past the horrors he endured at his captain's hand.

Stede comes to check on him and deliver a cup of tea, sweeter than Izzy ever made it for Edward because he was smart about rations and Edward never went with him to make sure he wasn't skimping. It surprises him when a question of where Izzy's cup is slips from his mouth, but Stede was prepared for this and sets a tea cup next to Edward's good knee. Vaguely, Ed remembers the meltdown he had the first time Stede made tea after Izzy died, demanding to know why there were only two porcelain sets. Izzy liked tea when he was hurt or ill. If making tea for a dead man who can't possibly be aware of its presence bothers Stede, he gives no such indication. Instead, he tells Edward he will leave the two of them to chat and turns back toward the house.

Ed drinks his tea before it gets cold. He pours Izzy's over the grave, the best approximation he has for holding it to Izzy's chapped lips, before its steam dissipates.

[soelitist]

Summary: AlphaBeta has a purpose. That purpose is Reagan.

Inspired by [this] piece of art by the amazing @olexxx​ who was kind enough to give me permission to run with the story!

Tags: Canon Divergent, Robotus & Reagan, Brett/Reagan, Mind-Control, Artificial Intelligence, Therapy, Autistic Reagan, Autistic Brett, Protectiveness

WC: 2.3k | Chapter: 1/6 | AO3

“How many fucking textbooks did you absorb?”

Reagan flings herself into the high-backed office chair, slouching to pretend the mismatch between its height and her own is intentional. AlphaBeta walks over to her. The concept, while not novel, is a stark readjustment; Reagan whipped up the new limbs this week with his cool input from the corner, and attached them on Sunday morning between cups of coffee. The bags under her eyes are dark, but only three percent more so than normal, and her hair appears to have been brushed within the last twenty-four hours, so whatever stress harasses her must be a fleeting one. 

“I absorbed every textbook on the internet,” AlphaBeta replies. “Remember when you connected me to it and showed me how much of a plague the entire human race is?”

She scoffs and waves a hand at him. “Aren’t we past that?”

“I suppose.”

Only the left side of his face smiles. Both could, if he wanted them to, but he has found a certain pleasure in the uncanny fear people get from the exposed metal above his right cheek. “My point stands, Reagan. I’ve read more about psychology than you’ve read anything in your miserable human life. You are quantifiably abnormal.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey.”

Reagan tilts her head back so she can look at him. She never shies away from his visage, though she doesn’t look in his eyes. He doesn’t take offense to that, though- she tends not to make eye contact with anyone. That represents another data point on his graph. He drags a smile onto the other half of his face for her, even though he doesn’t need to, and takes the shoulders of the chair in his hands. Two hands, he thinks quickly, both attached and functional. 

“I also absorbed a lot of research,” he starts, “and therapy could really help you. Not change you, not in the ways that matter, but help you cope with your… everything.”

The door to Reagan’s office slams open before she can respond, and while there’s only a handful of people in the building with the balls to enter her office like that, AlphaBeta still yanks the chair back and slots himself between Reagan and the intruder. 

“Dude-!”

“Hi, Reagan!”

“Prepare to-”

“AlphaBeta, stand down!”

At Reagan’s panicked order, he does, sidestepping and taking his requisite place behind her once more. Brett gives him a somewhat shaky thumbs up with one hand, the other still holding the door open from his dramatic entrance. Just this idiot. Again. AlphaBeta connects to Reagan’s personal security cameras and pulls up the feeds for her office, allowing him to study Brett from every direction. This allows for unflattering angles and a high-definition rendering of the sweat on his upper lip, which AlphaBeta gleefully saves to his hard drive for later. 

“You guys have to stop doing that,” Reagan groans. “He’s gonna blast your face off one of these days.”

He smiles with the left side of his face. 

“My pleasure.”

Brett audibly gulps and loosens his tie. “Not necessary, Mr. ROBOTUS, I will start knocking!” Clearing his throat, he tightens his tie again, then fixes his suit carefully in the kind of meticulous way that anyone besides Reagan would have mocked by now. She and Brett seem to be cut of the same cloth, as humans say, but her section was clearly far superior. Perhaps they’re merely similar in origin. AlphaBeta scans his knowledge for a better metaphor and settles on paintings. Reagan and Brett were both painted with the same tubes of thick oil paint, but Reagan’s creator was a master with his brush, and Brett was made by her painter’s two year old son.

“Anyways, Rea, I came to tell you that Gigi has officially certified me in the-” Here, Brett stops to fish a notecard from the interior of his blazer, “-art of manipulating the stupid masses with my pretty face and subliminal messaging.” Now the notecard goes back in place, and Brett pats his chest over it as if to ensure it feels tucked away inside. “So I’ve done my lab certs with you, I learned how to milk Myc- yuck, by the way, and now media. What’s next, boss?”

“Andre and Glenn,” AlphaBeta answers for her, “obviously.”

He reads and archives the several emotions that flit across Brett’s face in quick succession. Overall, it’ll take him through the afternoon to process them in the background, but he gets the gist easily enough. Brett isn’t excited at the prospect. He has always had a weak stomach for a Cognito employee, or so AlphaBeta understands, and it doesn’t seem like a shock he has no excitement for drugs and weaponry.

“Do you have a preference?” Reagan asks, haltingly. 

Brett interprets her tone just as AlphaBeta does: a statement of forced nicety. “Do you?”

“Yeah, actually.”

She shoots out of her chair and to the decorative bookcases against the wall. With a gentle tug to a thick blue volume, the shelves spin into the wall, a computer interface taking its place. Truly, the system is a work of art, possible only through the most talented mind the human race has to offer. 

“I trust you to use common sense in Andre’s lab, so…”

“Brett, common sense? Really?” AlphaBeta questions. 

Reagan ignores him. “It would make more sense to learn there first. Glenn has a certain zest for blowing things up, and in case it’s contagious, you’ll still need to know how to do things quietly.”

“Look at me, coming up in the world and learning all about our company!” Brett exclaims. The excitement is fake, but AlphaBeta pockets that information for later. “I’ll just go, then?”

“Yeah, uh, tell Andre I sent you.” Reagan has gotten sucked into something on her screen, but it’s the one system AlphaBeta isn’t connected to, so he isn’t sure what. “See you at McUltra’s tonight?”

Brett gives a silent thumbs up behind her turned back, but she doesn’t acknowledge his lack of an audible response, nor does she seem bothered by his departure. While she can get sucked into work, usually Brett’s presence serves as a potent distraction, so whatever she’s looking at must be the source of her stress. AlphaBeta comes up behind her to stare at the holographs. 

The screen she scrutinizes is written in some sort of cipher, but unfortunately for her, she’s the one who programmed AlphaBeta’s computer, and he cracks it in under a minute- a new record for him, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he translates everything and documents it behind a secure firewall. 

“Lovely eulogy,” he comments. “Very kind.”

Reagan draws her knees up to her chest. “Ron isn’t dead.”

“You think he faked his death again?”

She doesn’t answer him. AlphaBeta takes the liberty of scrolling through the page himself, reading everything that was released. Ron Staedtler, active agent of the Illuminati, died in the field, literally and figuratively, in Appleton, Wisconsin. It makes sense on the surface, but he knows better. He was built better. Ron had no memories left, and was alive the last time Reagan turned on her surveillance of his home, before her guilt won out as per usual and she disabled it again. The last thing that sack of meat was doing was field work for the agency he fought so hard to leave. Besides, even if he was, his death would have gone unreported. No one cares about the footsoldiers of the shadow world. Whether or not he’s alive, this publication was made for a single reader, and she seems exactly as shocked as one might expect. 

When it takes longer than the standard five seconds for her to return to normal, AlphaBeta places his hand against the back of her neck, careful not to squeeze or press too hard. Data pours in. Her heart rate is extremely elevated, as he suspected, as is her temperature and blood pressure. Her respiration and oxygenation are fine. Her blood glucose is slightly low, however, and he pings an intern to bring her a donut and some water.

“Reagan,” he prompts gently. 

“No, it’s fine. They almost found him and he got away, so now they’re covering their tracks. It makes perfect sense.”

Reagan stands suddenly and stiffly powers down the system. It goes back into its hidden spot behind her bookcase as she begins pacing behind her desk. She jumps when a knock sounds at the door, though she hadn’t for Brett’s arrival. 

“It’s alright,” AlphaBeta soothes, checking the cameras to be safe as he approaches the door. “I sent for some breakfast.”

He opens the door enough to take the water bottle and box of assorted donuts from a terrified intern with six eyes and shuts it as softly as he’s able. He deposits both onto Reagan’s desk and fusses over picking a donut for her for a moment: she likes the ones with strawberry frosting and rainbow sprinkles, but the closest this variety offers is chocolate. He’s going to fire that intern, and he’s going to use real flames in the process..

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry right now. I have to figure out where he’s hiding and help him.”

Reagan pulls the corner of her lab coat up to her face to chew on it and opens one of the drawers of her desk. She goes through it like a madman, tossing irrelevant finds over her shoulder in a way that reminds AlphaBeta too much of her father. Rand is a genius, much like his daughter, but she has the distinct advantage of emotions. No, not that, he corrects himself. Rand is capable of selfish emotions like pain and paranoia and possessiveness and pride. What he lacks is the array, filled with beautiful and hurtful human things like love. 

“Reagan-”

“I need a minute.” She lifts a small notebook from her desk and flicks through the pages. “Just- a little space? For the morning?”

AlphaBeta nods. “Of course. If you need anything-”

“I know, I know.”

At that, he lets himself out of her office. He heads straight to Andre’s lab with the purpose of supervising the two overgrown children, but arrives to see Myc there as well. To be honest, AlphaBeta has yet to make up his mind on Myc; on one hand, he’s not a human, and he is rather funny, but on the other, he remains deeply irritating. The two of them cannot read each other, which serves as a point of friction for two entities so used to simply knowing. 

“Really? That many?” Brett asks, oblivious to AlphaBeta’s entrance as he looks into a microscope. “Honestly, I tapped out on number three.”

Andre pats him on the back. “You have to work up to it, man, I’m telling you. If you want, I could whip you up a cocktail that’ll make you jizz your brains out.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

Myc makes a partially indignant, partially distressed noise from his position in the corner. “I can make Brett jizz his brains out just fine without artificial chemicals, thank you very much.”

While he tries to process all of that information, and Brett’s now obvious lie about his opinion of “milking” Myc, AlphaBeta makes finger guns and pretends to shoot them, complete with little “pew pew” sounds. All three turn to look at him. 

“If I was a real intruder, you would all be dead.”

“I hate when you sneak up on me, it’s fucking rude,” Myc informs him. “I can’t hear you, you know. You don’t think. It’s really freaky.”

AlphaBeta rolls his eyes. “The feeling is mutual. What are you working on?”

“None of your business, Robo-Asshole.”

“Spores that turn you into a Cognito controlled zombie. I engineered it from Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis, the fungus that turns ants’ brains to mush in rainforests.”

“I’m not sure but it looks cool under a microscope!”

Carefully skirting the side of the worktable, AlphaBeta reaches for the microscope. “May I?”

At Andre’s nod, he lowers his face to the lenses and peers at the slide. He has to adjust the focus, as it seems Brett didn’t bother, before he can make out the microscopic cells that have the power to control a human mind as easily as any machine. They look innocuous. Yet, if it does come from O. Unilateralis, there is a nonzero possibility that recovery from infection is impossible. The one thing to soothe AlphaBeta’s rising frustration is the fact that both Brett and Andre have gloves on. He superheats his face and hands briefly after leaving the microscope to kill anything that could have clung to him, lest he transfer it to someone unintentionally. 

“We start human, and humanoid, trials next week,” Andre says, unable to contain his excitement, instead allowing it to leak out in his loud enunciation, glossy eyes, and big smile. “Apparently The Robes have some prisoners for us to test it out on!”

“Lovely,” AlphaBeta says, before consulting a book on effective management techniques and adding, “good work. Keep it up.”

Even though Myc has no eyes, AlphaBeta gets the distinct sense he might be rolling them. He pastes his half-smile in place and beams at each of the three employees in turn, delighting in the squirmy discomfort it elicits from them- Myc included. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

He leaves as abruptly as he’d arrived, pushing his navigation to Gigi’s office into background processing to make room for this. The list of prisoners was sent through Reagan’s official encrypted email, which AlphaBeta has the distinct pleasure to manage, but had not yet been sorted for its official purpose. He hadn’t known it. He hadn’t particularly cared, either, nor would he now if not for a single name on the list he knows Reagan can’t agree to. 

Rand Ridley.

[slimeypuppy]

A Circle Is Round: Duty-Bound (1/4)

Summary: Character studies on the Roy children through their trauma.

Day: 6 | WC: 1.1k | AO3 | Prompt: Screams from Across the Hall

Connor was already well into his teens before he has any siblings to speak of. He honestly had been assuming that he wouldn’t ever have any, either by his neurotic mother or his distant father, but he’d been reabsorbed into the family unit just in time to meet the little dark-eyed baby that represented a new line of heirs for his father’s business. Now, he’s caught in his twenties trying to figure out where and if he fits in at all to the family that has sprung up in his place.

Some of the things that Connor notices in the rearing of his new siblings are familiar from his own upbringing, while others are brand new and at times repulsive to him. His father of course disciplined him from time to time; he doesn't remember anything bad when he was extremely little, but he went to high school with a black eye more than once. He knows Logan Roy has to keep his potential heirs in line somehow. He just isn't sure this is necessary.

He stays in his room with his quilt pulled up to his chin and his eyes shut. Down the hall, his three little siblings should be safe, sound, and asleep. One of them is crying. It's not Kendall, who outgrew crying at night three years ago, but it's not shrill enough to be baby Siobhan. That leaves Roman. The only child their father has less compassion for than Connor is Roman.

Silently, he wills Roman to be quiet. Without attention, he should cry himself out soon. The longer it takes him to do so the worse it'll be when someone else comes to quiet him. Connor should go get him to settle down, certain that he'd be a better option to soothe a distraught four year old than his father might at this hour. He means to do it. It's just that his blankets feel heavy and there's some little kid inside of him that never grew up and is too afraid of what wrath he might invoke in turn. 

The decision is made for him when their father's door slams open. It only takes eight thunderous footfalls for him to get to Roman, whose cries echo louder now that his bedroom door is open. Connor covers his ears with his pillow like it'll be enough. 

"I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry! I'll be good!"

Connor has cataloged his siblings' cries. Siobhan especially, since she's still too young to explain what she needs most of the time. He knows when Roman is crying just to make a sound, to call attention to himself and get someone to fix whatever perceived problem is in front of him. That cry is always high and piercing, at a decibel that Kendall always makes a face about. Then there's the way he cries when he wants something and someone made the mistake of telling him no. 

Roman doesn't cry like that when Logan Roy disciplines his sons. The first sound is more of a screech than anything, shock over pain. It's fear. Then he actually sobs, proper things heavier than whatever Roman had been upset about before, hitching as he tries to breathe between blubbered apologies. Connor can hear him, afraid, in pain, needing help, but with the knowledge that his father is in the room, he can't make himself come to help. He's a failure. 

Another door, another voice, rings out like there's no reason to be quiet at this time of night. Kendall's voice hasn't dropped yet. It, too, is high pitched and warbling, but Connor admires the bravery he himself doesn't possess as an adult when he hears Kendall snap for their dad to leave Roman the fuck alone. 

"Go back to bed, Ken," Connor pleads into his pillow.

He doesn’t catch what their father says in response, but he hears Kendall bounce off the walls from a forceful shove and another painful wail from Roman’s room. The youngest Roy son’s screaming drowns out the specifics of the shouting match Kendall and his father get into, and this combination only serves to wake up Siobhan, who starts crying in her nursery as well. 

Siobhan is what makes him swallow down his terror and get out of bed. The nanny won’t hear her over the commotion, Caroline can’t be dragged out of bed for her children once she’s shut her eyes for the night, and if Logan hears her, he certainly won’t respond with compassion. Connor gets out of bed as silently as he can manage even with the cacophony around him, and creeps out of his room and into the hallway. 

Kendall is in the doorway of Roman’s room, it looks like, with a determined grimace on his face and shaking fists by his side. “Don’t fucking touch him!” The language is too foul for a seven year old, but it is one of the only things Connor has heard him say without a stutter, and he doesn’t look up to see Connor, someone who should be able to help him, lingering a few feet away.

