#especially as he's so overwhelmed with everything about Bobby I can see him snap at Gerrard and maybe get himself fired

[bidisasterevankinard]

if Gerrard will actually be captain next episode, the very least, and as we saw picture with guest actor and Anirudh, I guess it's possible Ravi will have to work with Gerrard. And as Buck was ready to fight Gerrard for Tommy before Chim step up, I can see him fight Gerrard for Ravi in 7x10 because no one makes racist comments about his family, especially his little brother

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Promise: Izzy Gallagher

CW: Neglectful/abusive parent, minor whump (emotional/neglect, nothing physical happens here), referenced implied shock collar (on adult), whumpee’s child, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, isolation as punishment, referenced food control

@eatyourdamnpears, you asked for this, remember that. Also, I promise I’m going somewhere with this, she’s gonna get her crowning moment of badass.

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with their permission, his dialogue is theirs

“Your daughter has such lovely hair.”

The little girl sits tall in her mother’s lap, hands folded, breathing in silent shallow inhales and holding perfectly still as her mother’s cold hand turns her head to the side by a grip on her chin, to show off the style that had taken what felt like forever and ever to finish.

“Doesn’t she just? I mean, it’s clear where she gets it, don’t you think?” Her mother’s voice is bright and slightly brittle, a little less than thrilled with the compliment aimed at the girl and not the mother whose genetics provided the curl, the texture, the thickness.

“Oh, definitely. You made such beautiful children with your husband, Sav, and Isabella is such a lovely example.”

Savvie relaxes a little, but the little girl knows her mother’s mood isn’t entirely placated, her fingernails still press just a little too harshly into the little girl’s softly rounded face, still losing her toddler puppyfat, just starting to narrow to show an edge of her father’s looks married to her mother’s.

She keeps herself sitting straight, tries to pretend there is a metal stick up her back to hold her like this, and waits for the anger, the snapping words. Not until this woman leaves, though. Only when it’s just Savvie and Jax and the little girl and her brother that the worst parts happen.

Maybe the woman will stay a long time. They never do, but maybe this time.

“Was your hair like this when you were young?”

“Oh, yes.” Savvie twines one of the little girl’s curls around her finger, with pastel purple nail polish that glints in the light, and the little girl presses her top teeth down into the soft skin of her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Her hair spills in a waterfall of lush dark brown, the kind of hair that overwhelms a child, her mother's hair. It's already long enough to reach the middle of her back, carefully styled with the front and sides pulled back and twisted into a floral clip. My mother - your grandmother, darling, you never met her - brought this back from Italy when I was your age, her mother had said with sparkling eyes as she fixed the little girl's hair into place.

It hurts, the way her mother pulls on her hair when she styles it. Her scalp aches from the brushing with hard bristles, the scratch of nails at her scalp, the pulling and twisting and bobby pins and the clip. Her mother is impatient, unhappy with how she wriggles when she has to sit so long.

Her father, banished to the corner of the room while Savvie works, had jerked forwards when Savvie snapped at her for moving and said, Savvie, please, she can’t help it, she’s four-

Then Savvie had fixed him with a glare, and her father had gone still and made himself sit down, and the little girl had apologized so that he wouldn’t be disciplined because of her, and she had held so so still and kept her eyes locked on her father’s hands, curled into fists over his knees, the only sign of the anger he wasn’t allowed to feel.

The little girl is four years old, and already knows better than to let her mother see that anything she does hurts - except for discipline, which is supposed to. 

When Savvie and her guest keep chatting about the little girl’s waves of curly brown hair, she doesn’t wriggle, or shift, or move at all. She only allows her head to be turned, sitting perfectly still in her lap, a slight, faint smile fixed on her face.

She has learned how her smile should look from her father, who knows just how to keep them as safe as he can.

When her chin is moved to the left, so that the woman might admire the beautiful floral clip that looks like stained-glass against a creamy white background, set off by the dark of her hair, she is made to look right at her father.

He’s busy getting the tiny cakes and sandwiches ready for her mother and her mother's friend to eat, pouring their champagne and orange juice into fancy tall glasses, settling a small orange slice just so along the rim. His hair is styled, too, with some kind of product in it to fall a little bit over his forehead and one eye, and he wears a dark blue turtleneck sweater - they call them jumpers where her dad is from, he tells her that during their times alone when they can share secrets, in the single room in the house where her mother never follows - and pressed slacks. Her mother picks their clothes for when people come, for her, and her father.

Her mother chooses everything, overwhelms her, is the terrifying center of all of her fears. Her mother is the storm that knocks down tree branches and the snow that makes the house creak as it piles up. She's the wind that sounds like ghosts whistling through the attic. Her mother is the sharp fangs and claws that reach out from her dark closet, from the space under her bed, while she is left alone all night with no one but her teddy bear to hold onto.

It’s only in her father that the little girl finds hope. And even he can't give her anything until Savvie's storms have passed. 

She watches his hands move, scarred and roughly calloused hands that have laid gentle against her forehead to check for fevers and held her tight when she has bad dreams, to set each small bite-sized morsel just how Savvie will like it. He’s not really looking, though. His eyes are on her, on the little girl, and not her mother, or her mother’s fancy cakes. 

Save me, the little girl tries to beg with just her eyes alone, without losing the small smile, but she knows he can’t do anything, not really. If he tries, especially in front of guests, her mother will demand he get down on his knees for discipline.

He’ll try to hide how much the big black necklace he has to wear hurts him when she presses the button to the remote she always wears around her wrist.

He won’t be able to hide how it hurts for long. 

It’ll be her fault, too. If her mother has to punish him for wanting to help. The little girl is always told that it’s her fault after he is shaking on the ground, made to say she’s sorry. She dreams about her father in trouble, getting disciplined, because of her.

Because it happens all the time.

So she folds her hands together even more tightly, until it hurts, and keeps her smile perfectly in place, watching her father look back at her, both of them utterly helpless.

All he does is swallow beneath the big black necklace, and keep moving the little cakes onto the special fine china plates, scalloped edges with pretty gold paint flowers in their middles. 

The little girl loves the way the fancy plates look, but she is not allowed to touch them. When her father sets the plates down, one in front of her mother and one in front of her mother’s guest, she knows better than to reach for a tiny cake herself. 

"Bella, you should tell Miss Gladia thank you for saying such nice things, sweetheart." Her mother’s voice is sickly-sweet, fake with love she doesn’t really feel, and the little girl turns back to the guest who sits across the table and wonders what she said that was so nice.

She can’t let her mother find out she wasn’t listening, or she will be disciplined again, or her father will, and both of those possibilities are terrifying and bad and she has to be a better child, make it better, be perfect, be good. She has to be perfect all the time, forever, she can never ever stop or he will be hurt, because of her.

Again.

Her fingers tremble and she forces them to go still by closing them into tiny fists where they can’t be seen, just like her father does. Be perfect be perfect be perfect be perfect be-

“Thank you, Miss Gladia, that’s very kind,” She says in her high piping voice, widening her smile a little to show how grateful she is, pretending she has any idea what either of them said with all her hope and heart. Praying her mother believes that she means it.

She watches her father place the guest’s plate down across the little circular table, how he doesn’t look at her. It’s too dangerous, she knows that, for him to show that he loves her in front of her mother. Too dangerous, at least, when her mother is pretending to love her, too. 

He can’t help, but he’s here, and that makes it a little bit better.

She can smell, just a little, the cologne her father has to wear when her mother says so, blending with her mother’s overwhelming perfume, making her head spin and her stomach flip. She doesn’t want to eat, but her mother rewards her for saying the right thing by finger-feeding her a bite of one of the tiny cakes.

She can’t say she doesn’t want them, she doesn’t dare. Instead, she opens her mouth and bites down, feeling the burst of sugar-sweet and slight press of teeth through thick frosting layered over in pastel pinks and creams, little sugar flower on top crunching between top and bottom teeth.

She tries to enjoy it, but everything just tastes like being afraid.

“Thank you, Mommy,” She says, and Savvie laughs like it’s so ridiculous that she’s so polite, but if she doesn’t say it now she’ll be in trouble later.

“Bella, what good manners you have,” Miss Gladia says, and the girl smiles like she’s embarrassed and looks down, shy, as she is fed another bite. Her hands hurt in her palms from her fingernails digging in. “You’re doing such a good job with her, Sav.”

“Oh, I hardly have to do a thing,” Savvie says brightly. “Bella really just came out like this, she hardly ever cried even as a baby.”

The little girl doesn’t tell them that she hates being called Bella, it doesn’t feel like her name at all. When she and her father are alone, he calls her Izzy, and she likes that best. Izzy is a safe name, Izzy is a girl who is safe in the bright room with her father telling her their secret stories about the life he lived before, a whole big world the little girl will never be allowed to see, making promises the little girl already knows he can’t keep. 

Izzy is the safe girl - Bella is the girl who must walk on ice that cracks beneath her feet, knowing if it breaks she won’t be the one who falls in. Her father will. 

“Oh, you must be so proud of her,” Miss Gladia says, and takes a drink of the fizzy orange juice that the little girl can’t have because it has champagne in it, which is a grown-up drink that spark and fizzes and pops when her father opens it in the kitchen, the cork bouncing off the ceiling or wall, and she and her father sometimes feel safe enough to laugh, there. 

Sometimes. If her mother is far enough away in the house that she won’t hear them.

“Well, I am, of course,” Savvie says, waving one hand to dismiss the thought. She takes a drink of her own special grown-up orange juice and neither of them offers the little girl anything. Her plastic sippycup is somewhere else in the house. It ruins the look of the table, Savvie said earlier. She will be thirsty until she’s allowed to leave the room.

Her tongue sticks thick to the roof of her mouth from the sugar and dense cake. She feels the need to wriggle, to shift, growing inside of her and has to quash it down, breathing a little bit faster, trying to keep it so silent that her mother will be too distracted to notice. She tries to focus on her hands, the only part of her that is free to move, squeezing them tight and relaxing and then squeezing again. 

“... or I would be,” Savvie corrects, one hand on the little girl’s back. It looks like affection - it’s a promise, a threat, a danger. The little girl straightens her spine even more, until her back hurts, and she doesn’t say a thing. “If she didn’t have the worst tin ear.”

“Oh, really?” Miss Gladia sighs and shakes her head. “That is disappointing, coming from such a musical family.”

“Must have gotten it from her father,” Savvie says, long-suffering, and the little girl feels the tiniest bloom of warmth inside of her, that there is any part of her that is her father’s, and not her mother’s. Any part at all. “When I was four I was already able to play anything easy, really, and practicing five days a week. My daughter can’t even do a scale. Believe me, I have tried. She’s honestly been a bit of a disappointment from day one. No amount of encouragement has helped.”

The little girl thinks of her mother screaming at her to try harder, her tiny fingers fumbling and dropping the violin, wailing with fear at the rage in her mother’s face.

“I mean, you’d think she is choosing to be bad at music on purpose, some days.”

She’s scared of music, now. She is choosing to be bad at it on purpose. 

The little girl remembers the discipline after she dropped the violin (it was an accident, she didn’t mean to, only she was just scared). She’s too scared to even touch the violin now, or the big piano in another room, she shakes and cries and her mother finally stopped trying.

She can’t make herself safe - but she can hide this one small thing, and that’s a little bit safer, even if it’s not very much.

Remembering, she has to blink back the threat of tears. Tears are even worse than being ungrateful. She can’t let the guest see them, she can’t.

"Oh, sweetie, are you all right?"

The little girl's stomach drops, and she tries to will the tears in her eyes away, but it’s no use - her mother’s finger and thumb grip her chin tight enough to pinch as her head is turned for Savvie’s inspection, her bright eyes roaming over her daughter’s face, seeing the glimmer, the flush, the way she is biting on her lip to hide how they tremble. 

“Are you crying, Bella?” Savvie asks, and her voice is mild, but the little girl can hear the threat there, anyway, the coldness underneath. So can her father - she can see him, in the corner of her eye, go suddenly still where he was moving to clear the serving trays away and back to the kitchen. “Why would you be crying, lovie?”

Love in all its forms is a bad word. Lovie is the name for when the little girl is bad, I love you is what her mother says before she makes her father scream his apologies and what she says while petting his hair afterward and making him let her hold him until his shaking stops. You’re so loved is what she whispers when her hands close tight around Izzy in what she thinks is a hug.

Now that the tears are here, they won’t be stopped, and she shudders as they run down still-chubby cheeks and drip to leave watermarks on her pretty silk dress. Her breath hitches in her desperate attempt to hold them back, and her hands are fisted into the silk until her palms burn with pain from her fingernails and still she can’t stop. 

“I-I don’t know, M-Mommy, I thought-... ab-about something sc-scary is all, is-... I’m s-sorry, I thought about a movie, scar-... scary movie-”

She and her father have talked about what to say, practiced it - make it my fault, keep yourself safe - and the words fall off her tongue like she means them and for a second she thinks her mother will calm. The press of her hand on the little girl’s back lightens, and she smiles, and her eyes twinkle, so big and bright, and the black parts in the center are so small. 

“Well, Daddy shouldn’t be letting you watch those, should he?” She asks, playfully teasing, and looks up to her friend. “Honestly, what was he thinking?”

“Who knows?” Miss Gladia laughs, and her voice is kind, but the little girl hates her for seeing her tears, for making her have to tell the lie.

Then her mother’s eyes fall to the spots on her dress caused by her tears, and the hand on her back is suddenly pressing hard again. “Bella, what did you do?” Savvie keeps her voice light, airy, hardly bothered, but it’s a trick and the little girl’s eyes go wide to her father, who stands silent, watching them. She wants to see that he will save her.

She knows already that he can’t.

“I’m sorry,” She tries again, sometimes if she can apologize fast enough the danger passes, like a cloud moving away from the sun. This time, though, her mother’s smile stays brittle and she is bundled into Savvie’s arms as she stands. 

“I’ll just take her to change and have some time elsewhere while we finish our visit. Do you mind waiting here for just a second, Gladia?”

“Of course not, Sav. I’ve plenty of mimosas and I have a phone, I’ll be fine.” Miss Gladia laughs and waves them away, and Savvie holds the little girl so tightly she aches as she carries her out of the room. 

Why doesn’t anyone ever notice that she’s scared of her mother? If they notice, why don’t they care? Her cousins aren’t scared of their parents, they fight and throw fits while the little girl sits silent, watching them.

The difference is only that her father has the big black necklace, and none of theirs do. It’s the difference between being safe to have feelings and having to watch each and every one to make sure it’s only ever perfect. 

The little girl is good; she doesn’t start to cry again until they reach the second floor, where the bedrooms are, and she realizes what her punishment will be.

“Savvie-” She raises her head, eyes streaming tears, to see her father following on her mother’s heels, his eyes locked on her even as he says her mother’s name. “Savvie, don’t, it’s not her fault, I can-... I know how to f-fix it-”

“You can’t get a water stain out of silk. Honestly, crying in front of guests, Bella, what is wrong with you?” Savvie’s voice is sharp, now that Miss Gladia is out of earshot. “Jax, get something for her to wear when she comes out of time-out.”

The little girl panics, then, wriggling to try and escape her mother’s arms, only to feel them tighten around her until it feels like metal closing around over her ribs. Her voice goes even higher-pitched, airy and breathless. “No, no, don’t put me in time out, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t do it please!”

“Every single word you say will only make me put you in time out for longer, Bella,” Savvie snaps, and the little girl falls into a wail she muffles by burying her face in her mother’s neck, solid as stone, no comfort to be found. “Jax, I said get her a change of clothes ready.”

“Yes, Savvie, but-... another dress for company, or-”

“No.” Savvie stops in front of a door, and it’s not the little girl’s bedroom door. She raises her teary head to blink, confused. It’s painted pale blue gray instead of the pastel pink of her own door, and Savvie pulls an old-fashioned key from her pocket and unlocks it, swinging it open.

“No,” The little girl whimpers. “Please, no.”

It’s the monster room - a huge old room full of furniture covered in big draping canvas cloth that looks like each is hiding something terrible underneath, the room the little girl is most afraid of. Heavy drapes keep out all the light but the tiniest sliver that cuts across the floor, and dust floats through the air.

The monster room is the worst room in the whole house, and it’s the only room she’s too scared of to go in there herself, and her mother knows it. She knows it, but the little girl wasn’t perfect this time, and she has to be disciplined if she isn’t perfect.

The little girl feels a new fresh burst of tears, lower lip trembling, and pulls in a breath just as Savvie says, “If you start crying again, Bella, I’ll leave you here all night.”

The little girl’s sob catches in the middle of her throat and she fights to swallow it, snapping her mouth closed and forcing her hands over it to press so hard her teeth ache, trying to tell herself she has to be brave. Brave and strong and not make much noise while she is hurting, like her father does. She sniffs hard, audibly hard, and slowly nods to show she’s listening, she’s trying, she can be good. “Yes, Mommy,” She whispers, an echo of her father’s eternal Yes, Savvie, which sometimes stops the violence.

“Savvie,” her father says from behind her, a new urgency in his voice. “Savvie, she can’t be left alone, n-not all night, she needs to eat.”

“There’s a bathroom in there and she’s potty-trained. If she cared so much about eating, she wouldn’t have embarrassed me in front of a guest.” Savvie carries her inside and the little girl is tense in her arms, clinging tightly to her terrifying mother and staring with giant desperate panicked eyes over the woman’s shoulder at her father, who wants to but cannot help her. “She should know better than to cry in front of guests. She can cry in here all she wants, nobody will hear it.”

“I will.”

“I’m not worried about that, you have work to do.” She pries the little girl’s arms off of her and drops her, unceremoniously, onto the dusty off-white cloth pulled over the bed. The girl whimpers as she hits the rough canvas and pulls herself up to curl into the tiniest ball she can manage, feeling horribly small, afraid, and alone, even before they’re gone.

“Pl-please don’t leave me,” She tries, in her smallest voice. “Mommy, please.”

Her mother’s eyes are cold and unfeeling when she spares the little girl a single final glance. “Don’t get tears on silk and I won’t,” Savvie says, and then points back out the door. “Go, Jax. I’ll let you know when you can come get her back out. Have her clothes ready.”

Her father looks at her, at the frightened child with her knees pulled up to her chin and ruffled ankle socks and patent leather shoes showing under the hem of her dress, tears making her face ruddy and shining, the wide eyes that beg him for some kind of saving, and then back at the woman who calls herself his wife. “Savvie, please, does she - does she have to be alone in here?”

“That’s the whole entire point, Jax. I said go.” Her mother’s voice switches from the cold hard edges to a sudden sweet softness, turning to slide arms around her father’s waist, leaning into him and nuzzling against his face, seeking a kiss. The genuine affection the girl is denied, her father receives, but he doesn’t relax. He allows it, that’s all. “She’ll be fine, sweetie. Besides, James’ll be up from his nap soon, don’t you want someone around to take care of him?”

The little girl isn’t old enough yet to understand that her mother is laying a new threat, to treat her little brother the same way she is treated. But she sees her father’s tension rise. 

She can’t understand the unbearable, awful calculation he has to do, deciding which of them can handle her cruelty the best. It will be years before she can grasp how it must have felt for him, having to choose the infant who is utterly helpless over the daughter who has already learned to live in constant fear. She can’t understand, in this moment, that the torture that cuts deepest is how Savvie forces him to leave one to save the other, over and over again.

All she knows, then, is that he never seems to choose her. She can’t see that it’s not really a choice at all.

She only sees her father’s jaw set, his eyes lower, before he turns to her and says, gently, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Isabella,” and leaves, her mother right behind him. The key turns in the lock.

She is locked in the monster room, one tiny little girl, all alone.

She starts to cry in earnest once they are gone, wailing her fear and some small slim spark of anger that has yet to be extinguished. She screams and begs them to come back, promises to be so good, but no one comes back for her, and the shadows in the room have eyes.

This isn’t fair. She tried her hardest but she can’t be expected to never cry, and she leans over and smooths her skirt out and lets all her tears fall on the silk, ruining and ruining it.

She hates all her dresses, anyway. Dresses are stupid, another bad word she isn’t supposed to say, dresses are stupid and she hates them. They suck. They’re crap. They look stupid and she hopes all her dresses will get water stained and dirt-stained and gross.

The anger grows, a comforting flame to hold back the teeth and claws she is terrified of, and it takes over her tiny body. 

She yanks the clip that holds her hair out and throws it as hard as she can, watches it bounce off the wall, throws her stupid shiny black shoes and balls up her socks to throw those and then she says every single curse word she’s ever heard her father say under his breath when her mother isn’t listening, and all the words he’s said in front of her, too. 

She screams the words, until her throat aches, until her voice rasps, until her muscles are all standing out pressing on her bones, until she can’t hear her heart anymore, because the anger is bigger than her body, and her mother can’t hear her to punish her for feeling it.

Then, the anger is gone and she is still here, and she starts to cry again. The cloth sways like there are bodies underneath, whispering voices she can’t quite understand, and she is too scared to get down and feel the claws of something under the bed reaching out to pull her in.

Something creaks, like monster-steps, and she half-screams, but no one is coming. No one ever comes to help her, not until her mother thinks she’s sorry enough for whatever she’s done.

The little girl lays down on her side and makes herself very small and prays and prays and prays that she won’t be eaten by the monsters before time-out is over. Her body shakes with sobs and the canvas underneath her head grows damp with her tears.

Somewhere in her praying, she falls asleep.

The next thing she knows is drifting awake to find her father’s warm arms already holding her, her cheek resting on his shoulder, her forehead just touching the black nylon on the side of his neck. The sliver of light through the big dark drapes has gone golden and weak, as the sun starts to set. Her stomach feels empty and sick, and she sniffs as he walks back out into the hallway. “D-Dad-”

“It’s all right, Izzy,” He whispers, and she relaxes into the safe nickname. If he’s using it, it means Savvie isn’t here, or she’s far enough that she won’t overhear them. “It’s all right, it’s over.”

He doesn’t smell like cologne anymore. He must have scrubbed it off. He just smells like him, now, and the little girl, still half-asleep, smiles. She likes the way he smells, all on his own, just shampoo and laundry detergent and the only kind of love that’s safe. 

“Sorry I was bad,” She mumbles, voice still slurred with sleepiness, and nuzzles into the big black necklace he wears around his neck, the one her mother uses to hurt him. She has never, in her whole life, seen him not wearing it. “I’m sorry, Dad. S-sorry I wasn’t good-”

“You’re perfect.”

Her father’s voice suddenly has an edge to it, a fierce insistence. His body shakes, muscles going tight and then relaxing. He must have made her mother mad, after she was locked in time out. Or maybe she had just wanted to hurt him for no reason - she does that sometimes, too. “D’you hear me, Izzy? You’re absolutely fucking perfect. She just can’t see it. She can’t-... see it. You did nothing wrong. I’ve got some-... some dinner for you, in your room, and James is in there with his blocks. Do you want to eat, play for a while before bed?”

Her stomach growls, answering for her, and she nods a little, sliding her arms up and around his neck. “Is-... is Mom gone?”

“She’s in her room. She won’t come and see you tonight.”

The little girl breathes a sigh of relief. She can just be Izzy, now, for the whole rest of the night until bedtime. If her mother doesn’t come see her, she can be safe, for just a little while, with her father and little brother, and she can pretend that’s all the family she has.

“I’ll be better next time, Dad, I promise.” 

His voice is heavy with an emotion she isn’t old enough to understand as he answers, “You shouldn’t have to be, Izzy.”

“But I do have to be.” She sniffs a little, and flinches with instinctive fear at hearing herself make a sound her mother hates. Her father’s arms only tighten around her in response, and she reminds herself, heart pounding, that she’s safe, for now. “I try, Dad, I try to be a good kid, I do. I try so hard.”

“I know you do.” He kisses the top of her head, briefly coming to a standstill, his body still giving the occasional all-over shiver, what her mother calls ‘aftershocks’. “You try your hardest. But even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, not to me. You’re good all the time.”

“I’m good?”

“Yeah, Izzy. You’re…” Her father sighs, and holds her so tight she almost can’t breathe, but unlike when her mother does it, when her father does she feels, for just a second, like nothing in the whole world can hurt her at all. 

Her smile, hidden still against his neck, is wider than it ever is with anyone else. 

“You’re the best. And I’m going to get you and your brother out of here. I promise.”

She doesn’t hear how carefully he promises to save her and her brother, but never promises to save himself, too.

---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[half-bakedboy]

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: General Summary: “I’ve recently found myself with a lot of time on my hands and since you don’t seem to have enough to romance someone,” Buck began, settling his drink on the table, “I think it only makes sense for someone to romance you.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and shot back, “Yeah, and how are you going to find someone willing to put in that effort?”

“Oh, you’re lookin’ at him.”

Or… Eddie gets the romance he deserves in the form of fluff-filled dates with Buck.

For @911fluffweek - day seven: Free choice // Love confession

(read the final chapter on ao3 or start from the beginning)

The morning had sucked, to put it frankly. Eddie woke up late, sleeping through his alarm for the first time in years, and when he had barged through Christopher’s door, his son was anything but compliant. He took his sweet time getting out of bed, refused to brush his teeth or hair, and changed his outfit too many times for Eddie to count. By the time Eddie had gotten him in the car, they were going to be late to school and he didn’t even have time to call them and let them know. 

He didn’t need the speech he got when he dropped Christopher off after the first bell and he didn’t need the sympathetic but still judgmental gazes of his team and his captain when he stepped into the station ten minutes after his shift started. He barely had time to eat the plain bagel he started toasting—his cinnamon raisin ones he kept at the station had gotten moldy since Buck had started making him breakfast more often than not—when the first bell of the day rang through the station. 

His turnout gear was too heavy on his already fatigued body and as he ran into the first fire of the day, the heat was almost too much to handle. He had to carry a man twice his size out of the burning building only to be chastised by Bobby for ignoring a direct order even if it was for the good of the victim. Even Hen was tired of his bad attitude by the time they got back to the station. 

“Oh, thank god,” she muttered as they both jumped out of the back of the firetruck, “maybe you can get the stick out of Eddie’s ass.” Eddie shot daggers at her, but his features softened considerably when the door slammed closed and he saw Buck standing in front of the open doors. 

“Hey,” he said, walking up slowly, his eyebrows furrowed, “did we have plans that I forgot about?” Buck shook his head and raised up a coffee from their favorite sandwich shop a few blocks down the road. 

“A little bird told me that you didn’t have the best morning,” Buck began, pausing to take in Eddie’s form. He was sweaty and covered in grime, the small bandage on his head standing out against his ashen skin. “They didn’t tell me that you were hurt. Are you okay?” Buck asked hurriedly, placing the coffee on the floor before cupping Eddie’s face in his hands. Eddie tried to keep him at arm’s length but Buck pushed forward anyway, inspecting the bandage as if he could see through the thick gauze. 

“I’m completely fine, Buck. Just a little house fire injury. It could’ve been way worse,” he added, which did absolutely nothing to ease the tension in Buck’s shoulders. 

