#have some boots n bombs for the meantime

[gumnut-logic]

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and...

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

V.T. Green (one of my absolute favourites :D)

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[apex-academy]

Chapter 3: Down Down Down and the Flames Went Higher (#27)

Shockingly, no one gets into trouble for a good twenty-four hours. We must all be looking forward to the concert. 

Those of us who are going, at least. Though I’m sure Otoya appreciates the chance to run around in public spaces while everyone else is occupied.

I make my own lunch—by which I mean instant ramen—since Yuki’s busy getting ready for tonight. Now that I think about it, I guess I won’t be eating during intermission. Hopefully the food won’t be ice-cold by the time the concert’s over. Hopefully Kanagi actually leaves some for me, too.

The concert schedule is pinned to the bulletin board behind me. 6:00 start, 7:30 intermission, 8:00 second half start, end by 9:30. Cutting it a little close to nighttime, but Tamiko can refuse an encore if it’s a matter of life and death. And it’s not like she has to clean up for the next act.

A three-hour concert, huh? Let’s hope nobody gets bored. With the Super High School Level Country Music Artist heading it up, maybe that won’t be an issue.

That being said, there’s nothing new to fend off boredom in the meantime. But I manage. Before 6:00 arrives, I step into the auditorium. Might as well give the place a good look while the house lights are on.

I clear a few rows before I’m caught.

“Hey, Kakumi!”

“Ya ready and rarin’ to go?”

She takes a seat at the edge of the stage, her legs dangling.

“Something like that. Can’t be as fired up as you are.”

She laughs.

“Yea, that’s fair.”

“So, everything’s good with you, then?”

“Aw, I ain’t ‘boutta get nervous with this li’l crowd.”

“Right.”

“...That ain’t whatcha meant, was it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, people still been talkin’, but...”

“That’s all it is. Talkin’. Arthur ain’t that kinda guy.”

The guy that can’t take anything seriously isn’t the kind of guy to cheat on his relationships. If you say so? Better than everyone’s feelings getting hurt, I guess. Maybe I should talk to Arthur myself... But he’s busy with backstage stuff, isn’t he? I won’t pester him.

Especially not right in front of Tamiko.

We wrap up the small talk, and I resume scouring the place. Everything seems normal. No tripwires, or suspicious holes in the wall, or bombs strapped to the undersides of the seats. That’s always good.

What else? Trying to pat everyone down as they come in would be excessive, partly because I don’t even know how you’re supposed to find stuff that way. I just try to get a good look at everyone as I welcome them in. No one seems overly shifty or has obvious knife-shaped bulges in their sleeves. 

I pick a good standing-room-only spot in the back just in time for the lights to go down.

“All right, y’all! Let’s get this party started!”

I’m pretty sure she gets less of an answering cheer than she expected, but she launches into the first song regardless. “Muddy Creek, Muddy Boots.” Not her biggest hit, but big enough I know the chorus without having paid much attention to it.

From there we get into a variety of songs I do and don’t recognize. Some guitar solos, Tsunyasha zipping by to adjust chairs and such when Tamiko stops for a swig of water. No one back here has made any suspicious moves or noises. I’m not sure Yuki’s still awake, though.

I’m actually glad I have work to do. I’d get bored if I was just sitting listening to music. It’s always been more of a background kind of thing to me.

Then again, wish I didn’t have to worry about people murdering each other right in front of me.

Or behind me. Who all didn’t show? Itsurou, Otoya, and Aki. I doubt Itsurou would get up to anything with such an obvious lack of alibi, and Otoya and Aki want to keep to themselves for the most part. I don’t think the money tempts them, not really. Haven’t seen it in their eyes, at least. I may not be the Super High School Level expert on reading people, but I know I can get that much.

Tamiko’s out of breath by the time the house lights come back on and make me squint.

“All right, everybody! Let’s go an’ grab us somethin’ to eat.”

That’s all the prompting Kanagi needs. I can’t get out of her way fast enough. Maybe she’ll investigate the room in advance.

“Doubt that’s her intention.”

The others leave at a more manageable pace, Arthur and Tsunyasha included. Only Tamiko is left after Yuki wanders into the hallway. She stays perched on the little stool up there for a minute.

“Whew. Really need me a breather.”

“I can imagine.”

“Doing great so far, though.”

“Thanks, hon!”

“ ‘Fraid I ain’t gonna meet y’all in the coffee shop just yet. This string’s a little sketchier than I thought, so I’m gonna run ‘n' switch it out.“

“Might lounge around my study hall the rest a’ the time instead, honestly.”

“You’ve earned it. I’m sure someone can bring you food if you ask.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t wanna spill it in there.”

“Thanks for everythin’, though, Kakumi. I promise the second half of the concert’ll be just as good as the first.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

With that, she steps outside, leaving me alone in the auditorium. Don’t think I could miss anyone coming back, so I might as well make sure the seats are still normal.

As I wander around, I can hear the hubbub cropping up next door. It’s definitely muffled, though. Still doesn’t sound like any kind of altercation from here. Probably just hollering about the food. Kinda wish that was me right now.

I can’t find anything weird in here. I zip backstage a few times to check it out, too, but there aren’t any good places for someone to hide. Nothing else particularly weird. 

No one comes back in until around 7:50. By then I’m already back at the main set of doors.

“Kogamino.”

I nod back.

“Finished eating already?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be late.”

“I don’t think you’re in much danger of that.”

He picks out his seat regardless. Guess he’s just going to sit there for ten minutes. Worse things he could be doing.

The door opens again.

“I missed it!”

I step out of her way.

“Missed what? The intermission? There’s a few minutes left if you want to grab something.”

“I missed half the concert...”

“Half of it’s still left. What were you doing?”

“Napping.”

“Ah. It happens.”

She stands awkwardly to the side, probably waiting to make sure she doesn’t take someone else’s spot. Arthur and Tsunyasha come in... and then everyone else at once. I stumble back.

“Whoa! Try not to trample each other.”

Kanagi elbows whoever’s closest. Kaichi, apparently.

“Like, seriously.”

“What’s the hurry?”

Ichiriki sighs dramatically.

“We were rushed back by la hermosa voz.”

“Best to be in place lest the concert go long. I would so hate for anything to happen to one of you beauties.”

“...”

With that, the rest of them take their seats. Or at least mill about the aisle a little before actually sitting down. I think we lost Yuki somewhere along the way. Probably decided to put up everything from intermission. The kitchen does close at nighttime, too.

Tamiko doesn’t come through the front doors, but the house lights dim nonetheless. Only moments later...

“Alllll right~! We ready for the next round?”

Sounds like she got enough of a breather, finicky guitar string or otherwise. Presumably she fixed it, because her opener sounds fine. I wonder which song she’s reserving for the encore. Or is she planning an encore? I’m not sure what the standard is here.

