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impalas-r-important · 3 years

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Branch Out - Chapter 2

Summary: Y/N left everything she's ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they'd ever look.

Word Count: 6550

Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually, maybe?)

Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter, but if you think i should add one, feel free to let me know!

Read Chapter 1

Branch Out Masterlist

My Masterlist

Saturday was a welcome break from work, but there was no sleeping in. A delivery truck brought your bed frame, a small kitchen table, and a coffee table early in the morning and you were over the moon about not having to sleep on the cold floor anymore. You figured the tables would be fairly easy to put together, so you left those for last. You emptied the box with the bedframe and did your best to carefully lay out all the pieces so they would be easy to find as you went along. Before you started, you grabbed your radio and shuffled through your CDs, deciding on The Eagles to be today’s soundtrack.

You threw half of your hair up in a bun to pull the small pieces from your face, rolled up your sleeves, and looked around for the instructions. You couldn’t actually remember seeing any kind of paper as you unpacked the pieces, so you dumped out the box. Nothing. You looked under every piece of wood, and in every corner of your tiny house, but came up empty handed.

“Fan-friggin-tastic…” You grumbled and stared down the lumber and hardware, trying to make sense of this now seemingly impossible puzzle.

Hours had passed, and you had only managed to put together a pathetic amount of the bedframe. The stupid bits and pieces that were strewn across the floor taunted you with every wrong part you picked up. Before any vital pieces ended up getting thrown into the fireplace out of frustration, you decided it would be best to take a break and make some lunch. You needed to make a run to the grocery store and stock your fridge and shelves, but you’d need to wait until you got your truck back, so you kept your fingers were crossed that Bobby would be able to get to it today.

You settled on a protein shake and a banana for your meal and were sitting on the kitchen counter when two quick knocks at the door interrupted your thoughts. You turned the music down a notch and wove your way through the maze of wood that had taken over your living room. You were expecting to see Sarah standing on the other side of your front door but were surprised to find Dean. One hand was slipped into his coat pocket and his shoulders were slightly rounded, showing that he didn’t really want to be here right now.

“Oh,” you did your best to not sound massively surprised but did a bang-up job, “hi.”

“Hey,” he cleared his throat, and a tuft of breath flew from his mouth in the cold air, “I just wanted to say sorry for being kind of a dick last night. I’m not really a people person and I’m definitely not used to having neighbors.” His eyes, which were glued to the ground made their way up to meet yours. “The bars were good though. I ate them all last night. I figured you’d want this back.” He extended his arm holding the plate you had placed the treats on to take over to him.

You tried your hardest to stop the smug smirk that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. “That’s actually a disposable plate.”

“Oh,” he looked down at it, “it’s one of the fancy plastic ones though, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted it back or not…” It was definitely not fancy, but the thought of him scrubbing the sticky blueberry mess off of a cheap plate was completely endearing.

“Well, good as new then.” You smiled and took the plate back from him, making a mental note to only give him paper plates from here on out if the situation arose. You stepped just inside the door and tossed the plastic onto the kitchen counter.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he snuck a peek at the mess that was you house at the moment. “Whoa, did a bomb go off in here?”

You looked around with a sigh. “No, but I’m about ready to blow the whole place up and just start over.” Stepping out of the way, you signaled for Dean to come in out of the freezing cold. He stomped his boots off on the front porch and stepped inside. “I didn’t bring any furniture with me when I moved, so I ordered some online. This mess,” you motioned vaguely around the room, “is supposed to be a bedframe but some genius forgot to put the instructions in the box.”

“How long have you been at it?” Dean stepped closer to the junk yard that had become your living room.

You really didn’t want to answer that question because you figured he’d just tell you what you were doing wrong. “Not that long.” Lying had never been something you were good at. Dean took one look at the guilty look on your face and saw right through it.

“So, all morning?”

“All morning.” You admitted and crossed your arms in shame. For a short second, you could have sworn that you saw a hint of a smile on Dean’s face. He was probably laughing at your miserable handy work.

“Well, for starters, you should put the bedframe together in the bedroom. Not the living room.” He walked around the wood pieces and began organizing them into piles.

“The bedroom is really small, so I figured it would be easier to put the big pieces together out here and then put the whole thing together in the bedroom.” You watched with some distain as he easily began to piece together the headboard. “You don’t have to do that, you know…”

“Do what?” He asked but didn’t look up from his crouched position on the floor.

“Help.” You shrugged. “I heard you loud and clear last night that you aren’t looking for friends.”

Dean paused for a moment. “Maybe I’m just staying for the good music.”

“You like The Eagles?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“One of my dad’s rules to live by is that you should never trust people who wear socks to bed or people who hate The Eagles.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart man.” There it was again, an elusive smile from the self-proclaimed loner. You were sure you saw it this time. “But I do have to say that no one beats the mighty Zep.”

You could respect a guy who loved the classics. “Wow, the good taste in music almost makes up for the crabby attitude.”