“Chim, the next time you rat my boyfriend out, maybe mention that he has an injury?” Buck asked, causing Eddie to glare in Chim’s direction. He figured Chim was the tattletale but didn’t think Buck would call him out that easily. 

“There will be no next time, you a—”

“Language!” Bobby shouted before Chim could finish. He turned to Buck and Eddie, hands on his hips with his captain face on. “Eddie, you’re taking a long lunch, and before you argue,” he held up a hand when Eddie took a step forward, “it’s either send you to the doctors to get checked out or make you take a damn breather. You decide.”

Eddie sighed and nodded. “Got it, Cap. Can I shower first?” He asked, gesturing down at himself. If he looked as gross as he felt, he’d need one before he could enjoy anything. 

Bobby nodded which was all Eddie needed to dismiss himself with a quick peck to Buck’s cheek and the promise that he’d be back soon. It was like the entirety of his horrible morning was washed off of his shoulders while he scrubbed himself down, but he was sure it wasn’t only the showers doing. 

Seeing Buck standing there was on the cusp of overwhelming. The second Eddie saw him, he wanted to be wrapped around him, covered in him, curled up inside of him so that he could make every frustration, annoyance, and sadness in him go away. Even the simple way Buck immediately inspected his injury, ignoring the way he probably felt and smelled after the high-intensity call, had Eddie’s stomach fluttering and the tension in his body turned to mush. 

Eddie dried and got dressed as quickly as he could because all he wanted to do was spend the time he was allotted with Buck. He needed to tell Buck exactly how he felt at that moment and Eddie wasn’t one to hold back, not with anyone, especially Buck. It was a miracle that he had waited that long to say the three words that meant everything to him, ones that he hadn’t said to anyone besides Christopher in what was probably a year. 

“I’ll have him back in an hour,” Buck shouted to the team as Eddie walked out, clean and happy. He sent everyone a wink Eddie didn’t quite understand before he grabbed the coffee from the floor with one hand and laced their fingers together with the other. 

“Where are we going? I thought we could just…” He gestured to the loft but Buck shook his head and led him to his jeep, opening the door as he had on their first date. 

“Don’t give me that look, Diaz. You act like I stopped being the perfect gentleman after all this time,” Buck accused, kissing Eddie’s cheek quickly before he shut the door. 

As he got into the driver’s seat, Eddie said slowly, “This feels like a weird trap.” Buck scoffed and grabbed Eddie’s hand from his lap, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss but saying nothing else. 

Eddie leaned his head back against the seat behind him because even if it was a trap, he trusted Buck. He had no doubt in his mind that Buck was doing something to get his mind off of the horrible morning he had and all it took was the knowledge that Eddie wasn’t in a good mood for him to drop everything. It was really that simple and Eddie couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“Hey, Buck?” Eddie asked, keeping his head against the seat behind him but tilting it so he could look at Buck. 

Buck glanced over with a small smile and responded softly, “Yeah?” 

“I love you.” Eddie spoke quietly, barely above the low murmur of the radio Buck always had to have playing in the background, but he knew Buck heard him because he was pulling over to the side of the road almost the second the words were out. “What are you—”

“No!” Buck shouted and before Eddie could ask for an explanation, Buck was out of the car, slamming his door and stomping like a toddler over to Eddie’s side. 

The second the door opened, Eddie said, “Buck, I am so confused.” 

Buck continued to stay silent and grabbed Eddie’s hand, dragging him down the street. Eddie probably could have pulled him to a stop, but he was too busy trying to grasp onto the sliver of string holding his heart together, ready to snap any second if Buck didn’t love him back. He didn’t think that was possible. He had been so sure that Buck felt the same as he had shown it, proved it, on every occasion he could. Eddie wasn’t sure what he would do if—

“Oh,” Eddie whispered when they rounded a corner to a park they frequented with Christopher every so often. The picnic table they always sat at had a white, embroidered table cloth with plates that Eddie recognized from Buck’s kitchen set on top. There was a fake candle in the middle and the same bouquet of flowers Buck had gotten him on their first date settled beside it. 

“It’s been weeks since we had been able to have a moment alone together, Eds,” Buck said, grabbing both of Eddie’s hands in his own and taking a deep breath. He stared into Eddie’s eyes and as if he had memorized an entire speech, cleared his throat and began. “I’ve been trying to plan this big romantic gesture that would blow all of our other dates out of the damn water but every time I had something in place, there was always something else in the way.”

“You don’t need to—” Buck squeezed his hands and raised his eyebrows, a clear threat in his features that had Eddie snapping his mouth shut but still unable to hold back the grin on his lips. 

“As I was saying,” Buck enunciated pointedly as he pulled Eddie to the table and nudged him to sit, “there hasn’t been time for me to tell you how much you mean to me. I know we show it every time we’re together, but words? They mean a lot to me. I’ve never really been good with them. I stuttered as a kid and it was a constant struggle to get anyone to listen to me when I could finally speak my mind…” 

Buck trailed off and glanced away like he was suddenly embarrassed by the admission that had Eddie warming up from the inside out. Eddie angled his head to catch Buck’s eyes and rested a gentle hand on his cheek, nodding to urge him on. He wanted to make sure he heard what Buck had to say, that Buck knew he was there to listen to him even if no one else ever had been. Buck shook his head and let out a huff of disbelieving laughter before he spoke again. 

“The only words that have been swirling around my mind for the last few months have been about you. How lucky I was to have met you when I did, how fun it is to spend time with you, how immediately I fell in deep with both you and Christopher.” At the mention of his son, Eddie’s heart squeezed. Buck knew how much that would have meant to him. “Most importantly, how I’ve never quite loved anyone as much as I love you.” 

Eddie’s cheeks hurt from the wide smile that he couldn’t even try to erase from his face. His stomach bubbled over like champagne finally released from the confines of its bottle and his heart pounded that steady beat that he was sure matched in time with Buck’s. He loved him. Buck loved him and Eddie loved him right back. Nothing could ever be as perfect. 

“But then, you go and steal all of my thunder by blurting it out when I’m just existing,” Buck complained, clear exasperation in his voice that Eddie rolled his eyes at. 

“Our entire relationship doesn’t have to be a competition, Evan,” Eddie argued, standing so he could hold Buck’s face in his hands and brush their noses together. “I know it started that way, with you seeing me as some sort of challenge to pass the time on your hands,” Eddie said softly but was interrupted by Buck shaking his head rapidly. 

“Hey, that’s not—” Eddie chuckled and pressed a delicate kiss to Buck’s lips, smiling when Buck chased after his mouth like he needed more than that. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Buck, because you’ve spent the last few months being everything I tried to run away from and everything I’ve needed. These big romantic gestures from your makeshift handbook were incredible, but I don’t care about anything other than the fact that I really, really love you, okay?”  

Buck nodded and when they kissed, it was with barely contained smiles on their faces. It was awkward with too much teeth and laughter, but they were happy, they were in love. Every second spent with Buck, even when they were rushing around to get him back to the station, was a memory Eddie wanted to keep forever. 

Eddie was looking for an escape when he moved to L.A. He wasn’t trying to find a family or a home for himself, only focusing on the future he could provide for Christopher and caring little for his own. He was searching for an easy way out and hoped it was the right thing for both him and his son. 

Then he realized what’s easy is right and that began and ended with Buck. 

[phynali]

Dean’s Body as a Punching Bag

Ever since I made this post about Sam and (his lack of) bodily autonomy (as well as the follow-up post that carries the theme through the other 10 seasons), I’ve been trying to determine what the corollary for Dean is. Re-watching 5x01 made it jump out at me in a huge way:

The bodies of the people that Dean loves are consistently used in a way that hurts/harms Dean and metes out violence against him. And it is specifically his loved ones’ bodies themselves, not shapeshifters or lookalikes or Leviathan either. It is the people he loves’ hands and fists and weapons.

(I need a snappier way to word that, but bear with me).

Where Sam’s bodily autonomy violations occur before he’s born, and are seen as early as the pilot with Azazel in his room and with the Woman in White, Dean’s analogous theme doesn’t sneak in until the mid-season finale with Asylum.

In this episode, Sam gets infected with a sort of ghost-possession/ghost-sickness (another example of a violation of his bodily autonomy) and his internal anger becomes external, focused on Dean. Sam attacks Dean violently, and Dean goes so far as to hand over a (thankfully unloaded) gun and in this altered state, Sam actually tries to shoot him. 

Ouch. The person Dean loves and most wants to protect had his body violated and used against Dean. This theme is going to carry us through the next, eh, 10 or so seasons, with some tail-end examples even after that. 

In Season 1 we have Asylum mid-season, and we have the finale in which John is possessed by Azazel and hurts Dean most grievously, almost kills him. In Season 2, Sam is possessed by Meg and shoots Dean (in the arm). In Season 3, we had a writers’ strike and a season cut short so I can’t think of any examples there (but lots of other shit to unpack for another day).

The in Season 4, we have Sex and Violence, which is super interesting. While Dean is the one targeted by the siren and therefore the one whose body is used against his brother to hurt him, the actual violence doesn’t start until Sam is also infected. Sam’s body is violated by being held at knifepoint by his brother and his mouth forced open to accept the siren’s venom, but then it’s a fist-fight, a showdown. Both brothers’ bodies being used to hurt the other, but getting to that point required Sam’s body to similarly be ready to be used against Dean.

Season 5 is literally bookended by instances of this happening. First, true to the idea that Dean sees Bobby as family, Bobby becomes possessed by a demon and he violently attacks Dean. And then Swan Song, most famous example by a huge margin, Sam is possessed by Lucifer and is fist-fighting Dean, destroying his face and killing him with his fists, and it is his overwhelming love for Dean that allows him to overcome this possession and save the world.

The theme is carried forward for a few more seasons, pretty much until that narrative turning point in Season 10 that I mentioned in my post about Sam. In Season 6, soulless!Sam allows Dean to be hurt by a monster, harming him by proxy. In season 7, Sam is hallucinating and almost shoots Dean. In season 8, Cass is programmed by Naomi to kill Dean, and in the episode Goodbye Stranger beats him to a pulp before overcoming this programming. In season 9, when Gadreel reveals himself and takes over Sam’s body and kills Kevin, he also attacks Dean. 

Skipping Season 10 for a hot sec (more on that below), Lucifer also later possesses Cass in Season 11 and harms both Sam and Dean. In Season 12, we get brainwashed Mary attacking her sons (and overcoming possession thanks to Dean). And possibly examples from S13-15 that I’m missing (Garth being affected by Michael? Cass being affected by Rowena’s spell? Both Sam and Dean were affected by the Witch from Wizard of Oz, right? I honestly can’t recall the late seasons near so well). But regardless we see the theme play out in the final 5 seasons, just less and a bit different than it had prior. 

-

Now, let’s unpack the S10 shift a bit, and why it changes things for this theme of Dean’s.

In S9, Dean takes on the Mark of Cain under the weight of guilt and self-loathing from having violated Sam’s bodily autonomy by tricking him into being possessed by an angel (and forcibly having him possessed by a demon to then fix that angelic possession). In this instance, Dean is willfully taking on something that alters his own body, and the narrative between he and Sam is flipped. Now Dean is the one with something ‘evil’ marring his body and impacting it outside his control, and now Sam is the one who is ignoring Dean’s protests and autonomy in order to save him from this thing, consequences be damned.

That 2.5 season role-reversal arc was huge for how it changed Sam’s storyline for the final 5 seasons, and similarly huge for how it impacts Dean’s.

Dean is now the one whose body is being used as a weapon against those he loves most, and he is the one suffering that loss of autonomy and control over himself. He is sick with bloodlust, is turned into a demon, is drawn to the First Blade, and is not in full control of himself. When the Darkness is unleashed and Dean suffers the emotional consequences of feeling tied to and drawn to this monster (woman? celestial being? godlike person?) against his will. 

The Mark/Darkness narrative shows us that Dean’s body might belong to him, but it too can be corrupted against his will. Dean learns that he won’t always be able to choose, learns what it means not to have control over his own body. That while he puts his family as his duty above all else, while he would sacrifice literally everything (his body, his soul, the entire universe) for his little brother, the opposite might also be true, even if Dean doesn’t want it to be. 

(And I said elsewhere that I fundamentally believe this narrative role-reversal was a consequence of him overstepping his ownership over Sam by tricking him into taking Gadreel. Their positions are swapped because they have to be, because narratively it becomes necessary for Dean to know what this loss of autonomy feels like, and for Sam to override his brother’s choices, or else they may never find a sense of equilibrium again).

By the time this Mark/Darkness narrative wraps up, Dean is fundamentally, irrevocably changed. Where in Season 5 it was completely unthinkable that he would agree to be a vessel for Michael, it is in the finale of Season 13, just two seasons after the Darkness storyline wraps up, that we see him take Michael into himself as a snap, in-the-moment decision. What was previously unthinkable is now canon. 

Because Dean is now different. Because his core of protecting Sam is the same, but his theme of how others' bodies are used against him has now upended itself, and he now has had his body used against others.

In my post about Sam, I said that in the end for the final seasons, the narrative has shifted from Dean owning Sam’s body to Sam also owning his own, and them acknowledging that they are in this together as a result of Season 10. I believe that happens with Dean as well, owing to this reversal. Sam has now taken some ownership over Dean’s body by getting rid of the Mark, and Dean has relinquished some of his tight-fisted control over himself. 

So Sam is sharing ownership over his body with Dean (in the vein of “I can’t pretend you won’t do whatever you can to keep me alive, even if I don’t want it, but we’re in this together” and “if we die we do that together too”), and Dean is also sharing ownership over his body with Sam (in the vein of “I’m no longer convinced you’re going to abandon me, so the things that I will do to keep you by my side will be met equal between us” and “when it comes to keeping you safe, it’s my autonomy I will give up first, not yours”). 

-

But what does this particular form of bodily-violence-from-family say about Dean from a thematic standpoint?

In my post about Sam, I talked about how the themes of possession (ghost and demon) and demon blood are inherently about bodily autonomy and free will. 

For Dean, thinking through this theme of his loved ones being used to hurt him, I’m torn trying to find the way to word it, but I feel that it has to do with his themes of self-effacement as love, as protection and duty. It’s about being willing to suffer anything (even to the point of death) to protect his family, the ones he loves most. Family is the end-all-be-all to Dean, and protecting his family (most especially his little brother) is the core and heart of his character. It is a duty and a responsibility and a calling and a purpose. 

To remix a quote from the film Legend, Dean’s devotion to his brother (and to a lesser extent, to everyone else he calls family) is how he measures himself. There’s no single word for it, as it’s a mix of protection as love, as an instinct, but also as a fundamental duty, an identity. His internal compass.

So Dean’s narrative invokes free will in a very different way than Sam’s. Dean always had and has free will. He had the will to sell his soul, the will to refuse Michael. He has autonomy over his body and he has choice, so much so that he makes choices over and over for Sam. Instead, Dean’s struggles with autonomy of self as related to his constant effacement (to the point of complete ego-destruction and physical loss of self) for the people he loves. He will die, sell his soul, let himself be beat to a pulp, and anything more that the situation calls for, so long as it means protecting or not harming his loved ones.

The original Swan Song end is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions, in the style of Greek tragedy. Sam’s struggle for autonomy, and the moment he claims that autonomy for himself, he falls into the Pit for eternity. Dean’s original intended Swan Song ending is analogous: a struggle to exist as more than his duty to his family, and right after he accepts that Sam is allowed to choose Lucifer and death for himself while Dean may continue on living, he then chooses to fall into the Pit after his brother so they could be together (in Hell, in the Cage) eternally.

Both of them have these absolute tragic flaws and in the first Kripke-era arc, tragic sacrificial ends. Sam’s relating to will and autonomy, Dean’s relating to love, family and protection/duty. Both of them belonging to themselves and to each other.

-

-

A few extra things about this theme worth noting:

1. the people who love Dean are always in an altered state when they harm him, whether it be possession, brain-washing, siren venom, soulless, etc etc, which I think goes to show in some ways how this love as a given to people who will never deliberately harm him.

2. in a huge proportion of these instances, Dean is saved by the person who loves him reclaiming themselves over and above their altered state. John overcomes Azazel’s possession (arguably, I would say, deliberately from Azazel, but let’s not quibble). Bobby stabs himself in the stomach to save Dean. Cass overcomes Naomi’s brainwashing. Sam overcomes the literal Devil possessing him. Mary overcomes some brainwashing (I think?). Etc. So Dean's love as sacrifice is rewarded?

3. Sam’s body is the most frequently used to harm Dean.

[kdelarenta]

envy

pairing: mason x f!detective (josie valentine), also bobby is in this 

note: after the bakery incident (because I’m still not over it), things are tense and bobby only contributes, a lot of confusion lol, bobby and josie kissed in book 2 

Mason didn't like this, he didn't like this at all.

In theory it made sense with Josie's whole 'all for Wayhaven, town spirit' shit but did it really have to involve that stupid fucking reporter?

Even though Josie went on and on about how it was nice of him to promote the blood drive and how him covering it will draw people in, he saw that she wasn't indifferent to the idea of having him there. Something happened, he was sure of it. All he knew was that the two were best friends in college and somehow fell apart. Josie might be an open book but she was particularly stingy with the details whenever he was involved.

Him. The reporter. Bobby.

The same Bobby who was at Josie's apartment that night, the same Bobby he caught her visiting almost every day at the Agency's hospital wing. The same Bobby that keeps harassing her at work, no matter how much she tries to play nice and ignore him. He knew the shit face was getting to her, the way she was playing nervously with the sleeves of her yellow shirt and that worried look on her face were evidence enough of how much she was dreading this meeting, he thought briefly about having a little chat with him. But why should he? Josie could handle it, besides it's not like they were on the best of terms right now — he'd only make everything worse.

Josie still hasn't spoken to him except for a brief 'yes' when asked if she was going to be working late again and a 'no' when he asked if she needed him to walk her back to her car.

Both questions work related, as all their conversations were these past few weeks. But whatever. She'll get over it. Mason didn't care, or that's what he kept telling himself, but that still didn't stop the regret from coiling deep in his stomach.

When Bobby finally arrived he was greeted only by Nate and Felix, with Nate giving him a polite nod and Felix looking between him and Mason as if he's expecting the two to jump on each other any second. Adam simply gave Bobby a curt nod while Mason didn't bother to hide his eye roll. Bobby didn't seem too bothered by it but still stayed at the doorway as if waiting for something, Josie shifted on her feet unsure of what to do. The tension in the room was nearly impenetrable and the quiet was only interrupted by the sound of the station's printer. This meeting couldn't end soon enough.

"Hi." Josie blurted out before snapping out of it "Welcome, thanks for coming."

Bobby simply smiled and with a shrug stepped into the office.

"Well I wouldn't be a good reporter if I didn't cover the town's newest event, would I?" He steps further into the room, his attention completely on Josie.

"Especially when it's hosted by Wayhaven's dearest detective."

Mason almost growls at the sultry tone he lets casually slip in the compliment, Josie's eyes widen briefly before she looks away from him, blushing slightly. Mason frowned — what was up with her? She simply offered Bobby a small tight smile, lifting her shoulders to her chin in something akin a shrug. A tell that Mason knows means she's shying away and wants to shrink but Bobby doesn't miss a thing, his eyes gulping her down, hungry.

"Right. Thank you. Well, we should get started."

Josie busies herself with lifting the files from the table to make room for the blueprint of the event. Once she lays it down, Bobby joins her on the other side of the desk to examine it thouroughly. Josie's yellow shirt, with which she replaced her turtlenecks and pressed shirts once summer started, clashes with Bobby's white one causing Mason to avert his eyes every once in a while. The bright yellow should be even more unbearable to look at but somehow on Josie it didn't bother him that much. Bobby's shirt was also slightly unbuttoned, on purpose Mason assumed, since judging by his reaction earlier he didn't expect Unit Bravo to be there at all. He wanted them to be alone.

Mason smirked. He can forget about it.

After a few moments Bobby whistles. "This is the Mayor's idea."

"Yeah." Josie slightly leans on the desk "Flashy. Colorful. Fun — the brighter it looks, the more people it attracts."

"Sounds about right." he says giving her a conspiratorial smile.

Josie shrugs. "It's the best way to get people interested."

"Yes I know Jo." Bobby rolls his eyes "You don't have to jump to everyone's defense all the time."

Mason didn't know if it was the nickname or the almost irritated tone he used that made Josie uncomfortably shrink again.

"Just get on with what you came here to do." Mason interjects impatiently "No one asked for your opinion."

They both finally look up at Mason and acknowledge that the rest of Unit Bravo are still in the room. Bobby makes to probably sass him back before Josie cuts him off.

"Stay out of this Mason." she orders in a strict tone so unlike her usual gentle one "Bobby was kind enough to help us out with this so you should treat him with respect."

Bobby seems just as surprised as Mason at the outburst before turning towards him with a smug smirk.

"Yeah Specialist Agent Mason." he almost spits out the title "Show me some respect."

He simply crosses his arms, stifling the urge to grab him by the collar and teach him some 'respect'. Felix throws him a worried frown but he shrugs it off, he wants a smoke but he doesn't want to leave.

Choosing to move on from the conflict, Josie and Bobby agree to get started with crafting the article. Mason watched with interest as Josie took initiative, listening attentively to everything Bobby suggested and making her opinions strongly known when needed. The change in Josie's confidence didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the team who seemed really proud of how far she'd come since their first meeting. And Mason was glad, he couldn't help the small tinge of pride that lingered in his chest at seeing Josie be more sure of herself.

She was a great detective, Mason never doubted that and it was time for her not to doubt it too.

His senses haven't been acting up again, not with Josie's presence there to soothe them, but something was begining to set him off. A strong aroma, as he focuses on finding the source it immediately draws him to Bobby. Overwhelming. His face scrunched up when the scent finally hit his nostrils — juniper, Josie's favorite. Does he really think he's being subtle? Though he doubts subtle is really Bobby's forte.

He's onto the bastard and what's he's trying to do. It won't work, Josie's too smart for that. But as more time passes, the more unsure Mason becomes.

The two work in sinc, dancing around each other in a familiar routine that they only know the steps to. It's like they've done this a thousand times before and Mason briefly acknowledges that they probably have. The way they communicate through glances, the way they finish each other's sentences knowing what the other is going to say before they actually say it. It reminds him of Nate and Adam and he wants to extinguish that connection, they're nothing like Nate and Adam.

He's a bastard and she's—

She's Josie, she's Josie and he can't imagine how they could've ever been friends.

"Are they going to serve food there as well?"

"I guess, since there will be a lot of festivities."

Bobby hums in agreement before sliding his glance briefly over at Mason. He smirks again as if he's suddenly remembered something.

"They better not serve strawberry ice cream though, right Jo?"

Josie looks mildly panicked glancing from him to the team as if they're supposed to know what that means.

"Bobby you promised!" Josie pouts slightly but he can see it's more out of amusement than being upset. They both share a smile from across the table and Mason's sick again. He's throwing it in his face, isn't he? The fact that they have secrets, memories... something that her and Mason don't. Whatever. He doesn't care who she has memories with, he'll win her over soon enough.

Josie joins Bobby's side of the table as they both lean over the blueprint. Mason doesn't miss how Bobby's eyes never leave Josie's face as she talks, too engrossed in the blueprint to notice. He couldn't quite make out the look on the reporter's face and it irked him. Josie was pretty to look at, there was no doubt about it, but it wasn't just that. There was something else there; dialated pupils, fondness...

He's not staying for this bullshit anymore. Josie briefly looks up at the sound of him leaving the chair. He doesn't care — he's not thinking about this anymore. He's not thinking about the fact his hand is only inches away from hers and he's definitely not thinking about the fact that she's starting to forget herself too, leaning into him slightly, their shoulders touching.

"This is taking too long, I need a smoke."

He doesn't look back. He doesn't notice Josie watching him leave.

-

Josie offers a final smile to Nate as she closes the door to her office. She didn't know what exactly encouraged her to walk Bobby out, maybe it was because she wanted to thank him again or maybe it was because she wanted to make sure that everything was right between them. She had her reasons, there was no doubt about it. She prayed for weeks that he wouldn't remember the kiss they shared in her apartment. She wouldn't know what to do if he did. And so far, he hadn't mentioned a thing, so he must've really forgotten everything that had happened.

The meeting felt familiar. And it was familiar, so familiar that if she closed her eyes and let herself drift away, she could pretend that this was a college project. That they were partners, friends, best friends...

She bit her tongue.

"Thank you, again, for doing this."

'I couldn't have done this without you' she almost says, like she did before. But she learned that she could do it without him.

"No problem." he said giving her a friendly smile "I would've stopped by anyway."

Why? , she wants to ask immediately. But she knows why.

User.

"Oh." she simply states and finds herself avoiding eye contact. A small part of her was still scared that one moment he'll snap out of it and remember what happened.

The kiss had remained her own filthy little secret. She didn't tell anyone, not Tina, not Rebecca, not anyone. She was filled with such shame, how could she have been so weak?

What was she thinking? That he actually cared? She had finally stopped returning his calls, stopped turning around when he'd try and talk to her. Stopped treating him as a treasured person in her life that he once was. He decided to stop being that. Her best friend. It was his choice.

So she doesn't believe him when he says he misses what they had because what they had was so easy to throw away for a stupid article. An article that made sure she couldn't show up to campus anymore. Her nails dug into her palms. That was the thing with Bobby, he managed to bring out the worst in her, the worst that Josie desperately tries to keep inside.

"I had a weird dream about you, you know." his voice brings her out of it and she doesn't avert her eyes this time. The way his mouth shaped around the word 'weird' filled her with dread.

"What?"

"It felt so real." he utters somewhat to himself, his eyes laying solely on her lips. Breathing heavily, she reflexively took a step back but stopped the urge to run and lock herself in her office.

"People dream about all sorts of things. You shouldn't worry about it." her words are half-rushed, her tone is all skewed and she all but freezes when his eyes meet hers with intent focus. As he examines her face, she's almost sure he'll give her that content smirk, the one he uses when he knows he's won, and call her out on her bluff. But he doesn't.

Instead he simply looks away for a second and shrugs, visibly snapping out of it. She makes an effort not to let her relief show.

"Yeah, you're probably right. See you around Jo."

She doesn't trust herself to respond, after all, she'd never been a good liar.

And how can she respond when she can still feel his kiss on her lips?

[nclkafilms]

Politically impotent, but highly entertaining courtroom drama

(Review of ‘Trial of the Chicago 7’)

*Warning: contains minor spoilers*

To say that the autumn release of Aaron Sorkin’s ‘The Trial of the Chicago 7’ felt timely following a summer of numerous instances of police brutality against peaceful #BlackLivesMatter protesters would be an understatement. To say that Sorkin’s high speed courtroom drama is revolutionary in any way whether as a film or a contribution to a political debate would - on the other hand - be a serious overstatement. From the sharply constructed and fast paced opening sequence where all our main characters are introduced with fast editing, upbeat music and brilliantly written shifting dialogue, Sorkin’s main mission (or ultimate fate) is clear: ‘Trial’ should above all be entertaining filmmaking.