The first song closes, and she ducks her head backstage as the applause dies down. After a brief chat I can’t hear, she soldiers back to her little stool with the same smile. No real problems, apparently. The background music starts up, and she sings.

She makes it to the first chorus before I hear crackling.

I take another look at the room, but nothing seems strange. Was that just the speakers? But it doesn’t seem to change with the music.

Then I hear a thump.

“...”

I scan the audience, but the headcount is the same. Outside?

I take a sideways step towards the exit and grit my teeth. Do I leave my post? Or was that just something to distract me? 

But shouldn’t the concert be distraction enough? I’ll take the chance.

I crack the door open but don’t see anything. The crackling is louder. It sounds like some small things are still falling. With one last glance over my shoulder, I charge out. It’s warm, but nothing seems off...

...until I turn to see the coffee shop burning.

[BACK] [NEXT]

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Adventures in Parenting: One Shot - The Return

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Nikki Evans (OFC)

Rating: PG

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Chris, Nikki and the boys watching the return game of #12.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Chris & Nikki One Shots & Shorts Masterlist | Chris & Nikki Masterlist

The Return

October 9, 2016

Nikki smiled as she saw Josh steal a glance towards the hallway, knowing he was looking for his daddy. She had kept the boys busy all morning doing quiet activities, including an earlier than usual nap, knowing they'd want to watch football when Chris finally got out of bed.

A nasty virus had made an unwelcome visit to their house during the past week, starting with the boys before making its way around to her and then finally Chris. He'd been in bed all day yesterday and she had let him sleep more this morning, knowing he would be up to watch the game whether he felt up to it or not.

"Is it time, mommy?" Josh asked.

Nikki glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 12:30, the time she'd told Josh they would go wake up Chris. "It is time," she nodded. "Do you want to go wake up daddy?"

Josh nodded and put down the crayon he was coloring with. Nikki helped him down off the chair and watched as he softly tiptoed down the hall to her and Chris's room. She heard him knock on the door, like they had practiced, before he pushed the door, which was already ajar, open all the way.

"Daddy?" Josh whispered as he entered the room. He tiptoed over to the bed and saw Chris's arm hanging off the bed. He gave it a soft tug. "Daddy, wake up. It's Tom Brady Day."

Chris opened his eyes and smiled. "Tom Brady Day?" he repeated, hoarsely.

"Uh huh," Josh nodded. "He's back, daddy! He's back!"

Chris chuckled then coughed. He glanced at the clock and saw that Nikki had given him time to shower. "I'll be out soon, buddy," he told his son. "You ready for the game?"

"Yup!" Josh exclaimed. "Mommy and Aiden too."

"Good," Chris said, he coughed again. "Go find the perfect spot on the couch."

"Ok!" Josh replied, before leaving the room and returning to the open concept kitchen, living and dining room. Instead of rejoining his mom and younger brother who were at the dinner table, he climbed onto the couch.

"What are you doing, Joshy?" Nikki asked as she watched him wiggle on one couch cushion before sliding over to check out another one.

"Finding the best spot," Josh replied. "Like Daddy said to."

"Me too! Me too!" Aiden cried out.

"You silly boys," Nikki shook her head. She picked Aiden up and carried him over to the couch. She put the 17-month-old down next to his three-year-old brother and watched as they searched for the best seats in the house. The family dogs, Boston and Max, followed them into the living room and laid down on their beds.

Both boys were dressed for the game. Aiden in a pair of footie pajamas that looked like a Patriots' uniform with the number '00' on it. Josh was wearing a pair of grey sweats and a t-shirt that had the body of a football player on the front and the back. Nikki herself was wearing a pair of grey leggings and a Patriots' hoodie.

Hearing a deep cough behind her, Nikki turned and smiled when she saw Chris coming into the room slowly. He was dressed in a pair of sweats and his Brady #12 shirt. He had a bit more color in his face today, but there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Take a seat with the monkeys and I'll get you some soup," she told him.

Chris nodded and walked over to the couch, grabbing the TV remote as he passed it. "Which seat is the best?" he asked his voice still hoarse.

"That one," Josh pointed at the corner seat that Chris always sat in on Sunday mornings. "I saved it for you."

"Thanks buddy," Chris smiled as he sat down. He reached over the side of the couch and brought up the footrest. "You guys ready for this game?"

Josh nodded enthusiastically and Aiden mimicked his older brother.

"Who's the best quarterback in the world?" Chris asked as he turned the TV on.

"TOM BRADY!" Josh shouted.

"TOM BADY!" Aiden echoed.

"And who is mommy's favorite football player?" Nikki asked as she carried a mug of hot soup over for Chris.

"EDDYMAN!" Aiden exclaimed.

"It's Edelman, Aiden," Josh shook his head. "He can't say it right."

"That's ok," Nikki smiled as she handed both boys their Patriots' sippy cups with water in them. "He's still learning."

"How are you feeling?" Chris asked as Nikki sat down on the other end of the couch. "I heard you this morning…"

"I feel better now," she assured him. She wasn't sure what had made her throw up that morning. At first she had written it off as part of the part of the virus, but none of her boys had thrown up from it and she hadn't had symptoms for a couple days. Really there were only two other options: she'd eaten something her body didn't agree with or she was pregnant.

"Good," Chris nodded. The look he gave her told her he had his own suspicions about it.

"Look, Daddy! Tom Brady!" Josh exclaimed pulling their attention back to the TV.  "He's the bestest."

"Bady," Aiden echoed.

The game started with the Patriots kicking off to the Browns. Their first possession ended with a punt that without a return.

"17 seasons," Chris said as Brady ran out onto the field. "It's about f- freaking time!" He censored himself.

"EDDYMAN!" Aiden shouted when Tom's first pass found Edelman.

The 17-month-old then shocked all three of them when he yelled, "GRONK!" when the tight end ran the ball.

"Well at least he knows one name," Chris chuckled before coughing.

They all cheered as LeGarrette Blount ran the ball into the end zone for the first touchdown of the game. Aiden surprised them again by celebrating the touchdown by jumping on the couch.

"Ok, you monkey," Nikki laughed scooping him up. She put him down on the ground and he continued his touchdown celebration. "Someone is certainly feeling better."

Aiden had been the first of the four of them to get sick and that had been a week ago. Josh had gotten sick the next day and he still hadn't recaptured his normal energy levels either.

Looking over at her oldest son, she smiled when she saw him snuggled up against Chris's side. He would nod his head in agreement when Chris would say something and occasionally would vocalize his agreement.

The Browns' second possession resulted in a touchdown and an extra point, tying the game at seven.

The Patriots' started their second possession on their own 25 yard line and drove all the way to the end zone with help from Brady, Edelman ("EDDYMAN!"), Blount, and White. It was Martellus Bennett, who'd left the field injured during the Patriots' first possession and returned for the second, who had finally walked in for the score.