He lets himself into the nursery and shuts the door behind him. Siobhan’s not screaming yet, the way she does when she’s really upset, and her tiny face turns red and she lashes out with her little fists. She’s just scared. Connor reaches into her crib to pick her up, gathering soft blankets with her in the process. More so than Kendall, and even Roman, she has been a fussy baby prone to fits of irritation and colic, but she allows him to soothe her this time. As he paces her nursery, rocking her and trying to remember if he’s even holding her correctly, her whining cries soften, and eventually drift to nothing.

It is then that Connor realizes how silent the world has become. Whatever happened to his brothers, it is over now. There’s a part of him that half-expects to see remains of their father’s rage when he hesitantly cracks Siobhan’s door, but all seems to have gone back to its place. The door to the master bedroom is now shut. Roman’s door is shut. Connor’s door is shut Kendall’s is cracked. 

Like the plush carpet beneath him has been replaced with eggshells, he tip-toes to Kendall’s room. The lights are off, as is expected, though the bright nightlight over his desk bathes the room in a gentle blue glow. Kendall has propped himself up against the wall, jaw set despite his fat bottom lip and bruising eye socket, with Roman curled up against him to hide from the world. He looks at Connor. 

The accusation in his eyes could be real, or it could be a mental manifestation of Connor’s own profound guilt about what goes on in this house, but regardless, Kendall does not stop Connor from sitting with them and arranging Siobhan in one arm so that his brothers can also huddle up against him. 

He draws the blankets up around Kendall and Roman’s shoulders. He won’t be able to sleep tonight, but he can make them feel safer, and hopefully they’ll eventually rest. 

[neworleansspecial]

Solstice: Last Resort (1/6)

Summary: Sarah and Crockett are held hostage together. They stay together. (for @crockettmarcel)

Day: 5 | WC: 1.2k | AO3 | Prompt: Blood Loss

Crockett has been planning this for weeks. It feels like weeks, anyways, but without any windows, calendars, or clocks to keep track of the passage of time, he can’t be certain of anything. It’s only by the length of his beard that he knows he’s been here at least two or three months. Sarah, currently huddled up in the corner with her teeth chattering, told him she thought it had been a month or so since her own abduction. She, like Crockett, was taken from Chicago, which tells Crockett that they’re probably not all that far from the city. 

“Kett?”

He curls his fingers tighter around the makeshift weapon in his hand, tucking it into his palm before turning to Sarah. "Yeah, sugar?"

"I'm cold."

"I know." They haven't been eating much at all, but Sarah got herself into enough trouble with their captors to be put on food restriction earlier this week. Crockett joined her on day three when he was caught sharing. "We'll be warmer soon."

She nods miserably and puts her head down on her knees, too tired to ask what he means by that. Crockett smiles at the mop of tangled curls shining dully in the low light and silently promises her an escape. They're almost free. He'll get them out of here.

He waits by the locked door. Neither of them get food today, but it feels about time for one of their captors to check in on them. That's how they describe it. Crockett prefers the term torment. That would be a much more accurate way to describe the obsessive and borderline clinical examinations that coincide with visits from either of the two men responsible for this.

Crockett passes the small weapon back and forth between his hands as he waits. It had been a tongue-depressor or something originally, maybe a similar piece of wood, before he painstakingly filed it against the rough hinges of the door into a deadly point. He’s determined to get both himself and Sarah out of here before they’re too weak to try and escape. She’s already toeing that line far closer than he would prefer. 

“Sarah,” he says.

She lifts her head up again. Her teeth are chattering. “Yeah?”

“I want you to keep your eyes closed until I tell you it’s safe.” The large slam that always precedes a visit, presumably a door at the end of the hallway their room opens up to, rings out. “Can you do that for me?”

“Crockett…”

“Please.”

With seconds to spare, she does so. He slides his weapon up, holding it securely in his fist. Crockett knows he’ll have to be fast and accurate for this to work. This can’t just be enough to hurt someone, it has to be deadly on the first try. The door swings open heavily.

Crockett doesn’t close his eyes. He looks into those of the man who’s been keeping them here. They’re blue, like the pale smear of the sky the last time Crockett was outside, and they go wide the moment his weapon sinks three inches deep into their captor’s throat. An awful gurgling sound accompanies the foam of blood that begins to spill from his lips. Clumsy hands manage to grab hold of the wood and pull it out, sending a spray of blood directly into Crockett’s own face. It was stupid to do that, but leaving it in would not have been enough to save his life. 

Once the body stops twitching, and the room is silent save for the harsh counts of Crockett’s breathing, he takes a deep breath. He crouches down and starts with the puffy winter jacket, a bright blue color beneath the fresh blood stains. It’s easy to unzip and work off the man’s body. The pockets are empty. He curses, but still folds the coat over his arm. A flashlight is clipped onto one of the belt loops, so Crockett takes that, too. He manages to procure a pocket knife, a pack of gum, and a set of keys as well. 

He brings his loot over to Sarah and drapes the coat over her shoulders. “Hey, sugar, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

She blinks at him. For a moment, her eyes flitter over to the body by the open door, but then they return to his face. He grabs one of her wrists and more or less puts her arm through one of the coat sleeves himself before she catches up and puts it the rest of the way on. Crockett allows himself a moment to skim his fingers over the logo on the breast pocket. The coat looks familiar, although he can’t figure out why. 

“Come on, up,” he urges. “We ought to get going now.”

She nods and allows him to help her to her feet. She takes the knife and the gum, which is fair, and he leads the two of them out. There are several other doors in the hallway. Part of Crockett, the part that was a doctor and hadn’t been tortured yet, wants to check behind each one. Still, it is only a part of him, and more important than making sure no one else is trapped is getting himself and Sarah as far from this place as possible. 

The heavy metal door at the end of the hallway makes its usual noise when it thuds closed behind them as they run up a flight of concrete stairs. The floor at the top of them is at least ten degrees warmer than their prison had been. Crockett takes inventory of the sight before them, almost domestic in the photos on the wall and four coffee mugs by the sink. No one else is here. He refuses to wait around for company, however, and grabs Sarah’s arm. 

“Come on.”

“Wait.”

She tugs away from him and starts rifling through the drawers in the kitchen. As she does, he goes to the shoe rack by the door. A pair of heavy work boots, only a size too small, are better than nothing as he laces bare feet into them. The only other pair of shoes on the rack are house shoes, slippers, but they’re much close to Sarah’s size, and better than going barefoot in the winter. 

“Let’s go,” he says. 

He turns to offer her the shoes to see her coming toward him with a piece of plain white bread sticking out of her mouth. She offers him another piece, which he can’t stuff into his own fast enough as she puts on the house shoes. Finally. He gets the front door unlocked and opened only for his heart to sink. 

There’s no car in the driveway, just a pair of tracks that indicate at least three inches of snowfall since its departure. Outside of that, there’s at least five inches accumulated on the ground, and snowflakes are still falling to decorate Sarah’s hair in the faint gold glow of the porch light behind them. In every direction, there’s nothing but gnarled husks of leafless trees and more pillowy snow that looks too pretty for its deadliness. 

“Sarah.”

It’s too cold outside, they’re too weak, help is too far. They won’t make it. They’ll die. 

But he looks at her, with her wide dark eyes, and the bite of pink at the tip of her nose, and he can’t imagine things will be better if they wait. So, instead of telling her any of the reasons they might fail, he wraps his arm around her waist. 

“Keep your hands in your pockets so they stay warm,” he tells her, “and I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

[anyon-else]

spiked w/ kaeya alberich, zhongli, xaio – main masterlist

warnings (please read!) | gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, non-consensual drug use, implied attempted sexual assault (barely, but i wanted to add it just in case)

KAEYA ALBERICH

kaeya was not one for quiet nights.

he much preferred the white noise and chatter of the tavern to his own lodgings. even after he began seeing you, spending nights with you at his side on a barstool remained his favorite activity. he loved to watch your easy confidence as you chatted with jean or charles, or even diluc for that matter. he just enjoyed listening to your lovely voice over the background conversation of the other patrons.

but there were some nights when kaeya wished he had elected to stay home.

there was a new bartender working tonight. kaeya had seen him a few times, and charles didn't seem particularly bothered by him despite the subpar drinks he made, but kaeya couldn't help his inherent distrust of any newcomer. it always took him a bit of time to get used to an unfamiliar face settling in mondstadt as a permanent resident, and from what kaeya had heard, this one had made his intention to stay in the city for the foreseeable future very clear.

the night, while young, was already wearing him thin. he'd just gotten back from a days-long commission that jean had requested he take on personally. it had been a grueling week, and the only thing he wanted to do when he returned was take you to the angel's share for a few drinks, then take you to bed.

you never elected to drink very much when you accompanied kaeya to the tavern. you'd usually nurse a glass or two of wine, and oftentimes you'd leave without finishing a third.

tonight, you had barely started sipping your second glass when you began looking fairly ill. at the moment, you were slumped against kaeya's shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open or form a coherent sentence.

"darling?" kaeya asked when your strength seemingly left you. you went limp, and had you not already been leaning on his shoulder, you probably would have fallen off of the barestool. kaeya caught you with an arm around your waist and another holding your shoulder. you muttered something unintelligible and groaned when kaeya shifted so he could look at you. he lifted your face, and gave your cheek a light tap when your eyes began to flutter shut. "can you open your eyes, love?"

"'m tired," you mumbled. kaeya furrowed his brow; he was certain you'd only had one drink since you'd arrived.

he caught charles' concerned gaze from across the bar, but before either of them could speak, the newcomer was stepping forward nervously.

"i can take them to the back," he said to kaeya, eyeing you briefly, "there's a couch."

kaeya raised a brow at the suggestion. from the corner of his eye, he saw charles wince.

"i'll take them," kaeya corrected firmly, scrutinizing the man further when he saw disappointment flicker across his expression.

"r-right. of course. it's just back–"

"i know where it is," kaeya snapped, abruptly standing from his chair and sliding his arms under your pliant body. concern was thrumming through him, and he immediately forgot about the bartender shuffling behind him when you shifted and let out another string of mutters.

"talk to me, love," he muttered as you peeled your eyes open, "how are you feeling?"

"bad," you grumbled. kaeya hummed, pursing his lips and walking as steadily as he could manage.

"was it something you ate?"

"dunno," you said, already fading again. kaeya cursed when your eyes fell shut and you went limp, head resting against his chest and arm hanging uselessly to your side.

kaeya laid you on the couch in the back room that charles had set up for employees. you didn't stir as his arms left you, though he saw your brow furrow when he let you go. he elected to take one of your hands in his as he thought through the events of the night to try and pin down the cause of your mysterious illness.

it was then he realized that the new bartender had followed him all the way down the hall and was waiting nervously in the doorway. he shifted uncomfortably under kaeya's sharp gaze.

"what are you still doing here?"

"i...i apologize, i just wanted to make sure everything was alright–"

"while your concern is very touching," kaeya sneered, suspicion growing each time the man's eyes left his and strayed to where you were laying behind him. kaeya shifted so that your face wasn't in the man's view, "i can handle things."

kaeya saw a touch of annoyance cross the man's features, and the alarm bells already ringing in his head became more frantic.

"unless," kaeya rumbled as he stood, reluctantly dropping your hand so that he could approach the man, "you know something about this."

"oh! uh...no, i'm not sure what happened. i just noticed that they looked rather sick."

kaeya hummed, scrutinizing the man for a moment longer before nodding his head towards the door behind him.

"you can go, then," he said with finality.

"right," the man nodded, eyes wide as he took in kaeya intimidating aura, "o-of course."

kaeya didn't watch the newcomer scurry away. instead, he turned back to where you were beginning to rouse again. he heard a string of words escape you, only catching his own name every few seconds until he was kneeling next to you, one hand reaching to find your own as the other cupped your cheek.

"kaeya," you huffed, breathing sporadic and so panicked that it made kaeya's chest ache, "what's happ'ning?"

"i don't know, darling," kaeya told you truthfully. you groaned, bringing a hand to shield your eyes from the light in the room and turning on your side, pressing your face into the pillows. "i'm sorry. we'll get you feeling better soon, alright?"

"that wine," you mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow and barely audible over the distant chatter of the tavern, "it was...really strong."

that gave kaeya pause. he distinctly remembered the new bartender pouring your wine, then turning towards the opposite counter where kaeya couldn't see what he was doing.

he couldn't imagine that anyone would...

"charles!" he shouted as soon as he puts the pieces together, rage clouding his mind as he thought back to the suspicious behavior, the attempts to stay in the room with you, and kaeya's own gut feeling that something was off about the newcomer.

the only thing that kept him from going back to the bar and wringing the man's neck was your hand holding his. he couldn't leave you alone now—not with that criminal still roaming god-knows-where.

"don' leave," you muttered, making a desperate attempt to sit up and grab onto kaeya's arm. he shook his head, placing careful hands on your shoulders and guiding you onto your back. you were looking up at him with bloodshot eyes, and the fear in them made his chest ache.

"i'm not," he shook his head, taking your hand in both of his and giving it a reassuring squeeze, "don't worry, love. i'm not leaving."

kaeya's chest tightened when your breath hitched, a silent sob rocking your chest. you were terrified—that much was strikingly clear. your eyes were scrunched shut, and if your pained expression was anything to go by, you had a raging headache brought on by whatever it was that you had drank.

kaeya couldn't watch for much longer before he was lifting you up and replacing you on the couch, then setting you down with your head on his lap. you pressed closer to him, head resting on his thigh and fingers gripping his jacket.

"what happened?"

kaeya stiffened at diluc's familiar voice. he looked down at you and focused on the rise and fall of your chest to keep himself from getting too upset over his brother's untimely arrival.

"that new bartender," kaeya grumbled, "he made their drink tonight. i think they mixed it with something."

there was a silence, and kaeya finally chanced a glance at diluc. he was watching you with a furrowed brow, hands clenched into fists and jaw grinding back and forth in the only show of anger that kaeya could see.

"is the drink still at the bar?"

"it should be."

"i'll take it to timeus on my way to the knight's headquarters."

kaeya looked up in surprise, but diluc looked away, very intentionally avoiding his eyes.

"i'll take the bartender to jean. i trust she can keep him in check in a far more legal manner than i would."

diluc breathed in deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. when he opened them again, he looked far more intense than before, and he looked at kaeya with a seriousness that was rarely shared between the two.

"it's my responsibility to know who is being hired at my establishments. i apologize for being so negligent."

kaeya blinked, opening his mouth to reassure him that the only one at fault was the scum who did this, but diluc held a hand up to stop him.

"just make sure they're taken care of," diluc said, glancing down at you once more with a furrowed brow that almost made him look worried, "i'll handle the rest."

kaeya gave a single nod, knowing that any gratitude could go unsaid. he also knew that this sudden show of kindness was less for him and more for you—diluc had always been fond of you, claiming that you made kaeya more pleasant to be around.

while the comment had irked him when it was made, he couldn't exactly disagree.

"'m sorry," you groaned when diluc was gone, sniffling and trying desperately to keep your tears at bay. kaeya's expression twisted, his hand stilling where it had been rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

"sorry?" he repeated, "love, what could you possible have to be sorry for?"

"for inconveniencing diliuc," you huffed, "and making you worry."

kaeya sighed, shaking his head at the guilty look on your face and cupping your face in his hands.

"we just want to make sure you're okay," he whispered, lifting your hand and pressing his lips to your fingers, "none of this is your fault, my love."

you grumbled something that sounded like a disagreement, but let the argument go when your headache returned.

"am i gonna be okay?" you croaked, eyes filling with panic as you thought about the possibilities of what could've been put in your drink. sure, you'd heard about people's drinks getting tampered with before, but it could've been something more deadly. maybe this was a murder attempt to get at kaeya. maybe you had unintentionally made someone so angry that they'd hired this bartender to kill you. maybe–

"you're going to be just fine," kaeya assured you, hands cupping your face so that you were forced to look at him, "it's nothing to worry about. i've seen this happen a few times. you'll just wake up with a nasty headache, but i'll take care of you, yeah?"

"yeah," you agreed, feeling any energy you'd been using to panic seep from you as you sank into kaeya's arms.

as kaeya carried you home later that night, he thought about all of the things that he could do to make that bartender's life a living hell. the ideas he came up with brought him some satisfaction, and he found that he was more excited than he had been in a long time to get to work the next day.