Its story does not seem as the obvious fit for an entertaining story, however. In the shadows of the Vietnam War’s growing number of fatalities, various protest groups plan to come to Chicago in 1968 for the Democratic Party Convention to voice their contempt towards the US’ involvement in the war and the military service procedures. The protests, however, end in violent confrontations with the Chicago police. In the aftermath of these confrontations the leaders of the different protest groups are prosecuted for inciting riot and breaking various other laws. It is the battle between the Nixon administration and their oppositions represented by Students for a Democratic Society, the Yippies, several smaller figures and for some reason Bobby Seale and the Black Panthers (actually making it the Chicago 8), although they did not take part in the protests. The film follows their trial at the hands of eccentric and controversial Judge Hoffman combined with flashbacks to the events of the protest.

The film won the SAG ensemble award and that stands perhaps as one of the single least surprising awards of this awards season. ‘Trial’ is - as hinted at by the title - an ensemble piece if there ever was one. The film has no real lead, although Eddie Redmayne as Tom Hayden (SDS), Sacha Baron Cohen as Abbie Hoffman (Yippies) and Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Richard Shultz (Prosecutor) might be at the centre of attention. All involved actors have clearly had a good time with their roles portraying them with great enthusiasm, but for most parts also some degree of limitations.

Redmayne’s Hayden is the typical “good guy” who forgets to stay seated when the group protests the judge and continues to argue with Abbie about their political opinions and especially the manner in which they want them implemented. Redmayne does a decent job, but Hayden never really unfolds as a fully fleshed character to me. I do not feel that Redmayne ever really becomes his character and that is main reason why I never fully connected with him. Baron Cohen has run away with most attention for his portrayal of Abbie Hoffman, which I think partially is down to the fact that he is a somewhat unusually dramatic role for the Borat-actor. Cohen is without a doubt a better actor than he might be acknowledged as, and Abbie allows him a chance to show that. It is, however, still in combination with his classical sarcasm and wit that Cohen fully succeeds with his character. Through a returning stand-up routine throughout the film, Cohen’s Hoffman functions in some ways as a narrator and might be the closest we get to a leading role. He also gets to deliver the most touching lines of dialogue in my opinion as he takes the chair towards the end. Finally Gordon-Levitt tries his best to convey the mixed emotions and increasing doubt as Schultz faces the choice between blind loyalty and his devotion to the law. While I always love to see Gordon-Levitt on the screen, I cannot help but feel that Schultz as a character feels highly constructed and I had a hard time believing him to be that sympathetic towards the Chicago 7.

In many ways, I found Mark Strong as Jerry Rubin, John Carroll Lynch as Dave Dellinger and Mark Rylance as the defendants’ attorney, William Kunstler, to be more fascinating characters than both Hayden and Schultz in particular. Mark Strong continues to be more and more interesting and his Jerry Rubin is easily the most enjoyable character along with Cohen’s Hoffman. Strong, too, manages to balance the vulnerability of the sometimes blue-eyed Yippies with their sarcastic distancing and humour-driven protests in the courtroom. I actually believed in his character, when both the protests and the juridical proceedings become too overwhelming for him and he snaps in various ways. Carroll Lynch is an almost criminally underused actor and here I, too, would have liked to explore his character more as he feels so different from the remaining defendants. With the limited material he gets, he manages to create a sympathetic character. The same can be said about Rylance, who uses all of his theatricality as be battles with Frank Langella’s overdone Judge Hoffman. Langella gives it everything and then some to make Hoffman as unscrupulous, derailed and amoral as possible, which ultimately cooled my resentment towards him. He ended up feeling like a caricature more than an actual character and for that, way less scarier.

How come - despite all the characters’ flaws and limitations - that the film is still entertaining, then? Well, the main answer is Aaron Sorkin. While he is still to fully proof himself as a director (Molly’s Game also had some issues), he still is one hell of a writer. You can accuse him (rightly so) of over-writing his stuff, taking to many freedoms with his source material and balancing on the edge of using too much pathos, but it is hard to resist his razor sharp dialogues and tongue-in-cheek one-liners. He is no stranger to courtroom dramas and it is clear that he is on home-turf with all of these juridical and political exchanges of beliefs. For this reason, alone, ‘Trial’ never feels dull or slow. Additionally, this is aided by an often fast-paced editing and the fact, that it never dwells to long on one point before moving on to the next.

This, however, also stands as the main reason as to why the film never feels anything other than impotent as a political work. It never gets too dangerous or too controversial. It gets most dangerous, when it comes to the inclusion and portrayal of Bobby Seale and the Black Panthers. As Seale, extremely talented Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, is highly forgettable mainly down to the fact that Seale is reduced to a prop in the overall story. During the film, the court is accused of including Seale in the trial in order to scare the jury with a black man; adding a layer of racial injustice to the story. But in reality, it also feels as if Seale’s story line has been added to the film to “tick off” the race box; Fred Hampton is also thrown in there as Seale’s legal counsellor with his untimely death just briefly touched upon. The story of Seale, Hampton and the Panthers deserve more time, more attention and more gravity than given here; an initial opinion of mine that was only made clearer after watching ‘Judas and the Black Messiah’.

Ultimately, ‘The Trial of the Chicago 7’ is a highly flawed film and as a political work it stands as oddly harmless and undaring considering its timing and topic. However, thanks to another fast paced and sharp script by Aaron Sorkin, inspired performances from its all-star ensemble lead by Baron Cohen and Jeremy Strong and interesting plot it ends up as a highly entertaining courtroom film. A well-looking, satisfying meal, although it does not last for too long and leaves a somewhat questionable taste in the very back of my mouth.

4/5

[wayhavnsfinest]

Wedding Date

The detective finds herself dateless at a wedding where her ex; Bobby is the best man.

Pairing: F!Detective X Mason

Rating: T-alcohol mention

___________________________________________

You stand at the bar waiting for your drink. Fairy lights are strung across the outdoor venue bathing everything in a warm light. The night is warm with a gentle breeze. It would be the perfect wedding. If it weren’t for the best man.

“Hey Angel,” Bobby purrs as he saddles up next to you. “You know everyone is expecting us to dance.” 

You grimace as you wait for your drink. Silently cursing yourself that you didn’t ask Tina to be your date to the wedding. You briefly thought about asking Mason, but you decided that wasn’t a conversation you really were ready to have. You didn’t want to think about how upset you’d be when he inevitably said no. 

Receiving your drink from the bartender, you turn to face him, bringing your drink to your lips and letting the bubbly champagne linger on your tongue before answering him. “Why, would anyone expect us to dance?” You finally answer. 

“You’re the maid of honor, I’m the best man. Every rom-com demands that we dance.” 

You bite back your retort remembering the promise you made to the bride -Jessica, your former roommate and best friend from college. 

“C’mon Angel, just one dance, it won’t kill you.”

Sighing you set down your champagne flute and let him lead you to the dance floor. You allow Bobby to place his hands on your waist as you place your hands on his shoulders. You awkwardly sway back and forth in time to the music and you allow your mind to wander. 

You don’t have a problem with Bobby anymore, you learned the best revenge is happiness independent from him. However you can’t help but wish that you would have brought a date- especially a member of Unit Bravo. You can just picture the frown that would consume Bobby’s face if you would have walked in with Mason or any of the incredibly attractive vampires you work with. 

“You know everyone thought this would be us.” Bobby’s voice brings you back to reality. 

“What?” You ask.

Bobby smirks, knowing he got your attention- something  he’s been craving all night. “This” he gestures to the bride and groom, “the big wedding, the speeches of how we met, the awkward stories from college.”

You scoff and stop yourself from rolling your eyes. You can’t afford to get your contacts stuck in the back of your eyes with all this eye makeup on. “I wouldn’t say that too loud, your date will get jealous.” 

Bobby smirks, and you instantly regret mentioning his date. “Speaking of dates Angel, where’s yours?”

You frantically search your mind for the  list of reasons as to why you didn’t have a date, unfortunately drawing a blank. “I would much rather focus all my attention on Jessica and Daniel.” You reply lamely. 

Bobby is about to reply when his date, the cute weather woman from the local news station comes to the pair of you. “There you are Bobby, Detective!” She smiles, “your speech was awesome. It was funny, sentimental, and the bride couldn’t stop smiling through the whole thing. It was short and sweet, unlike someone’s who clearly likes to hear himself talk.” She smiles at Bobby, clearly smitten. You can’t help but think about how she’s way too good for him, you have to bite your tongue to keep from telling her so. But you make a mental note to corral her in the bathroom at some point to tell her so. 

“Well I hate to intrude on your dancing time,” you smile at Bobby’s date; quickly untangling yourself from him. Relieved to have an excuse to break away, you make your way back to the bar relishing the cool air on your waist.

Several drinks later, you’re sitting around a table with a collection of empty glasses. The bride and groom have invited all the couples onto the dance floor. 

“Sweetheart, that may be the saddest sight, I’ve ever seen.”

Your head snaps up from your phone, you look toward the direction of the voice to see Mason sauntering toward you. He’s wearing slacks and a button down with a tie. A tie that you can’t help but notice matches your maid of honor dress. A far cry from his normal attire. 

“What the hell?” You try to focus but you’re too busy admiring the way Mason looks with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. “What are you doing here?” You frown, you only told Tina where you would be tonight, for the lone reason she agreed to pick you up if you drank too much. 

“Well we swung by the station, only to find it detective-less.” You notice the way his eyes travel the length of your dress, lingering on certain places. 

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” You reply, feeling your chest flush under the heat of his gaze. 

“Felix remembered you mentioning something about a wedding, and insisted I ‘sweep you off your feet’. Whatever that means.” He says as he takes in the scene.

You continue to stare at him, “that doesn’t explain how you found me.” 

“Oh, that, Agent Langford tracks you.” 

There it is. Leave it to good old mom to track your every movement, you would be irritated, but Mason looks so damn handsome. Also it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to show him off to all your college friends. 

“If you stick around, I’ll make it worth your while.” You smile up at him. 

“Oh, I’m planning on it sweetheart.” He smirks and rolls his lips together. “This is the part where we piss off your ex with how good we look together, right?”

Grinning you take his hand and lead him to the dance floor to join the other couples. Mason’s hands send an electric current through your body as they settle a little lower than your waist. 

Settling into a steady rhythm, he pulls you close and you take the opportunity to lay your head against his chest. As the music swells and comes to an end you look up to see Mason looking at you with his brow furrowed. 

“What’s wrong?”

Mason hesitates but finally answers, “you didn’t ask any of us.” 

You wonder if he’s asking about the whole team or just him. “Well, weddings are pretty intimate.”

Mason snorts, “you and I have gotten pretty intimate.”

You chuckle, “different kind of intimate.” Pausing to meet his eyes, you respond; “I figured you wouldn’t want to come. It’s a big wedding, there are a lot of sights and sounds. I didn’t want it to be too overwhelming.” 

“You were worried about me?” Mason chuckles “sweetheart, I will go to a hundred weddings if it means I get to see you dresses like this.”

You smile reveling in the surprisingly tender moment between the two of you. Your moment is cut short as Jessica makes her way over to you two. “Who is this handsome wedding crasher?” Jessica smiles.

You roll your eyes, “You were the one badgering me about not having a date. You wanted me to pick some rando from tinder.” Mason’s face resumes its too common scowl at that comment. 

Jessica laughs but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “I just didn’t want him to have a date, and you to be alone.” 

You smile at her concern. “Jess, this is Mason he’s my-“

“Coworker” Bobby finishes, sauntering over. “Angel, that’s just sad, you had to ask a coworker to be your date.” 

You freeze. You’ve never been ashamed of the nature of your relationship with Mason, but right now- at this moment, you really wish it was more serious. 

“I mean really Angel, if you were that desperate for a date, I would have gladly brought you.” 

You catch Mason out of the corner of your eye barely containing a scoff. Before you’re able to come up with a retort, Mason spins you into a passionate kiss. The kiss sparks that familiar fire in your chest and and your eyes flutter close on instinct. You sigh into it, allowing Mason’s tongue to slip past your lips. His tongue delves into your mouth with a fervor as if it’s the first time. 

“Coworkers, do not kiss like that!” Jessica laughs. 

Breaking away from Mason, you’re able to catch a glimpse of Bobby sulking off. 

“Come on! Introduce your ‘coworker’ to everyone.” She uses air quotations around the word coworker as she leads you to the table where you were sitting earlier. 

Too many drinks and a few hours later; Mason is rubbing your back in an effort to calm himself from the over stimulation of the wedding. You turn your body to face him. “You ready to go home Sunshine?” Your words slur, having Mason next to you for the remainder of the wedding kept Bobby at bay, allowing you to relax and truly enjoy yourself. 

Mason simply nods and you say your goodbyes. Mason leads you to your car, leaning heavily on him for support. You’re in no condition to drive home, so he gets in the driver’s seat. You lay your head against the cool window as Mason speeds to your apartment. At the rate he is taking the turns, you’re just hoping you don’t puke on your expensive shoes.

-

You wake up the next morning in your apartment with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. You open your eyes and check your phone. Several text messages from your college friends gushing over Mason, one angry text from Bobby asking what you said to his date, and a picture message from Jessica. You open the message from Jessica. You’re greeted by a professional photograph of you and Mason staring at each other, looking very much like a couple. You smile, saving the picture. Against your better judgment you send it to Mason with the hope he can pinpoint at what point in the night the photo was taken. 

“Sweetheart, why the hell are you texting me when I’m in the next room?!” 

Sitting up way too quickly, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. “You spent the night?!” You’re genuinely shocked by the realization.

“You made some very enticing promises last night. I plan on collecting.” You can almost hear his grin from the other room. 

Smiling at this new development, you get up to get ready for your day. Eagerly anticipating the moment you get to make good on those promises. 

[sea-side-scribbles]

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/81416395

Chapter 74

They caught Nick. They came from all sides, eventually overwhelming him. He was already past various blows with their truncheons when one of them yelled: “Don't kill him! We need him alive!” “Let me go! I'm not Foggy Jack!”, Nick shouted, but he only received another blow for that. “What do we need him for?”, one of the Bobbies snarled. “Well, as proof?”, his colleague argued. “Sure, we can kill him now and tell everyone we caught Foggy Jack, but nobody's gonna believe us! When we bring him back alive, I bet we'll get a shiny medal!” “But I'm not...Foggy Jack!”, Nick tried again, gasping for air. “I'm Nick Lightbearer!” The Bobbies broke out in laughter. “Sure, and I'm the King of England”, said the one who stood closest to him. “Don't you recognise my voice?” “All I'm hearing is some pathetic whining of a captured criminal.” “I have to speak to Constable Hunt! He'll recognise me!” “You're not quite in the position to make demands!” “Come on! One of you should identify me!” Nick looked around. “Constable Rowley! Constable Whistler!, he blurted out. “You know me! Haven't I been always good to you?” The Constables he called shoved the others aside to look at him, but their faces weren't friendly.

“You fucked us over, that's what you did! Made us look quite stupid for thinking you've been stumbling around drunk in all these nights”, Constable Rowley spat. “But tonight you went too far!” “It was about time you snap”, Whistler added. “Besides, Constable Hunt is so stoned he'd even take a flowerpot for Nick Lightbearer. Whatever you drugged him with, it backfired!” “That wasn't me! The other one is Foggy Jack!” “How convenient. The one who's dead and can't defend himself!” “You have to make sure he's really dead!”, Nick begged. “No worries, we take care of everything, especially of you, celebrity”, the closest Bobby said smirking and ended the argument with a dose of knockout drops he drove into Nick's right upper arm.

Nick woke up in a prison for the second time in his life. Now it didn't look like he'd get off lightly. His first reaction was to rattle at the bars of his cell and call out for the Constables. When a tall man in a red uniform walked into his direction, he backed away a little. “What's up, little one? Need attention?”, the Bobby asked, playing with his electric truncheon. “You have to hear me out! I'm not Foggy Jack!”, Nick  continued to beg. “I see, you're our main attraction”, the tall man said quietly, stepping closer to the bars. “Did you find the other one? James? Is he...?” Nick gulped, avoiding the Constable's piercing gaze. “This is a sad day for Wellington Wells and a sad day for us Constables”, the Bobby began lamenting. “You brought great misery upon us all and we have the excruciating task of spreading the news.” “But I'm not Foggy Jack...”, Nick repeated in despair. “I'm...” But the man interrupted him. “Do you believe we can tell the horrible truth to our orderly citizens? Break their hearts like that and tell them that their most beloved idol has turned into their worst enemy? Can we allow the smartest of them to ask questions? Can we afford to make all the others unhappy? No, you see, we can't. It should've never been revealed. You should've never interfered.” Nick was confused. "But I..."

"Oh, don't worry, we won't put you to shame. Actually, it's easy. Uncle Jack went on holiday, Nick Lightbearer too and their names remain untainted. Nobody would want it any other way. But you...you're still here! You'll be the town's next great news! Your name is Norbert Pickles, right? Pays off to read the gossip magazines...You'll be a splendid Foggy Jack! Just try to look a tad bit guilty when you're being hanged." "...hanged?" The man's mocking grin turned wider. "Remind yourself, we're doing you a favour. You should be happy that we stopped you." "You know I'm innocent! You can't do this to me!" "Innocent, ey?" The Bobby laughed. "Think again, Mr. Pickles! We'd keep you anyway and let you rot in this cell. Instead, you get one last fancy show for yourself! You won't be able to hear the applause afterwards, but...you know what it sounds like...just imagine it." The Bobby continued to laugh, turned his back on Nick and vanished into the corridor.

Nick watched him go, his fingers still cramped around the bars. The Bobby's laughter faded away, leaving room for gloomy silence. Nick was out of words. He had no strength left to scream. Letting go of the bars, he slumped back on the plank bed. Wiping his face, he noticed he was still wearing the silver mask. He removed it and stared at it in disbelief. Foggy Jack. The way he had accepted it without asking questions... He had wanted it.

Nick dashed it against the brick wall. It made a little crack, not enough to satisfy him. Shame and regret spread in his chest. And disappointment. The friend he had met once in a lonely night, to whom he had opened his heart...he had lied to him, used him... Nick couldn't bear how stupid he had been. It made sense now. His mind had tried to warn him by showing him memories, but he had never understood. It had felt so good to be near James. The drug had blurred his sense. And then one thing had led to the other. Nick had stopped asking questions. Even now he didn't see everything clear, but he assumed things...He recalled the most important memories.

They made him shiver. Only a few hours ago he would've done it again. He had been so sure that this was the only way. He had even been looking forward to finally try out his gift. He still knew how he would've done it, how he would've moved the blade...If the Constable hadn't interrupted him... Nick broke out in tears and hated himself for it. He didn't want to cry for himself. He didn't deserve it. And still, he couldn't help but to feel pity for his former self that he had betrayed. He had never wanted any of this! He had always wanted to make other people happy, and to be loved in return. Yeah, he had also wanted to be famous, but not for hurting people. Nick didn't know what he regretted most. His stupidity or his lies.

Now he'll end in shame, hated and feared, hanged in public and sneered at by the masses. It was the worst show he could imagine and it would also drag his real name through the muck, the only part of his personality that was still of value. Memories overwhelmed him, scenes of former innocence, in the park with his first guitar, in the shop with Bates who had always welcomed him until he had fucked it up...He was glad to remember his old life again, but now it was hard to handle the memories.

Nick pulled down his wig and threw it away without giving it a glance. A crying fit shook him until he didn't even have enough energy to cry.

Perhaps he should be thankful that it ended, he then thought, lying on the plank. All the pain he had caused. It would be over. He should've died in his bathtub with the power cell. That would've saved other lives. Poor Arthur, having been entangled in all this... Nick comforted himself with the thought that Arthur was free now. He couldn't claim to be happy that his former lover ran away from him, but he understood. It hurt to remember how Arthur had yelled at him with this angry and panic-stricken expression, how he pushed him away. But he escaped James' clutches like that, he would survive. And he himself would be over it soon...

Nick wondered if the band would watch him too. He could imagine the whole town coming to see Foggy Jack hang. It hurt to imagine. Perhaps they'd think it's a different Norbert Pickles, not theirs, he mused. If they even thought much. Nick wished they would keep him in better memory, but there was still a tiny chance that they would. If his execution was long forgotten, they wouldn't link Foggy Jack to their old friend Norbert, right? A deep sigh escaped Nick. Sadly, it was time to leave the afterworld to it's own devices.

After all, he had gotten the chance to put a few things right, to find his friends again and be a part of the Make Believes for one last time. He couldn't prevent that they'd forget him, but on the contrary, nobody could take the good memories from him again. Nick even smiled a little, thinking about the excessive life he had led. He'd like to see anyone else do that!

Arthur didn't look behind once. He ran back to the Parade District and struggled his way through it. It was easier now. The Wellies were all sloshed enough to not pay attention anymore. Most of them were still trying to dance, some of them sang off-tune. They had parted into small groups and didn't care about who passed by. Like this, the night faded away and the next day came. Nobody made a move to get back to the usual business. The whole town was in trance. Drunken, stoned, tired. Arthur did everything in a hurry and didn't even make time to rejoice when he finally entered the rail tunnels.

He walked through the building, or rather climbed through the maze that the building had become in time. He felt like he had entered a different world. It was so quiet. His ears were still ringing from the noise in the town and suddenly all he heard were his own footsteps echoing from the empty, dirty walls. The emptiness felt  eerie. Arthur concluded that the Bobbies had abandoned their shifts for this special occasion. Nobody cared about Skippers as long as they could stuff their bellies or get high from Coconut Joy. After all, it was the biggest festival of the year. Arthur couldn't believe how lucky he was.

Finally standing on Britannia Bridge, he had to pause. He felt the cold wind running through his hair. Where did the wind suddenly come from? Had it been so chill in the town too? Arthur only now noticed something as usual as the weather. And the smell...was that the ocean? Arthur hadn't really paid attention to smells since his first shock from withdrawal. After getting a noseful of motilene, dead rats, mould and chemical waste he had gone numb. But this...Arthur couldn't remember smelling this in the Garden District. At his favourite place, the cliff... This was different. He was so close to the water. He could also hear it hiss and fume. It was quite loud. Walking closer to the balustrade, he could even see it. The stone felt cold and wet. Did Bobbies patrol here without noticing all this? The moonlight reflected in the water. Arthur had the feeling that even the moon was closer here. The sky was speckled with stars. It looked much clearer without the motilene fog. As if he could touch it. It was like the sky had arranged a welcoming committee for a petty Skipper like him.

Arthur turned his gaze, following the course of the bridge. He was surprised about how far it went. It showed him how tiny and narrow the town was, with all it's contorted alleys that all went in a circle. Arthur wondered how long it would take to cross it. The bridge faded into the dark horizon. And there, wrapped in blackness, lay the mainland. It looked so calm, untouched by all the madness. Did they know what happened here? And what happened to them? Arthur had never had the time to ponder over what the war had done to the rest of the world. But judging by the view he was provided, he thought they were better off.

Arthur made his first steps along the bridge. Here as well, he could hear his own footsteps. They mixed into the rushing of the ocean. “I'll be right with you, Percy...”, he whispered, as if he had to bolster himself up. “I'm almost there...”

He didn't get an answer. Suddenly, Arthur's heart sunk. He was disappointed, as if the ocean, the bridge or the moon were supposed to support him. Arthur's footsteps became slower, until he finally came to a halt. The balustrade had to stabilise him again. He didn't feel it's cold as intensely as before, because his own hands were cold now. Arthur leaned over it, sucking in the air. He looked up to the sky. What was happening to him? That was all he wanted. The freedom. The calm. But he didn't feel free. He felt awful.

“Percy, I...”, he began. The howling wind interrupted him. “Arthur!”, he heard Percy shout in fear. “Arthur, where are you?” I have to go, Arthur told himself. He forced himself to go on, left the supporting handrail and struggled his way forward. “Arthur!” He heard it again. But this time, it was a different voice. Arthur froze, staring at the wide horizon, as if he could hold onto it. The view was beautiful, a symphony of light and dark. Auspicious. It must be wonderful to join it.

But it wasn't meant to be, Arthur thought. Not for him.

He turned around and made a step. Then another.

Arthur ran back the entire way, possessed by only one thought. He didn't pay attention to how the ocean fell silent, how the fresh smell of salt in the air vanished and made room for the usual mould. He didn't look at the various desperate scribbles at the walls, messages from former Downers that had tried to escape, not at the faded poster of Uncle Jack, explaining that all Skippers were crazy. He was highly focused when he entered the town again and sneaked through the district. Still, nobody noticed him. The whole town was sloshed and sleeping and Arthur cold move freely.

He stopped at a big, unpleasant looking brick building to check the situation. It seemed like here of all places the town was still in order. A Bobby in red uniform sat at a counter and looked very awake. He also fought for staying awake. Arthur saw him slapping his own face and almost chuckled at it. What a shame that some Bobbies still kept their principles.

“What do you want?”, the man asked grumpily. “Visiting hours are in the afternoon.” “Wouldn't it be too late then?”, Arthur said mysteriously as if they shared a secret. “Too late for what?” The Bobby only looked warier. “Well...I heard you made a good catch last night.” “Did you?” The Bobby was unimpressed. “I still don't see why that's your business. Come back in the afternoon like everyone else and see if you're lucky.” “Perhaps this explains why I'm in a hurry...” Arthur held out his press pass. "This is the last chance to get anything useful out of him. People would die to read more about him...I mean, they don't die anymore...weird choice of words there..."

"'O' Courant, ey?” The Bobby read the pass. “Excuse me Sir, but our special guest isn't available for interrogations by the public eye. It's too risky, you know? A very unpleasant experience." "So, you're afraid he might say something...inconvenient?" Arthur could watch the Bobby regret his words. "Er, no, no...of course not like that...but he's...er...sleeky. We shouldn't give him any options to cause havoc." "So, I better go and write about that instead...", Arthur thought out loud. The Bobby didn't look amused. "What are you implying?" "Just what I said. I can only tell the public what I'm hearing. And besides, you do want a big story on the most cheerful event right after Memorial Day, right? I need to give them a monster they can hate, and therefore celebrate it's end! If he's not the monster we all think he is, I better go and correct that image." The Bobby flared up. "You shut your goddamn mouth you...!" But he changed his mind right after and sat back down. His look turned benevolent. "My apologies, Sir...It's been a tough night...Your reasoning makes sense. I'll let you through, but it's at your own risk, are we clear?" "Crystal clear", Arthur said, eagerly to go on.

He entered the prison, looking into every corner because he didn't trust them. But nobody seemed to care about their guest. Bobbies at another counter focused on some papers. Or perhaps they only pretended to work. Arthur decided to ignore them in return and walked on by. When he descended a long and wide staircase that led deep into the dark core of the building, he realized that he needed help or else he'd wander around in here forever. Arthur regretted that he hadn't gotten a welcoming committee and now had to explain it all again. When he heard footsteps behind him, he decided to use the opportunity. Every Bobby was just as good. Arthur turned around and found three of them walking towards him.