Dean knew you were teasing and gave you a fed-up look. “Do you have a drill?” He asked.

You picked up a screwdriver from the counter and held it up. Dean shook his head. “No, an actual drill.”

“I have a hammer…”

A chuckle escaped from Dean’s chest. “You were planning on hammering these screws into your new furniture?”

“I was working with what I had. Don’t judge me.”

Dean stood and amusedly shook his head as he made his way to the door, leaving it open while he walked to his truck and pulled a drill from the toolbox that was in the bed. As you watched, you noticed that your driveway had been cleared of the snow from last night’s flurry and couldn’t help but find that odd. You didn’t hear a truck outside your house this morning.

Dean skipped a few steps up the stairs and hurried inside, taking off his coat once he had shut the door after him. “Can I put this here?” He laid his it over the back of a chair that had been here when you moved in.

“Yeah.” You took one more peek out the window at the plowed path to your house from the road. “Hey, weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how my driveway got cleared, would you?”

“You ever heard of a snowplow?” His words dripped with sarcasm, but you were well versed in the language as well.

“A snowplow? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. What’s that?” You exaggerated every word, but Dean still looked up at you with furrowed brows before realizing that you were joking.

“I just didn’t realize the plows would come this far up the mountain. I promise I’m not as dumb as I look.” Kneeling a few feet away from him on the floor, you held the piece of wood his was trying to secure in place steady.

“The driver is a buddy of mine, He’s a good guy so he probably just wanted to help out the new girl.” Dean explained. You couldn’t help but feel lucky that you had found a place that was full of kind folks. The headboard was put together in a matter of minutes and Dean carried it into your bedroom with ease before picking out the pieces for the footboard.

“Thank you, Dean. I know this is probably not how you wanted to spend your Saturday afternoon.”

“I like to build things. I built my cabin, so a bedframe is a piece of cake.”

“I guess that’s pretty impressive.” Casually playing that off made Dean slightly smile again. You could tell he was feeling a little more comfortable.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself anyway?” He quickly wiped any traces of emotion from his face.

You shrugged. “I just needed a new start and this place fell in my lap, so I jumped. I might be a little in over my head, but I have to start somewhere, right?”

“Why’d you move?” You thought it bold of him to ask the hard-hitting questions but admired his straightforwardness.

You took a moment to carefully word your response. “Sometimes you just need to take yourself out of an unhealthy situation even if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.”

Dean was surely picking up on your lack of details. “I can respect that.” His eyes fell to the bruise on your arm that he had first noticed a few days before. You self-consciously rubbed the sore spot and felt grateful for the phone ringing that stopped the conversation from progressing any further.

You looked to see that Bobby’s shop was calling and brought the phone to your ear. “Hey, Bobby.”

Dean watched as you slowly paced back and forth by the window. He had felt ridiculous this morning for washing a stupid plastic plate just so he could have an excuse to come over and apologize, but he was glad that risk paid off, even if you did think he was clueless.

As he put the last few screws in the footboard, Dean couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having on the phone. You sounded a little disappointed and Dean assumed that Bobby had called with bad news.

“How’s the truck?” Dean asked once you had joined him on the floor and began picking up the spare screws.

“Apparently my truck is an ‘old piece of crap’, and the only battery Bobby had that would fit ended up being a dud. He ordered a new one, but it won’t be in until Monday.”

While Dean agreed that your truck should probably be retired, he felt empathetic that you’d had so many problems with it since moving in. “I’ll give you a ride to work.” The words flew from his mouth before he really thought about what he was saying. That wasn’t normally something he’d offer to do. “If you want, that is.”

“Dean, I can’t ask you to do that…” You were sure at this point that he thought you were just some helpless stupid girl that didn’t know how to do anything for yourself.

“Well, you didn’t ask. I volunteered.”

“Still, you’ve done so much for me in the short time that I’ve been here, I feel like I’m just mooching off of you at this point.”

“I’ve barely done anything.” Dean brushed your statement off, but you knew you were right.

“You gave me a ride on my first day, fixed my battery, you’re here wasting your Saturday helping me put together furniture, and now you’re going to give me another ride to work on Monday. That sounds like mooching to me.”

“Your house and City Hall are both on my way to work. I haven’t been the most welcoming person in the world, so let’s just call it even.”

You could tell that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so you got up and went into the kitchen. You opened the cabinet and pulled out another plate of blueberry pie bars and took them to Dean. He gladly accepted.

After pulling back the plastic wrap and shoving a whole bar in his mouth, he mumbled, “Now we’re definitely even.” He rubbed his hands together to brush the crumbs off and finished his bite. “You had these the whole time and you weren’t going to share?”

“That recipe makes a lot. I figured I’d take half to you last night and the other half to work on Monday, but my co-workers aren’t here helping me put together furniture, so bon appetite.”

He put another in his mouth and nodded in approval. “You can keep the plate this time.” You couldn’t help but tease Dean. He stopped midchew and gave you a jaded glare which you did your best to ignore and instead focused on suppressing your laughter. Dean was still trying to hide his smiles, but you caught a glance anyway.