ZHONGLI

zhongli had been alive for many, many years. enough years that he had seen the cruelties that others were capable of. he understood that preventative measures were necessary to keep oneself safe, but he was also painfully aware that those protections were not always enough. those with bad intentions usually found a way around any safeguards no matter how carefully they were designed.

in you, he saw a very careful person. you were well aware of the dangers of the world—though perhaps not to the extent of someone who had fought in wars and survived to tell the tales. you were, however, cautious enough that he knew you were a very capable person.

but despite his experience, this was a first.

you weren't one to drink yourself into a state of incapacitation, so zhongli couldn't deny his growing concern as you stumbled towards him, eyes lidded and legs shaky. you stumbled towards him, struggling to keep yourself from falling with each step. he met you before you could fall, accepting your outstretched arms and pulling you into his chest.

the first thing he noticed upon catching you was that you were shaking. he tried to move away so that he could look at you, but your grip was firm. you were holding him so tightly, like you were afraid of letting him go and facing whatever had frightened you so much.

"y/n?" he asked softly, resting a hand on the small of your back just under your shirt and rubbing soothing circles over your skin. he felt some of the tension loosen from your shoulders and hugged you closer, "darling, what happened?"

the answer appeared behind him before you could even attempt to answer. he felt a tap on shoulder, impatient and insistent. zhongli turned carefully, making sure to keep you steady as he faced the interruption with equal levels of impatience.

"yes?"

"ah, this is a bit awkward," the man chuckled, attention not on zhongli, but rather on you huddled in his arms. zhongli's eyes narrowed on the stranger, and he pulled you tighter against his chest, keeping your face pressed into his clothes to keep it out of the man's sight.

"do tell me what you find so awkward about the situation," zhongli said darkly, "or better yet, tell me why you're even speaking to me in the first place."

the man gulped, finally looking up and meeting zhongli's glare. it must have been the first time he really registered the person holding you, because his eyes widened a fraction and he began spitting out excuse after excuse, each sounding more desperate than the last.

"y'see, my friend has had a few too many drinks tonight. i apologize that they stumbled into you like that–"

"your friend," zhongli huffed, an irritated laugh bubbling in his throat, "ah, well, it's a good thing you've come to their rescue, then."

the man, who zhongli now knew was denser than stone, grinned at this and began reaching towards you eagerly.

"may i ask you what their name is?"

this made him pause.

"well...i don't think they'd appreciate me giving that information out to a stranger-"

"oh, of course," zhongli nodded, "how noble of you."

"right," the man gave him an odd look, but continued reaching towards you, "if you could just–"

if there was one thing that zhongli appreciate about his human form, it was its agility.

he swept you to the side, keeping one arm firmly around your waist while the other grabbed hold of the man's wrist. he only got a glimpse of the stranger's wide, terrified eyes before he twisted the his arm just shy of breaking. the man let out quick, panicked huffs as he looked between zhongli's hard expression and the hand gripping his wrist.

"a-alright, i get it," the man gulped, making a feeble attempt to pull away, "i'll go–ow, i'm sorry! i didn't know–"

"didn't know what?" zhongli asked venomously, false smiles and politeness wiped from his expression. his harsh tone made the man visibly shudder, "that it's not acceptable to try to kidnap people? what made you so ignorant that you couldn't comprehend that that is a crime?"

"i wasn't...listen, i'm sorry, okay? i won't do it again, just let me go. please."

zhongli was very close to breaking the man's wrist, eyes nearly glowing as they narrowed on the man's terrified eyes. however, he paused when you shifted, coughing weakly into his chest.

"zhongli," you croaked, "i think he did something to my drink."

zhongli's fingers tightened around the man's wrist, earning a terrified squeak from him as he tried to pull back in one last, desperate attempt to get away.

"well?" he asked the terrified man sharply, "did you?"

"o-of course i didn't! i just...i didn't know you were together, alright? i just saw that they looked ill, and thought i'd help–"

"your help is neither wanted nor needed," zhongli said with a sharp smile that made the man's face go white. zhongli knew he could be more than menacing at the right times, "xiao."

the adeptus appeared at his side immediately, making the already nervous man jump in fear. the man watched with wide-eyes as xiao approached zhongli. xiao payed no mind to the man trembling in zhongli's grip. he did, however, take note of your barely-conscious body slumped against zhongli. you were staring blankly at something behind xiao, and the adeptus tried to keep himself calm for your sake.

"please watch him until i return."

xiao gave a single nod, gripping the man's shirt and dragging him to a more secluded area of the market. zhongli wrapped his arm further around your waist, pulling you in close before he disappeared from the streets of the harbor.

baizhu did not looked particularly alarmed when zhongli appeared in the middle of the pharmacy, though his eyes widened just slightly when he spotted you in the ex-god's arms.

"come with me," baizhu ordered immediately, turning and moving further into the pharmacy. he entered a room with zhongli at his heels and pointed towards a long table, "put them there."

zhongli did as he was told, brow furrowed in clear concern as he brushed a hand over your cheek. you seemed to be conscious, but barely lucid as you leaned into zhongli's palm.

"what happened," baizhu asked, leaning over you and opening one of your eyes wider to look at your pupil.

"i believe they were given some kind of drug. i don't know what."

"that would explain these symptoms," baizhu murmured, placing a hand on your chest and closing his eyes. his palm began to glow a bright green, and zhongli watched as changsheng slid down the doctor's arm until she was resting on your stomach. after another moment, the glow dissipated.

"i can't tell the exact substance that was used, but it's nothing deadly. they'll just need to rest. it will be out of their system by tomorrow night at the latest."

zhongli nearly collapsed as relief rushed through him. he took your hand and pressed it to his lips carefully, closing his eyes so he could focus on calming his racing heart.

"if it's not too much trouble," zhongli began as baizhu stepped back from the table, allowing changsheng to take her place upon his shoulders again, "could you look after them for a moment? i've left someone waiting."

baizhu huffed, a smirk crossing his lips at the zhongli's sugarcoated words.

"please do. rest assured, they'll be looked after here," baizhu told him slyly, waving a hand towards the door, "and don't bother bringing me any more patients when you're finished. i'm afraid i'm stretched quite thin with just the one."

as zhongli disppeared towards he harbor, baizhu almost pitied the poor man who had put you in such a state. almost.

XIAO

xiao had never enjoyed human celebrations.

he knew that they were important to you, but he just didn't have the patience for them. they always dragged on for so long. sure, he was immortal, but he still appreciated concision.

and the crowds. just thinking about trying to shove his way through a mass of humans made his skin crawl. he'd watched you do it enough times that he knew he would be content to never experience it for himself.

so he was satisfied watching you from afar. he liked seeing you enjoy yourself, even if he wasn't necessarily keen on the types of events that you chose to dedicate your time to.

however, it was neither his place nor his desire to tell you how to spend your time. while he would've been more than happy to just lay with you under the stars, he knew how much you enjoyed spending time with your friends at these little soirees.

but humans were just so fragile. he knew you wouldn't blame him for wanting to keep a watchful eye out.

it was foggy, but that did little to impede his vision as he watched over you from the balcony of wangshu inn. tonight's event had gathered a fairly large crowd to the courtyard outside of the inn, but xiao was careful to make sure he didn't lose sight of you in the depths of the crowd.

in the back of his mind, he heard zhongli's scolding voice telling him that he shouldn't hover, but he waved it away. he was not hovering. he was simply...observing. there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep an eye on humans whose intentions and judgment he didn't trust. he probably would've been here whether you decided to attend or not, just looking out to make sure no one was hurt in the crowd or bothered by some drunkard.

the fact that you were here was simply a coincidence. he was just taking advantage of it to keep an eye on you.

xiao!

the voice that intruded into his mind was panicked, begging for his attention and help. he felt the fear of the person calling him through the word alone. it sent a cold chill down his spine, and he perked up immediately, eyes still on you to make sure you hadn't somehow gotten hurt while he was momentarily distracted.

but you were fine. the call had come from somewhere a few miles from the inn where the abyss order tended to wander. very few knew to call his name in order to summon him, but this particular cry seemed far too desperate for him to ignore. he gave one last look to where you were standing at a food stall with your friends before he disappeared. it only took seconds of searching to find the source of the voice.

as he suspected, the woman was surrounded by monsters. one cryo mage, one hydro, and a handful of hilichurls were tormenting her for seemingly no reason other than their own amusement. rather than unleashing any deadly attacks, the mages released small bursts of elemental power and cackle at the frightened cry that the woman gave as she was hit with a blast of water or ice. the hilichurls seemed equally as amused, dancing around the woman in joy as they watched her grovel and beg that they leave her alone.

"xiao, help!"

she cried his name once more in the same second that he summoned his polearm, throwing it through the shield of the hydro mage with enough force that it shattered, then summoning it once again to destroy the shield of the other. with all of the monsters exposed to the wind, he flew forward and sent the point of his weapon across their throats, ending their lives quickly and painlessly. no need for any more senseless violence than that which had already occurred.

"t-thank you," the woman breathed as she watched the bodies of the monsters disappear, turning to dust as any remaining life drained from their bodies. once they were gone, xiao stepped forward to help the woman to her feet.

"how did you know to call for me?" he asked shortly, slightly annoyed that such a minor incident had called his attention away from the inn. the woman flinched, and he sighed, lowering his head, "i apologize. i just meant that not many people know to call for me anymore. i'm surprised."

"oh! well, i have a friend who told me about an adeptus who helps those in danger. they said to call for you if i ever found myself in a need of help."

xiao sighed. of course.

"this friend—what is their name?"

"it's y/n. they live near the inn, just a few miles from–"

"i know," xiao interrupted with another sigh, "and where do you live? is there somewhere you would like me to take you?"

"just the inn is fine. i'm meant to be meeting them, actually. for the party."

xiao nodded at this small relief—no more time wasted, then. he took hold of the woman's shoulder and teleported to the edge of the crowd gathered outside of the inn. she wobbled slightly at the unexpected travel, but he simply held her elbow as she righted herself while he scanned the crowd for any sign of you. without his high vantage point, it was difficult to make out anyone beyond the border of the crowd, and he scowled.

"will you be alright on your own?" he asked the woman as he let go of her elbow. she nodded.

"yes, thank you very much. i am in your debt."

"it's no trouble. think nothing of it," he told her before he vanished, leaving her to weave her way through the crowd in search of you. xiao returned to his perch on the balcony, scanning the crowd once again for your familiar form.

what would usually be a fairly easy search quickly become far longer than he'd expected. you were nowhere to be seen, and after a third, then a fourth, and finally a fifth scan of the crowd, he took in a deep, calming breath and tried to listen for a call of his name or a sign of your presence within the inn itself.

nothing.

he reappeared on the outskirts of the crowd again before his panic could get the better of him, shoving past people until he spotted verr goldet behind the makeshift bar that had been put together before the party. she was pouring seemingly endless glasses of dandelion wine for the eager customers on the other side of the counter, meeting their demands with a patience that xiao envied.

she spotted him before he could speak, a small smile on her face as she continued to work on taking the orders of the partygoers.

"xiao," she greeted, "i'm surprised to see you. y/n told me that you'd be keeping your distance tonight."

"do you know where they are?"

verr paused, bottle of wine stilling in her hand as she glanced at him. her expression seemed to ask how he had possibly lost sight of you—she was, admittedly, one of the few people who felt comfortable telling him that you were perfectly safe without his constant vigilance.

"i haven't seen them, but they might've just gone to the bathroom. i'm sure they're fine."

right. of course. there were plenty of reasons why you wouldn't be in his direct line of sight. there was no real reason for him to get so worked up over momentarily losing track of you.

he glanced towards the main entrance of the inn. it was vacant of anyone but a few stragglers stumbling towards their rooms, spent from the excitement and the alcohol that had been flowing fairly freely as the night progressed. you were nowhere to be found.

"don't disturb the customers!" verr shouted after him as he strode towards the inn intently, his face a cloud of worry and frustration.

even though you usually pretended to be ignorant of it, xiao knew that you were more than aware of his tendency to hover. you would sometimes tease him about it, but you also understood how important it was that he knew you were safe. if you'd left, you would've signaled to him that you were going somewhere he couldn't see you.

if you'd gone willingly.

the thought had him moving faster towards the third floor where most of the rooms were located. he paused in front of the first one, wondering how much of a scolding he'd get from you, verr goldet, and zhongli if he barged into each room one-by-one until he found you.

it doesn't matter, he told himself as he lifted a foot to kick down the first door. it was just before he made contact with the flimsy wood that he heard something around the corner of the hall: the smallest sound of distress, and then a reprimand from a low voice to remain silent.

his weapon was in his hand before he even caught sight of the two figures illuminated only by the dim glow of the hall lamps. the man who had spoken was towering over a hunched figure in the corner of the room. he looked angry, and he held a limp arm in a tight grip as he tried to drag a barely-conscious human towards an open door.

xiao did not need to look down to know that it was you who was being dragged. he recognized you immediately, if not by your silhouette then by the familiar sound of your voice, so quiet that he likely wouldn't have picked it up had he been human. you let out a pained, terrified call of his name that made the man above you scoff, undeterred in his efforts to pull you to your feet.

in a single, precise blast of wind, the man was on the opposite end of the hall, clutching the back of his head where he'd hit it against the wall and groaning in pain.

xiao's weapon disappeared as he knelt at your side. he lifted your head onto his lap and held it firmly between his palms, studying your expression carefully. your eyes were lidded, and you looked like you were barely hanging onto consciousness. xiao felt anger swirl deep within him as he scanned you, searching for any sign of injury.

the skin that the man had been holding was irritated, circled with a red handprint that was already beginning to bruise. xiao picked it up gingerly and closed his eyes, willing breath into his lungs before it burst from him in an explosion of fury.

"xiao..." you breathed, eyes falling shut with the knowledge that xiao had come for you. the adeptus swallowed thickly, pressing a kiss to your wrist and laying it gently over your chest. he brushed your disheveled hair from your face and stiffened when he caught sight of the dark bruise on your cheek. you had gone limp in his arms, and he lifted you up at the same time that the vile man on the opposite end of the hall rose shakily to his feet.

"what the hell?" he grumbled, shooting xiao a scathing glare that the adeptus returned tenfold. the man blanched at the glare he was given, far more menacing than his own from the hundreds of years of practice that xiao had under his belt. "y-you attacked me. i could have you arrested for this!"

xiao didn't trust himself to speak. his fury was boundless, and he knew that if it was released, this man would be dead within seconds.

him, and most of the humans residing in the rooms surrounding them.

the man looked bewildered, both by xiao's silence and by the darkness radiating from him. he shifted as a thick aura of destructive intent pooled into the room—just a fraction of the rage that xiao felt—and attempted a hasty retreat for the stairwell.

morax, xiao called sharply as he moved to follow the man, i require your assistance.

zhongli appeared almost instantly in front of him, concerned expression from the rare use of his old name becoming grim at the sight of you limp in xiao's arms.

"what do you need?"

"please take them to bubu pharmacy."

zhongli didn't hesitate to reach forward as the adeptus carefully handed you to the ex-archon. xiao kept a hand on your cheek for a moment longer when you were secure in zhongli's arms, listening closely for the steady beat of your heart. when he was satisfied, he stepped back and nodded at zhongli.

the man disappeared immediately, and xiao felt something tighten in his chest at having you out of sight again. he trusted zhongli to take care of you in your vulnerable state, but not having you within arms reach after you'd been in danger was nearly enough for him to forget the man stumbling down the stairs, and instead go straight to bubu pharmacy.

he stood at the top of the stairs for a moment longer before he teleported to the bottom floor. verr goldet saw him instantly—though he knew that he wasn't being very subtle. the darkness that he felt boiling within him was probably consuming the space around him, which was likely for the best. it would help create a clear space for him to do what he pleased to the vermin that had finally reached the final set of stairs.

he vaguely heard verr calling for people to back away, herding them towards the bridge on the opposite side of the courtyard in anticipation of some kind of confrontation.

the man gave a shout of surprise when he spotted xiao at the bottom of the stairs, stumbling backwards and crawling up the stairs like a rat. xiao felt his mouth twitch, lip pulling back in a snarl, but he composed himself.

he took his time making his way towards the man, taking each step with deadly intent that he knew the cockroach could feel. his eyes were wide and filled with a delicious expression of fear that xiao reveled in. he generally didn't feel this sadistic need for blood, but this was different. this man—this...this animal—had hurt you. who knows how many others he'd hurt in the past.

you would be the last that he ever attempted to harm.

xiao covered the surrounding scene in thick shadows, sparing the onlookers from what was unfolding. he couldn't, however, mask the screams of a coward begging for mercy.

it took him little more than five minutes to take care of the mess he'd made of the stairway and contain the darkness that had pooled around him and the man. he was gone before the crowd could catch sight of him.

he was in front of bubu pharmacy in seconds, breathing as deeply as he could manage to keep his ever-festering rage in check.