“Mr. Hastings, I presume?”, one of them asked. Oh, there was his welcoming committee. Arthur affirmed shortly. "You shouldn't go alone, Sir”, one of the Constables said. He was a lot friendlier than the one at the entrance. “This building is quite the maze, you could get lost. Let us guide you to our special guest. He's lodged in a special place." Arthur saw that he had no choice anyway and went with the Bobbies, feeling uncomfortable in two ways. First, they made his plan more complicated and second, he didn't trust them one bit. He began to wonder if the Bobby at the entrance gave up to soon, if it all had been to easy. That was why he kept his distance for them. No chance to be drugged by surprise or quicky hit with a truncheon.

They descended more stairs and went along more dark hallways. This truly was a maze. Arthur was glad he had quite a good memory, because no one would guide him outside. His heart sunk when they stopped in front of an empty cell. "Where is he? Is it too late?" Arthur tried to sound not too worried. The Bobbies gave each other a look. Then they brought out their electric truncheons. "You're arrested, Mr. Hastings, for illegal investigation!" "This is ridiculous!", Arthur shouted out. "You better cooperate, Sir. See, it's not so bad. You'll have a nice cell for your own, we'll feed you daily and you'll have nothing to worry about ever again. You can even take Joy." The Bobbies came closer, herding him towards the cell. Arthur figured the Constable only bothered to argue with him because he thought this was a done deal. Three armed men and one helpless reporter.

They didn't expect him to through a Banger at them. The selfmade bomb exploded in their faces and when they fell, arms up to protect their faces, Arthur dashed at them. He took the truncheon of the first and let it clash against his head. The second grabbed him but Arthur kicked him in the stomach and got free. He needed two hits to take him down. The third was pulling himself up at the wall when Arthur turned to him. It was a dirty fight. The Bobby was disoriented and flailed around. He still had his truncheon and Arthur had to make sure he didn't get hit by accident. Arthur striked a blow on the other man's long legs and made him stumble, leaving his head unprotected for a second. Another hit against the neck later he lay on the ground, still mourning. Arthur used the chance and kneeled down on the man, fixing him in place.

"Where is he?", he hissed at him. "Where's Foggy Jack?" The Bobby frowned and turned his head away. Arthur shook him. "Tell me or I'll blow your lights out! Do you really want to die for this?" The Bobby winced, then he stuttered a descripiton: "He's in...block A...in the east wing...left from the entrance...five stairwells down...at the end of the hallway...left..." With that, he fell unconscious. Arthur went on, looking for any sign that pointed to the direction of block A, hoping he didn't have to go all the way back to the entrance hall. He found one and followed it, then hoping he would descent the right stairwell. All he could make out of the description was that they kept Nick in a cell very far down, probably the safest area. Arthur gulped. Descending into hell couldn't be more uncomfortable.

To avoid the Bobbies he crawled along the vents and pig pipes that came out of the wall here and there. It was more confusing to orientate this way but Arthur set all his trust in his intuition that had saved his life so many times by now. Five stairwells later he actually found a long hallway that he followed, viewing it from his high above position on a pipe. Then he had to leave it to go left, but he had to wait for another red Bobby to pass by before he could to that. The Bobby slowly strolled, whistleling a song. Arthur frowned. How could this man be so happy despite everything? All the suffering prisoners. They didn't even give them Joy. Arthur heard them beg for Joy or cry about their missing children. He understood Nick a bit more now. If he had the chance to open all cells he would use it and he'd be happy to watch the chaos unfold. When he finally went on, his heartbeat began to pound in his temples. He was craving to see him again but he was also afraid of the moment. And also, he was afraid that he had gone the wrong way. There were many empty cells in this hallway and Arthur wondered if it was even still in use.

One cell had a prisoner that made Arthur's heart miss a beat. He walked towards him with high hopes, because he had seen the person wearing a black suit. The man lay on his plank bed and stared at the wall with an empty expression. Arthur eyed his face and hair and saw nothing familiar in both. This man was probably here for a long time, considering how empty he was. Disappointed,  Arthur turned his gaze away and went on. He found more empty cells next to this and his heart sunk.

Suddenly, he heard a faint voice say his name. Arthur froze in his tracks and looked around. He saw that the man in the black suit had gotten up and clutched the bars. Arthur walked back to him, eyeing the prisoner up and down. When the man saw him from up close, his eyes widened. "Arthur?", he said again in disbelief. The voice didn't fit the image. "Nick?", Arthur asked, doubting. The other man seemed to notice something. He put a hand on his cheek. He was wearing no mask and he also wasn't wearing any facial hair other than a few stubbles. His hair was darker, shorter and an utter mess. It was lacking the caramel tone that Arthur adored so much. He also looked younger, despite being all pale, having dark rings under red eyes and being unshaven. It was his expression, his eyes that finally made Arthur see something familiar in him.

Nick blushed. "Yeah, it's me...If I knew you would come, I would've made my hair..." He gave a little adorable smile. Arthur melted. He reached out and put his hands on the other man's, so that both were grabbing the bars. "Nick!", he sighed. Nick's eyes watered again, but this time out of happiness. Simply feeling Arthur's hands on his was a gift from heaven. "Are you a prisoner too?", he asked. "No, I'm here for you...", Arthur answered, now recognizing and adoring the green eyes. Nick looked down as if he was flattered, smilling widely. "You came back for me?” “U-huh.” Arthur nodded happily. Nick palpated the other man's hands. “Do you have the key?" Arthur beamed at him. "Who the fuck needs a key?"

Arthur admitted to himself that causing an explosion in a prison full of enemies was a big risk, but it was simply what felt most satisfying. When the damn cell door blew up, deforming and screeching as if in pain and finally shattered on the floor, Arthur was about to dance with joy. Well, a second later it seemed like someone had had the same idea because they heard another massive explosion that even made the walls shake for a moment. "What the hell was that?", Nick gasped, looking up to the ceiling. "Not a part of my plan", Arthur assured him. "We better get out of here quickly."

They heard hasty footsteps and screams coming from the upper floors. Stairs were run up and doors slammed shut. However, Arthur sensed that their hurry wasn't directed at them. None of their footsteps came closer. Instead, Arthur and Nick approached them. They ran along the corridor without meeting a patrol. Then they reached the pipe that Arthur had climbed and for the first time Arthur doubted his plan. “It would be better if we...”, he said and pointed at the pipe. Looking at Nick, he hoped the man understood and wasn't too scared. Nick's gaze shortly wandered along the pipe, up to the ceiling. “Go ahead, I follow you”, he simply answered.

Relieved, Arthur started to climb. He kept looking back at Nick, checking how he was doing and offering help. Nick copied his every move without protesting and Arthur soon calmed down. They tracked through the prison as if they had been practising this for ages. They saw Bobbies running along, cussing or lamenting. None of them sounded like he knew what was going on. They only complained about the fuss. Also, none of the prisoners were free. They jeered at their guards, but it was obvious that this wasn't a revolution. Arthur felt sorry for that but he had no time to make any change.

A few floors later they could see the big staircase. Arthur gestured Nick to stop. Fuck in a bucket, Arthur thought. This didn't look good. Any and all Constables gathered here and lined up. Also Nick saw it. “Oh dear...I guess they won't let us pass for an autograph?” Arthur searched the staircase, finding out that they could climb on a ventilation shaft, even though they would be seen by everyone. It also meant that after climbing, they couldn't just get down from it and walk out. However, at the ceiling he detected something that looked like a hatch. He hoped he could trust his judgement at a long distance, knowing that he had no other chance anyway. “We have get up there”, he explained his plan to Nick. “Just try not to look down and don't get distracted.” Nick approved with a nod. “Okay.”

They ascended the shaft that provided more support than the greasy pipe. It didn't take long until a Bobby saw them. "Oi!", he cried out, pointing at them. "They escape!"  It didn't matter who "they" were, as long as they had someone they could blame all the chaos on. The Bobbies started to yell and reach out for the shaft, trying to climb on it. Arthur's heart skipped a beat when he saw that one of them climbed on another Constable's shoulders. "Don't panic, just climb a little faster", he said to Nick and fastened his own pace. He didn't imagine that a Bobby could get on the shaft and chase them down on it. Nick went along and tried to ignore the howling of his enemies. Soon, they had to step on the hands that reached the shaft, but that didn't stop the Bobbies from trying. Arthur had to go for drastic measures. "Hold on!", he said to Nick and threw a bomb right into the mob. The power sent them flying, slapping against the walls and each other. As funny as it looked, the show was accompanied by the sound of bones breaking. The Bobbies' yells of pain mixed with their howling and the smell of burned flesh spread in the air. It was a bloodbath.

Arthur now focused on the hatch. "We're almost there!", he shouted over the noise to bolster Nick up. Finally, they climbed up the ladder to the hatch. Arthur threw himself against it and was surprised by how easily it opened. He almost fell upwards and yelped. "What is it?", Nick asked fearfully. "Nothing, nothing, we're safe, just get out..." Arthur climbed up and crawled onto the cobblestone. Then he grabbed Nick by the arm to pull him out. "Holy shit!", Nick gasped right after landing on the cobblestone himself. Arthur turned his head to where Nick was looking. "What the...?" The town had changed completely. Houses and cars were burning, corpses lay on the street and some remaining Wellies ran around, wielding truncheons or frying pans, looking like they got into a fight. Perhaps this was the revolution. It could also be Coconut Joy at it's finest. "What happened?" Nick was confused. "I have no idea, but we should stay out of this at any cost. Follow me."

Nick didn't ask any further questions when they went on. They heard screams in the distance that made Arthur's hair stand on end and he begged inwardly that they didn't get into a fight. They ran through clouds of smoke, holding their breath. Turning a corner, the sight didn't get better. The district descendet into chaos. The former order didn't apply anymore, as all the TV screens were demolished and the drones lay on the ground, burning to ashes. There were no Constables, at least no living ones. Ripped banners and destroyed marked stalls were the remnants of the once happy festival. It looked like the Wastrels had taken over. “Liars!”,  was scribbled on a poster, right over the false smile of a model. “They were so small”, was painted on another house.

"They are off their Joy!", Arthur stated. "You were right! This town is falling apart!" Nick eyed the chaos with terror. They ran down the once glorious alley that led to the train station. It's door was open. Arthur had a bad feeling about having to fight through a bunch of hysterical Wellies in there, but he also admitted that it wasn't a surprise that others wanted to escape, too. They ran throught the open door, passed by the shredded poster of Uncle Jack and went on downstairs. Arthur calmed down a bit when they walked along the rails, towards their freedom. "This is the way out of town, right?", Nick asked after a while. "Yes", was all Arthur could say. Nick didn't answer. Arthur was already glad that he didn't protest. They began to hear muffled voices in the distance, as if there was a group of people nearby. "Oh, perfect", Arthur gasped. "Let's hope they're friendly." It didn't seem like it thought. They could hear yelling and running and things hitting other things. Arthur was about to discuss a plan with Nick when another sudden explosion shook the building. The walls gave in, the floor cracked open and the tunnel got filled with a thick plume of dust. It was impossible to see where to run. Nick and Arthur just held onto each other.

When the dust had set and it was silent again they opened their eyes. They were kneeling on the ground, embracing each other. Arthur let go first to climb up the debris, to see how bad it was. "No!", Arthur screamed at the mountain of rubble that blocked their way out. He tore at the chunks of wall, but they were too heavy to be moved by one person alone. "Nick, we need to do this together!" Nick quickly stood by his side and pulled at the chunk too. It didn't move. They were giving their best, but Arthur also knew that they both were exhausted. "Goddamnit, I wasted my last bomb on the Bobbies! We need to find another way!" Arthur let go and climbed back. "Arthur..." Nick's voice was quiet and consorting. "I think this is blocked, too." Arthur looked up and saw the tunnel being clogged up by debris. "No...", he gasped and searched the other walls for a way out. A vent, a pipe, a hole, just something. Nick looked around on the other side. But no matter how throroughly they searched, the wall didn't grant them their wish.

"So this is it?", Arthur yelled, punching the wall with his fist. "This is how it ends? I wanted to save you, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you! This isn't fair! Nothing is ever fair in my life!" He slumped down on a chunk. He thought about Percy, who he had failed to protect, who would now never know that his brother still cared about him, he thought about Sally who he had driven out of his house for something that hadn't been her fault. He saw how he had met her again, scolding her instead of saying sorry, how he had refused to help her when she had needed it the most. And how he had abandoned Nick, left him to deal with this insane killer. If he had taken Nick with him at his first escape, they would be on the mainland now, being free, viewing the stars together... Arthur's eyes welled up. "Why am I such a failure?", he shouted out, looking at the ceiling as if there was a god to answer him. The tears broke loose and made him huddle up, being too embarassed to look at Nick anyway.

Nick walked over to his desperate, sobbing lover and sat down next to him. Soon, Arthur was wrapped into a caressing embrace. "You did save me, Arthur", Nick whispered to him. "From being hanged in public. From being insulted, pelted with trash and spit on. From having the town dance on my grave..." A little rumble in the distance made him look up. However, nothing but silence followed it. "You will still die here...", Arthur rasped. "You'll starve if we can't find rats to eat..." "I was already dead", Nick replied. "But you came back for me, proved me your love like that...showed me that after all this I'm still...I'm still worth loving...this is the most beautiful thing you could've done for me..." He stroked Arthur's back. "I'm sorry you have to pay such a heavy price for this...You did enough to deserve a happy life and I wish I could make it up to you, prove my love in return. Also I'd love to spend more time with you." He kissed the other man's cheek.

Arthur sobbed, but less deeply than before. He palpated Nick's arm. "We still have some time left..." "Hmm, that's the spirit", Nick purred. Arthur let out the air and smiled a little. "Nick, if you really feel like that, if you feel it was all worth it...then I don't regret anything!" "Well, I guess you had your reasons, doing all this for me..." Nick squeezed his hand. "You're a crazy fucker, Nick and you deserve a beating for not telling me the truth!" Nick held up his arms and bowed his head. "Well...feel free to give it to me now..." Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders. "I know a better way to spend my last bits of energy..." Nick smiled. "My luck..." His hands explored the other man's upper body. "And mine..." Arthur closed his eyes and kissed Nick. The touch caused his synapses to flare up and his body to want more.

They busied themselves, ignoring the rumbling noises around them. There was nowhere they could run anyway. All Arthur cared about was if he could make Nick beg for mercy before they died. When they both shouted out their exstasy there was a moment Arthur thought the ceiling would give in.

A few moments later, when Arthur crawled off of Nick, gasping and moaning with pleasure, his lover cuddled into him and whispered: "I think the tunnel is about to collapse..." "Yeah, I figured that too...", Arthur sighed out of breath. They both eyed the ceiling as if they were lying in the grass stargazing. "I like to think it's because of us." Nick laughed. "Perhaps we'll make it into the history books." Arthur joined the laughter. "We fucked so hard the town got destroyed..." They had fun imagining this until a thin crack wandered along the ceiling of the tunnel. Arthur instinctively pulled the smaller man closer and pressed his head against his chest.

"I'm not scared, you're scared...", Nick muttered from under Arthur's arm and the taller man giggled. "I won't risk to die in fear before this show ends", Arthur advised him. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this by the way", Nick brought it up and grabbed his hair. "If I knew you were coming, I..." Arthur waved him off. "You've always been ugly." "Yeah, but I mean I would've made myself extra ugly," Nick deadpanned. "Nevermind, I have to deal with it now. It takes a lot to be your boyfriend, I figured that, but I'm used to suffering", Arthur answered sternly. Nick chuckled. "My sexy Downer..." Arthur had to grin at that. "I wonder, did I seduce you?" "How could I resist?", the rock idol blurted out. "With your formfitting suit, tightly parted hair,  sharp cheekbones to die for and always towering above me like that...I mean no, not at all..." Arthur stroked the other man's dark hair. "Poor thing..." "Yeah, my thoughts exactly." Nick folded his arms. "I am the victim in this." Arthur kissed him again.

He was just wondering how often he could kiss Nick before it was over when there was another rumble that made dust ripple from the walls. Arthur looked up but Nick's gentle hand pulled him back down. "Thank you", the rockstar whispered and kissed him again. The ceiling came down with a roar.

Darkness. Silence. Then something. A noise. Like a beep. A beep? Yeah...a beep. And light. A flashing bright light that hurt his eyes. He blinked, frowned, moaned. The light split up into colors. The shadows in front of him slowly turned into figures. Could it be? No...no... Oh, please, no...

"Welcome back, Mr. Worthing", the hideous face of a doctor cheered. "Thank goodness we found you in time! We would've lost you forever! You shouldn't be so careless. Also, you caused quite the trouble out there." He tutted and shook his head. "I can't believe you fooled us for so long, but don't worry, it was simply the wrong formula that made you do this. We have a much more advanced one right here." He showed him a syringe with an ominous pink fluid in it. "No!", Jack cried, hammering against the glass wall of his cell. "No, please, just kill me!" "Aw, why would we do that?", the doctor said with a pitiful face. "Killing you for a little accident." He waved him off. "You're everyone's best friend. Their uncle!" "You can't go on with this forever!", Jack spat. "You don't even have a working formula! You'll never have one!" The doctor scratched his beard. "Hmm...you should let the science to the experts, Mr. Worthing. Your own attempts of self-medication went terribly wrong, didn't they?" Jack frowned. "Aw, what's that face? We want your smile back, Mr. Worthing. Do you remember it?" "Stop! Stop this bullshit!", Jack blurted out. "If not, then you're lucky. You're just in time for another News Hour with...well, with yourself! Isn't that funny, haha! Who else can watch himself on the telly, you're truly blessed!"

The doctors started to laugh. The one who had been talking pointed at the TV in a corner of the room. Jack cursed the damn thing. Why couldn't at least the doctors stop watching this shit? They didn't believe a word of it but still enjoyed hearing the happy lies. Jack suffered when the screen lit up and the stupid jolly show began. Well, when he closed his eyes he at least didn't have to see his own awfully forced smile.

This was his punishment, he concluded. Endless torture. This time they wouldn't be so stupid to trust him. They perhaps didn't really care about healing him. They could broadcast the old shows for all eternity and nobody would notice. Oh, Nick... He did this to him...He was such a smart boy...He did the right thing...still, it hurt... "She loved them, you know...She had dozens of them...You'd think at twelve your daughter would be over dolls...but she made these darling little costumes...", he heard himself say. Oh, yeah, my dear Margaret...she didn't deserve any of this...but wait, why was he talking about her?

Jack opened his eyes and saw himself shiver, struggling to speak. The smile was gone. The doctors watched the show in horror. "What is this?", one of them gasped. "Someone has to stop that!", the other one shouted. "Send a message! Now!", the third one ordered to the first. Jack stared at the screen, having goosebumps all over his body. This had been his last broadcast before they had brought him here. This was his old, innocent self. "Stop taking Joy!", his old self shouted. "The food has run out! We're starving! You have to stop taking your Joy! We've come to the end of our time! We've come to the end of our time!" The doctors ran around the room in panic, trying to figure out who to message first and yelling commands through the speakers. Then something very big detonated with an earshattering noise and made the room shake. The doctors stumbled, yelled, fell onto each other, others ran in, some ran out, glass tubes fell on the floor or the delicate machines and spilled their insides, it was pure chaos.

Jack laughed. He laughed out all his pain, his suffering, his misery that he had bottled-up in all those years. It felt so releaving to see their panic, to see how his own doing caused this. Also, it was very funny to watch. He hadn't had so much fun in years. Another glass tube was knocked over by a Doctor and it's liquid ran over a console, causing a loudly hissing short cirquit. Seconds later, Jack's cell door opened. Nobody noticed. Jack walked out and enjoyed his tour through a building full of his enemies' despair.  He noticed it wasn't Haworth Labs and he liked to think that something even worse had happened there so they couldn't bring him to his old cell. What a shame though. He would've liked to pay Verloc a visit. But he also knew that the game was over.

Stepping outside, he found the Parade Disctric in a horrible state. His own broadcast had stopped playing, but the Wellies nevertheless had obeyed their good old Uncle Jack once more. He sighed deeply, looking around with a smile. He was at peace.

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 28

Masterpost

“You really can’t make this guy happy,” Tony complains, painting over scratches in his armor. “We kill almost three dozen vampires and all he remarks on is that Rumlow got away.”

“Nat’s friend killed half of them,” Bruce remarks quietly. “And Rumlow, that’s really going to be an issue.”

Natasha totally forgot about Steve until she sees him sitting on the bed, looking around nervously as Bruce takes a blood probe. He looks exactly the same, though, almost unnaturally buff and blonde. Reminds her of the prototypic worker from the old Soviet propaganda. She leans in the door, watching and waiting until they notice her on their own.

“Come on, what’s he going to do?” Tony asks, putting the shoulder plate down. “Run to Schmidt crying for help?”

Steve is the first to notice her, looking even more nervous. “Oh. Hi?”

“Hi,” she replies, raising her dented biteguard. “Just wanted to ask whether you can fix this thing or I have to throw it away.”

Bruce startles and spins, blushing. “Oh. Natasha. Didn’t see you there.”

She doesn’t want to deal with that right now so she drops the biteguard in front of Tony who picks it up, frowning, pulling on it until it’s creaking miserably. “Wow. That thing’s totally done for. Really, you were this close to getting bitten.”

Must have been the dark-haired woman from the hunting party. Well, she’s dead now so what does it matter. “Wasn’t, though.”

Tony snorts. “Smartass. I guess your vampire friend can’t complain if you turn into a vampire as well.”

“Well, I wouldn’t like that,” she returns. "What's he doing in here? I thought he's fine now."

Apparently, Steve’s not fine enough to have a conversation. “Not that simple,” Bruce replies, corking up a vial. “We’re not sure he’s really stable. Especially under extreme conditions like, you know, fighting vampires.”

“I think I’m good,” Steve tries, pressing a bandaid on the tiny wound. “Really. I’m feeling-”

“Let’s just put him through the paces already,” Tony interrupts. “See whether he can handle it.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, putting the vial in the shaking machine that has some fancy scientific name. “I’m not sure I can help him if he goes into cardiac arrest or something. I want to understand how his body works first.”

“Hey,” Natasha addresses Steve. “You wanna fight? Go a few rounds?”

Steve blushes. Bruce groans. “Nat. Please.”

“I promise not to kill him,” Natasha states. “Come on. Are you just gonna sit there?”

Steve looks around helplessly. “Uh. I mean, I- if you say- if it’s okay- well, I should get changed first.”

“Yeah, do that,” Natasha advises, watches his broad back as he gets up and walks to the door. “Not going to go easy on you.”

“You’re really fucking high on vampire blood, aren’t you,” Tony remarks, sawing her biteguard apart.

“So what,” she returns. “So is he.”

Bruce shakes his head, taking the glasses off. “You’re even cockier than usual, Natasha.”

Tony grins. “Yeah, looks like the virus has psychological effects after all, right? Like I said.”

“Like you said?” Natasha repeats. “What did you say?”

Bruce sighs, cleaning his glasses. “I don’t think you want to hear that.”

Well, that doesn’t really curb her interest. “Come the fuck on.”

“Bruce took another blood probe from your friend,” Tony tells her gleefully. “His virus count is as high as ever. Seems like it only went down during your accidental baby making.”

“What the fuck,” Natasha remarks.

“It does raise some questions,” Bruce admits. “About why it went down.”

“Basically, it’s either that he wanted to fuck you so bad it pushed the vampire side back,” Tony states. “Or, alternatively, the vampire side saw the chance to seduce you and retreated voluntarily so he could do that. And now you have the baby so there’s no need for that anymore.”

Bruce was right, she didn’t want to hear that. “Are you saying he wants to fuck me because he’s a vampire?”

“No one’s arguing he wouldn’t be attracted to you if he were human,” Bruce specifies. “But we know he can smell women who are ovulating and it seems he responds to that. The question is whether it’s the vampire viruses that respond to that or some residual humanness.”

“Bobbi thinks the vampire thing wants to reproduce in any way possible,” Tony adds. “Including sexually.”

So that’s what she meant, what James is or is not aware of. The thought scares her. “But he- wouldn’t he be more interested in the baby then? If the baby was the whole point?”

“No idea,” Bruce replies, turning off the shaking machine. “But sexual reproduction probably wasn’t very high on Zola’s mind when he made the virus cocktail, so it might just be a side effect from the urge to bite people. I mean, vampires hardly care what becomes of the fledglings they make. More like martens in a blood frenzy.”

Her head is spinning. “I guess you’ll see soon,” Tony suggests ominously.

Fortunately, the door opens just then and Steve’s head peeks in from way too high. He’s really huge. “I’d be ready. If you still-”

“Of course,” she snaps, shouldering past him. “Training room. Now.”

He moves relatively quietly, for his size, she hardly hears him following her. She wonders whether that has something to do with his strength, wonders how strong he even is. “Weren’t you- pregnant?” he asks.

“Yes,” she returns, not bothering to turn around.

“And now?” he asks quite stupidly.

“Now I’m not,” she states coldly, knocking the door to the training room open. It’s empty. Good.

Steve clears his throat, stopping outside. “Right. Sorry I asked.”

She shrugs, starting to wrap her wrists, not caring whether he thinks she aborted or miscarried or whatever. Doesn’t make a difference. It’s not her baby, she doesn’t have a baby. “Are you gonna stay standing there?”

Steve blushes. He’s very light-skinned, much like her, so it really shows. “I don’t- I don’t want to hit you.”

Right. He may have amnesia but he’s still old-fashioned. “Well, I’m going to hit you. You either stop me or you don’t.”

He gulps. “Where’s Bucky?”

Oh my God, he probably has qualms about being alone with her. It takes her a moment to understand who he's talking about. “Sleeping. Why, are you two best friends now?"

"Well, he- he helps me settle in, kind of," Steve admits, proceeding into the room slowly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

She jumps at him, not caring that he's not even on the mat yet, he ducks out from under her fist reflexively, she hits him again and he catches her arm but does it too gently, she rips it back with the vampire strength and kicks him in the torso so hard he tumbles back, hands raised. She goes after him, punch after punch, and he retreats bit by bit, blocking quickly without hitting back, she grabs his arm and yanks it out so she can swing up on his shoulders, kicking against the wall full force so he tumbles down, and makes sure she lands not only safely but also with her legs around his neck.

He's extraordinarily red in the face though she's not even choking him that hard and he raises his hand to tap out but lowers it instead of touching her thigh. She snorts, her knee pressed against his chin so he couldn't bite her but probably also couldn't talk, and releases him before he suffocates out of politeness. He scrambles to a safe distance quickly. "Wow, you're- you're strong."

"Yep." She gets up, tugging her ponytail straight. "Temporary, though."

He hesitates, visibly willing the redness from his face. "Is that- is that the vampire blood?"

"Helped me recover," she replies. "I mean, helped you not to die, too."

He frowns, staring at the ground. "I don't remember."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she returns. "Get up, we're not done."