Chris pumped his fist in the air and let out hoarse "YES!" when the Browns' third possession resulted in a two point Safety for the Patriots and meant that they got the ball back. Josh copied his dad and Chris ruffled his hair.

Chris jumped off the couch, and had to grab Josh to keep him from tumbling off the couch, when Brady completed a 43 yard pass to Hogan. He gave Josh a big hug as they both cheered and then sat back down on the couch. His celebration was followed by a coughing fit and he was more subdued in his cheer when the Patriots got the ball into the end zone.

The Browns' punted the ball on their next possession and the Patriots turned the ball over on downs after failing to get into the end zone following a 63 yard bomb to Hogan. Chris and Josh both groaned in frustration as Blount was tackled for a loss.

The next three possessions, two for the Browns' and one for the Patriot's, resulted in punts. The Patriots' final possession of the half resulted in a missed field goal.

"Dang it!" Chris sighed, crossing his arms.

"Dang it!" Josh copied his dad, pose and all.

"Dang it!" Aiden echoed from the floor where he played with a toy, his back to his dad and brother.

Nikki shook her head and laughed.

The half ended with an incomplete pass for the Browns' and the halftime report show came on.

"Why don't you two take a nap," Nikki suggested looking at Chris and Josh. They were both into the game, but their eyes, especially Josh's, were drooping. "I'll wake you two up as soon as the second half starts."

"Good idea," Chris nodded. He muted the TV and then laid his head back against the couch cushions. Josh resisted for a minute, but relaxed into Chris's body.

"Let's take the doggies outside, Aiden," Nikki suggested. She picked him up and carried him into the kitchen with the dogs following them. She helped him put on his rubber boots and then opened the door for him and the dogs to go outside. He ran around the yard and the dogs eventually joined him after taking care of business.

She let them play for a bit longer before she called them into the house. She told the dogs to wipe off their feet then knelt down to help Aiden take off his boots. She then made a cup of hot tea for Chris and returned to the living room just as coverage switched back to the game.

"Ok, sleepyheads, the game is back," she said as Aiden resumed playing with his toys.

Chris and Josh both yawned and stretched as they woke up. Chris accepted the cup of hot tea and nodded his thanks to her.

They were both too groggy to do much celebrating as the Patriots' first possession of the second half resulted in a touchdown. By the time Patrick Chung intercepted a pass for the Patriots', they were both awake and cheering.

The Patriots' second and third possessions as well as the Browns' second all resulted in punts. The Browns scored a touchdown on their next possession, but failed on their attempt for a two point conversion. The Patriots' next drive resulted in a field goal.

It was as their cheers were quieting that Aiden climbed back onto the couch, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He crawled into Nikki's arms and settled against her chest. He fell asleep as the game came to an uneventful end with three more punts (two for the Patriots and one for the Browns) and the Browns gave the ball up on a loss of downs.

"Happy?" Nikki asked Chris as he smiled as the game ended.

"Very," Chris nodded. "Brady is back."

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

[softboywriting]

Nurse!Shawn

A/N: Anyway i had a hot nurse today at my appointment and my brain sort of went to Shawn and yeah....hot nurse!shawn. So here’s some cute fluffy nurse!shawn. Please enjoy ♥

You’re sat in the waiting room of your dermatologist's office, picking at something you dripped on your pants during lunch. It looks like dried ranch dressing. Probably is. The waiting room is too big, too clean, too modern, too warm. It’s too much everything. You hate it. It’s both modern and sterile. A uncomfortable mix for you. You look around at the other patients waiting to see the doctors. There three teen girls who has terrible acne and an older man who looks like he’s about to fall asleep. The TV plays the TLC channel and there is some show on about flea markets. You’re trying to get into it but you just can’t. It’s dumb and you’re too anxious about your appointment.

Ever since your aunt was diagnosed with skin cancer last year your mom has been on your case about getting a skin check. From a young age you had a lot of little moles all over your body and you never thought anything about them. Until your aunt was diagnosed and went through treatment for a misshapen mole on her thigh. It was awful but they got it taken care of. You didn’t want to possibly have something like that happen to you, but the thought of having someone see you basically naked and inspect you was almost as bad. It had been a month since your mom started harping on you about getting a check and every time you would find some excuse. But then you noticed the mole under your arm looked a little larger than normal and maybe a little darker? You decided it was time to suck it up and get checked.

So here you are, in this office waiting to be called back. You wish they would just hurry up already. Two nurses had already called two of the other girls back. Surely you would be next. As if on cue the doors to the back offices opens and a tall guy walks out in black scrubs and talks to the receptionist for a moment. You look up at the sound of the door opening and you swallow thickly. The guy standing chatting with the nurse was drop dead gorgeous, you were across the room and you could see just how fine he was. A well trained body and a head of thick messy wavy brown hair, he was like a dream come true. Suddenly you were hoping you weren’t next. Please not yet. Not with him.

The guy looks up and calls out your name. Fuck. You stand and take a deep breath, walking over to him, he smiles and says your name again, gesturing you to walk into the hall. “How’re you doing today?” he asks politely as he guides you down the hall.

“I-I’m fine. Good. Busy...y’know.”

He chuckles and leads you into an exam room. “Busy is good. Makes the day pass quicker.”

“Mmmhmm,” you hum as you take a seat on the exam table.

“I’m Shawn,” he sits down on a small rolling stool and it’s almost comical how huge he is compared to it. You can’t help but notices how the fabric of his scrubs pulls taut over his thighs. It shouldn’t be that sexy but it is. He holds a hand out to you and you take it weakly and shake it. “I’m Dr. Pearson’s nurse today. I’m just going to ask you a few questions before the doctor comes in.”

“Alright,” you say as your eyes wander around the room. It’s small as most exam rooms are. There are two big windows with the blinds down, a random piece of art on the wall and some kind of fancy hand soap on the back of the small wash sink. You look at anything to avoid staring at the actual god in front of you typing away on a laptop with his too big hands. Lord, was there nothing big about this guy? No. Nope. You were not going down that path right now.

“Okay so you’re allergic to cephalosporins, correct?”

You snap out of you thoughts and blink a few times before saying, “Yes. Yeah, I am.”

“Are you currently on any medications?”

“No.”

“And how tall are you?” Shawn looks over with a little smile as you answer and then back to his computer. He asks for your weight and you almost choke as you tell him because he chuckles as he types it in. He knows just how attractive he is and how it’s fucking with your head. “Alright and you’re here for a skin check today?”

“Y-yeah.” You shift nervously on the table and he glances over.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like the doctor to be made aware of?”

“I have a mole under my arm that seems bigger. I was worried about it so I made the appointment.”