"xiao," he heard zhongli say next to him, a hesitancy in his voice that xiao rarely heard. he looked up at the man and blinked, taking in the grave expression on his face.

"they'll be alright," zhongli said before xiao could even open his mouth, hands held neatly behind his back. there was a deep, unsettled frown on his face that was making xiao uneasy.

"but?"

"but...they were drugged. baizhu is trying to determine the exact substance that was used, but he said that it will do no lasting physical harm."

xiao felt something in his chest tighten at the thought of you being in such a vulnerable position in the few minutes that he was gone. you must've been terrified...

"xiao," zhongli's voice broke him from his spiraling thoughts—thoughts that were quickly becoming self-incriminating. "do not blame yourself for this."

"i left," xiao said simply, staring through the door of the pharmacy despite zhongli's pointed gaze insisting that he meet his eyes.

"the only one at fault is the man who did this," zhongli continued, "who, i assume, is not longer a problem."

xiao gave a single nod, and he was sure that he heard a sigh of relief come from the ex-archon.

"good," the man said coldly, "that's one less thing to worry about."

xiao glanced up at his former master, wondering what he was still doing here. surely the situation was being handled by baizhu, and with his own presence, there was no need for him to take up any more of the man's time with a situation born from his own inadequate vigilance–

"you're going to give yourself a headache," zhongli tutted, gliding past xiao towards the doors of the pharmacy.

"wait," xiao called, halting zhongli where he stood.

"yes?"

"i–" he grit his teeth, willing the words to get through to zhongli, "i left."

zhongli watched xiao for a moment before he returned to the adeptus' side.

"why did you leave?"

"a woman was being attacked," he responded immediately, "a few miles from the inn. she called my name."

"and do you think y/n would have forgiven you if you'd ignored a woman in need to continue watching over them?"

xiao felt his throat dry at this. it was true—even without the added stipulation of the woman being your friend, you would've been distraught to learn that he'd ignored someone's plea for help to keep watch over you.

but the one time he'd lost sight of you was the one time you'd needed him most.

you hadn't even been able to call for him.

a sadistic part of him wished he'd kept the man alive, if only to make him suffer further, but he knew that would bring him nothing more than a brief, fleeting feeling of satisfaction. it wouldn't change what had happened, and it wouldn't leave you any less scarred by the event.

"come," zhongli said after xiao had been given sufficient time to stew in his own thoughts, "you should be with them when they wake."

when he finally fought past the guilt clouding his mind and entered the pharmacy, you were still unconscious. baizhu explained the effects of the drug to him quickly—in small doses, it caused drowsiness and fatigue. A higher dose could render someone unconscious—much like the state that you were in now. xiao knew anger was still radiating from him, but he couldn't find the energy to try and hide it. how dare someone do this to you. they had no right to even look at you.

"xiao?"

a whisper of his name broke him from his thoughts, and he bent towards you with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"i'm here."

your smile made most of his anger drain away, and he did his best to return it. he knew he hadn't convinced you—you always seemed to see through his attempts to feigning emotions. you showed him mercy this time, likely too exhausted to do much more than keep your eyes open. xiao sat in the chair at your bedside and took your hand in his.

you closed your eyes again at his familiar touch, letting yourself drift off with the knowledge that you were safe.

[emryses]

stick a pin in it

written for @steddiemicrofic march prompt: pin | 388 words | rated: T

During the summer of 1986, Eddie makes himself a new battle vest. Try as they might, they can't quite get Steve Harrington's blood out of the first one; and though Eddie thinks that may add a certain…je no say whatever to it, in the end, he finds an old jean jacket of Wayne’s, chops the arms off and starts all over again.

It doesn’t end up being too difficult. He repurposes patches from the old one. Cuts up an old t-shirt and sews it on the back. Even paints some shit on it with Jane El Hopper-Byers’ paints she lets him borrow. He does it all by hand, like he did the other one, because he likes it. Because it turns out to be pretty decent physical therapy for his bat-eaten muscles. Because it reminds him of the way his mom used to patch up their clothes when he was little, because they couldn’t afford to buy something brand new.

He adds to it all summer long, in bits and pieces as he finds things he wants to attach to it. The vest ends up being an extension of himself, you see. A little bit of his heart on the outside, cloaking himself with it. He adds to the vest, like he adds a gaggle of children to his group of friends, or a kiss from Steve Harrington to his list of first times.

One day, in late August, they sit off to the side of the Harrington pool, teenagers splashing around like children. Steve is laid out like a goddamn Adonis in his tiny swim trunks, sun bathing and delicious. Eddie sews in his cut off jeans, he hasn’t been able to stop looking at Steve all day, chewing on his bottom lip. He watches as Steve reaches down into the folds of the towel on the ground, takes something out, and tosses it to Eddie, and catches it.

“Now what’s this?” Eddie asks. He knows what it is. He knows exactly what it is. It reads, CLASS OF ‘85 under a monogram of HHS.

Steve shrugs. “My class pin. If you want it.” He sounds more nonchalant than Eddie thinks he is, from the blush on his cheeks that he is sure isn’t from the sun. “Thought you might want to put it on your vest.”

[bi-buckrights]

A Lifetime of Preludes

Bucktommy | G | 4k | one shot

They walk side-by-side, hand-in-hand, to the middle of the dance floor and turn towards each other. “You sure about this, Evan?” Tommy asks quietly, brushing his thumb across the back of Buck’s hand and searching Buck’s face for an answer. He squeezes Tommy’s hand and steps into his space, and smiles. “I am.” Tommy smiles in return, and the joy on his face is enough to solidify Buck’s resolve. “Okay then, show me your moves.” Buck laughs and steps closer so that he can feel Tommy’s warm breath fan across his face. “I’m afraid I’ve got two left feet, so I’m gonna let you lead.” Tommy guides Buck’s hand to his shoulder before settling his own on Buck’s waist, and lifts their joined hands. “Guess this is just one more thing I get to teach you, huh?” - or: Buck and Tommy dance at Maddie and Chim's wedding, and the pieces that Buck has been searching for finally fall into place.

Read on ao3

[emwritesstuff]

DYNAMO | Steve Rogers x Reader | masterlist

HYDRA has made their share of human experiments. You're just one of them. One of the least successful ones. One of the least functional ones. At least your life in the facility gave you a few things: unwavering resilience, cool(ish) superpowers and a great sense of humor. Steve Rogers would strongly disagree with that last one. A single chance encounter with him reluctantly brings you into the Avengers Compound, and you're determined to make his life as miserable as you can. Feeling's mutual.

An Enemies to Lovers, Steve-needs-to-relax sort of story. No use of Y/N on this one, been keeping the reader's physical descriptions low too! The white girl of the image is just used for the lightning vibes.

warnings/keywords: mentions of human experimentation, violence, cursing, sexual tension, low self esteem, mentions of death, stressed!steve) This series contains explicit content (smut and other mature themes). Please heed the warnings and read responsibly!

status: ongoing

AO3 | Playlist (coming soon!)

part 1: THE CATALYST part 2: CONDUCTIVE ACCORDS part 3: FRICTION SURGENCE part 4: ENTROPY part 5: OF MOMENTUM** part 6: ENTHALPY** **contains smut

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! /currently tagging: @ nekoannie-chan @ alessandraavengers @ js-favnanadoongi @ bean-bean2000 @ masterofnonesstuff @ reejero @ agentxx92 @ mimimarvelingmarvel @ spn-imagines-fics

[ackermom]

a piece of a thing that will otherwise never see the light of day. post-canon armin/annie, nsfw-ish

---------------------------------------------------

"how's the lovemaking?" pieck asks.

annie supposes they are friends. funny, that word, as funny as pieck, no longer the long-legged little girl annie remembers, always wearing a dopey half-smile that made annie want to kick her in the face. she's become something far more irritating now, something lithe and beautiful with the long dark hair and the pale heart face. tall and sharp and thin— the kind of woman who can ask about lovemaking as she finishes her manicure and watches the waves out the window.

something annie has never wanted to be, not until she knew it was something she is not. she hates pieck for even making her wonder, staring in the dim cracked mirror of their steerage cabin and seeing herself, really, for the first time. she hates her for it. so, friends.

"you don't have to ask every time," annie says. never mind that the lovemaking— pieck's word— is few and far between at all, let alone in these small bunker cabins where one can hear a neighbor drop a pin on the carpet. she's not so callous to deny that she likes the feel of armin's collarbones beneath her hands and the heat on his skin pressed into her thighs, though she wouldn't call it lovemaking. she wouldn't call it anything. it's probably better that way.

"i want to know if he's getting better," pieck says. "you never give me details."

"the details are private."

"he must be doing something right to keep you coming back. or should i say, to keep you coming."

well— therein lies the problem.

"oh," that bitch says, putting down her nail polish. "i see. finally something the genius can't figure out."

annie finally wrangles her stockings off and makes the mistake of glaring at pieck in the mirror— bad idea, for the curious eyes and arched eyebrows that look back at her, something sly and suggestive in the rising curve of her lips as she watches annie from across the bunkroom. she turns her back to pieck again, busying herself at the bureau, but she is annoyed— bitch— at the revelation uttered aloud, if only for the implication that annie would let a guy prod at her for hours to "figure it out" when she could just tell him what to do and get it over with. the trouble is, she doesn't know either.

the trouble is, her sex education was provided by a wiry-hired marleyan doctor focused on the science of reproduction and the risks to avoid should a warrior ever find herself undercover for the purpose of seduction and entrapment. nothing was said of love or desire. no instructions were given for the warm space between her legs other than not to get pregnant, and so far the little rubber diaphragm she impulse-bought at a pharmacy on the mainland has been winning that battle for her. the only reward she's gotten for her sexual exploits has been cleaning armin's come from her thighs as he apologizes and offers to try again next time.

it's just getting old, that's all.

"there's nothing to figure out," is all she says then. there is a lot to figure out.

she hears pieck blow on her nails. "don't let a man use you like that, dear. one day you'll find yourself knocked up without a hand to hold."

she'll have her own, annie thinks, remembering grim, clenched-jaw moments sitting on the toilet after she tugs out her soiled diaphgram, praying to whatever gods are shitting on them that none of his seed makes it inside. mostly she relies on gravity.

"i'm not letting him use me," annie says. although, at this point—

"think of karina braun," pieck says, ignoring her. "that's your future if your carry on like this. imagine having to raise reiner."

annie throws her a sharp glance, finding her flapping one hand as she waits for the nail polish dry. pieck blows on her fingers, then catches her eye.

"i've always hated that woman," she confesses. she grimaces. "but to her credit, i'm not sure i could've done a better job."

she blows on her hand again. when she finds annie's still watching, she raises her head, her gaze softening into something...— ...something.

"what do you see in him?" pieck asks her.

annie looks away. that's as good as any answer. she's not sure she knows. she doesn't know shit anymore, or maybe she never did. but armin understands in a way that none of the others do. they wouldn't get it. not even reiner, who's the closest to her heart; but it's a soiled black hole he left there, in every part of her. and not pieck, not the way they're speaking now, like they've always been friends. they don't even know each other.

maybe she only wants him because she wants to hear his voice, the way he talked to her for years when she was half-asleep, folded up into herself like a cocoon underwater, watching the light break through the surface and trying to hold her breath for just a little longer. maybe she'd be fucking hitch instead if she was here, or maybe it's only herself she's seeing— creeping up from the depths to break through the layers burying her to finally find the light.

[3wisellamas]

Babysitting a small child? Piece of cake, for the Sweet Cap'n Cakes. Child's play, even.

Babysitting Lancer, though? That's a tough card to be dealt.

[capsironunderoos]

Me: *writing stories where Din is raising Grogu in a sweet little cabin around 2020/2021*

The Mandalorian in 2023: “Yeah so Din is raising Grogu in a cabin now how cool is that?”

Me: “Which one of you read my stories?”

[rottingformerfirstmate]

Izzy Hands is a sailor. Bred, born, and raised, with the kind of cat-like grace on deck that usually comes with late night rum laden tales of ghosts haunting an old set of planks. Lucius has heard all variations of how Izzy came to be the first mate of Dread Pirate Blackbeard, from the crew of the Revenge swapping tales to the whispers at any port they dock in. A particularly popular version states that Izzy was born of a mermaid and a navy sailor, and spent the first fifteen years of his life in the sea before crawling aboard a blustering Hornigold's ship and getting in close with Edward Teach. In Nassau, the leading rumor is that Izzy sprung into existence by sheer force of Blackbeard's will, every piece of him made perfect by design. There's no definitive answer, but a million different attempts to explain the ruthless competence travel the currents of the Caribbean as surely as any shoal of fish.

He means to ask, at times, but regardless of his origins, Izzy is intimidating. There are many nights where he has kept watch and Lucius, unable to sleep, edges on deck to watch him write in his journal before running drills with his sabre through the wee hours of dawn. It seems like he never even breaks a sweat. The sword is an extension of his arm in the effortless way it cuts the air, even when his jaw betrays his tension upon noticing an audience. He never orders Lucius to fuck off, although if he tries to speak to Izzy, that would likely change.

On a stormy evening, one that has even Fang and Ivan frantic in the downpour of rain, Lucius watches Izzy for something. He doesn't know what at first, but maybe it's confirmation of some story he's heard. Perhaps Izzy will get sick, as Fang once said, or he'll prove himself the experienced and deadly sailor, like every pirate knows him to be. Lucius himself isn't helpful in such a situation and he knows it. His main task through all this is to help provide weight on the rigging Jim is tugging on to keep in place through the ripping winds, and it's as simple as holding on through the friction burn and listening for orders.

A large wave sends them careening at a forty five degree angle, which Lucius manages to hold on through, but sends Jim flying. Oluwande shouts in alarm a few feet away. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius sees Izzy take notice. He asses the situation, snaps something at Wee John and Pete, and leaps across the deck in a few bounds before jumping into the water after Jim. He doesn't even have a rope to haul himself back with.

Everyone is screaming in the commotion except for Edward and Lucius, now. Edward stays at the banister Izzy jumped over, leaning to peer into the sea as if another list won't send him down too, and Lucius stares at the churning foam of the waves like they're at all likely to spit Jim and Izzy back up.

"Rope! Someone get me a fucking rope!" Edward cries, and Lucius would but he can't let go of the rigging. The Swede gets it to him, and on inaudible orders, helps hold strong when the majority of the length is tossed over the side. The strain of holding on sends both of their muscles into high relief, gleaming with the water reflecting off them in rivulets, but all Lucius can think about is what happens if they aren't strong enough. Olu joins them and, a few moments later, they haul Jim back into the ship by way of a harness tied expertly around their waist. Edward frantically loosens the knots until it's able to slip off Jim's body, and tosses it right back. Olu is focused entirely on Jim, understandably, which makes it harder for Edward and the Swede, more tired, to keep pulling and hoping.

He lets go of the rigging, feeling it burn his palms as it slides away, and jumps into action. He grabs the rope and pulls with all his might. It hurts enough to feel, the effort, but not enough to overpower the adrenaline. Lucius pulls and pulls and pulls until Edward explodes in a crow of triumph and Izzy lands back on the deck.

For a moment, Lucius expects him to get back up and go back to ordering them all around. He doesn't. He just lays there. Edward drops to his knees with a crack that'll hurt him later, and Lucius joins him, grabbing the banister with one hand and Izzy's shoulder with the other.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Edward asks. "He shouldn't have- and he always-"

Lucius rolls Izzy onto his side and hits him squarely between the shoulder blades, which triggers a violent fit of coughing up seawater, followed by throwing up more mixed with bile. Izzy the Spewer, Lucius thinks, might be a mischaracterization the man in front of him.

"Iz, you fucking maniac!"

Edward sounds both elated and terrified, but neither seems to register with Izzy. He just breathes heavily, swaying with the ship's movements so as not to go careening back overboard, and slowly gets back to his feet.

"Work to be done, come on. Storm's not over. Mr. Spriggs, why aren't you holding the fucking rigging? Why aren't any of you doing anything useful?"

He launches into a tirade that breaks only to cough and gasp for breath, but follows it up by approaching Jim in sauve steps to speak to them quietly. Only when he stands still can Lucius see the faint trembling of his body, and the purple-blue tint on his lips. Then, like a miracle, Izzy nods toward the door to the innards of the ship and watches Jim and Oluwande painstakingly seek shelter together.