He obeys quite automatically. "Yes, Ma'am. For me, it seems permanent. I mean, at least so far, I don't know-"

She strikes him so he'll stop talking and his reflexes are fast but she’s relentless and ruthless, hitting his chest and his shoulder, he barely ducks out under her sweeping kick, she grabs his arm to throw him but this time, he doesn’t let her, holding it steadfast so she ends up pulling herself towards him, his big hand lands on her shoulder so she doesn’t crash into him and then- then he just holds her there, hand on her shoulder, hers wrapped around his forearm, his smell overwhelming her heightened senses but in an unbelievably pleasant way- she could knee him in the groin but she’s transfixed, breathing him in, his mouth is hanging slightly open and his lips are a lush pink, and- she has to think hard about the last time she was attracted to a man, a human man, must have been- the thought breaks off when Steve blushes and drops his arms, both of them, staring down, clearing his throat, all of it, she still feels the muscles gliding through under her fingertips, not stone-like but stringy, not flat but bulging, not dead but alive. “You’re strong,” she says, voicing her only thought.

Steve blushes even more, looking at some spot on the floor to her right. “Wasn’t- wasn’t always.”

“You remember that?” she questions.

He bites his lip, genuinely pensive but her hormones are all over the place. “Somehow. Yeah. Something.”

If she was listening to him objectively, she’d say he sounds like a complete idiot, but she’s not listening objectively, she’s not really listening at all, she’s just breathing him in and hoping he’ll never ever step away. She’s never smelled anything this intense, this good . “Yeah?”

He frowns. “I don’t really know- I just know I used to feel differently. Frailer. Now I feel like everything around me is frail.”

She’s been on the other side of that feeling before, knows how James’ clawed fingers trailed carefully down her spine thinking how easily he could snap it, rip her apart. She was wrong earlier, Steve isn’t really human, doesn’t even smell human- or maybe he’s more human than anyone else will ever be. “I’m frail?”

He blushes again, though it seems like a different kind of embarrassment now. “Didn’t mean to- yes. I mean, you’re strong. Very strong. But- yes.”

She is, indeed. She remembers when she was stretched so thin she’d have burst under the smallest additional pressure, the smallest additional stress, just days ago. She’s really just a thin-skinned blood bag and she’s increasingly aware of it now that- now that she can smell her own blood.

The admission shocks her for a moment and somehow Steve steps away just then, the smell moving but not disappearing at all. She can smell her own blood and she’s not even bleeding. Like a vampire. An old vampire. It probably takes years until they can smell the blood through intact skin and she just- what is she even? What is Steve? They’re both removed from- humanity somehow, human-adjacent at best, but Steve at least smells nice and pleasant and decidedly non-evil and she- she wonders what she smells like. Steve clears his throat. “Sorry.”

The hair on the back of her neck stands and she can’t rationally tell why. “Do you- feel that?”

“Yes,” he replies, much to her surprise, and before she can ask him what he feels, the door swings open and James is standing there, just behind the doorstep, as if he actually couldn’t cross it. “Are you okay?”

Her head is spinning. “I think we’re okay,” Steve replies hesitantly. “Or-”

“Seems so,” James replies. “Don’t worry about it. I think they’re making dinner now.”

It’s dark outside but it gets dark early, in December. “Are they?” Steve repeats awkwardly. “Do you think I could- would it be weird if-”

It would be super amusing, James coaching someone in, of all things, socializing , but her head is elsewhere. “Sure,” James replies. “Just go. Sharon’s down there.”

Of course. Steve seems instantly delighted. “Oh, okay. I’ll go then.”

He really moves in a strange way, and very quietly, too. James slips inside before Steve walks out, door falling shut loudly. “You okay?"

Steve's strong smell still lingers. She presses her palms to her cheeks, finding them hot. "Yeah. Just- my hormones are all over the place."

James chuckles, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Yeah, no, I know. I smell it. Hear your heartbeat, too."

Her palms are sweaty. Well, this is awkward. "How the fuck does he smell so fucking good?"

"No idea," James replies. "No one else seems to have noticed. Thought it was- but it's not like it makes me want to drink his blood."

"Just breathe it in," Natasha finishes, dropping her hands. "Oh man."

"Hate to break it to you but he's head over heels for Sharon," James teases her. "Sorry."

She snorts. They probably couldn't have talked like this earlier on, she remembers how he got jealous over Clint, but their relationship feels different now. And how couldn't it, after everything? "Can't imagine she likes that."

"Nope, she's mad he can't remember her grandma," James agrees. "Which is not really his fault but… well, looks like he has a type."

She steps up to him, thinking about how he slept in the armchair and only took the bed after she got up. "Give me your hand?"

He sighs, uncrossing his arms. "Natalia-"

"I know, I know," she hurries to say. "Just- I need to know."

"It's not gonna work," he says quietly. "Even if I want it to."

She takes his hand anyway, careful around the gray claws, and it's cool and smooth and hard as marble, and it stays that way even when she squeezes it. She never even could have had sex with him like this, it just wouldn't have worked. "Does it work with Steve?"

James looks down at the gray horn claw against her pale skin. "Yes."

"With Sharon?" she asks, twisting her hand into his palm. “Pepper?”

He snorts, cold caress. “How the fuck am I supposed to know? Trust me, they don’t even like me being around.”

That sounds like his self-consciousness talking. “Tony and Bruce were speculating you might smell… lady smells.”

“Your period,” he returns. “Yeah, sure.”

It’s not even uncomfortable, holding his cold hand. “Not that. More like- fertility.”

He sighs. “Probably. I mean, that’s just hormones, isn’t it? You definitely smell differently throughout the month.”

She didn’t expect him to say yes. “Do I? Still?”

“I meant generally,” he replies. “Not sure about now. But everyone smells differently over time, with where they’ve been and how long they slept and what they ate. I couldn’t identify which part of that is your menstrual cycle. Unless you’re bleeding.”

“But maybe you’re attracted to the smell,” she suggests. “The- the fertile smell.”

“Sure, why not,” he returns. “I mean, how often did I tell you you smell good? I just can’t tell why you smell good.”

So not aware. “But I don’t smell good right now,” she prompts.

“No, but you’re still full of vampire blood, aren’t you?” he asks back. “That’s a strong smell.”

She sighs, letting go of his cold hand. “I really don’t know what to make of all this.”

“I can’t identify most smells,” James replies. “Mostly, it’s just… that’s a human smell. Everything beyond that is almost impossible to say with certainty.”

“And you hate garlic,” she jokes.

He grimaces, fangs peeking through. “I actually don’t like that one. Too intense.”

This is starting to get comical, though something in her brain connects at that moment. “I think Steve- it’s not the same but he smells a little like the baby. But it doesn’t- it doesn’t smell good.”

“Mhm.” He stares at the wall, frowning. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should drive there sometime,” she suggests intensely. “Don’t you want to see- her?”

He closes his eyes. “Nat, I- I shouldn’t. I can’t know anything Schmidt might get out of me later. Shouldn’t see it, shouldn’t know where it is, shouldn’t know its smell.”

Horror mixes with desire. It’s hard to untangle the two. “But you want to.”

“Yeah,” he admits, which fills her with dread. “I don’t know, I’m glad you’re back and healthy and- I think it just won’t be real until I see it.”

Even worse that his emotions and desires are so pure and she literally tried to smother the fucking thing, and now she’s pretending she’s a doting mother who just wants to- Stop. “Guess you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t even have come here still smelling like-”

“You smell like Steve,” he interrupts her. “Don’t know what it is about him but it’s sticky.”

She smiles, molding against him. “But it’s not enough for…?”

He shakes his head, pecking her lips with his stone cold ones. “Sorry.”

She doesn’t even really feel like it, to be honest. Maybe she’s subconsciously still thinking about what happened last time. Maybe it’s some other hormonal bullshit. She’s officially a mess and by now, she’s fairly okay with it. “Never gonna be the same again, is it.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about-” James starts but then the door is ripped open. It’s Sam and for a moment, just a moment, she sees something flash through his eyes, until she’s stepped back and Sam has willed it away. “Dinner,” he says. “And then we should discuss the patrol for the night.”

“Yeah, we should,” James agrees, keeping his hands on her arms. “Probably will be a calm one but you never know.”

“Exactly,” Sam agrees, somehow quite tense. “Just- just come down.”

She sees it again before the door falls shut, feels James’ fingers tightening around her upper arms, knows he saw it, too. And she feels it, like a gut punch, the exact emotion she saw on Sam’s face as he looked at James’ claws around her arm, at her body touching his, at their physical closeness.

Disgust.

[trueromantic1]

“I think you might be pregnant.” With Maddie and Buck

Sooo...This kind of got away from me. It was supposed to be a nice little drabble, but it turned into over 2500 words of fic lol. I hope it’s what you were looking for. It didn’t end up being just Maddie and Buck, but he is the one who tells Maddie that she might be pregnant. Enjoy!

********

Putting the plastic guitar on the table, still laughing at the antics of her brother, she turned toward him. “Woah.” Putting one hand on the table to steady her and bringing the other up to her head, she closed her eyes in hopes it would help her sudden dizziness. “That was a mistake. I guess I moved a little too fast.”

“Mads. What's wrong? You look a little pale all of a sudden. Maybe you should sit down. Do you want me to get Chim for you? I think I saw him out in the yard.” He gently put his hands out to steady her. She didn't just look pale; she honestly looked like she might pass out at any moment. He knew she'd been feeling a little under the weather lately, which was already worrying, because Buckleys never got sick. He couldn't remember her being sick a single day off his life.

Opening her eyes and putting her hand on his shoulder, she smiled. “I'm fine. Don't bother Howie. I haven't had anything to eat in awhile, so I'm sure it's that and that I turned around too fast just now. If it'll make you feel better, we can go sit down.”

“It would make me feel better. Chimney said you've been feeling sick for a couple weeks Maddie. But Buckleys don't get sick. Is something wrong with you? Because you know you can tell me anything.” He led her over toward the couch, making sure to stay close in case she got dizzy again. As they went by the food table, he saw her scrunch her nose up in disgust before she hurried by, beating him to the surprisingly empty couch.

“Happy? I'm sitting. And I'm not sick. There is nothing wrong with me, I promise. You know I’d tell you if something was wrong with me.” Yawning, she added “I'm just tired and I haven't eaten in awhile. And I know Howie’s worried I'm sick, but I'm sure it's just stress. I've been having some nightmares since we were taken hostage. I'm talking to Frank about it. Howie thinks it's something more, but he just worries. Now, I'll stay here to make you happy, if you'll go get me something to eat. And none of that salmon, it smells awful.”

“Okay. But promise you won't move.” He got up, heading back toward the for table, when a sudden niggling thought would leave him alone. He turned back, pointing accusingly at her. “But you loved that salmon last time. It's the exact same thing. I should know, because I helped Bobby prepare it.”

“Well, I don't know what to tell you. It smells disgusting, and even the thought of eating it makes me feel like throwing up.” When he just stood there, staring at her, she decided to get up to go get her own plate. “Evan, you're the one who didn't want me to move. Now you're just going to stand there staring at me?” When he just continued staring at her, she decisively pushed off the couch, taking a step towards him, before a sudden rush of dizziness hit her. “Ev? I don't feel right. I feel like I'm going to-”

He didn't know what she was going to say, but he had an idea as he watched her eyes roll back in her head. He lurched forward, trying to grab her as her body went limp. “Maddie!” Catching her just before she hit the floor, he carefully lowered her the rest of the way to the floor. He could hear people starting to notice something was wrong, and someone, he thought Karen, ordering the music off, but he only had eyes for his sister. “Maddie, come on. Wake up Mads. Come on.” He gently tapped her face with one hand, reaching to check her pulse with the other. He'd just found it when he saw someone else hit the ground across from him.

“Maddie? Come on Maddie, wake up.” Buck pulled back slightly, showing Chimney to check Maddie over, but he kept his eyes on her face. He hadn't realized he'd blocked everything else out until he realized Hen was on the ground beside him. He tuned back in, just in time, as Chimney turned frantic, worried eyes to him. “What happened Buck? She seemed fine when you guys were getting photos done.”

His mind frantically running through everything, cataloging subtle things he'd missed, he struggled to answer. “She was fine. She was a little dizzy when we were putting the props down, but she said she probably moved too fast and hadn’t eaten in awhile. I offered to get you, but she said no. I got her to agree to come sit down at least. And she was fine! I was on my way to get her some food when she…When I saw her eyes roll back into her head. But I caught her. Before she could hit her head, I caught her.” He looked back to her, running his eyes over her face. Chimney still had his hand at her neck, monitoring her pulse. From the corner of his eye he could see Hen doing the same at Maddie's wrist.

“Ughh...” The soft groan had his eyes snapping back to her face. Now her eyes were scrunched shut, her hand pressed against her forehead. “Ev? Howie? What happened? Why am I on the floor?”

“Well that's what I want to know. I thought your brother was the dramatic one. If the two of you are going to insist on passing out at my parties, I'm going to start making you get me a doctor's note saying you're healthy enough to attend.” The acerbic tone, softened slightly by the affection he could hear underneath, came from right behind him. He glanced up at Athena, seeing the worry clouding her face. In fact, it seemed everyone was crowded around, and he could practically feel the concern pulsing in the room. It made him happy to realize just how much his two families had combined. He turned back to Maddie when she laughed.

“Sorry Athena. Buckleys never get sick. I can't imagine what’s wrong with me.” Struggling to sit up, she reached for him and Chimney. “Help me up you two. I'm tired of lying on the floor.”

He started to help pull her up, but Chimney put out a hand to stop him. “Maddie, we don't know why you passed out. You need to just stay there for a few minutes. In fact, we should probably get you to the hospital.” Hen chimed in with her agreement, prompting the people surrounding the to add their agreement. Bobby even had his phone out.

“I can call the station, have them send an ambulance. You'll be in the hands of people we know and trust. Not that I don't trust all the stations in the county, but they’ll be our team.”

“No, guys, I'm fine. I feel perfectly fine now. Like I told my brother, I'm just tired and I haven't eaten. I was a nurse; I’d tell you if I thought I needed the hospital. Just help me to the couch. I promise, I'll stay there the rest of the party.” She sent a pleading look his way, but turned to her boyfriend when she realized he was really the one she'd have to convince. He let their discussion wash over him as he continued trying to grasp that niggling thought he'd had before she passed out. He gasped as his mind finally put together all the pieces.

“Maddie.” She didn't answer, still heatedly discussing things with Chimney, and now Hen. “Maddie!” They still didn't hear him, but he could feel some eyes leaving the arguing trio to turn to him. “MADDIE!” He hated shouting at her, especially with what she'd been through, but it finally got her attention.

“What is it? I'm not going. You can't make me go.” As much as he'd never admit it to her, he'd missed that stubborn set to her shoulders, the stiff line of her mouth. It had taken a while, but she'd been slowly bringing it out more and more since she'd come to him two years ago. He still laughed at the look on the 118’s faces the first time the sweet Buckley stood her ground.

“Maddie, I'm not going to make you go to the hospital. I do think you should sit on the couch. And I think you should go to the doctor as soon as you can.”

“What? Buck, she's been sick for at least two weeks, and she passed out! How can you think she doesn't need to go to the hospital?!” Chimney was yelling by the end, the fear and concern clearly evident in his voice.

“Because I don't think she's sick, Chimney.” He looked back at his sister, his lips slowly curling up into a smile. “Maddie, I think you might be pregnant.”

“I-what? Pregnant? Evan Buckley, why would you even say that?” Her face had gone ashen, and there was a hysterical tone to her voice.

“No, but it makes sense. You've been feeling off for weeks Maddie. And you're constantly tired. When we went by the food table you thought it smelled awful-don't lie, I saw your face as we walked by. You looked ready to puke. And then you told me not to get you some of the salmon I know you love. And you keep getting dizzy. Oh, yeah, and you PASSED OUT just now. That's so many boxes Maddie, it just makes sense.” She stared at him a moment more, before turning apprehensive eyes to Chimney.

“Howie, he's right. I could be. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner”

“Are you sure? I know nothing's a hundred percent, but we're always really careful.” He still looked worried, but now that worry was being replaced with confusion.

“Yeah. Usually. But Howie, I was held hostage.”

“Yeah. I remember. I was there. Athena wouldn’t let us rush in to rescue you.”

“Hmph. And I was right. Besides, our girl rescued herself.” Athena's voice made Maddie smile.

“I know Howie. But remember, I was going to run to the store during lunch, because I was late leaving that morning. But then I was held hostage. We didn't get to go home until almost six, after we all gave our statements and everything. And I was just so happy to be free, and with you and Buck, that it completely slipped my mind that I was supposed to go to the store.” She could see realization slowly edging out the worry and confusion. She pushed on, sure now that her brother was right. It was a little overwhelming that everyone was finding out at the same time they did, but it was too late now. “And then remember, the next day Bobby let you have the day off to stay with me. I’d had that nightmare the night before, and was really bad. You ended up taking me to see Frank for an emergency session. And I didn't think of it Howie. I completely forgot that I’d even been supposed to go to the store, let alone that I'd been supposed to pick up Plan B after the hotel comped us the suite on our date. And that was almost a month ago. It fits.”

He just stared at her, his jaw slack. “You’re pregnant?”

“We’re pregnant.”

“We’re pregnant.”

“Yep.” She could see her brother smiling out of the corner of her eye, and Hen was using her hand to cover her smile, but it was the man in front of her she was worried about. She thought he was happy, but his face wasn’t really giving anything away; a feat actually, since she was really good at telling what he was thinking just by looking at his face.

“We’re having a baby!” He smiled now, one of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen before, laughing as he pulled her to him. “This is amazing Maddie!”

She let out a breathless laugh, the panic easing at his obvious happiness. “I mean, I should still take a test, or at least have the doctor confirm, but I'm pretty sure we are. Howie, we’re going to have a baby!”

He hugged her tighter, then pulled back in alarm. “You need to get off the floor! You shouldn't be on the floor when you’re pregnant. And you passed out Maddie! You need to go to the hospital to find out why you passed out!” He stood up, reaching down to help her stand.

As she reached for him, a pair of arms scooped her up, rushing her to the couch. “There you go Maddie. Do you want some water? No, I'm going to get you some water.” Frantically fluffing the pillows behind her, Buck babbled with worried excitement as he tried to make her comfortable. He started to rush toward the kitchen, but turned back suddenly. “Maddie, I'm going to be an uncle. I'm so happy for you Mads.”

Feeling her boyfriend sit down beside her, she gave her brother a gentle smile. “Yeah Evan. You're going to be the best uncle. Now go get my water please.” He grinned, spinning back around to find his task. She turned to her boyfriend, knowing she needed to calm him down. “Howie, I don't need to go to the hospital. You and I both know fainting can be a symptom of pregnancy. I'll call the doctor and make an appointment, but it's fine. I just need to take it easy for a bit. Now, I'll drink the water my brother brings me, and I'll sit here for the rest of the party. You can find me something to eat that won't make me feel like throwing up, probably not fish. We're going to celebrate May graduating and Michael’s tomorrow shrinking. And if it will make you happy, we can stop at the store on the way home for a test. Okay?” She spoke quietly, trying to project a calm she didn't quite feel, in the hopes that it would relax her clearly panicking boyfriend. It seemed to be working, because he finally settled further into the couch, abandoning his perch on the edge of the seat.

“Okay. You’re right. I know you're right. It’s just…You don't know how scared I was seeing you passed out in your brother’s arms. So many things were running through my head, each one more terrible than the last. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, leaving forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, basking in the feeling of peace washing over her. It was interrupted by a voice in the crowd, reminding her that they still had an audience.

“Well, between Chimney surviving rebar through the brain, Buck surviving a tsunami and a firetruck landing on him, and Maddie surviving everything she did, I don't know if we should reassure them that their kid will be fine, or wish them luck for raising a kid with a mix of all those Buckley and Han genes.” The teasing comment from Hen had everyone laughing, even Maddie, but she sobered at the abject horror on Howie's face.

“What's wrong?” She placed her hand on the side of his face, hoping it would help to relax him.

“Oh God. Maddie, we’re going to need to buy a room at the hospital! We're probably going to be in there every other week!” She just laughed, sure that there was nothing she could say that would reassure him on that front. After all, no one here even had any idea exactly how often she and Evan were getting themselves into trouble that landed them in the ER when they were growing up. She didn't think any of them would feel better finding that out.

As everyone started crowding in to offer their congratulations, she caught her brother’s eye as he made his way back to her with a glass of water. The smirk on his face and raised eyebrow made her laugh. She turned to the next person approaching her, knowing that if they looked at each other much longer they'd have to explain what was so funny. It would be funny to see everyone’s reaction to the news, but she didn't think she could handle the hovering that would probably ensue. No, she thought, better to let them all live in peace. At least for a little longer.

[lilulo-12fanfiction]

In My Time of Dying-4

Here is the next chapter! From here I will deviate more from Cannon now that there is a foundation built. As always your re-blogs, comments and likes are SO appreciated. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to this or any of my other tag lists.

IMTOD Masterlist and Horrible Summary can be found here

SPN Tag List: @deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf

SPN Masterlist

Ali had herself locked up in the room she claimed as hers at Bobby’s house. She had intended to stay outside the door and stay with Sam, but she couldn’t. The hateful things he said to her, his hallucinations. his fighting with Dean. She just wanted her brother back. She never regretted recruiting Sam to help her and Dean find John Winchester until now. Maybe if they had left him alone he’d be married and happy.

“You’ve been awfully quiet up here.” Bobby’s voice cut through her thoughts. ”Not like you to not have an opinion. I’ve heard you give your brothers hell over much less.” Ali shrugged. ”C’mon downstairs girl. Your brother has done something epically stupid.” Ali let Bobby lead her downstairs. 

After 20 minutes of arguing, Ali and Dean were on the road to find Sam. Ali had a migraine between the stress and irritation. They were on their way to  Cold Springs

“We gonna talk about it?” Dean’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“About what Dean? We all agree that we need to get Sam back. And don’t even start about me not being involved. I’m just as much a part of this as you and Sam. I’m not inept. You used to trust me on hunts.”

“No Al, that’s not what I meant. Are we going to talk about whatever was going on with you and Cas?” Ali snapped her head to the side and stared at Dean.

“There was nothing going on between me and Cas.” Dean exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at his sister.

“I’m not oblivious. I saw how you looked at him and how he looked at you. I just don’t think he understood that he was looking at you like that. He showed up in your dream, I mean he stalked your dreams. You were blindly faithful in whatever he said. You let him in. You haven’t let anyone close to you in a long time.”

“Yeah and that was a mistake. He can’t be trusted. I really don’t want to talk about this.” Dean signed, visibly frustrated.

“You’re supposed to be the one that is good with their emotions. But I get it and I know this thing with Sammy is killing you. But you can talk to me, about anything. Even if it pisses me off, I got you. You’re my baby sister and you’ve had my back longer than anyone. I got yours.” Ali blinked back tears, resolute in that she was done letting the situation at hand overwhelm her.

“I know. I just can’t let myself feel this right now. I might not be able to bounce back. I need to keep my shit together. Especially since you gave yourself over to Zachariah.”

“Al, it’s going to be okay and for the record, I still trust you. You’re a freaking bad ass. I’m just scared that I’m going to lose you and Sammy. And he’s off the rails. I can still keep you safe. I’m sorry if I made you feel differently.”

“Thanks Dean.” Ali looked at her brother and gave him a genuine smile. Whatever happened, they’d get Sam back and stop Lucifer rising. Ali snuck into the Honeymoon Suit after Sam exited the room. Ruby was sitting on the bed. Ali gripped the Angel blade she had gotten from Cas after Uriel died. He didn’t want her unprotected. Then he turned back into a mindless douche. Ali was looking forward to taking her pent up aggression out on Ruby.

“They sent in the B team?” Ruby laughed when she saw Ali standing in front of her.

“Funny. But I think you forget that while Sam was living the life at Stanford I was honing my skills with my brother. Dean is the best hunter I’ve ever seen. Better than my father, that’s saying something. He taught me everything I know.” Ruby’s eyes widened when she saw the Angel blade in Ali’s hand.

“Did you whore yourself out to Castiel to get that?”

“I think we both know the only whore here is you. You somehow got your hooks into my brother. I’m removing them, tonight.” With that, Ali connected her right fist with Ruby’s face, and it felt good. Before Ruby could retaliate, Dean was in the room. The plan had been for him to watch for Sam and for her to take out Ruby, but Dean couldn’t hold himself back. He couldn’t take the chance of Ruby harming his baby sister. He shoved Ali out of the way before going after Ruby. Ali stifled her irritation, knowing Dean meant well. Ali grabbed Ruby from behind to give Dean the advantage; before Dean could take Ruby out once and for all,  Sam was back and throwing Dean off of Ruby.

“Well, it must've been some party you two had going, considering how hard you tried to keep us from crashing it. Well, solid try, but here I am.” Watching Dean and Sam on opposite sides was something Ali never thought she would see, sure they had their fair share of disagreements, but nothing like this.

“Dean, I'm glad you're here. Look. Let's just talk about this.”

Dean crossed his arms in defiance. ”Soon as she's dead, we can talk all you want.”

“Ruby, get out of here.” Sam was attempting to hold off Dean. As Ali moved to stop Ruby, she flung her across the room and her skull made a sickening crack as Ruby rushed out of the room. Sam made no attempt to reprimand Ruby for hurting his twin. 

Dean was raging. “I can’t believe you just let that happen. She's poison, Sam.” Dean rushes over to Ali to see if she was okay. Breathing but unconscious, Dean decided to wait to move her, hoping to get through to his brother first.

 ”Look what she did to you. I mean, she up and vanishes weeks at a time, leaves you cracking out for another hit”

Sam looked over at Ali with a trace of regret before responding to Dean. “She was looking for Lilith.“

Dean scoffed at his brother for what seemed to be the millionth time since he’d returned from Hell.  “That is French for manipulating your ass ten ways from Sunday.“

“You're wrong, Dean.”

“Sam, you're lying to yourself. I just want you to be okay. You would do the Same for me. You know you would.” 

Sam was hoping to appeal to Dean. “Just listen for a second. We got a lead on a demon close to Lilith. Come with us, Dean. We'll do this together.“

“That sounds great. As long as it's you, Ali and me. Demon bitch is a deal breaker. You kiss her goodbye, we can go right now.”

“I can't. Dean, I need her to help me kill Lilith. I know you can't wrap your head around it, but maybe one day you'll understand. I'm the only one who can do this. And Ali is a liability. She’s not up for this.”

Dean felt his rage building again. “Ali isn’t a liability. It’s her loyalty to you that is throwing her game off. She’s so afraid of loosing you again” But no, you're not the one who's gonna do this.”

“No, Ali is loyal to you. She hasn’t given a damn about me since she chose to keep hunting. and that's right, I forgot. The angels think it's you.”

“You don't think I can?” It was Sam’s turn to scoff. 

“No. You can't. You're not strong enough. I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done.”

“Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing.”

“Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me.”

“No. You don't know what you're doing, Sam.”

“Yes, I do. Dean.”

“Then that's worse. Sam” 

“Why?”