Shawn hums and types in what you’ve said. “Do you have any sores, cuts or open wounds today?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Perfect. Alright let me get you a gown,” he says as he stands up and goes to a drawer and starts digging through the thin cloth tie on medical gowns. He turns around and you must look like you’re about to pass out or something because he reaches out and lays a hand on your shoulder, giving a concerned look. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m just really nervous,” you laugh, voice breaking because you’re about to cry. That was the worst thing about when you got really nervous or anxious. You cried. It was a shitty natural response and you hated it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, it’s okay. What’s got you so nervous?” Shawn asks, laying the gown on the exam table beside you. “Are you afraid something’s wrong?”

You nod and clench your jaw to bite back the tears. “I’m nervous about being seen mostly naked and my aunt had skin cancer so I’m really worried it could happen to me. Also I’ve got all these stupid moles all over me. I’m like a walking time bomb for cancer or something.” You swallow hard and pinch one of the little flat moles on your forearm. “Ugly little spot just waiting to infect me.”

Shawn smooths his hand over the place you pinched, eyes trained on the dark little birthmark in the bend of your arm and you look up at him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he says softly and you pull your sleeve down a little to hide the birthmark. You hated that thing. It was so dark and ugly. “I can’t promise anything about your moles, obviously. I’m not a doctor, just a nurse. But I can promise the exam is quick and you’ll be back in your clothes in no time.” He puts his hand on your shoulder once more and gives a little encouraging squeeze, thumb rubbing back and forth over your collarbone. It’s so tender and intimate and you can’t help the blush that rises on your cheeks again. He pats the gown before saying the doctor would be in shortly to see you and leaving with a cheeky little smile.

The door clicks closed and you stand there processing that clearly flirtatious interaction before you start to undress. First your shirt, then your socks and shoes, your pants, you pause and you look at the gown and take a deep breath before you take off your bra, leaving your underwear on. The gown is pretty easy to tie closed and you take a seat on the table. The doctor comes in and the exam is quick like Shawn promised, your doctor moving quickly from mole to mole and moving your gown as needed. The doctor says none of your moles look like anything to worry about and that they are perfectly normal. She is worried about the dry patches on your elbows and knees though. You tell her they’ve been like that most of your life and you try to keep them lotioned but it doesn’t always seem to help. She asks you some more questions about the dry patches and says it looks like it may be mild eczema. She says she will prescribe something for you to try and in the meantime you could have some samples of creams to help with dryness.

Shortly after the doctor leaves and you start to dress yourself, the door handle clicks as if it’s opening and you spin around, standing there without a shirt on. “I’m not ready!” you squeak and the door stops.

“Sorry! Sorry I forgot to knock. I’ll wait!” Shawn says from the other side.

You pull your shirt on and fumble with your boots. “I’m covered now. You can come in.”

Shawn opens and door and his cheeks are rosy pink as he looks at you. “I’m so sorry. I know better than to just open doors.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckle softly and he holds out a little purple plastic bag with the business’s name on it.

“Dr. Pearson said these were for you to try. There is a few different lotion samples and I think a body wash sample,” Shawn says as you take the bag. “I hope everything turned out okay for you.”

“It did, thank you. I just have normal moles and dry knees,” you laugh and he laughs with you. He runs a hand through his hair and you have to look away because the simple gesture is far hotter than it has any right being. “Thank you. You were right about it being quick. Now I have a piece of mind until my next check up.”

Shawn smiles and you feel your heart melt. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again. We, we’ll look forward to seeing you again.” His cheeks turn that rosy color once more. You can’t help but bite your lip and look down at his little slip of the tongue. “I’ll show you out,” he says, hand on your lower back as he guides you out of the exam room and toward the exit door to the lobby.

“Thanks...again,” you giggle as he waves goodbye to you.

Once you’re in your car you open up the little purple bag and pour the samples out. There are three different creams for the dryness and the body wash Shawn mentioned. There are some little flyers for laser hair removal and other services offered by the dermatology office. Among the papers is a little blank appointment card with a phone number scrawled across the front over the doctor’s name and phone number. You look up at the office and back to the card. Your heart leaps into your throat.

You type the number into your phone and hit the message button to send a text.

Is this who I think it is?

Do you think it’s Shawn?

Because it is.

i think your birthmark is cute btw. U shouldnt hide it. Its heart shaped right?

You let out a scream in your car. You can’t believe he gave you his number. You’re sure it was probably against some rules somewhere or something but right now you didn’t care. The fact you got his number was unbelievable.

Yes kind of but its not cute its ugly

No its not

youre lucky im into you

dont you know you could have gotten in trouble doing this

But i didnt. Our little secret?

sure but only if you promise me dinner

Tonight? 7? meet me at Alfredos?

Deal

Thanks for reading~♥

[shadowfaximpala]

Halo on Fire

MASTERLIST

Summary: The boys had kept you safe for long enough, but anything with an essence for the unusual eventually breaks loose, but this time the break is permanent. A blood spell gone awry awakens dormant powers, as you struggle to come to terms with the flood gates bursting you find yourself attached to a certain demon who oozes charisma and sass…

Tags: Reader Insert, Female Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Crowley. Castiel, Multi-Chapter fic

Pairing: Reader!Nephilim x Crowley

Warnings: Language

Notes: I’ve been busting my arse off at work but I’m finally catching up on my writing. I’m glad I managed to finish this chapter, I’m sorry if it seems like filler at the moment but it’s heating up in the next few chapters I promise! Stay tuned. 

Chapter Three

Halo on fire, The midnight knows it well.

Fast is desire, creates another hell.

The impala sped off down the long deserted road; The sun hung low in the sky signalling the dawning of a new day, greeting the early risers with a warm glow resonating off the earth below.

Bon Jovi played swiftly through the speakers, not too loud as to distract from conversation but just enough that you could hear the crisp riffs and clean singing. You tapped your foot to the tune, Dean was singing off key in the front.

“Oh man I’m starving. We should grab some groceries while we’re out. Y/N you're in charge of food this week, I’d rather die than eat kale and whatever the hell else Sammy stuffed in the refrigerator.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I'm with you on that one,” you agreed. “Don't worry Sam I’ll make sure your disgusting health needs are met.”

“Y/N, tinned beans and chocolate aren't healthy, just so you know.” There was a playful tone to Sam’s voice.

“Actually my human friend, Beans are full of fibre!” You retorted with added enthusiasm. “And dark chocolate is healthy for the mind!” You could taste the delicious delicacy on your tongue, it made you salivate just thinking about it.

“Not if you eat a whole king size bar,” the lanky Winchester snorted.

“Oh cram it Colossus. It's good for your menstral cramps,” you jested. You could hear Dean howl with laughter, even Castiel had a wry smile on his face, looking like he understood that reference.

The diner was laid out in waiting, just screaming for the whole kitchen to be decimated by three hungry creatures and a fully fledged angel.

“Oh my god,” you groaned and you inhaled the scent of maple syrup and sugary pancake goodness. You made a quick start for the counter, the boys following you with less exuberance in their step but still a sense of urgency to cram as much down their throats as possible.

You all ordered the pancake special, Dean ordered a side of cherry pie to accompany his gluttonous portion.