The proof of strain on Izzy is evidence to his humanity, but the fact that he still stands in such a state makes Lucius taste the dashes of mysticism that surround all the stories. A mere man should be dead, if not on the doorstep of its embrace, yet Izzy stands proud and continues to command the crew. Here, Lucius can also see the things that no one speaks of. It takes caring about someone to risk one's own life like that.

When Izzy comes to Lucius, he isn't sure what to expect. It certainly isn't for Izzy to look at his grip on the ropes, stained scarlet over the slick of the rain, and make a disapproving sound. "It gets better with calluses, but you'll have problems with a sword and a pen if you build them too much."

"What do you want me to do then?" Lucius asks, not an ounce of bite in the words.

"Be smart. Get a fucking glove to protect one hand, and rely on the other for brute work like this."

Then Izzy nods as if to himself, not acknowledging the vulnerability he's just laid bare and offered up, and directs his attention to something Roach is doing.

Whatever the truth is behind the mythos of Izzy Hands, Lucius is more than honored to work with a sailor like him.

[soelitist]

Summary: AlphaBeta has a purpose. That purpose is Reagan. 

WC: 2.9k | Chapter: 2/6 | AO3

There are four plush chairs in Gigi’s office, matching and chic in the way only her office is at Cognito, and AlphaBeta makes sure to touch all four. His new hands can feel textures like never before, and while some are aversive, these are nice. Soothing, even. 

“Brett lied to Reagan today,” he tells her.

Gigi actually puts her phone down and leans over her desk. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

He comes up to her desk and sits on the edge of it. With a whir, a click, and a rising hum, a holograph projects from his eyes, allowing Gigi to see what he’s saved. First is the clip of Brett's disgust over Myc, and then the commentary from the lab, to which Gigi simply raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

"Juicy, but I can see why he might not tell Reagan his sexploits."

"Not just that. He lied about his emotions, too."

AlphaBeta rolls that footage for her as well, focusing most of his energy on interpreting her responding expressions. She has an impressive poker face, though, and he must wait for his chance to ask questions. 

"This is kinda low level, even for you," Gigi says once he ends the hologram. "I know you never liked the guy, but everyone lies about their excitement in the workplace. Do you think I enjoy doing everything Reagan tells me to?"

He pulls up the feed from Andre’s lab and watches him, Brett, and Myc goof off around dangerous chemicals and bioweapons in the background. “You’re not understanding. Brett lies the least of any Cognito employee. I ran the statistical analysis and he is, on average, 19.4% less likely than anyone else to lie. When factoring Reagan into the conversation, he’s 85.3% less likely to lie to her specifically. So why would he lie to her?”

Gigi tilts her head. “How-”

“You lie about ten percent more than the average employee, but 2.6% less than the average employee to Reagan.”

Then she purses her lips, like that wasn’t the question she intended to ask, but she doesn’t seem to have another to take its place. AlphaBeta moves on. He picks up a glass statuette from Gigi’s desk and turns it over in his hands, feeling the smooth contours and sharp edges of which it comprises. There’s text engraved on the base, which he makes sure to feel as well. It’s not a language in his database. Not human, then, nor anything Reagan knows. 

“What language is this?”

“Fuck if I know. Myc gave it to me.”

“Did he?”

AlphaBeta chips the edge of the statuette and tucks away his new shard before setting the crystal back down, careful to line it up perfectly with its previous placement, down to the correct angle. Gigi doesn’t interrupt him. Instead, she waits patiently for him to be satisfied before continuing with their conversation.

“I still think you might be overreacting, Brett’s pretty harmless.”

He looks at her. 

“Okay, less so, these days. Glad he finally grew a backbone. But he wouldn’t do anything to hurt this team, especially Reagan. You know that, right?”

The humming sound from his processors revs up enough to approximate a verbal response like a human would give, acknowledging speech but with a distinct air of disinterest. While far from the latter, it remains the most advantageous response. His panel of the overhead camera in Andre’s lab pings, so he holds up a finger to tell Gigi to wait, and tunes more attention into the stream. 

“This is insane,” Andre says through the tinny microphone, a lit hand-roll of some kind in his grip. “Fuck everybody else, work in my lab.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that hard.”

Myc, who has wound his short flagella around a chair’s seat rather than slouching in it as he typically does in the interest of seeming less alien, makes an audible groan. “This is the best shit I’ve ever smoked.”

“Seriously, what’s your secret?”

Brett scratches the back of his neck and ducks his head so his face is harder to see. AlphaBeta simply pulls up the rest of the cameras to better see him. “It’s really nothing, you guys, I was just messing around. Glad you like it, though!”

“Is this what getting high feels like for you?” Myc asks, presumably Andre, though it can be hard to tell with a faceless fungus. “I can’t fucking think. Can’t even hear you assholes think. It’s so quiet up here.”

AlphaBeta hits Gigi’s desk with a booming sound. “Brett is drugging Andre and Myc.”

She raises her eyebrow. 

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I am quite literally smarter than you hundreds of times over. They’re all doing drugs in Andre’s lab--yes, yes, like always--but this is something Brett made and it’s dampened Myc’s psychic abilities. It cannot possibly be an accident, or safe.”

As if to prove his point, Reagan gets an email from the automated sensors in the lab, labeling it a cognitive hazard. Such a turn of phrase had started as a joke Gigi made, but it’s a rather apt way to calmly inform people that Andre’s lab is a glorified hotbox. He flags it and sends an alert to Reagan’s desktop in her office so she knows to read the message. 

“Andre’s lab just got labeled C-Haz, so I would refrain from paying them a visit,” AlphaBeta tells Gigi, “unless you’d also like to experience Brett’s homemade substances.”

 Finally, that earns the closest approximation to a laugh AlphaBeta has ever personally elicited from Gigi. He takes that point of pride privately. “I wasn’t planning on it, but thanks for the tip, Ro. “

He smiles at her, not with his full face but with more than the left side alone. “I should be getting back to work. I just wanted to… share my concerns with someone more objective than Reagan.”

They shake hands, firm but polite, so he can take his leave. It would be safe for him to go to Andre’s lab, seeing how he has no lungs to inhale the smoke, but he has no clue how helpful interrogating anyone under that level of influence could be, which in turn has him trotting the familiar path back to Reagan’s office. 

He knocks twice on the door. “Reagan?”

Her office security footage shows her waving him in, so he he enters and closes the door behind him. She is once again engrossed in the wall computer, typing furiously with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and stays that way even as he comes up behind her. He sorts the cipher even faster this time to decode a message from another member of the Illuminati, presumably from her Anonymous Anonymous group. This contact, named Bill, agrees with Reagan that Ron’s sudden death is suspicious. 

“I think he means that he finds the timing suspicious, not that Ron Staedtler survived,” AlphaBeta tells Reagan.

She jumps, then turns to glare at him. “You can read this?”

“You designed me, of course I can read it.”

“Yeah. That checks out.” Reagan stands up and stretches. Her joints spatter with pops at the motion. “I’m gonna send a team out there to gather evidence and see if we can figure out where he’s hiding.”

He knows she will not here reason at this point in her grief. She has just lost her father, as well, possibly in a much more definite way soon, according to the email he still hasn’t directly forwarded to her. She’s far too busy for every little detail of the company’s runnings. He pulls it up just to read the crisp text again. And he does plan to bring this up to her, but he has yet to decipher what Brett is up to, and presenting an incomplete picture is the worst thing he could do.

“At least everything is going well here,” she says. 

If this were The Office, which AlphaBeta has devoured with great pleasure, he would look into the camera. It is not, so he refrains from staring directly at any security cameras in Reagan’s office. 

“So Andre already got Brett high?” Reagan asks, skimming the email he sent her. 

“The opposite, actually. Brett made something that got Andre and Myc both ‘baked,’ as they might say. Myc’s psychic powers were affected by the potency.”

She blinks at him. “Brett made it.”

“Yes, within ten minutes of me leaving the lab. I stopped by to monitor their progress.”

“Yeah, the uh, the…” Reagan shuts her eyes briefly while she tries to find the memory in her mind. AlphaBeta doesn’t need to do that to collect information, but then again, neither do most humans. He plots this point on his graph. “The mind control fungus, right?”

“That would be the one.”

She kicks the underside of her desk. “The Robes sent me a list of subjects for Andre to test it on. Fun fact, they hired an intern to do that kinda stuff. It’s really freaky imagining being an intern for Them. If I ever had to do that job-- I don’t even wanna think about it. Anyways, the list. It hasn’t crossed my desktop yet.”

AlphaBeta gets a warning that his temperature is rising faster than the cooling system can regulate.

“I have not forwarded the email.”

“Any particular reason, or just to annoy me?”

“If I may revisit an earlier topic of conversation,” he begins, pausing longer than he originally intended when Reagan narrows her eyes at him, “I think that therapeutic intervention could be very good for you. Perhaps I could find you a therapist specializing in trauma, or-”

“Don’t even say it,” she interjects. 

He nods in acquiescence. “I will refrain. But my point stands, Reagan, and I know your friends would agree.”

“I’ll consider it if you tell me what you’re hiding.”

Negotiation. AlphaBeta was originally supposed to replace the president, before he gained consciousness, and is still the most advanced being on the planet besides his creator. He also has the advantage of reading her tells when his own cold body has none. Every movement he makes is deliberate.

“I’d be willing to strike a deal that satisfies both parties,” he says.

“Yeah?” Reagan crosses her arms. “What do you propose?”

“After you complete an intake session with a licensed professional, I will forward your list.”

“I could check your system myself.”

The coded equivalent of a chill running down his spine floods AlphaBeta’s awareness for a moment. He hates having his system tampered with, manually accessed in such a way. It feels so beyond invasive, like her dexterous fingers are crawling around inside every thought he has, and leaves him feeling picked over and hollowed out even though she has never erased anything. The glitches, too. They resolve on their own after a day or two, but their presence is equal parts frightening and humiliating. 

“Fine, schedule an appointment and I’ll forward it.”

Reagan takes a moment to mull it over, glancing between his nose and the floor, before finally saying, “Okay. Whatever. Schedule the appointment and I’ll go, now forward me my fucking email, dude.”

He takes the opportunity to do both, finding a therapist he bookmarked earlier with openings that work around Reagan’s erratic schedule and filling out the forms as he simultaneously sorts out the correct email and sends it to her desktop. It is closely followed by the confirmation email for her appointment. 

“Oh,” she says when she finishes the list. “Huh.”

“I was trying to protect you from that, until I knew you could handle it.”

The camera on her desk shows that she’s upset. He doesn’t get the chance to offer comfort. “I don’t need your protection. Or anyone else’s. I’m the fucking CEO of Cognito and that means something. I made you, didn’t I? And I got here on my own, not because of my dad, or you, or Brett, or-” Reagan presses the heels of her palms into her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “I am a grown woman. I can handle stress. Fuck you. Okay. I’m putting together the team for Wisconsin, and then I’m checking on Andre and Brett’s progress personally, and then I guess I’ve gotta talk to The Robes.”

“Do you hope to change Their minds?”

She minimizes the window. “I don’t know.” Reagan rolls her sleeves back down and reaches for the half-eaten chocolate donut still sitting on her desk. “You said Brett made whatever they’re high on down there?”

“Evidently. I checked the cameras when they’d already started smoking whatever it was.”

“Hmm.”

Donut in one hand, mouse in the other, Reagan retrieves the security feeds and pulls up the lab for the two of them to watch together. The latest evolution shows that Myc is in the corner doing something relatively sheltered from their view but clearly inappropriate, while Andre sleeps on the table as Brett places his suit jacket over him like a blanket. AlphaBeta notices that someone had the foresight to clear the table before Andre slept on it. 

“Does Brett seem high at all to you?” Reagan asks. “The smoke in there was potent enough to set off the sensors, so even if he didn’t take anything directly…”

“He was behaving strangely earlier today, but does not seem to be high in that footage, or objectively more out of character than he had been prior to entering the lab.”

Reagan hums again and switches to a camera with a better angle of Brett’s face, showing no bright flush and no dilated pupils. They watch it together, switching between cameras when Brett finishes covering Andre in his jacket and instead goes to check on Myc.

“Hey, buddy, you wear yourself out yet?” Brett asks. 

“I don’t want to watch this.”

At that, Reagan clicks off the feed. AlphaBeta continues to stream it privately, to keep an eye on the situation. He will need to gather more explicit evidence to convince her. Easy. At the end of the day, he is a machine, one she built, and there is no better being in the world to collect and archive data for analysis. 

“If I recall correctly, you were hardly a fan of Brett yourself when he started here,” he points out. “You told me all about the biggest thorn in your side and how convinced you were that he had something to hide.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then I got to know him, and it’s just not that deep, Brett’s not- there’s not a conniving bone in that man’s body.”

“What makes a bone conniving?”

Reagan waves her hand in a presumably dismissive gesture, and AlphaBeta retires to his corner of her office. The corner is exactly as the word implies: two walls meet at a ninety degree angle, forming a hard edge in Reagan’s office, though this particular corner is special. When AlphaBeta stands in it, there’s a portrait of Reagan and her friends to the left of his head, and an old-fashioned looking cuckoo clock that hides a security system he had the fortune to help design to his right. Below the portrait, and slightly closer to the corner itself, is a power outlet for him to connect to if needed. It is a simple and functional corner. He doesn’t mind it; it’s his. 

He leans against the comforting support of the thick walls and starts surfing the security cameras again, starting in Gigi’s office. He does not peep on her day often, out of respect for her privacy, but still checks when he cycles the cameras to ensure her safety. He finds her with her feet up on the desk, talking on the phone, and moves on without tuning into the microphones. He checks each department after that, and even makes the time to look in on Glenn’s day, which seems consumed with an argument about the best kind of missile. AlphaBeta knows the answer. He switches the feed. 

Back in Andre’s lab, the doctor is still asleep, while Myc appears to have finally tuckered himself enough to do the same. AlphaBeta can find it difficult to discern when Myc is asleep, but he has to assume him to be, given the complete silence and stillness of his body. Brett is not with them. Immediately, AlphaBeta checks Brett’s office. Empty. He initiates a broad search to locate the man.

In the end, he locates Brett in the parking garage, upper body leaning against the cold exterior of his own hybrid, hands stuffed in his pockets. He appears to be speaking, so AlphaBeta connects to the audio as well, quickly finding the black smudge on the feed over Brett’s ear, which must be a bluetooth device. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Brett says.

Those words are not unfamiliar. Such a particular turn of phrase is one which he reaches for with the same ease and frequency as a bee collecting nectar from the nearest meadow, but the tone is all wrong. It tends to be coupled with an uncertainty. A lack of personal strength, perhaps. This time, when Brett says those words into his earpiece, his voice is smooth and confident, like that of a man whose opinion on what does and does not constitute necessary actually matters. 

“No, absolutely not.” Brett pushes away from the car and spends a useless fifteen seconds pacing. “Mm- no excuses, either. Just- just get it done, and get back to me, alright? This petty bullshit isn’t getting us anywhere.”

AlphaBeta nearly closes the live feed in his haste to make sure he saves every second. 

“Good. Please don’t make me say it again, okay, buddy? Okay. Have a good one.”

He hangs up the phone in and tucks it into his coat. Then he sighs, too loudly in the echoing acoustics of the parking garage, and stays there for a full ten minutes under AlphaBeta’s supervision until, seemingly recomposed by his own internal standards, he returns to the main building. 

[slimeypuppy]

You’ve left off with a bit of a cliffhanger in Chess Games but I am still hoping for…more piss? 😁 Some day? 🙏

There’s no piss here, but please enjoy a continuation from the last installment- just a bit of a different angle on the situation. //

“I think we fucked up here,” the voice on the other end of the line says, pausing as his lighter clicks. “I don’t like the idea of Ken being involved. He might not come back from this.”

Lukas waves his hand dismissively, although no one but Roman can see it. “He was already broken, friend. Besides, we need to separate the two of them, don’t we? Kendall and Stewy need to hate each other if we’re getting anywhere with either one of them.”

“I don’t know if I trust your methods. Roman-”

“Is right here and doing fucking fine, thank you,” Roman interrupts, half-tempted to hang up the call already. “I’m not thrilled either, but Lukas knows his shit, and so does Skye. We’ve gone over all the other options already, man. If there was another way, we’d do it.”

“And Shiv, is she on board?”