“Because Sam.it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means-“ Ali groaned and opened her eyes. Dean and Sam were so focused on each other they didn’t notice she was coming to. She honestly wished she hadn’t woken up for what Dean was about to say.  “It means you're a monster.” It was a rare thing to see Dean cry. He didn’t even try to hide the tear that fell down his face. Ali cried out when Sam punched Dean in the face. She tried to stand up and stop them from fighting but a wave of nausea kept her where she was when Ruby knocked her out. 

“Sammy STOP“ Ali screamed as Sam pinned Dean down and choked him. Sam seemed slightly startled at the desperation and fear in Ali’s voice. He quickly turned his attention back to Dean, his words dripping with venom.

“You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.”  Ali was on her feet, albeit wobbly. She grabbed Sam’s hand as he tried to walk out. Dean spoke before Ali could.

“You walk out that door, don't you ever come back.” Sam turned from Dean and looked his sister in her pleading eyes.

“Sam...Sammy please. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry Ali.” Sam slowly pulled his hand from hers and walked out the door. Dean had moved to stand next to her to help keep her up right. She let out an anguished filled wail at the abandonment by her twin. Dean wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fell apart. His hand cupped the back of her head, It was the way her John had always hugged her, making her feel safe and protected. She felt anything but. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Ali had barely said two words on the drive back to Bobby’s. Dean was checking over the back of her head. She had a fierce headache from Ruby tossing her head first into a wall. Bobby was getting increasingly fed up with the pair of siblings. 

“Dean? Dean! You listen to a word I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you. I'm not calling him. And Ali sure as hell isn’t calling him. We’re lucky she didn’t crack her head open. He stood there and let Ruby hurt her.” Ali sniffed. “Don't make me get my gun, boy.”

“Bobby...you didn’t see him. You didn’t see how he put his hands on Dean. I’m done.” Ali wrapped her arms around herself and stood to look out the window, ignoring the arguing between Dean and Bobby. If Bobby wanted to get Sam back so badly, he could go after him. She had been so hopeful when she and Dean had picked Sam up when they went looking for John. But they had just fallen further apart. Ali’s ears piqued when she heard Bobby start screaming.

”You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!”

”I told him, "you walk out that door, don't come back" and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!”

”You sound like a whiny brat. No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward. He’d  rather push Sam away than reach out to him. Well, that don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him.”

Before she knew what hit her, she was in a different room. The walls were painted white with gold trim and accents, and a marble table stood in the center. Dean and Bobby were gone, but she wasn't alone. There stood an older man, balding and smug looking.

”Its nice to finally meet you. I must say, Castiel tried his damndest to keep us apart.”

“So you’re Zachariah.” Ali eyed the angel. “Well, I expected more” He walked over to Ali, smiling like a snake.

“So this is the infamous Ali. I guess we’re both disappointed, I expected much more from the one we chose to protect than an attitude problem.” 

”I’m a Winchester. An attitude problem auto downloads at birth. You chose to protect me to make sure the demons didn't get what they wanted, not because you wanted to save me. Why am I here? Where is Dean?”

“You are a variable we can’t control. You’re much more powerful than you know. All the seals have fallen. Except one. Lilith has to break it. She's the only one who can. Tomorrow night -- midnight. Then your brother can begin his work. Your ensured safety will guarantee his cooperation. You’ll see him soon enough.” 

“Wait- his work starts AFTER Lilith breaks the final seal? Why would you? Oh my God, you want her to break the seal. You want the apocalypse...just like Uriel. You’re going to serve my brother l, my brothers up to Lucifer?!”

“Relax Alianna. Dean will end the apocalypse and end Lucifer.” Before Ali could ask him anything else he was gone and she was trapped. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t mention Sam’s survival. She frantically looked around the room desperate for an escape route to save her brothers so she did the only thing she could think of, she cried out for Castiel. It wasn’t long before he appeared.

“Cas please. Please take me to Sam. I have to stop him. He’s going to die. Please.” Cas blinked. 

“I can’t. Ali...this has been foretold.” She shoved him hard.

“No, don’t you dare give me that. There’s more to you than doing what you’re told. Than towing the company line. You know this is wrong. Sam isn’t the only one that will die. Innocent people will die, who knows how many. Cas I know you were having doubts before. Would God want this? What he created to die if it doesn’t need to? Cas look at me.” He didn’t want to. He could feel his resolve waning, but he had to look in her eyes. He was met with not only anguish for her brother, but for the idea of anyone that would be hurt. She took his hands, lacing her fingers with his. As he looked into her eyes he knew he couldn't deny her. She and Dean were his Achilles heel, he knew he felt something deeply for them both, but it was Ali’s tearful, yet hopeful eyes that got him. Despite everything he had said and done she still believed in him. In that moment despite it all he still has her trust and loyalty. 

“Cas you wanted to protect me from this. But help me protect everyone else. I don’t know why I am so special. But I cannot stay in this room while innocent people are dying. While my brother is dying.” Cas tilted his head slightly to the side as he placed his hand on the side of Ali’s face.

“I promise when this is over to tell you everything” She closed her eyes as she felt goosebumps cover her skin. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Dean staring in confusion. 

“Oh thank God you’re okay.” Ali pulled away from Cas and ran to hug her brother.

“We have to be quick...Zachariah will be back soon” Ali watched as Cas started drawing the sigil. He was almost done when Ali felt the hair on the back of her neck stand.

“Castiel! Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?” Before Zachariah could blink, Castiel finishes drawing and slammed  his hand in the center of the sigil. In a violent flash of white light, Zachariah vanished.

“He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.” Cas looked to Dean and Ali. Dean looked down at his sister where he kept a protective arm around her “Where is he?”

“I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith.”

“But Lilith's gonna break the final seal.” Ali looked at Castiel as she put the final puzzle piece together in her head.

“Lilith IS the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

Before they could think, Cas had transported them to Chuck Shurley’s living room. They had rightfully startled him as he was on the phone.

“Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen...No, lady, this is definitely supposed to happen, but I just got to call you back. What are you doing here?!” Chuck looked at the three of them, and then his eyes zeroed in on Ali. She didn't understand why he felt the need to stare the way she did. It made her uncomfortable. Apparently he found something about her interesting.

"Chuck...we need your help. We need to get to Sam. Where is he? Please" Without breaking any eye contact with Ali Chuck sighed. Dean looked over at his sister. She has gotten through to Cas and be was certain Chuck would do as she asked. Dean could understand. He found it near impossible to deny his sister anything.

"He's at St. Mary's" Dean scrunched his face up.

"St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?" 

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story" Castiel stepped in between Dean and Ali. "Yeah, well...We're making it up as we go." Ali jumped as Chuck's computer screen began to flicker and a rumbling noise began to roll through. Dean was shielding his eyes from the blinding white light. But Ali, for the first time, kept her eyes open, remembering that she could look at the angels without damage. The light was beautiful. It danced across the room. She felt herself getting lost in it, but Chuck’s voice pulled her from herself.

  “Aw, man! Not again! No!” Castiel put his hand on the side of Ali’s face. The endearing look in his eyes ran a chill down her spine. The last thing Ali heard was Cas telling her and Dean to stop Sam before the two of them were zapped to the convent.

“I will never get used to that.” Dean shook off the weirdness he felt. “C’mon Al, we gotta find Sammy.” 

Ali followed Dean through the corridors listening for Sam. When they came upon a set of shut doors, they could hear the commotion behind it. Everything seemed to be happening in flashes. Dean yelling for Sam. Sam yelling for Dean. After what seemed like forever, the door finally opened. Ali froze as she saw the strange shape Lilith’s blood had taken. She looked over at her twin in horror realizing that he had killed her. The sound around her was muted as she felt a pulsating pain in her skull. She watched as Sam held Ruby so Dean could kill her with the demon knife, which told Ali that Ruby knew Lilith would lead to Lucifer’s release, though the regret in Sam’s eyes when they walked in told her the same. Sam was repeating how sorry he was as he stumbled over to Ali. The 3 siblings tried to shield their eyes from the bright light shooting from the center of Lilith’s blood. Ali held onto Sam as the convent began to shake.

“He’s coming.” Ali’s voice came out in a cry. Whatever was running through her veins was telling her to get out of there. 

“We have to get out of here.” Dean was trying to pull his siblings out of the convent as they were snapped from the building.

[thornranger-blog]

Unintentional

A/N: I’m new at this but here is my first Sam x reader story. More chapters coming soon. Words in quotations and italicized mean that it’s the characters inside thoughts; they aren’t being said aloud. 

Summary: You are a hunter who went through a terrible childhood trauma and spent most of your life avoiding Sam, until one day you go to a coffee shop and his scent was the best thing you’d ever smelled and it changed your life forever. 

Warnings: ABO dynamics; mild language; heat pain; mentioning family deaths and past love death; violent beginning

Chapter 1

Your Back Story

     You were six when it happened, asleep in your room when you heard your mom’s blood curdling scream. She was a strong alpha like your father so whatever had made her scream was bad.You ran to the living room to find your father dead on the floor, blood pouring from his head, and your mother pinned to a wall screaming at a woman holding your little sister. You stood at the stairs and watched as the woman snapped her fingers cracking your mother’s neck. You whimpered and fell to the ground which attracted the woman’s attention, she turned around and held your sister in the air for a few seconds beofre stabbing her through the chest and vanishing. 

     You were leaned over your sisters body, cradling her, when the door busted in. You screamed when you were suddenly picked up and whisked into a truck. The adrenaline pumping through your veins and the effort of screaming caused you to pass out and when you woke up, you were in someone’s house asleep on a warm bed. From that point on you were considered Bobby Singer’s daughter. He taught you how to hunt, even if he thought it was better for you to just start over, prepared you for the journey to revenge for your parents, and introduced you to the Winchester family, John, Sam, and Dean, all strong alpha male men. 

(Time Skip 19 years later)

     You wake up in a sweat, panting and hot. You had another nightmare. Life as a hunter was rough,nightmares, constant deaths, the inability to get close to people, and of course, the obvious risk of dying on the job. You also live in a world full of alphas, betas and omegas. You are an omega, which means heats and suppressants and douche bag alphas forcing themselves on you all the time. Being a hunter has its benefits in that aspect. You take suppressants to numb the pain during your heats because you haven’t had an alpha since... Luke. Luke was what you thought was your “true mate,” but with his death you had lost all hope of finding that. Luke had been killed while you were away on a “business trip” (you went on a hunt). A wrath had decided to make him its next meal, and by the time you had got back, it was too late. You worked alone and lived with Bobby until your eighteenth birthday, when you moved into your own apartment, against Bobby’s wishes. You kept in touch with all of his friends, including the Winchesters, but you made yourself scarce during heats and they avoided you during ruts, especially Sam. The two of you had always been really close, but there was always this sexual tension when you got together, and EVERYONE noticed. 

     Your coffee maker beeped pulling you from reminiscing and you looked at the clock, 3:00 a.m. Great. You picked up the hot mug,and headed towards the couch, grabbing one of your many unread lore books. Next thing you know, you’re being woke up by a phone call from Garth. You picked up to hear him say he needed you to do a hunt for him in the next town over, he thought it was vamps so you agreed to take it. You hung up grabbed your hunting equipment (a duffel, two angel blades, courtesy of Castiel, and three sets of extra clothes), and headed out to your beautiful black and pink accented jeep. The car was the only love of your life you needed. You hopped in, turned on some music and started the 3 hour drive to Laurence, Kansas. 

     Sam’s POV

     Dean had woke me up at six this morning saying he caught wind of a hunt in town, so I knew he hadn’t slept all night. He was scared of something,but he wouldn’t tell me what. I of course, got up made coffee grabbed a couple lore books in case it was something we hadn’t seen before and headed out to the garage. He started the car and I passed out almost immediately but the strangest thing happened. The one person I always tried to avoid thinking about popped into my head, Y/N. I dreamt that we were married and I had stayed up with her after she had a nightmare that I knew she had now, but would never say anything about. She had been to hell, and it gave Dean and I nightmares, so I knew she had them too. The dream was serene and I wanted to wake up and actually be there, but it was rudely interrupted by Dean smashing the horn. I jumped awake and the most beautiful scent washed over me. Dean smelled it too except his reaction was the opposite of mine, he looked disgusted. My jaw dropped and I sought out the source of the scent, and that’s when I saw her.

      She walked into a coffee shop your beautiful H/C hair blowing in the small breeze. Dean smacked my shoulder and told me to stop gawking at Y/N. I looked at him in shock. “Dean, hang on, that was Y/N?” I asked. He gave me a “yes you idiot” look and shut the door. As we walked towards the shop a million thoughts raced through my head, “That was Y/N, how has she never smelled so good before, was she in heat, was she on suppressants? That means she has no mate, but it could also mean she hasn’t gotten over Luke. What do I do when I see her?” *WAP* Dean smacked me on the back of the head and nodded towards the cashier behind the counter. “When did I get here?” And then I realized, we were inside, I inhaled deeply and instantly found her scent. It smelled like everything I had ever loved in this world. Mints, and whiskey, and books, and rain. She was perfect. She saw me and waved with the most gorgeous smile I had ever seen. I tapped Dean and pointed to her, she waved and motioned for us to come sit with her. “Does she not feel what I’m feeling, can she not sense it? She’s in heat and calling US over there.”   

          Y/N POV

You made it to Laurence and decided to talk to the locals, you expected a bar, but turns out Laurence doesn’t have a bar, only a coffee shop. You were about to get out of the car when a sharp pain hit your stomach. You doubled over and lunged at your bag for suppressants. Your heat was early, why was it so early and twice as painful as usual? 

     You sat in the car for awhile, chugging water waiting for the pills to kick in and then got out and headed toward the coffee shop. About half way to the door you stopped, and a strong overwhelming alpha scent reached your nose. You felt it go right to your stomach, making you hold back a whine as you inhaled the comforting scent again. It was familiar and calming, like rain, and wine, and puppies. You loved it and wanted to be surrounded by it. Wait, what were you talking about? You are on a job, no time for heat drama and gross dominating alphas. You kept walking, ordered your coffee and sat down with your laptop to start your research on the area. 

     Just as you started the first article the bell above the door rang and that same overpowering scent hit you in relaxing waves. You inhaled and searched for the source, finding the one person you had spent most of your life avoiding, Sam freaking Winchester. “shit.” You smiled and waved, trying to ignore the throbbing in your stomach as he tapped Dean’s shoulder. Dean waved and you, against everything your brain told you, waved them over, your heat telling you to GET. SAM. CLOSER. 

[just-another-winchester]

Homeward Bound

You’re Not Alone - Chapter 10

Pairing - Dean x Reader

Warnings - Uhm... none

Word Count - 1516

Summary - Y/N is excited and happy to finally be back with the Winchesters

A/N - So this is another short one unfortunately. I didn’t have much to say really I just wanted to get this out for ya’ll. Thank you for reading!

Feedback is Cool!!

As happy as you were having Dean back, something about his return was unsettling. Aside from hearing that angels were real and one saved him from Hell, you had a lot to get used to.

Once Sam woke up you packed up your things, gathering the things that you had left from your life before losing Dean. While the two were in the living room you looked around your bedroom, in shock that you would actually be leaving here.

This had been your home, your life for the past four months, and while those months were terrible, filled with pain, anger and regret, that didn’t make leaving your sanctuary any easier. Once you changed out of your dress and back into a pair of jeans, a t shirt and a jacket, you walked out to the Winchesters.

Dean’s eyes fell on you as you walked up to them, then the duffel bag.

“What are you doing?” He asked you,

“Getting my things,” You answered, walking to the table where your stereo and Dean’s music was, beginning to pack it all back into a container.

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming with you. C’mon Dean I know it’s been a while but surely you can figure this out for yourself.” You muttered.

“No you’re not,” He told you, walking around so he could face you. “We’re leaving you here.”

“Bullshit.” You answered, closing the lid on the container and placing it in Dean’s hands.

“Y/n, you have a life here, a job. You’re safer here than you ever could be with us.” He tried, clearly wanting you to stay. His insistence sent a pang through your heart. Did he not want you?

“I’m a baker where I sob every time I have to make pie, this ‘life’ you claim I have here was made out of misery, because I wanted to forget you ever existed because I missed you. And I don’t care what you think, the only time I’m safe, the only time I feel safe, is when I’m with you. Are you going to let anything bad happen to me?”

“No, but-” Dean tried

“See? Besides, if you wanted to leave me behind why the hell would you come here?” You asked,

“Because I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Dean answered, clearly frustrated that you were hardly letting him speak

“I wasn’t, but I am now that I’m going with you.” You said softly, you grabbed your notepad and a pen and started writing.

“What are you doing now?” Dean demanded, his tone was irritation.

“Writing my landlord a note,” You answered, “Telling him I don’t want the place anymore, he can pay for the rest of the months rent by auctioning off anything I leave, and keep what’s left.” You finished writing and set the pen down, going to the sink and grabbing your money container.

You weren’t sure why exactly, but you just kept all your money in this little container, even after buying food, new clothes and paying rent, four months of savings was quite a bit.

“Who knows,” You smirked, “Maybe the mysterious disappearance of Y/n Y/l/n will make Unsolved Mysteries and we can watch about me someday.”

With that you grabbed your key and walked to the door, setting your copy in your catch all bowl and opening the door.

“You coming or what?” You demanded, walking out.

You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you continued to the elevator, hearing Dean and Sam walk out and shut the door behind them.

The elevator door opened with a ding and you stepped in, followed by the Winchesters. Leaning back against the wall you couldn’t help but notice Dean’s eyes on you, but he looked confused.

“Is that my shirt?” He finally asked

Blood rushed to your cheeks and you ducked your head.

“Nope,” You answered as you heard a ding, the door opening to let you off. You stepped off quickly and practically skipped to the exit of the building.

You opened the door and stepped outside.

You never went out on days where you didn’t work. If you needed anything, groceries, new clothes, anything. If was before work, on break or after work, so this felt weird, but you knew it didn’t matter.

You allowed Sam and Dean to get in front of you so you could follow them to the car.

“So where are we going?” You asked,

“Back to Bobby’s,” Dean answered, “We still gotta figure out this angel crap. Now that you’re here you can help.”

“There is a lot to learn about angels Dean, there are different kind of angels you know. You don’t

kid when you call them warriors of God, they’re like an army, there are different ranks and positions. What do you know about this angel that saved you?” You asked,

“His name is Castiel, and God apparently sent him to save me from hell.” He answered, “Say how do you know all this stuff about them?”

“I never told you I was raised catholic did I?” You said as the three of you reached the Impala.

The sight of that car was like finally coming home. This car was amazing, and although you never cared about cars before, there was something special about Baby that you couldn’t put your finger on, she really was like one of the family.

“You were raised catholic?” Dean asked, unlocking the car.

“Anything I learned, my mom taught me. I don’t remember much but I remember about angels. I suppose I was always holding on to the hope that they existed, especially after finding out that demons were real.” You shrugged, climbing into the back.

The men climbed into the front seats of Baby. The smell, the feel, everything about being back in this car was like home, and you couldn’t wait to get back to Bobby’s.

Dean stuck the key in the ignition, but stopped a moment.

“Y/n, are you sure about this? You have a life here, a safe one, you make money, you have a home.” He said,

You looked up as you buckled yourself in.

You’d had to make a home out of walls and a roof, because your home with Dean and Sam had disappeared. With Dean’s return, there was no way in Hell you would let go of that again.

“I have no second thoughts, start the car Dean.” You assured him as you looked at the mirror where he green eyes peered back at you.

Your relationship was still somewhat new, you both knew how you felt about each other, but things were hard. You’d never had a relationship before, not like the one you wanted with Dean. You knew you loved him wholeheartedly, but getting to the point where you were both comfortable being that to each other, well it proved difficult.

Dean nodded as he turned the key, the car roared to life and you grinned, the sound made your heart fill with joy as you looked back up to the mirror where you saw Dean’s smirk. You could tell he was happy too.

You sat back happily, looking out the window as the Winchester drove out of your parking lot and began to drive away from your apartment building.

You could almost cry with relief, the feelings inside you were hard to describe, but in a way you felt like you’d been trapped there, even though you would leave for work and shopping and such you felt like you were chained to that place, stuck there forever, but as Dean continued to drive further away it was as if you could feel the links of the chain snapping, falling to pieces as though they were icicles.

As you felt the last links shatter to pieces you kept your eyes on Dean. His eyes now kept to the road as you were filled with joy so overwhelming at that fact that he was here, he was alive, you honestly felt like you might explode.

Part of you, honestly, all of you wanted to reach up and hold onto him and never ever let go. You wanted to cling to him, and for him to cling to you.

Your thoughts left your old home, the tenseness inside you vanished. You felt happy, like the weight had lifted, and even though you knew that things were going to be anything but perfect in the time to come, you knew you would finally have that sense of belonging again, you would be with Dean, and Sam.

You sat back against the seat as you watched the world go by, driving further towards the unknown. You didn’t know what was in store for you and the Winchesters, but right about now, none of that mattered.

You knew you would be safe, protected, and loved. You had your place now, and nothing was threatening to break you apart, there was no demon deal or death arrangement, just the three of you, doing what you do.

That was the greatest beginning you could think of.

My Tag List Is Wide Open!

Dream Team

@spn67-sister @queen-of-deans-booty @ria132love @winchestergeekfreak @maui137 @katymacsupernatural @jayneysimp @emoryhemsworth @just-another-busy-fangirl @bunniesowlsandwhales @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @mogaruke @kristendanwayne @cassieraider @squirrel-moose-winchester @hms-fangirl @heyitscam99

Dean Team

@akshi8278 @polina-93 @aubreystilinski @-lovepeacenhope- @waywardbaby @missjenniferb @whimsicalrobots

You’re Not Alone

@elizabeth-silverthorn @trustnobodyshootfirst @dizzy-sunshine @the--real-wombat @oreosatmidnight @supernatural-is-my-support-group @mirandaaustin93

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Resurgence

A Jacksepticeye Fan Fiction

Part Six: Magic Solves Everything

Previous | Next

Summary: Marvin undertakes the task of finding Chase’s kids, but that’s interrupted when he’s called to help at the hospital. Magic backfires, and everything ends with a sudden realization

(This part is long and I apologize to all the mobile users who have to scroll past this whole thing but I didn’t think it would have as great an impact if it was split in two parts)

The dining room clock read 1:08. It was hard for Marvin to believe it was still so early in the day. In the space of about an hour, Schneep had returned, they’d discovered that Anti had taken Chase’s kids, and the whole group had attracted the police’s attention in the bad way. Now they had to find the kids and wake up Jack before anything bad could happen to either of them. It was pretty overwhelming, actually.

He still found it weird how JJ’s house had two separate rooms for the kitchen and the dining room, instead of the combination-type thing most modern houses had. But whatever. It worked. Currently, Marvin and Jackie were sitting at the wooden dining table, waiting for JJ to come back. Jackie was leaning back in his chair, peering through the doorway into the kitchen, hoping to keep an eye on their silent friend. Marvin was staring aimlessly at the pale blue wallpaper, tracing the pattern with his eyes.

Bang. Marvin jumped, already reaching for his wand, only to see that Jackie had tilted his chair back too far and fallen over. “Ugh. Ow,” the hero groaned.

“You asked for it, you fucking moron,” Marvin muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up and help me up.”

As Marvin pulled Jackie to his feet, JJ poked his head through the doorway. Observing the scene, he raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Jackie’s an idiot, but he’s okay,” Marvin explained. “You ready yet?”

JJ stepped into the dining room in answer. He was holding a ceramic bowl out in front of him with both hands, a leather-bound book tucked beneath one arm. Carefully, he walked over and set the bowl on the table’s surface.

Jackie leaned over and looked into the bowl. “Water?” he frowned. “I don’t get it. Is it, like, special magic water?”

JJ placed the book next to the bowl and signed, You need liquid or crystal in order to scry. Seeing as how we don’t have the time to go out and purchase a crystal ball, water is our best shot.

“Okay...” Marvin pulled the book toward him. “What about this? Instructions?”

JJ nodded. Page 239.

Marvin flipped through the old, yellowed paper until her reached the page mentioned. The spell looked simple enough. It wouldn’t even take that much energy. But he still spotted a problem...

“You do realize we’re on a time crunch, right?” Jackie asked, breaking Marvin’s concentration.

The magician scowled. “You can’t rush spells. Things could go very fucking wrong very fucking quickly if anything gets messed up.”

I like being thorough as much as the next person, JJ signed, but Jackie is right. We need to hurry. Just start and I’ll correct you if you stray off the beaten path.

He hated skipping out on instructions, but Marvin had to admit they were right. “Okay, but there’s a catch. It says we need something that belongs to the person we’re scrying for. And I dunno ‘bout you guys, but I don’t feel like breaking into Chase’s ex’s house to steal his kids’ things. That probably wouldn’t look good to the police.”

It’s recommended that we use something like that, but from what I know the spell can work just fine without it, JJ explained. It just won’t be as powerful.

“You sure?” Marvin asked. When JJ nodded, he sighed. “Okay. Here goes nothing.” Glancing at the book once more, he pulled on his mask and grabbed the bowl, moving it closer to him. He stared into the rippling water, taking slow, deep breaths. This wasn’t the kind of magic he was used to. There wasn’t any incantation-speaking or wand-waving. Just concentration and power of will, shaped by magic.

Marvin felt a slight tingle in his fingertips and a pressure behind his eyes. The liquid in the bowl started swirling of its own accord, slowly turning green like dye spreading through a glass of water. Marvin inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly. This was the part where he was supposed to focus on the person he was trying to find. It was lucky that he’d met Chase’s kids before, otherwise they’d have to find another way to do this. He brought up memories of times when he’d been staying at Chase’s house the same time as the kids. Bobby was seven. She took after Chase in looks, but not in temperament. She was a bit grumpy and prickly, but she cared deeply about her family, especially her little brother. Trevor was only five years old. Very hyperactive. He was never able to sit still, always needing to fiddle with something in order to concentrate.

At this point, Marvin couldn’t have looked away from the bowl if he tried. His eyes remained fixed in place, unable to even blink. The water was completely green, glowing bright and whirling furiously in a downward spiral, but never spilling over the edge despite the violent swirling. He was dimly aware of JJ and Jackie leaning closer, peering over his shoulders, but he couldn’t afford to break concentration. He felt the magic pulsing up and down his arms, connecting his mind to the scrying bowl.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The water turned unnaturally still, unnaturally quickly. It seemed to clear, and Marvin saw his reflection, JJ on one side and Jackie on the other. Then, the reflection changed and warped, transforming into a scene that faded into a glowing green background like an old-fashioned vignette. The three stared down at a black-and-white image of a narrow alleyway, trash piled against dirty walls. The picture kept flickering, changing focus, glitching. Two small figures were stumbling through the small gap, the taller one leading the shorter one by the hand. They seemed to be in a hurry, but didn’t have the energy to run. They kept looking behind them. There was a shadow on the wall behind them, the silhouette of a man following them.

The image broke, splintering into many pixels. Marvin lurched backwards as something seemed to force him away. The bowl shattered, ceramic pieces and water flying outward. Fortunately, all of them were fast enough to protect their faces from the sharp projectiles.