Before the order arrived Sam had already begin trifling through the local newspaper, Castiel throwing around awkward glances at everyone eating. You knew he missed the rich taste of food...

“Sucks to be you,” you delicately patted castiel on the shoulder without thinking, suddenly in a wave of cascading unpleasantness burst the seams, the barrier was broken again, you couldn't let go as the pain, hurt, anger, confusion, aggression and unwavering hope hurtled through your brain, more intense than the last time. You could hear shouts in the background, almost as if the voices were in another room entirely and the world grew black with tints of blinding blue resonating in flashes every few seconds.

You passed out, stumbling not so gracefully off your chair and onto the diner floor, when you came to you were greeted with three concerned faces, without thinking Dean reached down to help you up.

The worst crash of all beat relentlessly against you, if they kept this up there was no doubt that you were going to break.

Fear, guilt, grief, sadness beyond anything that was humanly possible. Dean was certainly edges and knives inside, a time bomb waiting to explode at any moment. A white hot heat blossomed from your forehead, spreading across your body like a roaring fire until all remnants of those dark feelings dissipated into a hidden void.

You blinked your eyes open, unaware of what on earth just happened, slowly sitting you you took in your surroundings. You were still at the diner, judging by the three men crowding around you, you had been out for a few minutes.

“If any of you touch me again I'm going to chop off your fucking fingers.” You groaned, picking yourself up off the floor.

“I've drained some of your excess power for now, you didn’t put up a fight this time since you were passed out,” Castiel spoke in a hushed tone. “You’ll still feel people's emotions, but just not as intensely as before. For a few days at the very least.” You breathed a sigh of relief. You didn’t want to experience that shit-show any time soon.

Feeling even more drained than before you ordered an additional plate of pancakes as your delicious food was thrust in front of you. Wasting no time you scoffed them down with expert speed, explicit noises leaving your mouth from the purely divine taste, earning bemused smiles from the brothers beside you. It suddenly occurred to you following your earlier thought process, Castiel couldn't eat, what if one of your seals had that awful taint hidden beneath? Could you possibly live without tasting pancakes again? You shuddered at the thought, deciding to slow down and delicately taste the food, appreciating every morsel of flavour that entered your senses.

Morning dwindled on into afternoon, you had collected all sorts of junk food and organic produce to take back to the bunker, it sat wrapped in brown bags in the boot along with a heavy arsenal of weaponry and a devil’s trap in the boot of the Impala.

The engine revved into the bunker garage, Dean turned the key and all of you hopped out, rushing to your door to open it for you. You glared at him for showing any display of kindness, you felt weak at that moment. Having shared all their emotional roller coasters even for a brief moment you wanted to lie down in your darkened room and erase the cognitive mess and destruction floating around your mind.

“Guys I’m totally beat, I’m going to hit the hay for a while and snooze it off,” Castiel looked at you as though you were talking in an old ancient language he had never heard before. “I’m going to bed,” you clarified.

“Okay, well I’m assuming you all have enough food provisions to sustain you for long enough, in the meantime I’m going to do a little more research on what’s causing the influx of power, get as much rest as you can.” You nodded your head as he flew away in haste, leaving you alone with Sam and Dean.

“Are all angels that formal?” You groaned. Dean smiled, Sam chuckled lightly.

“Be thankful he’s not as big of a dick as some of them.” Dean offered.

“I’ve only met a handful of my wonderful uncles and aunts, all of which tried to assassinate me.” You beamed at the Winchesters. “Right bed time. If I have any night terrors, stay the hell away from me or wear some heavy duty gloves or something to shake me, I don’t wanna be inside either of those fucked up pretty heads for as long as I can manage.” You trotted off into the bunker and down the halls to your room, growing weary with each and every step until you finally collided with your bed, your head crashed against the pillow as sleep overtook you.

Endless black a hue of red, it felt like you had been lost in this void before but something was different, it didn’t seem as entirely hopeless and bleak as before. Awash with a new sense of longing you ventured towards the crimson light that flickered helplessly, your fingers reached out to touch the glowing ember, your fingers trembled as your reach grew closer. Despite the warmth of colour it felt cold to the touch, like a marble on a winter night, as soon as your fingers glazed over the cool beam of energy you could feel a sense of warmth radiate from the core, seconds passed the darkness surrounding you growing lighter with each tick of time.

Like a stone thrown into water, ripples extending out wards, tendrils of desire crept in, fierce and dark and oh so sinful, it spread through you like liquid fire. You awoke panting and laden in sweat, you bolted upright to be met with darkness. You hastily reach for the lamp on your nightstand, terrified you were still trapped in the hell driven nightmare.

You were startled as a dark figure sat with one leg crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey in his hand, a bored expression fixed to his face as he inspected the glass.

“Fucking hell Crowley, you could have knocked, rang or anything, why are you in my bedroom watching me sleep?!” You spat in a low tone.

“Don’t flatter yourself I’ve been here a grand total of twelve seconds, it seems you called…” Something akin to a smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“No I didn’t…” You trailed off, suddenly realisation hit, your face flushed with embarrassment. You had called out Crowley’s name in your sleep. You read his demeanour deciding to play coy despite your obvious flushed cheeks and sheepish smile.

“Now who’s flattering himself?” His eyebrow arched at your response, sipping whiskey from the glass whilst eyeing you the whole time. Tension nestled over the room as you shared a glace.

“I’m cashing in on that favour,” he finally spoke.

“Should I be worried?” You laughed nervously.

“Depends…” His voice layered in silk and amusement. “I’ve located the alpha witch, I’ll send it to you in the morning so the boys won’t get too suspicious. When you and the three stooges get the bitch, I need something from her kitchen cupboards, an ingredient.”

“Right, frogs legs or silver nightshade?” You quipped.

“More like the horn of a Capricorn. This is a no questions asked type favour so I’d appreciate your discretion and just get the damn thing.” He went from flirtatious to business in a heartbeat. Silence fell between you both, so many questions swimming around in your head, when someone tells you not to ask questions that only makes it harder to not actually ask a question...

“Fine,” you finally managed. “It’s a deal,” you gave him a halfhearted smile as you rose from the sheets you had tangled yourself in. The remnants of emotion still swimming around in your head from your dream.

“Well, kitten. You know how I usually go about my business.” He put the glass down on the table beside him before standing up and slowly motioning over to you, a predatory air about him became apparent as he stood incredibly close to you.

You could feel the want pouring off him. As you stared into his hazel eyes sense crashed against the shoreline of your brain. If he touched you there was no telling what sweet hell would become of your mind, let alone if he kissed you. Movement in your peripheral vision made you flinch and inch backward.

“Best not to shake my hand…” You tried to dodge around the bullet, the fact that he was obviously going to kiss you an unspoken fact, “I can’t control my powers.”