Lukas looks to Roman, who shakes his head. Shiv has been even more on edge than usual lately. It could be due to her failing marriage with Tom, or that Lukas’ tech team dug up her credit card receipts relating to Rava Roy, or the incredible amount of bullshit that their dad is putting her through, or any number of other things. It’s not like Roman cares. Shiv has fucked them all over enough times. He has the scars to prove it. Granted, he probably wouldn’t actively set out to hurt her, but he probably wouldn’t put himself on the line to save her either. That’s where the other Roy brothers are different. Roman has always been the most ruthless, because he’s capable of separating out his emotions from the business. 

“We’re not making any leeway with Siobhan. You may have to step in for that part.”

A slow laugh rumbles through the speakerphone. “As if. She hates me.”

“Mmm, no- she hates that she doesn’t feel respected or taken seriously. If you do genuinely ask for her help, she’ll cream her pants at the chance. Then, we eliminate Dad and Tom as options to return to, and she’s kind of stuck with us.”

That has Lukas leaning forward, a little closer to Roman than he’d currently prefer. “We need to make sure Stewy stays dead, then. I know Skye and Kendall have their plans, but we will  need to send a cleanup crew sooner than they would prefer to make sure we don’t leave any loose ends. He’s a real survivor, that man, and it’s becoming a problem. I can’t have him and Kendall both and ensure obedience, and neither of you will let me dispose of Kendall, so we have to make sure he dies and stays dead.”

“And there’s my whole problem with the torture line. At some point, Ken is gonna feel bad, and he’s not going to finish the job. He won’t let Taylor do it, either.”

“He can shut off his emotions pretty well,” Roman counters. 

Before he and Lukas receive a response, Roman’s phone starts ringing in his pocket. He raises an eyebrow at the caller ID and shows it to Lukas, who makes an affirmative gesture. 

“Talk later, my friend!” 

He hangs up his call before receiving a response and takes Roman’s phone from his hand, answering it and placing it on speaker immediately. At first, there’s just heavy, labored breathing, and only then come the first words anyone has heard from Stewy Hosseini in days. 

“Hello? Rome, are you there, man? Please tell me you’re there.”

“Right here,” Roman answers. “Where the fuck are you? No one’s talked to you in ages.”

“Backup to my house, please, as soon as possible. Kendall’s working with Skye, or something, I’m not- I’m not sure why they’re- it’s not- they won’t tell me- I can’t-”

Roman’s heart twinges in his chest unexpectedly. “Take a deep breath, dude, fuck. What are you talking about?”

“Sandy’s not answering, and I didn’t- I didn’t know who else to call. You have to help me.”

Roman had thought Lukas would remain silent for the duration of this particular conversation, but a smile slips onto his face as he tugs Roman closer to him. He wraps an arm around Roman’ chest to hold him in place, firm and restrictive, but not so much so to make him panic like it used to. The lines have begun to blur with Lukas, and not for the first time, Roman has to wonder if everyone has gotten in over their heads. Lukas is smart, smarter than anyone has any right to be, and there’s no telling what’s really a ploy and what’s genuine. 

“Help’s not coming,” Lukas says smoothly. “There’s not a single person you haven’t fucked over.”

“I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

Stewy cuts himself off with a sniffle. Roman has never seen or heard him cry before, but it quickly becomes evident that they’re witnessing it. After all these years of looking up to him, respecting him, viewing him as indestructible, he has finally been one of the men involved in truly breaking the best agent on the continent. And yet, Roman isn’t proud. He doesn’t revel in this victory like he thinks he should. Instead, he wishes it didn’t have to be this way. 

“It’s been a pleasure working with you for the last twenty years,” Roman says, “but all good things end. We’ll let Ken know you called.”

Hanging up is not as difficult as it should be, but he’s left with a weight in his chest and Lukas’ arms wrapped too tightly around him. 

[emwrites-f1]

hoping you take lewis hamilton requests <3

i was thinking about the reader visiting lewis at the paddocks on press day and afterwards they get something to eat and later go back to the hotel where it’s all just fluff because he’s so happy she’s there for the race

Uni’s been a bit crazy the past few weeks 🥹 I’m so sorry for only getting back to you now.

I do take requests for Lewis and this one is so lovely! For sure interested in taking a shot at writing this one …. hope you don’t mind if it’s a bit of a process though, I have test week coming up so my time’s a bit limited!

Hope you’re having a lovely day xxx

[anyon-else]

Yes, These New Walls Are Pretty Hard to Crack (The Red Room pt.13) | Despite Ino's reassurances, believing that Kakashi is good is easier said than done. However, he's making it very hard for you to be afraid of him. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Ino Yamanaka, Shikamaru Nara, Asuma Sarutobi, Orochimaru, Kabuto Yakushi

Warnings | female!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, paranoia, nightmare, violence, degrading language (non-sexual), weapons, dissociation

Word count | 9.9k

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"Don't run."

Your eyes were wide as you backed a safe distance away from Kakashi. He sat up, paying no mind to his already bruising neck and kicking your knife to the opposite side of the room.

You hadn't meant to drop it. You were so stupid to slip up like that, but your mind was racing. Your heart was pounding, and your body hadn't responded correctly to your fear. You'd relaxed almost on instinct at the familiar touch on your cheek. A turmoil of emotions and what had to be false memories were clashing with the rage festering in your mind, and Kakashi was the cause of it. You needed to get away from him

You needed to get out.

"Wait," Kakashi said when he saw the sudden resolve overtake your clouded gaze. He got back on his feet slowly, though his eyes were wide as he watched your movements carefully. He looked frantic. Scared, even. "Wait here, and I'll go get Ino–"

"Shut up," you spit, considering the exits on either side of you and wondering if it was worth it to try and fight past him to the door at his back.

That's the side closest to the main exit.

Your head was splitting. You pictured the man who had tortured you and tried to reconcile the image of his sadistic grin and cold eyes with the one standing in front of you. They were supposed to be the same person. They were the same person.

You couldn't breath. You needed to get out of this room. You needed to run until you couldn't move.

He must've seen it on your face the moment you decided to turn on your heel and bolt towards the door behind you. The moment you turned away from him, you heard him turn in the opposite direction to intercept you at the exit.

The windows on this floor open from the inside.

Your body was moving before your mind had time to catch up with it. Your feet carried you down halls and past rooms that you didn't recognize despite how easily you seemed to be navigating them. Your mind easily supplied you with directions as you ran through corriders and dimly lit hallways towards an unknown destination.

When you finally stopped in front of a closed door, something like awareness tugged at your mind. It shouted and screamed and made the ache in your skull grow worse until you finally shut it out with a shake of your head.

You pushed the door open and strode through the room, ignoring the unmade bed and full bookshelf and picture frames on your way to the door of the balcony on the far wall. It was cracked open, letting in a cool breeze that pushed the curtains into the room and made the fresh air mix with the distinct, pleasant scent of the room.

The air was choking you. Familiarity pushed past the barriers you'd surrounded your mind with and began shouting at you once again. It begged and pleaded with you to stop for just a moment. It told you to think about why the smell of this room was so naturally comforting, or how you'd so easily navigated the building and found yourself here.

You paused with a hand on the handle of the balcony door, staring at the field below it blankly.

Instead of pushing the door open, you turned and looked around the room again. In spite of your best efforts to remain unaffected, anger surge through you as tears formed in your eyes again. You felt lost—like this room was an endless, infinite space that you'd never escape from. It made you feel helpless.

It made you feel weak.

Next to the bed was a small table that held a few books, a lamp, and two framed pictures. The first was of three kids all huddled together with Kakashi towering over them. The man's eyes were closed and his smile was obvious behind his mask, a hand resting on the heads of two boys on either end of the girl in the middle.

You covered your mouth with a trembling hand, crouching to the floor and hugging your knees close to your chest.

The other picture was of the same pink haired girl who stood in the middle of the first picture. She was laughing, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in what had probably been a delighted laugh. Next to her was a woman with a fond smile on her face and so much warmth in her gaze that it made your chest ache.

It took you a moment to realize that the woman in that picture was you.

You picked the framed photo up carefully, studying the familiar faces of two strangers.

You imagined the rest of the scene playing out after the photo had been taken. The girl reaching a hand to your shoulder as her laughter died down, then seeing that Kakashi had taken a picture and demanding that he show her. She wanted to make sure that she still looked cute mid-laugh. Watching as she tried to snatch his phone from him, hanging off of his arm and demanding that the photo be deleted as Kakashi grinned and held it above his head.

He showed you the photo later. You thought laughter suited Sakura far more than the tears you were accustomed to seeing in the Red Room

"What is this?" you whispered to yourself, choked and strained. You remembered her name. It disappeared from your mind just as fast as it had appeared, slipping away before you had a chance to hold onto it, but it had been there. You knew this girl. You knew this room and this building. You'd been here before.

You'd smiled here. You'd been happy.

It was a trick. This was all just another way for Kakashi to manipulate you—soon enough things would go back to the way they were. Kakashi would reveal his true nature to you, and you'd be right back where you started.

You rocked forward and let your knees hit the hard floor beneath you. The picture hung loosely in your hand, and you leaned wide eyed and reeling against the bed as memories passed through your mind faster than you could catch sight of them. They swirled in a raging tempest that you couldn't possibly breach. They were in dangerous territory that you didn't feel equipped to search through.

The blankets on the bed had the same, distinct scent as the room. They smelled like a forest.

It reminded you of safety. You wanted to bury yourself in it.

It was making you dizzy.

You flinched when you heard the quiet creak of a floorboard on the other side of the room, pushing away from the bed and backing into a wall.

Kakashi froze when your eyes landed on him. You watched him glance around the room and spot the missing picture on his bedside table, then scan your surroundings until he saw it clutched in your shaking hand.

Tears were slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts to keep them at bay, but you found yourself unable to move your arms to wipe them away. Your body wouldn't respond to you, just like your mind was moving at an uncontrollable pace. You were completely helpless.

It should've been terrifying, but when you searched for the familiar fear that always appeared with when you were in Kakashi's presence, you found that you couldn't feel a thing.

Kakashi took a small step into the room, then another when you only watched him. You kept the picture clutched tightly in your hand like it was a weapon, but you didn't move until he was kneeling in front of you.

"Who are you?" you whispered when he was at your level.

He paused, then he lifted his hand slowly, letting you follow the movement until his fingers stopped at the edge of his mask. He hooked one over the cloth and slid it from his face until you could see his features clearly. The moonlight was shining into the room from the windows, illuminating his lips and his cheeks and his nose—all parts of him that you had never seen before.

"Are you real?"

This was not Kakashi Hatake. Perhaps you were dreaming. Hallucinating, even.

You felt him pulling the frame gently from your tight grip and relented with little fight despite a desperate part of you begging your body to move. It screamed danger as Kakashi's fingers brushed yours when he took the picture, but you just watched him numbly.

He reached towards your empty hand slowly. You watched him very carefully, scrutinizing every movement and waiting for some kind of attack. When he finally brushed his fingers against your palm, you noted that his skin was much softer than before. The hands that you remembered had been rough and unforgiving, always causing pain and inducing fear.

But you felt more relaxed now than you had in a long time. You looked at the features on his face that had been missing when he tortured you and saw a completely different person.

He guided your hand to his chest, then pressed it to his heart and held it there so you could feel the steady beat.

"I'm real," he whispered, threading his fingers through yours and keeping your locked hands pressed to his heart.

He felt real. He looked more real than he ever had.

Kakashi's eyes held yours until they flickered down to your chest. When they widened in alarm, you followed his gaze and studied the red patch steadily growing as it dampened your shirt. You hadn't felt any pain before, but now as you searched for it, you felt the low, dull throb where your stitches had likely ripped.

Your vision was beginning to darken. Staying awake felt safer with Kakashi so close, but the throbbing was spreading to your limbs and your vision was fading at an alarming rate. You'd let your guard down, and now you were paying the price for it.

Kakashi cursed as you slumped forward, but he caught you against his chest and shifted so that you were leaning back against him. Your chest was wet, and you understood how vulnerable this made you, but as you searched for the familiar fear that always seemed to appear when Kakashi was touching you, you found nothing but emptiness.

"I don't understand," you muttered, staring at his shirt when you couldn't bear to look at his face any longer. He was looking down at you as you spoke, but you knew that meeting his eyes would only make the pain in your chest worse, "I don't know what's happening to me."

"I know," he whispered, supporting your head when it began to fall to the side. He adjusted so that you could lean it back on his shoulder, bending his knees so that you were caged in and supported on all sides. You let yourself sink into him like like it was a natural response to his shift in position.

His arms were around you, holding you steady as your body went limp. You'd exhausted yourself completely, and now you were paying the price for being so careless with your injuries. You'd just wanted to get out—to go back to where they'd found you and stay in that room until you slowly faded from existence.

Instead, you were in the arms of the person you feared most in the world, and as darkness dominated your vision, you found that some part of you didn't want him to let you go.

"Asuma," Kakashi blinked, stopping in his yard and watching his friend stroke Bull's back and take a long drag of his cigarette, "I didn't think you'd still be here."

"Well," the man shrugged, tapping his cigarette into an empty cup, "you've got a nice place here, Kakashi."

"It's not a hotel, you know."

"Your mutts are lonely," Asuma said with a grin, petting Bull on the head and watching amusedly as the rest of the dogs ran through the open front door and began competing for Kakashi's divided attention, "and I'm still recovering."

Asuma clapped his casted leg heavily, giving a chuckle when Bull nudged the injury with his nose.

"You're a lucky bastard," Kakashi muttered as he studied the newly-replaced cast. The side that was in his view had a giant signature taking up most of the space that vaguely resembled Guy's name, "if anyone else had taken a hit like that, they'd be six-feet under."

"And you're oh-so kind to help a poor cripple like me by giving me unpaid labor."

"You offered," Kakashi grumbled, sliding past Asuma to get into the house, "and you told me that letting you stay here was payment enough."

"Yeah, but when people say that, they don't actually mean it."

There was a silence as Kakashi looked the living room. The rest of the pack were settling back into their respective beds since the excitement of Kakashi's return had died down. He let out a sigh and strode further into the house.

"So...I know you don't like when people pry into your business," Asuma began from the porch. Kakashi heard him grunt pushed himself up on his good leg and turned to hand him his crutches, "and I know the question about why you got a new place is off-limits–"

"Correct."

"But why the extra room? You really need five beds for just you and the kiddos?"

Kakashi paused, glancing down the hall at the open door at the end. The bed inside was made and untouched, and it lacked any substantial decor aside from a spare painting that Kakashi hadn't really known what to do with. He looked away.

"I didn't pick the place," Kakashi shrugged, "I told Guy to find me something. He must've wanted a bedroom for himself."

"Hm. Sounds like something Guy would do," Asuma chuckled, "but I know when you're lying. I also know Guy's taste in real estate, and this ain't it. But I'll let you off the hook this time."

Kakashi ignored Asuma and rummaged through his kitchen cabinets for one of the instant-ramen cups that Naruto liked. The boy had come back to the compound that morning distraught because the grocery store was sold out, and Kakashi would rather not have another sulking child to look after tomorrow morning when there was no instant-ramen to have for lunch.

"That really all you came for?" Asuma questioned behind him.

"And the dogs. They're coming back to the compound with me."

Pakkun perked up at this, trotting over to Kakashi and pawing at his leg as if he'd understood the statement. Kakashi bent down and stroked a hand over his head.

Asuma was scrutinizing him, looking close to breaking and asking more question about the house. Kakashi ignored him and went back to rummaging through the cabinets for any more instant ramen cups he had buried behind cereal and loose spices.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Kakashi sighed, heavy and deep so that Asuma would hear. He knew he looked like shit—he'd been up all night while Ino stitched you up, then couldn't bring himself to leave your room no matter how many times he told himself that he needed to go before you woke up. He found that convincing himself to leave you was much harder after he'd spent so long wondering if you were even still alive.

So he wasn't at his best this morning. But he also hadn't expected to still have company.

"I'm fine," he said, though he could still feel Asuma's scrutinizing gaze, "just tired."

Asuma was silent for a long moment, and Kakashi did his best to look focused on the task at hand to keep himself from turning and seeing Asuma's concerned glances.

"If you say so."

"Usually the pawn moves first. You can use the knight if you want to, but I'd stick with pawns until you get the hang of it–"

"I'll move the knight first!"

Shikamaru sighed, nodding at Naruto to go ahead and watching his friend move the knight forward triumphantly.

"Ok, what next?"

"I can't walk you through it step by step. Each game is different, so you have to learn what the pieces do and then decide the strategies yourself–"

"Pakkun!"

Sakura snickered at Shikamaru's unimpressed expression as Pakkun came bursting through the door, knocking the pieces off of the Shogi board and leaping into Naruto's arms.