“What the fuck was that?” Jackie asked, stunned.

“I don’t know Jackie, what else could it have been?” Marvin snapped.

“But are they safe? I mean, they weren’t in, like prison or anything.”

Maybe they gave him the slip, JJ suggested hopefully.

“I doubt that somehow.” Marvin chewed his lip in thought. “This is part of a plan.”

The sound of a phone ringing interrupted their speculating. Jackie dug into his hoodie pocket and checked the caller ID. “It’s Chase.” Surprised, he accepted the call. “What’s up?”

Marvin could actually hear Chase’s frantic voice on the other side. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down,” Jackie said. “Do we need to meet up with you?” More panic on the other end. “Okay, okay, we’ll be there. See you.” Jackie hung up.

“So...what’s the problem?” Marvin asked.

“He won’t wake up!?”

“That is what I said!”

The hospital room was crowded with five people crammed inside with a bunch of medical equipment. The equipment wasn’t originally in the room, but Chase and Schneep had sneaked all the necessary items for reviving a person in a coma. After all, it’s not like they could tell the hospital staff that they needed to wake up one of the patients. They would ask why, and if they explained that he was possibly in danger because a creature that looked exactly like him wanted him dead...well, it wouldn’t be good.

“Schneep, are...are you one hundred percent sure that you’re doing this right? “Jackie asked tentatively. “I mean, if hospitals could wake up people in comas, there’d be a lot less comas around.”

The doctor shook his head. “This is different, Jackie. Back—” he broke off, cleared his throat, and continued, “Back when it was clear to me that Jack was not going to make it out of the surgery alive, I induced this myself, to keep him out of his hands. That is sometimes done on the operating table under normal circumstances. I am aware of the steps needed to undo it. But n-nothing is wor-working.”

Chase, nervously twisting his hands as he stood by the be, jumped in. “Why did he want Jack dead anyway? I thought he wanted a new host.”

A physically weak host is easier to control, JJ explained. He might be able to force his way in for a brief time, but he can’t maintain that for long. He needs some sort of weakness to get in, the more severe, the better. A pause. Or, he could have changed his mind and decided to get rid of him.

Schneep frowned. “What are you talking about? How do you know these things?”

“So, what do you need us to do?” Marvin said hastily. “We’re not doctors.”

“No, but you have magic, Marvin,” Schneep said. “I think it might succeed where I have failed.”

“I...I’m flattered, Schneep, but I have no idea how to wake someone up,” Marvin couldn’t mask the shock in his voice.

“You can figure something out,” Schneep shrugged. “Is not too difficult to do.” 

“Maybe winging it is good for some things, but not magic,” Marvin said through gritted teeth. “I’ve already said this today, but making up shit as you go can have serious consequences.”

“Well, do we really have a choice, Marvin?!” Chase yelled in an uncharacteristic burst of anger. “Yeah, we could wait for you to go find a coma-waking-up spell, but by the time you’ve done that Jack could be dead! Bobby and Trevor could—” he stopped, hands clenched in fists by his sides. “Just—you gotta just try.” His voice was choked with sadness and trembling with fear.

Jackie and JJ gave Marvin identical imploring looks. The magician sighed deeply. “Okay, okay, I see your point.” He walked over to the side of the hospital bed, pulling on his mask again. “But don’ say I didn’t warn you.”

Sometimes, Marvin hated that he was the only one of the group with magic. It meant he was constantly being called on for things like this. Of course, he wasn’t going to refuse. But he’d like some sort of help sometimes.

Looking down at Jack, he took a deep, steadying breath. Maybe...maybe if he modified some sort of psychic spell. He wasn’t too good at those, but seeing as how a coma was mostly a mental thing, it seemed like the best shot. “Vityo qoid tuer vid ies...” he muttered. “Ego tuer psyk uto...”

The words called to the magic, no wand needed. Marvin felt the familiar snap of sparks between his fingers, and saw green at the edge of his vision. Normally, you’d need eye contact for psychic spells, but that was impossible when one of the participants was in a coma. So instead, he placed his hand on Jack’s forehead, pushing the spell out through his fingers into Jack’s mind.

flashes of a strange place...

terror and horror in equal measure...

running from monsters in a maze of corridors...

Marvin shuddered at the images. Was Jack having nightmares? No matter, he had to continue. He could feel the others’ eyes on him. But...now what to do? There were spells to put someone to sleep...maybe he could reverse them... “Imreud, niam e vijel aoré facsi’atys...”

Go ahead... tr̛y to fall asleep̶...

Go ahead...try to w̵áke͢ h̀i̴̷͞m҉͏̕ up͢...

This was wrong this was wrong this was wrong. Static was crackling an overlay in front of his vision and there was an awful frantic beeping coming from somewhere. Somebody was laughing laughing laughing at him. The spell was being turned against him but he couldn’t stop it he could see the swathes of green and purple magic leaking from his hands but he couldn’t stop them—

Somebody grabbed his wrist, trying to break contact with Jack. Marvin looked away from his comatose friend to see who it was but there was only a vague outline made of static. Then, with a sudden, electric snap! his hand was wrenched away. Magic sprayed across the hotel room, painting the walls in dark green and purple. Marvin collapsed. He would’ve fallen to the floor if he wasn’t being held upright by whoever managed to stop the corrupted spell.

“No! No!” Three others were running around the room, but Marvin saw them only as shadowy figures. Someone was yelling something about vitals as if through a long tunnel. Someone else responded, saying something about blood...

As the scene became more clear, Marvin pushed away from whoever was holding him. He blinked away the darkness. Jackie was standing in the room’s doorway, peering outside, frantically looking left and right to see if anyone had noticed what went down. Schneep was standing nearby, reading the green text on a heart monitor. Chase was on the other side of the bed, looking like he very much wanted to grab Jack and shake him awake but was also scared he would break him apart if he did. Marvin looked down at the comatose man; Jack’s eyes were bleeding, red flowing like tears. He turned around and saw JJ staring at him, half-reaching out in case he collapsed again.

“Thanks,” Marvin mumbled. JJ smiled and wiggled his mustache.

Jackie closed the door to the room, turning to the others. “I don’t think anyone noticed.”

“Wh-what was that?” Chase asked. “Was that him?”

“Yeah, no fucking shit, Chase,” Marvin growled.

“But, I-I mean how’d he do that?”

“I think...” Marvin hesitated, getting his thoughts together. “I think he hijacked the coma somehow.”

“This isn’t time for puns, Marvin!” Jackie yelled, frustrated.

“I didn’t—” the magician sighed. “Look, it’s the best word for it. I saw into Jack’s mind when I was trying to wake him up. He was-was having terrible nightmares. And I heard his voice...he wanted Jack to stay in the coma.”

With a cry of frustration, Schneep pushed over the heart monitor. It crashed to the floor. “Is nothing safe anymore?!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Why must we always fall to An—to him and his...his sadistic tendencies?! One time I try and do something right and he takes it and ruins it an-and poisons it!”

“Henrik, no...” Jackie said in a soft voice. “This isn’t your fault.”

“You do not know that, my friend.” Schneep’s voice was raw. “If-if someone else had been there...if I had been able to fight him off...this wouldn’t be happening!”

“Doc, you can’t seriously be blaming yourself,” Chase said, shocked. “You’re not the same as him. You never tried to hurt Jack.”

Schneep was silent at that. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned heavily against the wall. Marvin, Jackie, and Chase all exchanged looks. They’d seen their friend despair before...they’d even seen him blame himself before, when a patient on the operating table was lost. But this? This was something else, a whole new level.

JJ, perhaps being the only stranger in the group when it came to Schneep, stepped forward. He put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, intending to comfort him.

It had the opposite effect.

Schneep stiffened, then staggered away with a strange, strangled cry. He turned and faced Jameson. There was a burning in his eyes. A look of horror, betrayal...and recognition. “You,” he said breathlessly.

Jameson looked shocked. But not in a surprised way. More in a I-didn’t-expect-to-face-this way. But he wasn’t confused. Marvin shifted, hand straying towards his wand. “Schneep, what do you—”

“You!” Schneep scrambled away from Jameson, knocking over an IV and another monitor in the process. He looked around, frenzied, searching for something to defend himself as he continued to back away. “Did you not think I would remember!? Did you not think you would be discovered!?”

Jackie hurried to Schneep’s side. “Henrik, I don’t know what you’re—”

“It’s him!” Schneep practically screamed the words. “The silent man! He works for Ant—for him! And you all are just letting him be here! Oh, you have been fooled, my friends, so dangerously fooled!”

“What? No, doc, you’ve got it all wrong,” Chase came over too, stepping between Schneep and JJ. “He’s not what you think he is.”

“Is he not? Or has he tricked you?” Schneep hissed. “I remember. I saw him that day we lost Jack. He was in the hospital, and he was in the observing room. He came after me.” The doctor looked nothing short of murderous. There wasn’t anything even remotely resembling a weapon in the hospital room, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to try and fight against this perceived threat. He steadied himself, and took a step forward.

Marvin drew his wand and pointed it at him.

Everyone froze.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend you don’t have a reason for this,” the magician said slowly. “I actually think you’re kind of justified. But you don’t know everything. So we’re all going to calm down and talk about this like reasonable people, damn it.”

Schneep said nothing, staring at the wand with wide eyes. He glanced over at Jameson, who looked away. “...fine,” he grumbled.

Then he bolted for the door.

Taken by surprise, Marvin barely had time to shoot a immobilize spell and miss before Schneep was out the door. “Shit!” Jackie cried. Chase probably would’ve said something along the same lines, but he was already on his way out. Jackie hesitated, looking over at Marvin and JJ to see if they were alright. JJ nodded, then gestured for Jackie to follow Chase. He did so, sprinting out of the room.

Silence.

“JJ...” Marvin said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Jameson glanced at him. He crossed his arms, looked down at his feet, and blinked rapidly. Then he signed, I want to go home.

Marvin hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go with you. I think...” Deep breath. “I think we need to leave this part to them.”

[puppy-byun]

Good Thing

Yuta/you, dancer!AU

Rating: M, trigger warning for choking

Word count: 8.2k

gif credit to the owner.

In which Yuta joins your dance class and is just beautiful enough to drive you crazy. 

Take a deep breath and let’s go in really deep Let’s noisily dance Until we get that good thing baby

This moment is a good thing.

Yuta is beautiful.

It's the first thing you think when you see him, before you even know his name. His hair is a little on the longer side, dark brown strands hanging into his eyes until he swipes them back, sticky with sweat from dancing. His face is focused but he still looks beautiful anyway. And his arms. God, his arms.

He's wearing a tank top and you pray he's not doing it on purpose, because that would make him even more dangerous. His arms are lean and slightly tanned. There's a few veins running down his biceps, bulging every time he flexes for the choreography - which is entirely too often in your opinion. You're glad your face is red and flushed from the heat in the room, the humid summer air making everything worse. That way at least if he catches you staring at him he won't be able to tell how flushed he has you.

He's a lot to take in. He never came to your friend’s dance class before, but now you can't imagine him anywhere else. He's a natural, clearly very talented. It's easy to tell by the way his body moves smoothly but powerful with the slightest step.

You're sweatier and more exhausted when the class ends than you usually are. You wish you could say it's because it was especially exhausting today, but the second you step out of the shower and into your friend’s dressing room her grin makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

"So what do you think of Yuta?" Seulgi’s tone is cheeky and you hate that she knows you have no doubt who she's talking about. You play dumb anyway.

"How do I like who?"

She cackles, swiping a sweaty strand of orange hair from her face. She hasn't showered yet but she's the sort of effortless beauty that looks stunning even with her cheeks bright red and sweat running down the sides of her face. Like Yuta.

You mentally chide yourself for that thought, praying Seulgi hasn't caught on. She's perceptive so she probably has, even if she refrains from saying something.

"He's from Japan, just moved here for University" she simply blabbers on, casually as if you're talking about the weather.

"So you guys are already dating or what?" you huff jokingly, really just wanting her to stop spouting facts about the Japanese guy you're already drooling over.

"Seungwan would kill me if she caught me with a guy" Seulgi laughs, waving you off. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know you'll see him in the classes from now on. Yuta, I mean." As if that wasn't clear. "Since you're totally into him already, want his number?"

Seulgi is nonchalant like that, even though she knows you would never say yes to that. Instead you flick her off, grabbing your bag and shoes from the floor of her room. You wave her goodbye, in a rush now because she held you back.

You hurry out the building, pulling open the glass door to step outside into the humid, way too warm air. You almost run into the guy stepping half into your path, yelping a little.

He grabs onto your shoulder, just hard enough to catch you and steady you but lets go immediately. You look up to find arms, delicious veiny arms that have already burned their image into your mind. He's wearing another loose jersey tank top, this time with the logo of One Ok Rock printed on it. The cliché almost makes you laugh but then you look at his face and your mouth goes dry. His skin has a beautifully tanned tone, like very light caramel, devilishly sweet. The sun only accentuates it and it almost leaves you breathless. His eyes are as dark as you thought them to be, like molten bitter chocolate. He's just so beautiful.

You don't notice you're staring until his full lips turn into a gentle smile, breaking you out of your admiring stare.

"Sorry!" you spout, readjusting your bag on your shoulder.

"No, no, it was my fault, really" he assures you, and it's the first time you hear his voice. It's lighter than expected, but of course it is beautiful as well.

"I was hoping to catch you on your way out, you vanished so fast."

You could give him an explanation but you suddenly find yourself short on words. You have a feeling if you open your mouth it something very stupid will come out.

"You dance really well!"

His compliment is even less expected and you feel slight warmth rise to your cheeks at Yuta’s words. It is him who should be told how great a dancer he is.

"Seulgi has been teaching those classes for so long, I sort of have an advantage." you excuse instead. You feel like you have to brush off his flattering words, the compliments turning to heat in your cheeks entirely too fast.

"Take a compliment" he chuckles light heartedly, and you feel the need to vanish in the ground.

"What if I took you out for coffee?" Yuta suddenly offers, taking you by surprise once again. "Compliment you some more so you can get used to hearing the truth?"

His words are as sweet as sugar and you have no doubt he's as natural a charmer as he is a dancer. You feel like you ran into a wall headfirst - completely overwhelmed by the lightness with which he - asks you out?

"Sorry" you blurt out, gripping the sling of your bag harder. "I'm really late already and I gotta leave, like, right now."

You smile at him apologetically, shrugging your shoulders slightly as if that explains everything. You brush past him in a heartbeat, a good distance away already before he can stop you. You only notice the other guy when you hear a loud laugh and look back. Yuta looks flabbergasted, even from a distance, seemingly not even noticing the smaller guy with cute cheeks and a faded red dye job clearly laughing at him.

The next week you barely manage to get to Seulgi’s class on time. You realize it's a good thing you're so late. The others are already changed and out so you can hide in the dressing rooms by yourself, coming out only when they're in the middle of warm ups already. It gives you an excuse not to greet anyone, which means it gives you an excuse not to greet Yuta either. His dark brown hair is the first thing you notice upon entering and memories from last week that haven't quite left you come rushing in like a tidal wave of embarrassment. His red haired friend is here too this time, or maybe he already was before and you simply didn't notice him next to Yuta. It isn't unlikely, considering the Japanese boy seems to draw your gaze like a magnet. Even now that you're so embarrassed you hope he won’t ever talk to you again you find yourself staring at him through the mirror more than not.

Seulgi loudly claps her hands together before she ends the class and her cheeky grin tells you she noticed you staring very well, most likely clapping this loud just to snap you out of it. You're pouting at her but you're broke off when you feel someone lightly laying their hand on your shoulder to get your attention. You notice the triumphant glint in Seulgi’s eyes a little too late, turning around only to be caught by the full impact of Yuta. It doesn't seem to lessen even after already talking to him before.

You can't spot his red haired friend next to him which makes you relax just a little. He seems to be just as mischievous as Seulgi, something you can deal with but only when you're not already faced with the biggest challenge of your life, which seems to be not embarrassing yourself in front of Yuta.

"You bailed on me last week, didn't you?"

He pouts a little and it's adorable even if you don't buy it. With looks like his he must have too much confidence to really be hurt by a random girl bailing on him over 6 days ago.

"Kind of." you admit with an apologetic smile. It's enough to turn his pout into a dazzling flash of happiness, bunching his cheeks up a little. Once again you find yourself breathless.

Yuta really is an enigma, effortlessly charming and beautiful even when he's sweaty and his long strands of hair are pinned back with bobby pins, showing his forehead. It shouldn't be a good look but it is.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, I was just waiting because I was a little worried I had missed you already, you seemed in such a rush."

You didn't expect an apology of all things, especially because there is no reason for one.

"It's fine, it wasn't weird" you cut him off to reassure him, and his mouth forms a small 'oh' before he's smiling at you, flaunting even more radiance this time.

"That's good then."

You smile at him awkwardly, stepping from one foot to the other. You don't know what to say and really, you're just so uncomfortable and self conscious with the way you're sweating and probably red in the face, while Yuta just wears it as if it's a natural look.

"So can I take you out for coffee this time?"

Your face falls, half in surprise half in disappointment because you'll have to blow him off again. He immediately notices, his expression turning into a frown. It accentuates the defined ridges of his nose even more. His face is so insanely beautiful and well defined it makes you doubt you can ever get used to it.

"It's not that!" You quickly burst out before you can stop yourself. It gives him a hopeful look immediately and you don't regret blabbering anymore. "I'd say yes in a heartbeat-" embarrassing "but I have work right after this class. My timeframe is barely big enough to make it there."

Yuta basically radiates cheerfulness now, and it's an amazing look on him. "I'll walk you there." He offers and you can feel yourself melt already. You throw a glance at the clock on the wall, painfully aware that you already wasted too much time. You can't really bring yourself to regret it. "I have to leave in like barely ten minutes..."

He shrugs, the smile never leaving his face. It seems to be a permanent thing with him.

"I'll be ready in five then."

 True to his words, he really is. You give Seulgi no time to tease you. She would have, no doubt. Yuta somehow managed to shower and take out the bobby pins within five minutes, yet he looks like he's straight out of a fairy tale. A very sinful one, because his swept back hair, soft and just a little mussed up makes you want to run your hands through it. And his tank top - One Ok Rock again, but a different one, mind you - makes you think about all the ways you would love to scratch your nails down his arms and it's hot already outside so you really can't use the heat rushing to the pit of your stomach and down between your legs.

You're thankful that he's a natural talker too it seems, his Korean so good you almost wouldn't believe he's from Japan.

He tells you about his family, his major. He also tells you that he's been dancing since he was young because he always wanted to become an idol like TVXQ or H.O.T, the latter one making you laugh. You can almost imagine him dancing in colourful jumpsuits and oversized gloves and it's something you're suddenly dying to see.

The walk to the 24h diner you work at is suddenly way too short and you wish you had a little more time to talk to Yuta. You could listen to him all day without getting bored.

He insists on sitting in your section, just so he can order coffee and then a slice of cake, using every chance to flirt with you, or tell you about his friend Haechan - the chubby cheeked one with the washed out red hair - and how much he had been teased by him after you bailed last time.

You don't regret admitting to yourself that you're a little sad when he leaves, instead of leaving a tip blowing you a cheeky kiss from the entrance door, making a couple of people look.

It's embarrassing but it's also so fitting for him you can't help but laugh through your blush.

The following week you wake up on Saturday only to find your head hammering with a killer headache. You're shivering and even without checking you're already sure you're down with a fever.

You text work to let them know you can't make it, as well as Seulgi, who replies with a parade of sad emojis. She doesn't miss the chance to come over to your dorm room much later in the afternoon. You're buried deep under your blanket, feeling gross and miserable with yourself. Seulgi bought soup for you - she can't cook for shit and neither can you - and she warms it up before proceeding to force you to finish all of it. She's a horrible nurse, nagging and too loud, but you're grateful because she's also your best friend and she wants to take care of you. She tells you about her day, about her plans for the classes she teaches, before she inevitably reaches the topic you knew she had been dying to. You hadn't been very forthcoming on the phone and hadn't seen her all week because of University and work, so you knew she was probably close to exploding from curiosity.

"So, you and Yuta, huh?"

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance, somehow managing to shrug even under the thick blanket. "Not really." you drily reply, and she barely stops herself from punching your shoulder.

"So he didn't leave with you last Saturday?"

"I had to work." you stubbornly insist, trying to avoid this whole talk. You weren't even sure yourself what it all had meant and you really didn't want to get your hopes up.

"So naturally he walked you, what, all the way to work?"

You didn't like the way she was grinning knowingly because it made your heart flutter with hope.

"And he ordered some cake and coffee, big deal." You brushed it off, trying not to interpret too much into it.

"I mean, both the coffee and the cake are shit at that place, so it kind of is a big deal." You laugh with her, because she's absolutely right.

"He just ate his cake, left most of his coffee and I can't blame him. We talked a little and he left."

Seulgi looks a little deflated, as if she expected a lot more. "That's anticlimactic" she pouts, bottom lip jutting out exaggeratedly. She looks naturally cute when she does it, the shape of her eyes and her cute cheeks making her look like a teddy bear. It's easy for girls as pretty and charming as her. You clearly remember how she met Seungwan when you both skipped University to go shopping one afternoon. You also clearly remember how she ended up in a changing room with her the same afternoon, coming back out with messed up hair, flushed cheeks and the biggest smile on her face, and how she easily turned a random hook-up into a one year and going strong relationship.

You barely managed to be charming with a shit ton of alcohol in your system.

"He probably thought so too" you chuckle drily, facing the facts. He looks like angels personally sculpted him, and he had the personality to go with it.

"He asked for you today."

Hope flares up in your chest shortly and you quench it best as you can.

"It makes sense. Technically we were on a date and I didn't even kiss him, I would expect a little more too."

"Yeah I'm sure that was his intention." Seulgi deadpans, her tone so dry you almost laugh.

"Look at him Seulgi. I don't know what on earth he could want from me, but I'm sure when he paid for shitty coffee and cake he expected at least a good suck."

Your words barely get you a sigh from Seulgi. "I hate how you sell yourself so cheap all the time. Anyway. -" she shortly rummages through her bag on the floor before she draws up a piece of paper she clearly ripped off somewhere. She places it on your chest decidedly and you catch a glimpse of a couple of numbers that very clearly can only make up a phone number. "That's Yutas number. Text him."

A week later, Saturday of course, you haven't texted Yuta. You want to see how he would behave towards you first. You decide that if he would be the same he was before then you had judged him completely wrong and he really was the full package, but you don't want to make an idiot of yourself by texting him, and with a number your friend had to give you on top of it.

As it turns out he doesn't show up at the dance class though, and you end up screwing up so much Seulgi is giving you dirty looks by the end of the class. You feel sorry for interrupting her class because your mind is with the Japanese guy.

Haechan doesn't show up either, although you doubt you would have found the courage to ask him. Instead you find yourself leaving the class in a cranky mood. Despite your warnings to yourself you somehow have the slight hopes that Yuta is that picture perfect guy he displays himself as, so now that he isn't here for whatever reason, you find yourself angry mostly at your own stupidity.

Work drags on like a particularly sticky gum and you mostly blame your own mood for it. It is one of the Saturday's where you take over the first night shift until 1am as well. Everything between 11:30 pm and the end of your shift is like a rollercoaster ride. You never quite know what to expect. Customers are a mix of people working late and wanting to grab a bite, and the first drunken ones that have to end their night a little earlier.

Tonight it has been calm so far, so you aren’t surprised when the first ones start barging into the diner with loud voices and slurred words. The group of guys slumps into a booth towards the back, laughing and joking at a volume that can't be overheard.

You brace yourself inwardly for whatever you have to expect from them and walk over with a sigh under your breath.

"Hi, my name is-"

You are cut off, a loud voice shouting your name before you can introduce yourself. Your eyes fall on Yuta and you almost turn on the heel in surprise.

He isn't wearing his seemingly endless amount of One Ok Rock tank tops, but somehow this is worse.

His dark hair is swept back again, this time seemingly styled with effort and it looks more than tempting. It gives him a smooth, alluring aura he usually covers up with his smile. He’s wearing a normal white shirt, nothing special, but its collar is loose and hangs very low. His collar bones have always been covered before but now they are on display, fine tanned skin and an inviting view of the planes of his neck and chest. If he were to lean down, you are sure the shirt would be loose enough to catch a glimpse of his chest as well and you are pretty certain that was the point. He pairs the simple shirt with black ripped jeans, a leather jacket with a lot of buckles and small silver studs. There is a long silver earring tangling from his earlobe, but the worst part by far is the choker. Leather, there is no doubt about that, smugly wrapped around his neck, with a metal ring at the front. It makes the heat drop to your stomach with such an impact, you suddenly feel as if everyone in the room could clearly see how affected you are by Yutas get up. He looks like walking sin and you bite your lip, scared you'll accidentally whimper and embarrass yourself even more.

Haechan is here too, you notice, looking way too young to be drunk with the rest of them.

You notice you and Yuta have just been staring at each other when one of the other guys clears his throat. Your eyes snap to him, noticing how he looks relatively sober still. Or at least he isn't giggling like an idiot like the rest of them is.

"Do you know we have Maid Café's in Japan?" Yuta suddenly blurts out, his words slurred but not too much to not understand them. You look at him flabbergasted, nodding slowly. "I always thought I like those, but you make me even dizzier in your uniform."

You uncertainly run a hand down the apron covering the short pants, suddenly getting self-conscious about the outfit. It is just a shirt and shorts topped off with an apron but suddenly you feel ridiculous. You feel the colour rising to your cheeks in response. You aren't quite sure how to reply or whether you should just say thank you and hope that's that. The choice is taken from you by another guy giggling obnoxiously loud at Yutas comment.

"It's so cute. You look like a little pixie, adorable." He coos, and your eyes snap to the guy. Where Yuta is beautiful, he is...tempting. You can't find another word for it. His black hair is styled meticulously and his accent gives away that he clearly isn't Korean either. His face is all smooth lines and soft angles, perfectly matched with a sharp, cute nose. What catches you off guard the most is the array of piercings glittering on his ears, countless of them, finished off with a septum perfectly accentuating his peculiar pretty nose.

"I'm Chittaphon" he grins, and then immediately winces when he is very clearly kicked in the shin under the table. He throws a pouty glance at the white haired boy opposite of him. "I'm also taken and just being friendly, relax Yongie."

The last part is directed at the one opposite of him, who you assume is the one he was taken by.

Before you can react to the interaction in any way Yuta clumsily jumps up from the booth. The alcohol in his system seems to be taking away a lot of the grace he usually inhabits.

He almost stumbles and you catch him in the last second, wrapping your hands around his arms and dropping your notepad in the process. Once he has steadied himself he bows down to pick it up, handing it to you with an almost sheepish smile. "Thanks babe." He whispers and your breath caught in your throat at the nickname.

He suddenly leans in before you can react, pressing his plush lips to your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth. You freeze before you shy away in shock when the others start hollering. You are so overwhelmed and embarrassed you want nothing more than to be swallowed by the ground, even though Yutas lips felt so soft against your skin it leaves the spot where they had touched you burning in their wake.