Disappointment rained down on him, his shoulders gave a noticeable slump. “Okay darling, rain check?” He gave you a weary smile before disappearing. Leaving you alone in your room once again, your heart skipping beats entirely.

Tags: @roxy-davenport @gettinjoyful @laneygthememequeen @mkate-writes-things

[imadeangirl-butimsamcurious]

It’s Me, Sweetheart

Characters/Pairing: Dean x Reader, Mary, Cas (mentioned), Sam (mentioned)

Word Count: 1860

Reader Gender: Female

Warnings: Blood, guns, some swearing, maybe a little angst? Basically supernatural stuff. Season 12 spoilers!

Summary: Dean and Mary show up at the bunker and find an injured reader and Sam missing.

Author’s Note: Okay, so a few things: I don’t know where Mary actually got her clothes but I’m gonna assume from the Impala and we’ll leave it at that, I tried to keep the dialogue as close to the original scene but some things are changed, most specifically that Mary almost shoots the reader and not Cas, there’s a brief third person section for Dean and Mary, and when I started writing this a few months ago (I kind of forgot about it, oops!) I was thinking I would do another couple parts and extend it till when they get Sammy back but now I’m not so sure I’m going to. If people like this and want me to write a few more parts I’ll consider it, but honestly I found this difficult to write for some reason and it’s not really what I was hoping for. I wouldn’t be changing anything except for the addition of the reader, but basically it would just be a rewrite and we all know what happens with Sam already (and if you don’t know you probably shouldn’t be reading this yet anyway!) so I hope you guys don’t feel like I’m leaving you hanging. So let me know if you guys want more, but no promises. Wow that was a lot of words, sorry guys! Happy reading!

If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out my Masterlist!

*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*

     Darkness faded in and out of your vision as your eyes fluttered open, your head pounding and something warm and thick dripping down the side of your face. You groaned and reached up with a shaky hand, wincing as you made contact with a gouge on your forehead. You pulled your fingers away and found them coated in blood.

     “That Bitch.”

     You put your hands on the library table in front of you and used it to claw your way off the ground, wobbling when you finally managed to stand up. Your head was throbbing and you felt nauseous. You swore again when you saw the blood on the floor.

     “Sam?!” you called into the silence, your voice echoing off the walls and piercing the eerie quite. You used the table and chairs to make your way out of the library and crouched down in front of the red stain on the floor.

     That woman was going to regret ever touching Sam.

     Dean and Mary’s boots clanged on the bunker’s metal staircase as they entered the war room, casual conversation masking the awkwardness they both felt.

     “The new duds look good,” Dean said.

     Mary looked down at the clothes she’d gotten from the Impala and tugged on her jacket. “Thanks, it’s better than walking around in that nightgown -”

     She was cut short by Dean stopping at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes catching on the trail of red staining the floor.

     “That’s blood.”

     Dean’s gun was in his hand and cocked a second later. “Yeah.”

     “Sammy? Cas?” Dean made his was across the room with silent footsteps, weapon raised and the presence of his mother hanging over him. Whoever, or whatever, spilled that blood could still be here and she’d just woken up from a forever nap. This was one hell of a first day back.

     “Take this, stay here.” Dean handed his mother a gun he’d pulled out from under the table and turned to head down the hall. She’d be safe, she was a hunter.

     Now he had to find Sam.

     The pile of weapons you’d collected and the keys to your old car lay on your bed, ready for the manhunt you were about to embark on. You looked in the mirror and frowned. Blood dripped from your hairline all the way down your neck, coloring the collar of your shirt a dark red. You hissed out a breath when the antiseptic-soaked material in your hand made contact with the wound on your forehead, but ignored the pain and cleaned yourself up, until -

     “Sammy? Cas?”

     You dropped the blood-stained cloth into the sink and reached for your gun.

     “Was that … Dean?”

     You bolted out of your room and down the too-long hall, slowing your stride when you neared the war room, gun raised. You peered around the corner and found no sign of your boyfriend. Of course you didn’t, he was dead.

     The thought cut through you like a knife.

     You continued on silent feet into the library. Nothing in the room was disturbed – at least, not anything that wasn’t already, courtesy of your unexpected visitor. You breathed a heavy sign and dropped your gun, arm hanging limply at your side.

     And that’s when she came out from behind the pillar.

     “Hands in the air, get on your knees.”

     “What the hell?” You brought your gun up to eye level but it was too late, you were already staring down the barrel of hers. “Who are you?!”

     “Hands. Now.”

     You locked eyes with the bunker’s second intruder of the day and reined in all your remaining self-control to keep yourself from charging straight for her. If you were going to find Sam, you had to not get shot in the meantime. You reluctantly lowered your gun.

     You opened your mouth to once again ask the woman currently pointing a gun at your head who the hell she was and what she was doing in your home, but the words caught in your throat when you heard that voice again - Dean’s voice – and your eyes snapped up to the doorway.

     “Woah, whoa, whoa! It’s okay - it’s okay. That’s Y/N!” Dean pushed the woman’s gun to her side. Your whole world ground to a halt.

     You blinked once. Twice.

    “ … Dean?”

     “Yeah, Sweetheart, it’s me.”

     You took a shaky step back. “But … but you can’t be here. Y-you died!” You felt your eyes blur with involuntary tears. Dean came towards you and your hand flew up. “Stop – just stop. How are you here?”

     “It’s a long story, but it’s me, I’m alive.” He took a step forward. You didn’t try and stop him. “Amara saved me.”

     You shook your head and moved to the other side of the room, finding a shelf with some “grab and go” weapons near the door and picked up a silver knife and a flask of holy water. You walked back to Dean and nodded towards him, not needing words for him to know what happens next. You weren’t going to let yourself be fooled by someone hoping to take advantage of your vulnerability. Obediently, he held out his hand, palm exposed.

     You held eye contact with your boyfriend as you pressed the flat side of the blade into his skin - no reaction. You tried not to get too excited. Next was the holy water, and it wouldn’t be the first time a demon had worn Dean’s face, but still nothing.

     Before you even had a chance to think the still-open flask of holy water had fallen from your grasp and your arms were wrapped around Dean’s neck.

     “I love you.” Your lips crashed against his. “I love you I love you I love you!”

     Dean’s hands tightened around your waist and your feet lost contact with the ground. “I love you, too,” he whispered against your lips, just loud enough for you to hear.

     In that moment, everything seemed right. The way his arms felt wrapped around your waist, the way his lips moved against your own, the way his comforting smell of whiskey and leather surrounded you. But it only took a few seconds for your momentary bliss to come crashing down around you.

     The break in. Sam. The stranger. The Bomb.

     You took a staggering step back and fixed your wide eyes on Dean’s chest.

     “What about the bomb? What about all those souls?! We have to get it out of you!”

     “Hey, come back here,” Dean grabbed your hand and pressed it into his chest. “It’s okay, see?”