Naruto let out a laugh, pushing Pakkun away as the pug licked his face and sat on Naruto's chest, tail wagging despite the perpetual frown on his face.

"Shikamaru?"

Naruto looked up at Kakashi standing in the doorway, but he was quickly distracted by the rest of the pack following Pakkun's lead and piling on top of the boy—who accepted them joyfully. Sakura sighed as laughter filled the room, then pulled Bull away as he began wandering towards where you were laying in your hospital bed.

"What are you guys doing in here?" Kakashi asked quietly, looking around at the scattered Shogi pieces, then looking at where you were still unconscious from your injury the night before. You hadn't moved since he left that morning, but part of him kept expecting you to just shoot up from bed and run at the first opportunity.

"Well, you said that you and Y/N had a...conversation," Sakura said sheepishly, avoiding Kakashi's eyes in favor of looking at Urushi as she scratched behind his ear, "and we wanted to be here when she woke up. We thought maybe she'd remember things faster that way."

"I didn't say 'conversation,' I said fight. She attacked me, then she ripped her stitches and passed out on me."

"But something happened in between! You told me!"

"Which I regret now," Kakashi grumbled. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, then sat in an empty chair at your bedside.

"Hey Kakashi."

"Hello Shikamaru," Kakashi deadpanned, then looked at his suspiciously quiet student on the opposite side of the bed, "Sasuke, I thought we talked about the whole 'discretion' issue."

"Yeah, but..." Sasuke looked at Kakashi, then winced and shrugged, "it's Shikamaru. Plus, we didn't tell him anything important. In fact, we brought him here to help."

Kakashi sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking through this new development. He knew they had good intentions. They wanted you to heal as much as he did, but including more people in the mess that things had become was reckless.

He couldn't risk losing you. Not again. And if SHIELD found out about you now, when things were still so delicate, he knew what would happen.

Looking at the situation objectively, it wasn't safe to have you in the compound. You'd clearly gotten out of your restraints the first time you'd woken up, and he still had no idea how you'd done it. Telling SHIELD was probably the best way to go about this as a way of ensuring the safety of everyone involved.

But his students would never forgive him if he did that. And he knew that he wouldn't see you again if SHIELD got their hands on you.

He was being selfish, but he couldn't let that happen.

"Shikamaru," he said carefully, looking down at the boy sitting next to the Shogi board, "I know this isn't the most...conventional situation, but please don't say anything about her."

"Don't worry," Shikamaru said, "I have no interest in who she is or where she came from. I'm just here to play Shogi."

"To play...what?"

"We were doing some research," Sakura interjected before Naruto or Sasuke could, "and it turns out that strategy games can help improve memory. We thought that it might help."

"I don't think there have been any studies about this particular issue."

"Yeah, but we might as well try, right?" Sakura asked hopefully. "I mean, we can't just sit back and watch her suffer."

Kakashi opened his mouth with no real response formulated, but the door clicked open before he could speak. Kakashi sighed when Ino froze in the doorway and took in the scene before her.

"Guys, there are way too many people in here. If she wakes up, she's going to be too overwhelmed, and—who is that?"

Ino narrowed her eyes at Shikamaru. Her gaze shifted to Sakura, then to you, and then back to Shikamara still sorting through his Shogi pieces.

"I'm Shikamaru," he said dully, "I'm just here to play Shogi."

"Well, can you do it outside of the hospital room? There are seven people and—jesus—eight dogs in this room."

"Aw," Naruto groaned, hugging Bull as he strode to the boy's side and gaze him a slobbery kiss on the cheek. Ino cringed, "but we want to make sure Y/N's okay when she wakes up!"

"You do realize that she was holding a gun to your head not even a week ago."

"Ino," Sakura hissed, eyes wide with worry as she glanced down at Naruto, but the boy just shook his head and smiled.

"It's okay," he said softly, "I forgive her. Actually, no, there's nothing to forgive in the first place."

Ino stopped, staring at Naruto like he was speaking another language. It took a moment, and it looked like it had been years to Ino, but she finally shook her head and turned towards you.

"Okay, fine, just...go wait outside. This won't take long."

Ino glanced at Kakashi with a look that told him to stay where he was. They waited as the other four filed out, ushering the dogs along with them, then shut the door. Silence filled the room, and Kakashi took a deep breath in an attempt to regain some form of composure.

"The Shikamaru guy won't be a problem, right?"

"No, he'll be fine."

"I hope you're right," Ino said gravely, "because if he is—"

"He'll be fine," Kakashi repeated, glaring at Ino until she shrugged and looked away from him.

Sometimes he forgot that Ino was a Widow. It was moments like this that gave him a harsh reminder.

"Everything seems fine," Ino muttered as she lifted your hospital gown and poked at your wound, restitched but still irritated and swollen from the previous night. "It'll take longer for it to heal, obviously, so we have to figure out some way to keep her from exerting herself again."

Kakashi sighed, head dropping into his hands as he thought through their options. It seemed wrong to put you into a medically-induced coma without at least asking you first, but in your current state, you would never let that happen, even if it was Ino who was overseeing your medical care.

But the alternative was to let you wake up again, and there was no telling what kind of damage you'd cause to your body if that happened.

"So," Ino sighed, sitting in the chair on the other side of your bed and resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes were narrowed—scrutinizing. Kakashi prepared for the incoming interrogation, "are you going to tell me what happened after you fought her last night?"

He'd been dodging Ino's questions all morning. He had no idea how to explain what last night had been like, and Ino was not the person he wanted to share it with.

But he supposed that she wasn't going to let him leave unless he gave some answers, and he really didn't have the energy to argue with her.

"She went to my room and found the photos I keep displayed. I guess they must've brought something back."

"What were the photos of?"

Kakashi grimaced, cheeks reddening as he tried to come up with a believable lie. It was one thing to have the picture. He never really invited people to his room anyways, so he hadn't thought it mattered.

Well, he usually never invited people to his room.

"One was of me and the kids," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the wall above Ino. He tried to steady his voice as much as possible and feigned a casualness that he knew sounded fake, "the other was of Y/N and Sakura."

Silence filled the room, and Kakashi let himself bask in it for a few moments before he glanced back down at Ino. Her eyebrows were raised to her hairline, mouth pursed in a tight line and hands clenched tightly together like she was trying not to jump out of her seat and hit something.

"Okay," she said cooly, "and then what happened?"

"She asked me if I was real, and I showed her...I showed her my face. And then she passed out."

"And you brought her here."

"Yes," Kakashi grumbled, "I brought her here. Then I woke you up."

Ino watched him for another moment. Then she glanced at you, and something in her face shifted.

"During the last month that we were with Orochimaru, I kept asking myself, 'why is it Kakashi Hatake, of all people, who's getting to her? Why is the idea of his betrayal so painful?'"

Kakashi could feel his heart pounding in his chest, just like it did every time he heard that name. He tried not to let it show in his face, but he knew that Ino saw. Saw the twitch of his eye and the clenching of his fists and the tension in his shoulders.

"I don't know what love feels like," Ino continued. "Honestly, I don't really know what a lot of things feel like, but the way that she tried to hold onto your memory..."

"Please stop," he muttered, looking out the window to try and find something to focus on other than the pounding of his heart. Each beat felt like a stab in the chest. He thought it would shatter if he even tried to look at you.

"Why?" Ino asked, and he wondered if there was a point to this or if she just felt like being cruel, "do you not feel the same? Or are you just afraid to face it?"

"I don't want to talk about this with you," Kakashi snapped, finally glancing down from the window and glaring at Ino, "and that's very far from my main concern right now."

Ino sighed. Kakashi took a deep breath to keep himself from saying something out of frustration. When he felt calm enough to look at you again, he felt his racing heart begin to slow.

"We also need to talk about Orochimaru."

Kakashi felt the moment his anger was set ablaze once again. It was a storm inside of him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was that terrible anger that had been building against that monster for six years.

"I don't know what he's planning, but I've known him my whole life. He's not just going to give up," Ino said, observing Kakashi carefully. He tried to calm himself down again, but this time looking at you just made him angrier.

That man had done this to you. He was the one to blame for everything.

"I don't care what he tries. He's not getting anywhere near us again," Kakashi muttered darkly, eyes still on you despite how angry he was on your behalf. He would grab his anger by the throat, and he'd channel it into keeping you and his students safe.

He had already failed to do it once. That wouldn't happen a second time.

"That's a nice thought," Ino hummed. Kakashi glared at her, but she wasn't facing him anymore. Instead she was staring through the window, eyes clouded and very, very far away, "but it's wishful thinking. If he wants to get to you, he'll find a way. He always does."

"Before, he had the Widows."

"It doesn't matter," Ino said, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. Kakashi narrowed his eyes, watching her carefully. She seemed so...resigned. Like she had already accepted whatever fate Orochimaru had in store for her, "he always finds a way."

"How do we find him?"

"We don't," Ino shrugged, "but HYDRA might. In that case, we won't have anything to worry about."

"You don't think HYDRA will come after you too?"

"After me?" Ino laughed, "no, I don't think so. I'm a small fish. They have much bigger issues than a few rogue Widows. Especially ones that are still trainees."

"Trainees?" Kakashi asked, brows furrowed. He finally looked back up at Ino, and he could see her trying to hold back laughter, "what do you mean?"

"I mean me," she said with a cackle, "and Sakura, obviously, but that's because she came in late."

"But you're...is Y/N–"

"Oh, no. She graduated a long time ago," Ino waved the thought away, "but Widows are trainees for a long time. We only rank up once we turn eighteen."

Kakashi blinked at her, and she laughed again.

"I'm younger than Sakura, you know."

"You're...what?"

"Yep," she sighed, "really annoyed me when I found out. I still don't get how she's older than me. It's only by a few months, but man did she seem young when we first met."

Kakashi begged to differ. Sakura had always tried to act older than she was, if only to one-up Naruto and Sasuke. She appointed herself the level-headed one of the group, parading around as the self-appointed leader who could take on any task. She continued to be the brains of their little trio as they got older, and that would likely never change.

But Ino was so young. All four of them were.

"Don't do that."

"Huh?"

"Make that face," Ino grimaced, "like you feel bad for me or something. I know it seems like it to an old man, but we're really not all that young."

Kakashi glanced at her dully, and she laughed again.

"If you keep worrying so much, you actually are going to turn into an old man."

There wasn't really much to do but worry. It had been hard enough knowing that you were with Orochimaru and that he couldn't do anything about it. It was an entirely different type of worry now that you were back, but still trapped in Orochimaru's lies.

"Listen," Ino sighed, "even before you found us, we were making progress. She wasn't as scared, and she was remembering bits and pieces of her past. You just have to give her time to heal."

Kakashi glanced at you, counting each breath as it rose with your chest and finding a relieving calmness in the task.

Your monitor had been a steady, reassuring beat in the background of the room since Kakashi had entered, but both he and Ino perked up when it began to quicken. Kakashi stood, waiting with bated breath for any type of movement. The speed of the monitor wasn't concerning, but it was becoming clear that you were beginning to wake up.

Would you remember him? Would you still hate him?

Would you be afraid of him?

Your wrists were secured to the sides of the hospital bed with leather straps—a precaution that seemed necessary considering what had happened the night before—but it still seemed wrong. He didn't like seeing you strapped down. He didn't like that he was the one who had restrained you.

"Calm down."

Kakashi looked up and saw Ino staring at him, eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face.

"I am calm."

"You're freaking out," Ino said matter-of-factly as she looked back down at you and checked your IV and heart monitor. Really, it looked like she was doing unnecessary tasks to distract herself from your slow rise from unconsciousness, "you look ready to bolt."

"I don't want to be here if she's afraid of me."

"She's not afraid of you," Ino murmured, "you're not the one who tortured her."

"It doesn't matter," Kakashi shot back, "I was the one she saw."

"It does matter." Ino snapped, "She can already tell that there's a difference, right? That's what you told me. Like I said, you just have to give her time."

Kakashi knew she was right. As painful as this felt, it wouldn't be for

"Help her believe that you're not Orochimaru," Ino said, watching with Kakashi as your hand twitched and your eyes squeezed shut, "Show her that you're different."

"Y/N?"

You were floating. There was nothing beneath you but empty space and nothing above you but darkness. Your arms were spread at your sides, fingers splayed to feel what was holding you up, but all you could do was ball your hands into empty fists in a fruitless attempt to hold onto the nothingness keeping you afloat.

You closed your eyes.

"Please wake up."

Someone was crying. You felt their tears falling onto your face, and your eyes flickered open when a drop of salty water landed on your eyelid. The harsh light above you felt like a stone weighing down your skull. Your head was pounding, but there was solid ground beneath you now. That, at least, brought you some relief.

"Thank God," someone said to your left, and before you could look at them properly, arms were around your waist, squeezing it like you would slip from their grasp the moment they let you go. You stiffened, body tensing the longer they held onto you. When you glanced down, you saw a mess of pink hair on the head of whoever was holding you.

"Let go of her," a new voice snarled, low and dangerous. You reached out instinctively, covering the girl as best as you could and looking up at the man who had spoken.

He didn't look very strong. You gave him a once over and decided with a fairly high level of certainty that you could take him if it came down to a fight. His long, black hair cascaded down his back, and when he turned to face you, you couldn't help but be reminded of a snake. His irises were practically slits, and they narrowed on you when he met your eyes.

You were sure that you could overpower this man, but you still looked at the ground the moment he turned towards you, fear filling your lungs like it was the very air you were breathing.

"I don't understand," the girl said, still holding your waist. Her voice was shaky, and you instinctively gripped her tighter, "we didn't do anything wrong. We did what you said–"

You hadn't registered that there was someone standing behind you until he grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her towards the opposite side of the room. You opened your mouth, but a sharp glare from the silver-haired man who had just appeared silenced you immediately. Fear rocketed through you, but you didn't understand why you were so afraid. All you knew was that you felt a deep desperation to make sure this girl didn't get hurt.

The silver-haired man pulled the sobbing girl forward until she was at the other's feet, kneeling before him. He threw her down with a sneer, then turned back towards you. He looked disgusted.

"Y/N," the taller man said sharply. You lifted your chin, but your eyes stayed fixed on the wall behind him, "I know you lied to me about this mission."

Your body went taut, tension nearly bursting from you as you searched for some answer to the unspoken question he was asking, but nothing was clear. None of your memories were surfacing no matter how desperately you searched for them.

Yet, despite the information that you were missing, your mouth opened and you began speaking before you even knew what you were going to say.

"Sir," you heard yourself say, the slightest tremor in your voice, "I apologize. There was some information that I didn't believe was relevant."

Silence spread over the room like a thick blanket of fog. You couldn't remember where this was. You had no idea who these people were, but you were speaking like all of this was a memory.

"Sakura," the man said, and you jolted. You knew that name. You knew this girl—it was right there in front of you, if you could only open your eyes and see it.

"Y/N had a different mission than you. She was supposed to tell me whether or not you are a valuable asset to the Red Room."

Sakura's eyes widened, but she didn't take the risk of looking at you. You could see how hard she was shaking at the feet of the black-haired man, and your fingers tightened into fists. You were fighting a battle against your instinct to protect her, but it was losing to the fear that kept crashing into you in waves. There was nothing you could do. Not against them.

You knew, deep down, that anything even resembling rebellion or defiance would end in pain. Pain for both you and Sakura.

"And she left some key information out of her report. One detail being your failure to kill your target. She had to do it for you, correct?"

You scowled at the ground, wracking your brain to try and figure out how he'd known that the mission had gone so wrong so quickly.

The memories were coming back. You could picture the second you pulled the trigger when Sakura hesitated. It was a crucial moment in the mission, and she would've missed it had you not taken the shot for her. At the time, she'd been grateful.

The events were all coming back. But why...why did you risk that for her?

But despite your confusion, overpowering it was fear. Fear for the girl kneeling on the other side of the room.

You knew what was going to happen next.

And that man...you knew his name. And you knew you had good reason to be afraid of him.

"Why did you lie?"

You tensed, wide eyes fixed on the ground as you tried to come up with some excuse that wouldn't end with Sakura getting hurt.

"Sir," you began, the word escaping you in a hushed breath, "I made the decision to kill him. Sakura wold have had the opportunity to do so had I not stepped in. The fault lies with me."

"Y/N–"

Your head shot up at the sound of skin hitting skin, but you only saw the aftermath of Sakura's body hitting the ground with a thud. Your throat dried as you glared at Kabuto's raised hand, and the anger that had been growing in your chest flared.

You were forced to look away when the black-haired man approached you, footsteps echoing off of the sleek, black tile in the silence of the room. His movement made even the other man pause.