He plumps back down in the booth with a smile so angelic and satisfied you almost feel bad for reacting so strongly.

"Don't flirt with her-" he is slurring his words still, and despite who they are directed at he never stops looking at you. "- I'm having a hard enough to time to get her to like me without four other guys flattering her."

"Dude I didn't even say anything and Yongie only got eyes for Ten anyway. Besides, you're not doing so well all by yourself right now" the blonde guy opposite of Yuta states. He has the most adorable, chubby cheeks you have ever seen, and looks the most sober out of all of them. "We’ll just take water and, like, 8 servings of fries, I guess."

Grateful that he isn't giving you a hard time you note down the order with a nod, hurrying away before anyone else can stop you.

Yuta and his friends leave you alone for the next thirty minutes or so and you are relieved when the end of your shift is unbearably close. It is only twenty minutes more and the chances that you won’t have to serve them again are getting realistic. It isn't that it is uncomfortable. Maybe a little, although they all seem like well mannered people when they aren't drunk off your asses. It is more the fact that Yuta seems to leave you flustered on a regular base, and the outfit really isn't helping. Neither is the fact that he seems to throw away all hesitance when he is drunk, shamelessly flirting.

Seulgi would have already made the most of a situation like that, but you find that you don’t really know what to do at all. It isn't until you realize that the laughter has died down that you throw another glance at the booth of Yuta and his friends, only to notice that all but him have left.

He is clearly looking at you, so you leave your relatively save spot behind the counter, trying to gather some courage.

"Did your friends leave you to pay?" you joke, your voice steadier than you expect it to be.

"I asked them to." Yutas tone is surprisingly serious, despite the slur in his words.

He is up and before you faster than you expect him to be able to, so close you can smell the leather of his jacket and the smoke that clings to him, undoubtedly from wherever they had been before.

"You never texted me."

He sounds almost a little like a scolded child and your eyes snap up to meet his gaze. "I even asked Seulgi to give you my number, but you never texted me."

Your eyes grow big and you suddenly feel so incredibly stupid. "I thought-" "What? That she just randomly gave it to you? I asked her to. I was worried about you, but it would have felt weird to just pester her for yours. In hindsight I should have. You really think very lowly of me, don't you?"

You want to deny it, want to tell him that you never knew he asked her to give you his number even though you should have assumed. All you can do is shake your head dumbly trying to gather your words.

He clearly doesn't know what to say either, so for a second it is silent between the two of you, until you finally manage to gather a full thought.

"I'm -" you probably would have apologized, but Yuta seems to have found his words just at the same moment as you. "You're, like, so hot in that uniform, and I kind of really like you and, god that outfit is driving me insane-"

"You like me?!"

Apparently the disbelief in your voice is so evident it makes him look up at you again instead of running his eyes over your uniform as he had been. Instead of saying something he only groans as if he can't believe your obliviousness. The next thing you know is that he is kissing you, a mix of desperation and hunger that makes your stomach flip.

You don't hesitate to kiss him back, surprised or not, and it only takes a moment for you to run your hand up the white, thin shirt until you can slip your fingers into the leather choker. It is tight, so tight you can barely slip two fingers in between the choker and his skin. It clearly strains against his neck and Yuta groans into your mouth, louder than he did before. It’s a hot, shameless sound and it clearly spurs the both of you on. Yutas grip on your hair tightens, his short nails lightly scraping your scalp. He is biting down on your lip and you almost whimper.

Instead you opt to pull him tighter against you with the choker, eliciting another groan from him. It seems to be driving him crazy even more by the way his kisses turn more desperate, teeth ravishing your lips. On a whim you dig your fingers deeper around the choker, gripping it and pulling so that it will undoubtedly be constricting enough to actually choke him. Your hunched turns out to be correct, his hips jutting into yours in response. He is already half hard in his pants and you gasp at the contact, the sound swallowed entirely by his mouth.

"Kuso."

Yutas voice is rough, the slur as evident as the strong taste of alcohol he leaves on your lips when he breaks the kiss, cursing in Japanese under his breath. It’s hot, and you feel dizzier and more riled up than you have in ages, but it also makes you realize where you were. Stepping back a tiny bit, just enough not to feel Yuta press himself into you, drawing all your attention to him, you quickly glance around the diner. The panic bubbling up your throat ebbs away when you realize there is no one except the two of you and all five of his friends stuck to the front window and watching you with the biggest, shit-eating grins. You feel yourself flush once again, realizing you have let go of yourself way too much considering you are in public, and on the clock too.

Luckily Yuta seemed to realize that too, despite his drunk state, and clears his throat, uncomfortably loud in the big room. You catch him run his hand over his face and pull his bottom lip between his teeth. He probably only wants to clear his head, but it doesn't do anything to help you.

You quickly pull the notepad and pen from the pocket of your apron with shaky hands, scribbling down your number and ripping it off. You stuff it into the pocket of Yuta's leather jacket, careful not to get to close to him again. He’s radiating way too much heat and your lips are tingling excitingly from his hard kisses.

"You should go now" you mumble, not sure why you are speaking extra silently. He only nods in response, his dark eyes clearly hooded, quickly stepping away from you with his feet still unstable and wobbly from the alcohol. He’s looking between you and the door, as if he is contemplating whether he actually should go, and you gently give him a small push towards the door, pressing the slightest kiss to his cheek. It is all you trust yourself with after what had just happened.

"Bye Yuta" you decidedly state, and he nods, repeating the words a couple of times before he finally stumbles to the door, caught by Chittaphon and the blonde haired guy before he can fall over his own feet and hit the asphalt.

Unlike you, Yuta texted the next day, sometime in the afternoon when he had come back to life. You still to this day aren't sure how much he actually remembers and he hasn't let much on either. You kind of wanted to ask him today at the dance class, but you aren't quite sure you can find the courage. You yourself aren't usually that bold, not in public at least. You fully blame your reaction on Yuta and you don't quite know how to handle that. All you know is that since last Saturday night you can't get his touches out of your head. You can’t stop thinking about how he didn't hesitate to bite down on your lip, the way he ground against you. The way his curse had slipped out, the fact that he had forgotten to speak Korean making it all the more alluring. He had been drunk off his ass yet he had managed to get you hot and bothered to the point where you had gotten yourself off the same night to the thought of his hands and tongue on you.

The thought brings another wave of heat to pool between your legs, a constant state since Yuta had kissed you. The vibrating of your phone startles you enough to jump a little. You quickly grab it from your nightstand, checking the message.

Weeaboo Ass: can you come a little early today? (シ_ _)シ

The way he just doesn't stop using emoticons for basically everything, toppled with the fact that he has long but confessed the extensive list of anime he watches and manga he reads (hence the nickname, plus the fact that he has a great ass) never fails to make you laugh.

You aren't quite sure what he is up to, but reply with a quick 'sure!' anyway.

Not quite sure what exactly he means with earlier you make sure to be at the studio around twenty minutes before class. You can always hole up in Seulgi’s dressing room in a worst case scenario, but as it turns out that isn't necessary, because Yuta is already waiting for you at the entrance door to the studio. He is clad in a Baby Metal tank top today and it is almost funnier than the other ones to you.

It isn't until you walk right up to him that you realize you don't actually know how to greet him. You can't just kiss him, not on the chance that he doesn't even remember your kiss, or that it might have happened simply because he had been so drunk. Instead you opt for the door with a slight smile, angling your head in an invitation to follow you inside but he quickly puts his hand on your wrist to stop you from opening it.

"Wait can we, like, talk?"

The words fill your stomach with dread but you try not to let it show. Instead you try to shrug nonchalantly although it feels nothing but horribly forced to you.

"Sure what's up?" Your voice is a little shaky, but it is probably only noticeable to you.

"Is there somewhere other than out here?"

You shortly consider hogging Seulgi’s dressing room but that means explaining things to her and she would never let you hear the end of it. Instead, you look around, remembering the storage room with the yoga mats and gymnastic balls on stuff a little down he hallway. You nod, signalling Yuta to follow you until you reach the door you vaguely remember from when you had helped Seulgi clean up a couple of times. The room is relatively big, some shelves and mostly just a ton of unused sports equipment. You hit the light switch, trying to get rid of some of the uneasy energy that is crawling down your back. Yuta carefully closes the door behind you, the clicking sound making the situation all the more real. You drop your bag to the floor unceremoniously, turning around with a small gulp. To your surprise, Yuta looks even more nervous than you. It makes you feel slightly better.

"What's up?" you quip, trying to sound as casual as you can manage in the situation.

"I... I really owe you an apology."

"Sorry what?"

You notice how irritated you sounded, immediately worried he will interpret it the wrong way. Mainly, you are just very confused. Yutas shoulders however slump, clearly interpreting your words wrongly.

"Gosh I know ‘I'm sorry’ doesn't even cut it but -"

"No, no wait," you cut him off mid-sentence. "What are you even apologizing for?"

"I don't know?" He splutters out, avoiding your gaze even though you are right in front of him. "I mean; I don't remember everything. I know I said some dumb shit to you in Saturday and being drunk isn't really an excuse. I know we kissed -" he takes a deep breath, finally looking at you and you notice the visible difference. His eyes are hooded, clearly thinking back to your kiss now. It feels incredibly good to see it has the same effect on him as it has on you. You only now notice he put on a choker again, not as over the top as the last one had been. It’s just a thin black one with a silver cross on it but the subtlety makes his neck seem slender and fine and alluring. You have to force yourself to focus back on him.

"- that kiss was amazing. God. Sorry, not the point. I just, I don't really remember everything I said but you drive me crazy and I don't think all that clearly when I'm around you so I'm sure I did say something stupid."

His face is a mix between still hooded eyes and an uncertain expression. You put a hand on his arm with a slight chuckle, thinking back to him blabbering about Maid Cafés.

"You told me that ugly uniform I have to wear is hot." you laugh, grinning at him. He groans in reaction, running a hand over his face. "Oh god. I'm an actual idiot."

"Clearly, that thing is ugly as hell."

"Who told you that though? I might have been drunk, but it gave me a hard on the first time I saw you in it as well."

You're aware that you're gaping at him like a goldfish, words having died in your throat. Apparently kissing you had been like flipping a switch. He is still charming as hell, but he clearly has lost a lot of his shame and you really can't complain. The idea that even after having only talked to you he had left with a hard on because of you made you clearly feel the wetness pooling between your legs.

"Anyhow, there's really nothing you have to apologize for."

You're fiddling with the hem of your sweat-shorts, not quite sure what to do. Yuta is distraught, but so are you, especially since he came here with the intention to apologize to you. Because your body is screaming for you to kiss him again, to wrap your hand around his throat like that thin black choker, to let him bite your skin like he did last time. You feel a shiver running down your back, praying Yuta doesn't see you’re visibly shaking.

You hear him curse - back to Japanese again - and the next thing you can feel is the rough texture of the wall digging into your skin and Yuta groaning against your mouth. You immediately react, running a hand over his shoulder to slip it into the opening of those stupid shirts he keeps wearing. His skin is smooth and hot under your fingers and you can't help but trace your fingertips over his shoulder blades and down as low as the shirt will allow it. He's barely moving against your lips, licking and nibbling sloppily. You chuckle when he groans again as you dig your nails into his skin slightly, catching his tongue between your teeth lightly enough to not hurt him. You catch his irritated gaze, grinning sheepishly before you break the contact between your lips and lean down to bury your face in his neck. He throws his head back almost immediately, gulping hard. His throat is moving under your lips and it's the hottest thing you can imagine right about now. You trace your other hand along the choker, then replace it with your tongue until Yuta is breathing so hard he's almost panting.

"You remember that choker from Saturday night, don't you?" you mumble, slightly nibbling and kissing over his neck a little more. Your hand is wrapped around his throat ever so lightly, aligned with the choker but no real pressure added. When he doesn't say anything you decide to push a little further. "I really liked it" your voice is more of a purr now and Yutas hand drops from your arms to your ass, pressing you against him. He's growing hard in his pants and you revel in the feeling.

"Babe, all I can think about are your pretty hands around my throat and my cock."

His words draw a slight whine from you, vibrating against his skin. You wrap your thigh around him tentatively, forcing him closer to you. He stumbles a little, catching himself with his free hand, the wall scrapping against your back again but you don't really care. Yuta keeps grinding himself against you and you're sure by now your panties are a soaked mess. Even your kisses and bites on his neck falter and you have trouble managing to breath and suck on his skin at the same time. He rakes his hand through your hair, his other one never leaving your ass to keep you pulled tightly against his crotch. He forces your head back so you look at him. The hunger in his eyes is so intense you feel like your skin is burning.

"If you don't want to go all the way I'm gonna need you to say so now."

You have never heard his voice so raspy and throaty and it sends a whole new wave of desire rushing through your body.

You shake your head, finding it incredibly hard to gather your thoughts. Instead you slip your hand from his tank top, opting to pull your shirt off instead. You proceed to get rid of your sports bra, not caring that you weren’t wearnig underwear that's slightly sexier. Yuta clearly doesn't care either, his cock twitching against your thigh when his eyes fall to your exposed breasts. You move to pull down your pants but he catches your wrists, halting your motions. "Let me."

It's not a plead and you obediently move your hands to his sweats instead, slipping your fingers into the elastic. He doesn't take his time, instead unceremoniously pulling down your pants and underwear in one go, giving you just enough room to step out of them.

"Do you want me to turn around?" you manage to mumble out, suddenly feeling a little insecure. Yuta is like a whirlwind, overwhelming in everything he does, and you suddenly are scared that he will be disappointed. Instead, he puts his index finger under your chin, urging you to look at him even while you are slipping down his pants. His face is displaying warmth even though his eyes are heavily lidded and he is clearly desperate to touch you.

"I want you to look at me. Just, do whatever feels comfortable to you? I'm pretty sure it will drive me crazy anyway."

His voice, despite its hoarseness is reassuring and the second you bite your lip, slipping your hand under his shirt making sure to brush the tip of his cock, he has you pushed back against the wall. It feels even worse against your completely naked back but you don't mind it one bit. Not when you can run your hand over the lean planes of his stomach. He clearly has the body of a dancer. You want to wrap your legs around his hips so badly but he is pushing you into the wall so tightly you don't really have any room to do so, not with his hand running up your inner thigh.

He doesn't even need to touch you to feel how wet you are, and he's groaning into your neck.

"Yuta," your voice is higher pitched than you're used to, a breathy mess and you barely recognize it yourself. "You don’t have to do this, just, fuck me."

He's cursing again and you don't understand him but it's clear your words heavily affect him. You can feel him twitching against you once more and he steadies one hand against the wall to give you some room. You eagerly wrap your hand around the back of his neck, his other hand on your thigh pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

He pushes into you without hesitating, your wetness making it easy for him to enter you. You let your head fall back, torn between wanting him to move and wanting him to wait so you can adjust. You just feel so full yet so good. Yuta takes the choice from you, pushing into you after a few breaths. Barely two more thrusts and he's stumbling back against the wall with you, using it as support. You gasp loudly when the motion of his hips makes your back rub over the rough wall pasture, clawing your nails into Yutas shoulders. It only spurs him on further and he bucks his hips against yours harder. His hand finds his way from your thigh to your cheek first, then slipping down to your throat. Your whole skin is covered in goose bumps from anticipation. You look at him only to catch a grin on his face that lets you guess he clearly knows what you want from him. You clench around him in protest and he shortly closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself before he starts pushing into you again. He holds your gaze while he finally wraps his hand around your throat enough for you to feel light pressure.

Your body almost immediately reacts and you shudder, Yuta thrusting into you through your shivers. You register how hard you're digging your nails into his skin somewhere at the back if your conscience but he clearly doesn't mind. He keeps hitting that spot inside you so well you're not sure how long you can hold back.

You want to whisper out a strangled tighter but you can't sort your thoughts. When Yutas hand clenches around your throat you realize you probably did so anyway, but your mind is too hazy to comprehend. All you can focus on anymore is Yutas hand wrapped tightly around your throat, quite literally taking your breath away little by little and him thrusting himself into you so hard you're sure you'll have scrape marks of the wall on your back afterwards.

You can feel him twitching inside you and it almost pushes you over that delicious edge. You're so close you're whimpering. He clearly gets it, leaning in, his hot breath fanning your sweaty skin. "Me too. Can you come for me babe?"

You're not capable of answering him, instead clenching around him when he harshly thrusts into you again. Once, twice, and it's enough to add that last bit you needed to topple over the edge.

You're holding onto Yuta, your hand finding purchase on his arms. You can feel the strength leaving your legs while he's pushing you through your orgasm, moving with you until the room is filled with a mix of groans and moans from him.

Yuta holds you up against him for a while, supporting your legs since you clearly don't have the strength to do so anymore. You’re both leaning against the wall to keep yourself upright and it takes a little for you to calm down enough to gently unwrap your legs and stand by yourself.

You hadn't noticed that you had brushed the light switch at some point, wrapping the room in darkness. You fumble for the switch, flipping it back on. The light is almost too bright and Yuta is chuckling, sweating just as much as you, his brown strands sticking to his forehead.

"So... that happened." you state with an awkward laugh, trying to ignore the stickiness between your legs that's getting more and more by the second.

"You okay with that?"

You hadn’t expected the question, your gaze snapping up to catch his. He looks like he really cares about your answer and it catches you off guard once more. "Gosh yes. Yeah. I mean, I love dancing but this was definitely better."

He grins in response, running his finger along your jaw and over your lips, his gaze trailing with it.

"Me too, babe."

The nickname sends a warm, comfortable shiver down your body. You notice how his eyes are drawn to your legs by how your uncomfortable shifting. He bites his lip looking around him before he runs his hand through his sweaty hair. "I have my other clothes in the dressing room I don't really have anything to clean you up with, let me, uhm-"

You lean down with a grin and how lost he seems, pulling your bag close to get the shirt you had packed for dancing. "Somehow I doubt I'll need that. I have a feeling we kind of missed the class."

Yuta laughs so light-heartedly at your words it makes your heart flutter with affection, such an intense feeling of warmth rushing through you you almost forget you have to explain all of this to Seulgi in a couple of minutes.

[billybangssteve-blog]

(Harringrove fanfic) Chapter three

Hawkins, Indiana

March, 1985

Chapter three - The Daymare

In the woods, Steve felt vulnerable. The branches on the looming, skeletal trees always played tricks on his mind, especially in the thin layer of fog that clung to the dewy grass that day. They looked like hands, skinned and bony, and when one would occasionally brush against his skin, it felt cold and wrong. Steve wasn't a vulnerable person, he'd fought monsters from an upside down version of their world for Christ's sake. (Though he couldn't win a fight against a human being). But after it was all over, after he'd dropped all the kids off and returned home, it all kinda just overwhelmed him. He was fine for a moment sitting on the side of his bed, then he just started sobbing hysterically and was shaking so bad it hurt his muscles. 

He told Hopper about it, and Hopper had explained to him it was similar to "Shell Shock". After that and Steve admitting the awful nightmares he'd been getting, Hopper had told him to go to a therapist. The therapist was a guy called Russle Kelly and he'd been recommended by Sam Owens. Russle knew the story and was under the same contract as everyone else who knew about the situation.

Russle had diagnosed him with PTSD, post-taumatic-stress-disorder, and had been given Prozac and Prazosin for medication. Steve was nearly finished with his psychotherapy and would start his 6 to 8 weeks of Cognitive behavioural therapy in a few more weeks.

Steve didn't understand why the experience had effected him so fucking badly. Nancy and Johnathan had been through just as bad, but they only seemed to get the occasional nightmare. Will was even doing better than him, and thank God for that.

It was like he'd taken all the trauma that they'd suffered onto his shoulders; and, if he was being honest , he'd have it no other way. Cause if they were happy, Steve had a reason to be happy. Billy helped a lot. When he'd wake up screaming and crying and punching in the night, Billy was always there to comfort him.

When they arrived at Castle Byers, Steve was a little nervous. He'd walked at the back of the group, his nail riddled bat spinning in his hand. Dustin was holding onto the two cans of paint, Lucas carrying the tool box and Eleven was bearing a cardboard box filled with trinkets and photos and materials. (Several times Mike had suggested to hold it for her, only for El to shake her head dismissively).

"Here we are, Castle Byers!" Steve announced, shaking the anxiousness of monsters away and allowing the delight to warm him. They cheered gleefully and immediently they began to work on the fort. Steve assisted them with the hammering after Dustin hit his thumb with the hammer. (He'd wrapped Dustin's red thumb in a blue pokodot plaster, he'd kept the packet they'd slipped in his pocket after the fight).

Lucas and Max repainted the signs, Eleven sewed the curtains and American flag back to perfection (she'd been practising) and Mike, Dustin and Will filled in the holes in the walls of the castle. Steve watched for the first twenty minutes, helped out with the building periodically before he decided to join El with the sewing. He knew how to sew, his grandmother, Matilda, had taught him when he basically lived with her.

He pretty much lived with Matilda and Phil, his grandfather, from the age of 4 to the age of 13. His parents had dropped him off with them the minute he started walking and probally would've continued to live with them if Matilda hadn't died and Phil hadn't gone looney. His mom had said that to him, and that's when Steve realised he really hated his parents.

Steve had pricked himself twice, deep and quick stabs that drew blood from his middle and pinky finger. El had patched him up two flower plastas.

"Billy said he loved you," Eleven reminded him happily and Steve looked up from the dirty white curtains, he chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, he did.... I mean I've always known he's loved me, it's just actually hearing is so.... real? I don't know, like everything is just so..." Steve pauses and bites his lip.

"Clear," She filled in the gap with a pink smile and Steve nodded, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

"What... What do think... his friends are like?" El asked in broken English, Steve shrugged as he began to stitch a rip in the curtains together.

"Well, they sound nice enough. They support me and Billy so that's a good thing, and Billy says their pretty cool," Steve replied as he threaded the material, but the end of the silver thread had slipped through the eye of the needle. He got up on his feet and turned around to get more thread from the box, but he tripped an arched stick and fell to the ground.

The second his face made contact with the leaf strewn ground, the world flipped.

Steve scrambled to his feet and he became still, like a statue with a pulse in his neck. Steve was in the Upside Down. He was still standing before Castle Byers in the forest and everything looked fucked. The sky was a malevolent black, the shadows in the trees swooned around him like wraiths and vines, thick and rotten, were splayed on the dead floor like the earth's veins. A terrible coldness swept across Steve and he looked around desperately, fear sinking into his chest.

He turned to the fort and his heart was no long in his chest, it was in his throat. The curtains at the entrance were shredded and stained in blood, like a wild animal had attacked it. The ground from his feet to Castle Byers was like a path, like someone had been dragged across the ground. Against his better judgment, he slowly stalked towards the entrance to the fort and his heart was beating like a running rabbit in his throat.

Curling his fingers around the edge of the curtain, Steve held his breath and threw it to the side with a pause of his heart. He stumbled inside at the snap of a twig and the fort seemed like the side of room.

And there it was: the Demogorgon. At first it just stood there, swaying like a drunkard, dried blood stained it's faceless head and it's arm stretched out towards him. Long, scythe like fingers caked in crimson lightly grazing the skin on his cheeks.

Slowly, it's face began to open like a blooming flower and the maroon crust of dried blood flaked off. The fanged-petals fanned out, a black hole leading down it's gullet like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland, leading him to a Hellish dimension.

It roared. He screamed.

......

Billy, Bobby and Ginny heard the scream that tore through the woods.  It was shocking, scary and blood-curdling. And it didn't stop.

Billy didn't hesitate to start sprinting through the collums of trees, and Bobby and Ginny followed hastily. They chased towards the screams, those horrendous shrieks of pure terror that was making Billy's heart shatter. Because he knew that was Steve screaming, but he'd never heard Steve so fucking scared and that terrified him.

"Steve!" He yelled desperately, the response he got was more screaming and the sound of the kids, calling out to Steve as well. When they saw the outlines of the kids, the fort and Steve in the fog, they charged faster towards them.

Steve was stood with his back against a tree and was pointing his bat at something invisible in front of him. It wasn't the kids, his wide eyes were staring at some invisible thing that was 8 feet tall and probally absolutely terrifying. Bobby and Ginny came to a stop while Billy ran in front of Steve.

"Billy! Be careful!" Max called as Steve swung at Billy, he jumped back and Steve cried and shrieked.

"Steve, listen to me! Calm down, it's alright!" Billy's attempt to calm Steve down only seemed to make him go ballistic.

"Go away! It'll kill you!"

The brunette raised the bat behind his head and brought it down to the ground, hysterical and almost falling to his knees. Billy caught him, hands cupping the sides of Steve's face and he noticed how wide his eyes were. Two black orbs with thin brown rings circling them. It was scaring him. Big tears streamed down Steve's face, that was deathly pale, and his chin and lips quivered.

"Steve, can you hear me? I'm here Steve, I'm here... It's okay," Billy spoke soothingly and brushed his thumb over Steve's cheek. The pupils in Steve's eyes slowly shrunk and Steve seemed to be finally see reality, that fear still their but less than before.

"B-Billy?" Steve sputtered quietly, relief washed over Billy and he sighed, nodding.

"Yeah it's me, I've got you, It's alright Princess, I've got you," Billy responded softly.

"The kids? Where are the-"

"They're fine. Steve, they're fine," the two sank to their knees, cause Steve had basically no strength in his legs left, and began to sob uncontrollably into Billy's shoulder. The blond stroked his hair and kissed his neck, he was trembling in Billy's arms and he felt so cold.

"Easy Princess, you're okay and the kids are okay, you just need to breathe, alright? Can you do that for me, Darlin'?" Steve struggled at first, coughing and wailing for a minute before he was quiet and breathing deeply.

"There we go... there we go, you're doing great, Steve," Billy smiled, and he looked up to see everyone watching. The kids looked worried and frightful and Bobby and Ginny looked freaked the fuck out and concerned and confused. 

"What happened?" He asked, Steve was basically catatonic, and Dustin shrugged.

"I don't know. He like tripped or something and then he stood up and looked freak the Hell out. He didn't respond to us and then walked over to the fort and just started screaming!" Dustin explained, panicky and afraid, and looked like he was about to cry.

"He got his bat and just- God it was fucking terrifying dude, he just started swinging at something! It was like he was having a nightmare but awake- a Daymare" Lucas exclaimed frantically and Billy licked his lips and compressed them together, breathing out. Will stepped forward a little.

"It was like when I had my episodes, I'd be doing something then I would just be there," Will said quietly, Mike and Lucas nodded in agreement.

"But why would it happen to Steve?" Max questioned and everyone remained silent, showing that they did not know the answer to that question.

"You should take him home, we'll stay here and finish-" Steve seemed to spring to life at Lucas's statement and looked scared again.

"No! I'm staying here, I'm not letting any of you out my sight!" He declared shakily, Steve attempted to stand up but feel back down into Billy's arms.

"Steve's place. It's safe," Eleven said suddenly and Billy nodded. 

"I agree, leave all this shit here and let's go,"