     The steady beat of Dean’s heart thrummed under your fingertips. The chaotic buzz, the rhythm that would surely haunt your nightmares, the violent pulsing you’d felt when you’d hug Dean goodbye for what you believed was the last time, was gone. Nothing but the always-comforting thump, thump, thump, remained.

     You breathed a sigh of relief and was at his side once again. Dean gladly pulled you back into is arms.

     “Okay, what happened here?” Dean asked, gently brushing a piece of hair away from the cut on your forehead. “Are you okay? Whose blood is that, and where’s Sam?”

     You opened your mouth to answer but snapped it shut when someone cleared their throat, rather pointedly. Both you and Dean seemed to have forgotten about the other person in the room.

     You spun to face the woman who’d pointed a gun at you only moments before and scrunched up your face. “Dean, who is this?” you asked. And why does she look so familiar?

     Awkward silence hung in the air, both Dean and the stranger staying quiet. Then your green-eyed hunter rubbed his hand over the nape of his neck and finally spoke. “This,” he gestured towards the woman, “is Mary Winchester … my mother.”

     Recognition surged through you and your jaw fell open. You immediately reached up and into Dean’s jacket, pulling out the picture he always kept of his mother in his breast pocket. You held it up to compare.

     Mary Winchester.

     Mary Winchester - Dean’s mother, Dean’s dead mother - was back.

     You took a step away from Dean and drew your gun.

     “Whoa, whoa! Y/N, it’s her! It’s really her!”

     “It can’t be Dean.” This hurt you more than words could say. “Your mother is dead, she has been for years. This isn’t really her.”

     “No, it is!” Dean threw himself between you and the person pretending to be his mother. “It’s her, Y/N! Amara brought her back. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but it’s her. Amara said she was going to give me what I needed most and then I found her.” Dean stepped forward so the barrel of your gun was pressing against his chest. “I found my mom.”

     Your hand started to shake and you dropped the gun. You could never point it at Dean, even if you knew you would never pull the trigger.

     “So Amara did you a favor.” A nod. “Why?”

     “It’s a long story, one I’ll tell you later. Just give me the gun, okay?”

     You nodded numbly and allowed Dean to pull the weapon from your fingers, then next thing you knew you were face to face with the love of your life’s dead mother. You gaze flicked back to Dean. “So, this is your mom?”

     “Yeah.”

     “And I just pointed a gun at her?”

     A light chuckle. “Yup.”

     “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” both of you turned to face Mary, “I almost shot you.”

     Despite everything, a small smile tugged at your lips. “Not exactly what I imagined when I thought about meeting my boyfriend’s parents.”

     Mary gave you a sweet smile, a motherly smile. “Or how I imagined meeting my son’s girlfriend.”

     The words sent a surprising flush over your cheeks. You were Dean’s girlfriend, had been for years, but for some reason hearing his mother say it left you feeling embarrassed and awkward. Dean seemed to be feeling the same thing, if the way his feet were shuffling back and forth was any indication, though he regained his focus when the spot of blood on the floor came into his field of vision.

     “What happened to Sam?”

     You raised your gaze to Dean’s and tried not to grimace, and then you told him everything. You told him about the woman who broke in and held you both at gunpoint, you told him about Cas getting sent away the second you’d seen her, you told him how you were knocked out with what you could only assume was the butt of her gun, and you told him that when you came to there was blood on the floor and Sam was gone. You told him everything and tried not to think about would have happened if Dean had been there and she’d taken them both like she wanted. Or maybe she never would have gotten out of the bunker at all with all three of you there?

     You shook the thoughts from your head, thinking like that wasn’t going to get Sam back. So you grabbed your gun off the table and shoved it into your belt.

     “Let’s go get Sammy back.”

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[gumnut-logic]

V. T. Green

Title: V. T. Green

Part One

Author: Gumnut

24 - 25 Aug 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently. 

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.”

Word count: 1946

Spoilers & warnings: None.

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: This is one that I have been meaning to write for some time. I hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

The world was blurry as he let his head slide on one hand and stared out through the kitchen window. Gordon was in the pool, swimming his morning laps. The sun had yet to rise and Virgil had broken several laws of physics rising himself. This time of day should not exist. But then it didn’t, because it wasn’t day yet because there was no sun!

But no, supersonic big brother wanted to do some special training today. Training that for some reason had been scheduled at sunrise.

It was possibly important, likely scheduled just to get his ass out of bed at this godawful hour. Occasionally there were some issues with having your brother in command. Brotherly love only went so far, brotherly snark had more mileage, and Scott did have that twist of his lips when he announced the schedule.

Four pairs of eyes had immediately turned to him and his return glare had been insufficient to deflect the amusement that followed.

But it was okay. It was fine. He had his own skill drills up his sleeve. Two am would be convenient for him next time, definitely. After all, they all had to keep their skill sets up, didn’t they?

In the meantime, it was black coffee and repeated attempts to focus on Mateo. Mateo was distinctly blurry, and dark and,,,,

“Hey, Virg!” Alan whacked him on the back.

His face nearly ended up in his coffee. “Alan? What the hell?”

“And good morning to you, too, big bro. Ready for this morning’s run?”

He stared at his bright and peppy, yes, peppy, youngest brother. Augh. “Go away.”

“Aww, did the big bear have to get out of bed a little early?”

“Alan...”

“C’mon, Virg, it’s gonna be fun. A race around the island, wind in your hair, blood pumping...it’s gonna be awesome.”

Virgil stared at him, his brain slowly picking up that something wasn’t quite right. “Alan, why aren’t you comatose?”

“What do you mean, big bro?”

A slow blink. “You hate mornings almost as much as I do. Who are you and what have you done with my little brother?” His eyelids drooped all of their own volition.

“It’s called prepared, bro. I’m in it to win it.”

Virgil’s eyes narrowed. “Are you on something? Because if you are, Scott’s going to kill you, and once I’m awake, I’ll resuscitate you so I can kill you again.”

“That’s violence, bro. It’s cool, I promise.”

An arched eyebrow that almost hurt. “What did you do, Alan?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing you aren’t already doing.”

“You drank coffee.”

“Noooooooo.”

“What did you do?”

“A little caffeine is all.”

The arched eyebrow flipped into a frown. “How much?”

“Enough.”

Virgil’s back straightened. “Alan.”

“I’m fine, bro, I promise. I know what I’m doing. I’m not stupid.” A blond frown. “Besides, it’s not like you don’t do the same with your coffee after coffee after coffee technique.”

Virgil’s lips thinned, but to be honest, the kid was right, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. But... “You’re not yet an adult, Alan.”

“Yet, I take the responsibilities of an adult, Virgil.”

“Your body isn’t fully mature!”

“Well, thanks for that, Doctor Virgil!”

“You have to look after yourself!”

“Hard to do anything else when I have four brothers mother-henning me all the time!”

“We worry about you!”

“Well, don’t! I can look after myself.”