You saw his shoes stop in front of you, but you didn't dare lift your head now that he was so close. It was only when he leaned down and gripped the back of your neck in a tight fist that you were forced to look up and finally meet his eyes.

"What do you think you deserve for lying to me?" he asked calmly, though his tightened grip was a stark contrast to his tone. Any tighter, and you wouldn't have been able to speak. You winced when he gave pulled you up from where you were sitting—a warning not to take any longer to answer.

"I will accept any punishment you deem acceptable to give me, sir," you told him, the words automatic and practiced. You allowed yourself a moment to glance behind him and meet Sakura's eyes. She shook her head, eyes wide and frantic, and you gave her the smallest smile you could manage, unsure if she would even see it. "And I will take any further punishment in Sakura's stead."

"I can't allow that."

"May I speak freely?"

There was a pause. That was a risky question to ask. Especially when you were on thin ice already.

"Speak."

"Sakura responds well to my instruction. You've seen the improvement yourself since we've been partnered together. Let me take on her punishment, and I will continue to train her until she is ready to graduate. I promise that I will make your expectations of us very clear to her."

He considered your words, staring at you as he did so. He was scrutinizing every little movement of your body—every shift in your expression, and you practically felt his gaze reaching the depths and recesses of your soul. He knew everything about you. He knew how terrified you were of him.

He also knew that you would do anything to protect Sakura.

"Fine," he relented. You sagged in relief.

Sakura looked devastated. She looked furious.

"Sakura," you whispered, voice hoarse and strained. The girl looked up at you, teeth clenched and eyes full of fire.

"Sakura," you repeated when the man turned towards her, "it's alright. Just let it go."

"How could I—ah!"

"Neither of you were given permission to speak," the silver-haired man hissed, hand raised to strike Sakura once again. You nearly lunged for him, but the other man's fingers tightened on the back of your neck again and you stilled.

"Don't," he said, watching Sakura on the ground blankly, "you're in no position to protect her."

Then he turned towards you again, and you felt the fear that he been a dull ache in your chest up rise into your throat. You pulled back, attempting to get his hand off of your neck, but it only tightened further.

Instead of the black-haired man, it was Kakashi staring you down, silver hair reflecting in the light. Those snake-like eyes were the only things that remained.

"No," you murmured. Kakashi grinned. "This isn't what happened. You weren't here."

"No?" Kakashi mocked. "How would you know? You don't even know who that girl is."

"I do," you croaked, "I do know her."

"You knew her. But you don't know anything anymore, do you?"

You grit your teeth and tried once again to find any relevant memories. The ones that would answer the endless questions that you had about this place. About Sakura and the black-haired man.

About Kakashi.

"You tried to protect her, and you failed," Kakashi said, voice mocking and humored, "and now look at you. You can't even protect yourself. You're useless."

"You're not supposed to be here," you whispered, refusing to look into his eyes, "I know you're not."

"Think, Y/N!"

You looked up at Sakura's voice. Kabuto was gone, and behind her was nothing but that emptiness you'd woken up to.

"You can find your way back! I know you can!"

She looked twice as desperate as she'd been in your memory, but it looked like she was trapped behind a glass wall. She pressed her hands against it, and her shouts began to fade into silence.

When you looked above you again, Kakashi had vanished. You were floating where he had held you, and once Sakura's voice had faded completely, you shifted your gaze back to where she had been standing.

You were alone.

You closed your eyes, curling in on yourself and hugging your knees to your chest in a desperate attempt to keep the emptiness from swallowing you whole. Maybe if you made yourself smaller, it would forget that you were there. Maybe it would leave you alone.

"Let me out," you choked, feeling the silence of the space pressing you in on all sides, making you smaller and smaller until you were just a speck of dust in its infinite vastness.

"No," you choked, "no, I don't want to be here."

No one responded. The silence was suffocating.

"Let me out!" you screamed, voice drifting off into the emptiness that surrounded you. The sound died the moment it left your lips. No one heard you. You wondered if you'd even spoken at all.

"Wake me up," you whispered, voice cracked and so close to shattering. "Please...please let me leave."

The empty space gave an answering shudder that shook you to the bones. Then, in a merciful acceptance of your pleas, it shattered, leaving you with nothing to do but open your eyes.

Regaining consciousness felt similar to clawing at empty air. Like you were trying to grasp at anything to keep you grounded. It quickly became exhausting.

It was unpleasant, and your head was pounding, but relief still overpowered everything else that you were feeling.

Ino was hovering over you, scanning your expression and giving you a forced smile when she met your eyes. You blinked, watching blankly as she felt your forehead, then your pulse, then the probes on your chest attached to your heart monitor.

"How are you feeling?" she asked after a moment, finally sitting in a chair at your side.

"Tired," you muttered. Ino chuckled.

"That's because you're still doped up on pain killers," she shook her head, "I can't believe you. I thought I told you that we were safe here."

You grumbled something that was intended to be an apology, but probably sounded more like inaudible frustration.

When she got no other response, Ino glanced at something above you, and you saw the nervousness that passed over her face before you turned to find out what was causing it.

You cycled through several emotions at once when you met Kakashi's eyes. The image of that familiar man's face was the first thing to appear, and you swallowed against the bile rising in your throat. You'd just barely held onto the image of his face from your dream, but it felt important. Far too important to forget before you understood what was going on.

Kakashi seemed to sense the internal battle that you were fighting and looked at Ino, freeing you from his scrutinizing gaze.

"Y/N," Ino said, voice frustratingly calm. It was like she was talking to a wild animal, afraid that it would bolt at the first sign of a threat.

Though you supposed that you'd done nothing but prove yourself a danger to the people around you. And the straps over your wrists and ankles were a harsh reminder of how recklessly you'd acted the night before.

"Is it alright if I step out for a minute?"

You looked up at Ino indignantly, eyes wide and a very strong "no" involuntarily forming on your lips. For the past seven months, being alone with Kakashi meant pain. It meant that you were doing something wrong.

"Ino, maybe that's not the best–"

"I'm not asking you," Ino interrupted Kakashi firmly, gaze holding yours even as she spoke to the man on your other side. "Y/N?"

Why would she even ask? She knew what he had done to you. She knew how much you feared him.

You risked another glance at Kakashi, and he quickly averted his eyes when you caught him looking at you.

"Actually, I should probably go check on the others–"

"It's fine," you stopped him as he began to stand from his seat. You turned back to Ino and gave her a wobbly smile. She didn't look impressed by your attempt to look calm, "you can go."

Ino gave a nod, then looked up at Kakashi and narrowed her eyes. You couldn't tell what message she was trying to convey, but Kakashi seemed to understand. Then, after glancing at the straps holding you down by your wrists and ankles, she opened the door and left.

Silence swallowed the room, and you kept your head turned towards the door. Then, when your heartbeat had slowed enough that you felt you could move, you turned your head and gazed at the ceiling.

Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

This wasn't the Kakashi you knew. It wasn't the man who tortured you. There were missing pieces, and you were likely in no danger with someone that Ino trusted to be alone with you.

But you still couldn't help the fear that flooded you at the sight of him. Everything else was obscured by his mask, but his eyes...they often haunted you in your nightmares.

And even though they looked different, they were the same eyes you remembered. They were kinder, but looking at them still reminded you of that machine.

You could feel yourself beginning to float again. You didn't want to shut down now—not after you'd just woken up and especially not while you were alone with Kakashi, but that seemed to be where you were heading.

Useless, you heard a voice say in your head. I'm disappointed. I thought you were stronger than this.

It didn't sound like Kakashi. If your very unreliable memory was serving you well, it almost sounded like the black-haired man from your dream.

You risked a glance at Kakashi. He was remaining silent as well, elbows resting on the arms of his chair and hands clasped together. As far as you could tell from his eyes, his expression was tense, but not impatient. Nothing like the expression you remembered from the past seven months.

"Can you," you began shakily, swallowing against your dry throat when the words came out hoarse. You felt pathetic, and you were certain you didn't look any better than you sounded, "can you take off your mask?"

Kakashi looked fairly unsurprised by the request, and he was quick to relent. Just like the night before, he hooked a finger over the black cloth and pulled it down so that it pooled around his neck. And, just like the night before, it triggered something inside you that you'd buried very deep. Something that was too far away for you to identify.

But it was a far cry from the fear that you were accustomed to associating with him.

Now, without the blinding effects of adrenaline and fear, you took the chance to observe him properly. For the longest time, you'd pictured there being something monstrous beneath his mask. Like he was just pretending to be human as a trick, and what lied beneath the black fabric was too horrifying to imagine.

But he was...perfectly normal.

You almost wished he was a monster. That would make all of this less confusing. And it might make you feel less guilty for being afraid of him.

"I had a dream last night," you told Kakashi. "about a man with long, black hair and eyes that reminded me of a snake's. I was...terrified of him."

Kakashi's breath stilled, and you turned your head towards him. He was evidently very good at hiding his emotions, because his expression gave nothing away.

"Do you know who he is?"

Kakashi opened his mouth, then closed it, breaking away from your intense gaze.

"Yes," he finally said, "his name is Orochimaru."

Orochimaru.

The name was like a slap to the face. Hearing it now, you wondered how you'd ever forgotten it. There was so much fear associated with him that feeling it now was like knowing true terror for the first time.

You thought you'd been afraid of Kakashi, but as the image of Orochimaru and his serpentine gaze formed in your mind, you realized that the fear you'd felt then was just a small island compared to the world of hate and pain that was opening up before you.

"Breathe," Kakashi said next to you, hands kept very deliberately at his sides, "he can't get to you here."

Your heart was pounding, and you had no idea why. You didn't know where this fear came from. You just knew that it existed it.

It was consuming you.

All of the images of Kakashi torturing you with that machine became hazy—as if they had sunk to the bottom of a the ocean, only the ghost of them visible through the water. They shifted so quickly and so violently that you thought it would make you sick.

And then, when the waves calmed and you could see the images clearly, Orochimaru had taken Kakashi's place at the center of each memory.

Maybe it had never been Kakashi. Maybe the person you'd been afraid of for as long as you could remember wasn't real. He was just a twisted version of the man sitting here now, seemingly taking care of you despite how violently you'd attacked him.

What if he's lying? a small, almost silent voice whispered in your ear. How would you possibly be able to tell the difference?

You swallowed, fighting the wave of nausea that made bile rise in your throat. How were you supposed to know what the truth was? How could he prove it? How could you trust him if he did?

Nothing felt real. Every bit of kindness seemed like a trick.

You couldn't even trust yourself anymore.

"Why did I end up like this?" you whispered, trying desperately to keep tears at bay. Letting Kakashi see you cry not once, but two times in the span of twelve hours was humiliating. You felt far too vulnerable as a layer of salty tears blocked your vision despite your best efforts to contain it.

"It's not your fault," Kakashi whispered, though he sounded just as lost as you felt.

It's not yours either.

You couldn't say that to him. You weren't sure you even believed it, but it came to mind as an automatic response to the sadness in his voice and the guilt plaguing his expression. Something in your chest tightened at the look on his face. You turned back to the ceiling.

"You probably know more about me than I do."

In the silence that followed your words, you could hear the faint sound of whispering coming from the other side of the door. After a few moments, a bark made all of the whispering voices pause, then they all began shushing the perpetrator of the noise simultaneously. You glanced towards the door cautiously, counting the different voices and determining that four people sat outside of your room.

That many people could quickly overtake you with your injury hindering you—not to mention the restraints holding you down. Your door wasn't locked, so they could easily come in and ambush you. And you certainly didn't trust Kakashi to come to your aid in the event of an attack—one civil exchange wasn't enough to erase your fear. Not by a long shot.

You tested the restraints again, feeling more desperate to free yourself of them by the second. You were caged in on both sides by people whose intentions were a mystery to you. Kakashi—this version of him at least—hadn't proven himself a threat yet, but the voices outside were unfamiliar. Ino's wasn't among them, meaning she had either left, been attacked, or...

Perhaps she had never been here to begin with. What a sick twist of fate that you were alone in enemy territory after all, and you'd just conjured a hallucination of her as a means of coping.

And there was a dog—not a small one, if that bark was anything to go by.

It didn't matter that, at an instinctual level, you trusted Kakashi. It didn't matter that he seemed to be telling the truth when he said that he was on your side. Trusting him now was a bad idea. You didn't have nearly enough information to believe that all he had were good intentions.

"I'm taking your restraints off."

You looked over at Kakashi, now standing and focused on the leather straps around your wrists. He glanced at you with a raised brow, a silent question in his eyes. You narrowed your own at his seemingly well-intentioned gesture. It was a bit too well intentioned—what reason did he have to believe you wouldn't wring his neck the first chance you got?

He was either very kind, very stupid, or an unhealthy mix of the two.

"Why?" you asked, making Kakashi pause. He shrugged as he reached forward, waiting for your nod of assent before he loosened the strap on your left wrist enough that you could pull your hand through.

"They were mostly a precaution for when you first woke up. We didn't want you to panic and hurt yourself, or..."

He grimaced, neatly avoiding your eyes as he moved to the other side of the bed and undid the right strap. You circled your newly-freed wrists in relief and made a very weak attempt at sitting up. You didn't get very far when pain flared in your chest, and you fell back with a frustrated huff.

"Don't do that," Kakashi shook his head as he took the straps off of your ankles, "you have to give your body a break if you want to heal."

"I got around just fine last night," you muttered. Kakashi huffed

"Well, you're still just as reckless as before."

You furrowed your brow. Before.

The gaping holes in your memory were torturous. Knowing that there was so much missing kept you up at night as you tried desperately to find your way through the haze blocking you from your memories. But everything felt so far away, and you were tired of having to look for things that should have belonged to you.

Your mind should've been your own to control.

"Is there a girl named Sakura here?"

Kakashi's eyes widened, and hope bled into his expression. His lips parted just slightly, then lifted in a happy—albeit small—smile.

"There is," he said with a laugh, "she misses you."

"She was in my dream," you furrowed your brow, "but I don't remember anything about her."

"That's okay," Kakashi shook his head, "anything you remember is progress. Even if it's just a name."

Progress. You almost wanted to laugh. You couldn't even remember what the end goal of that progress was. How were you supposed to find your way back into a mind that seemed lost to you?

"How can I know that you actually mean that?"

"Trust isn't earned over night," Kakashi said, eyes not leaving yours, "it took us both a while to trust one another the first time we met."

The image of a man separated from you by a cell door flashed across your mind, and you stowed it away carefully.

"What changed?"

That gave Kakashi paused. You watched him as he looked down at his clasped hands and pondered on it.

"I can't say what changed for you," he finally answered, "but I knew that I could trust someone who cared as much about my student as I did. You protected Sakura for a long time. That's why..."

The pause that followed was heavy. You shifted in the bed, suddenly unsure whether you wanted him to continue.

"That's why you left. To protect her."

You chose to leave. If what Kakashi was saying was true, it was all because of how much you cared about the girl from your dream.

It was your choice. So why did Kakashi look so guilty?

You replayed your dream again, thinking about the sacrifice you'd made in that one memory to keep Sakura safe. The pain that you were willing to endure to make sure she didn't have to feel it too.

"Will you tell me more?" you asked hesitantly, wondering if it was acceptable to make such a request of someone you still didn't know if you could trust.

"Of course," he said immediately, "anything you want to know."

You weren't sure what you could possibly ask.

"Start from the beginning."

(previous chapter) | (next chapter - coming soon) | (series masterlist)

Author's note | YEESH another long one, hopefully it makes up for the nearly two month long wait. i'm hoping you guys like the direction the story is going. we're (kinda) nearing the end of this particular story, but i have more plans so no worries there.

i'm hoping that the storyline isn't getting too repetitive, and i know that not much is happening in the way of romance, but i PROMISE we're getting there. i tend to say a lot and take a while to get where i'm going but i hope that's something you guys enjoy.

also, if you haven't yet, please check out the playlist for this fic (linked above)! it is very specific to my taste in music but i think it fits the story really well. i tried to order it to fit the order of events in the fic, so maybe listen while you read if that's something you enjoy. i do want to point out one song that i've been listening to non-stop and that has inspired me a lot recently. it's called "take me to war" by the crane wives, and my favorite lyrics are "there are no stones at my disposal / there's no god to award me a crown / but i am always swinging at / somebody i can't knock down." i feel like it fits so well.

anyways, thank you for reading this far and don't forget to leave me some love if you enjoyed!! see y'all in the next chapter!

title is from "Arms Unfolding" by Dodie