“Alan!”

“Virgil!”

“Hey! What the hell is going on here?!”

Virgil found himself looming over his little brother, one brain cell after another slowly catching up with what the hell was going on. Bright blue eyes were staring up at him defiantly, his little brother’s shoulders tight and fists clenched at his sides.

Virgil forced his own fists to uncurl. There was a reason why he preferred not to see this time of day. Disturbed sleep disturbed his calm, his control, and things like this happened.

Scott loomed over the both of them and Virgil took a step back, slumping back onto his seat and hulking over his coffee almost in a pout. “Better ask Alan, he’s the one being stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Virgil.”

“Both of you, shut it.” Scott could glare with the best of them, but Virgil had exhausted what little energy he had and ignored him. “Alan, dosed himself with caffeine.”

“Virgil!”

He could feel the laserbeams shooting out of Scott’s eyes switching targets and landing on Alan. There was no satisfaction, just blergh. Here we go.

And sure enough, Scott started in on his little brother. There was, of course, shouting. Virgil idly wondered how come Scott got to yell and he didn’t. But then Virgil didn’t really like yelling anyway.

Coffee. Its warmth drifted down his throat and spread into his bones. Oh god, he needed it. Maybe a second one after this? But then the word ‘caffeine’ came up amongst the explosions beside him and he reconsidered. No need to become a target himself.

He let his foggy mind drift a little. It was all his fault really. He could have gone to bed early, but he had made the mistake of getting into a discussion online with an engineering idiot. The topic had become heated, chemical formulas launched like bombs and laced with reactive equations enough to take out half the engineering community. In the end, he’d thrown a hissy fit and sat up to three am writing up his argument. He’d chucked it onto his blog with a great deal of satisfaction and was looking forward to rubbing it in the man’s face.

Just as soon as he could boot his brain.

Coffee, give me strength.

Gordon wandered in at some point, a damp towel around his neck. Being Gordon, he prodded the      conflagration in progress and got burnt. The argument became three sided.

Virgil considered snoozing on the counter.

Then he hit on the idea that he could possibly sneak back to bed. He stood up slowly.

Brains bounded into the room, tablet in hand. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Brilliant, so b-brilliant!”

The argument came to a sudden halt, four pairs of eyes turning towards the engineer.

The engineer didn’t notice, eyes glued to his tablet. Max bounded in behind him, whirring excitedly. It was the robot who prevented the distracted Brains from walking into the kitchen counter.

“Oh, thank you, M-Max.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “Did you see the p-polymer ratio? Amazing! Such elegance. You know, I am quite d-disap-pointed that I didn’t think of this myself. The applications are going to b-be in-numerable.”

The distraction was enough to break the fuel lines of the argument and Scott settled for a final threat, Alan a final glare and Gordon, a snort of derision. The moment to escape was lost and Virgil slumped where he sat.

Damn.

“Virgil, you going to eat before we run?”

Alan was right, Scott mother-henned.

“Maybe.” Ugh, c’mon coffee kick in. He needed operational braincells.

Scott was peering closely at him. “Earth to Virgil.”

“Shut up, Scott. You got me up at the ass end of the day, I’m here. Don’t expect much more.”

His brother grinned, and Virgil had the odd urge to thump him. Just because this was his element, didn’t mean he had to be a smart ass about it. “Your next physical is going to be hell.”

The grin faltered. Aah, that’s better. Hmm, perhaps his brain was slowly booting. Go, coffee.

“Virgil! You h-have to see these equations. They are brilliant!”

What? Brains’ tablet shifted the remains of his coffee to one side and Virgil found himself staring at a series of numbers that made little sense at this time of the morning. “Brains, looks great. Can I review them later? I’m not all here yet.”

The engineer didn’t appear to hear him. “Look at the polymer decay to reaction ratio! This is a self-healing polymer!”

Huh? He frowned and forced himself to focus. The appropriate neurons clicked into place in his brain and suddenly what he was seeing made sense.

Shit.

He grabbed the tablet, eyeing the equations and spinning calculations in his head. Brains was right. This was perfect. The polymer would be able to self-heal with the application of a mild electrical current. Give it a pattern to follow and it would populate and keep it populated, even after disturbance.

“Did you discover this, Brains?” He frowned. There was something familiar about this. Maybe they had discussed it recently.

“Oh, no, this is V. T. Green. The man is brilliant.” There was that word again. Brilliant.

But it still took a second for it all to click into place.

V. T. Green was his blog. V. T. Green was his pseudonym online, used for obvious reasons to keep his identity hidden. The blog had been for amusement originally. A place to stash his favourite music and art, but at some point, he had found himself venturing into engineering circles and getting into discussion with the online community. It made for interesting discourse and he was able to keep up to date with some of the latest innovations. Not that he could share his own much and IR was well ahead of the majority of the world thanks to one Hiram Hackenbacker, but on occasion he would fiddle with ideas and make suggestions. It was also a great place to postulate out-there concepts.

The equations on Brains’ tablet were Virgil’s.

“Where did you get these?”

Brains was full of far too much energy for this time of the morning. “Green p-posted them during the night and they have h-hit the world by s-storm.”

“What?”

Brains frowned at him. “Haven’t you heard of V. T. Green, Virgil? He is o-one of the leading engineers on this p-planet. I have been f-following his b-blog for over a year n-now. You r-really m-must check it out.”

“Um, must have missed that one.”

“H-how could you m-miss such an important s-site? I know you k-keep up to date. The man is at the centre of a massive discussion about polymer cohesion and decay. Last night, Coloncous in Spain had the nerve to challenge him in the most ridiculous manner. I was so close to cutting him off myself, he was embarrassing us all, but Green replied with this. As expected, it is a brilliant explanation and Coloncous had no choice but to concede and crawl back into the hole he should never have come out of in the first place. He was a fool to think he could go up against Green. But this solution has so many possibilities. Do you realise this could be integrated into Two’s cahelium hull and she would be able to heal damage midflight? Four would be able seal herself in an underwater emergency. So brilliant.”

Virgil stared at the engineer. He didn’t think he had ever heard Brains say so many words in a row. And his stutter had disappeared two sentences in.

“What did you say about sealing Four, Brains?” Gordon’s ears had obviously pricked up at the mention of his ‘bird.

Brains’ attention was immediately drawn to the aquanaut, his verbal diarrhoea spilling all over Gordon and freeing Virgil.

Taking the opportunity, he pulled out his phone and brought up the website.

Shit!

He had notifications enough to clog his inbox. Due to the early hour, his phone was still on silent and he hadn’t heard any of them. A quick glance identified several prominent names and universities.

Shit. His eyes widened.

He glanced up at his family who were now eagerly discussing safety seals for Thunderbird Four. Even Scott’s eyes were wide and enthusiastic.

Shit.

Um.

Yeah.

He needed more coffee.

-o-o-o-

End Part One

Part Two