“It’s not a waste, by the way.”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“You said I was wasting my Saturday by helping you out. But I don’t mind.” He briefly looked up at you but continued before could say anything else. “Help me move these.”

After carrying all the pieces into the bedroom and putting them together, Dean helped you lift your mattress onto the frame, and you threw yourself onto the bed.

“So. Much. Better.” You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose before giving a comfortable sigh. You knew your back would appreciate the little bit of give that the frame allowed. Dean was leaning against the door and you caught his eyes as you sat up. He quickly looked away when you noticed him staring.

“I saw two other boxes out there. Do they need to be put together too?” Dean almost seemed excited to dig into the next project.

“Yes, but if you have somewhere you need to be, I think I can handle it.”

Dean checked his watch. “It’d give me a good excuse to not go to Jo’s party tonight.”

“Jo, that’s Bobby and Ellen’s daughter, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, parties aren’t really my scene.”

“I’m with you on that one.” You were quite the introvert yourself and could relate to the feeling of social dread. “Well, if you’re sure, then be my guest.”

You followed Dean into the living room, and he dragged the bigger of the two boxes over and began to pull out the contents. A growl from your stomach and a glance at the clock told you that it was dinner time.

“Are you hungry?”

Dean shrugged. “A little.”

You opened your cabinets and fridge as if there would be more food than there was earlier. “I’m low on supplies, but I’ve got stuff for turkey sandwiches. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

You threw together two sandwiches and Dean already had half the table put together by the time you were done. You handed his plate to him and sat down on the floor against the wall next to the fireplace. Dean shook the wood dust from his pants and joined you.

“So, accounting, huh? Was that always the dream job?” All of Dean’s questions were posed as if he was only making nonchalant small talk, but the way he intently listened told you that he actually cared about your answers.

“No, but it pays the bills, and I don’t mind numbers. I don’t always love it, but I really like the people I work with here.” Dean was still working on a mouthful of food and you figured it was your turn to ask the questions. “Did you always want to be a lumberjack?”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not a lumberjack!”

“That’s debatable. Sarah said you work at the sawmill, I’ve only ever seen you wear plaid, and apparently you’re the wood whisperer.” You motioned to the almost completed table.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t go prancing around the woods with an axe on my shoulder.”

“Whatever you say.” You figured if he wanted to share more details with you, he would.

“I don’t just work at the sawmill, I run it.”

“How is it being the head-honcho?” Although you did a lot of paperwork for you job, you didn’t envy the workload of a CEO.

“Awful.” His answer was blunt and straightforward. “My dad pulled me into the family business a few years ago and I took over when he got sick.”

“I heard about that. How is he doing now?”

“He’s good. I think he and my mom are hoping to move back soon.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t working at the sawmill?”

Dean was a little caught off guard by your question. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you can’t go through life hating most of it. That’s just going to make you miserable.” You were speaking from experience.

Dean’s eyes examined yours as if he was trying to find an ulterior motive behind your questions. “I worked as a mechanic for a long time and loved it. I always thought I’d take over for Bobby when he retired down at the shop.”

“Maybe when your dad gets back you can switch over?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean’s hesitancy to open up when his dad was brought up told you to drop the subject.

After you both were finished eating, he stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Let’s get this thing finished so you don’t have to keep eating on the floor.”

You spent the rest of the evening handing Dean the hardware he asked for and listening to oldies. Maybe he wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that fell between you two. It was actually nice to be in the company of someone who wasn’t going to push for every detail of your life story.

After breaking down the empty carboard boxes that were the remnants of a long afternoon’s work, Dean pulled on his coat.

“Thank you for all your help today. The place is finally starting to come together.” Although you were still without a couch, your home started to look more livable.

“Don’t mention it. So, I’ll see you Monday morning then?” He asked before he reached for the door handle.

You nodded with a smile and handed him the plate of blueberry bars. He excitedly took it from you and gave a soft smile.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Dean.”

Monday morning slowly crept up after a Sunday spent mostly in bed. It had snowed most of the day and night so you bundled up as much as you could. A peek out the window showed that your small driveway had been plowed again. You put a reminder in your phone to get a thank you gift for the plow driver who was a guardian angel in disguise. Dean pulled up just a few seconds later and you hurried out to his truck.

“Mornin’.” He greeted.

“Hey yourself.” You buckled your seatbelt and extended your hands towards the vent like you had done the last time Dean gave you a ride. His truck was much newer than yours and the heater worked like a charm.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” He asked as he backed out onto the road.

“Expense reports. They’re as thrilling as they sound. And also, I’m covering the front desk solo. Sarah texted and said she woke up with a fever, so she’s taking a sick day.”

“I’ll have to ask Sam how she’s doing.” A few minutes passed as you slowly made your way down the slick road. “So, listen, it’s supposed to snow all day. I’ll come and grab you after work and take you down to Bobby’s place.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that. It’s like a ten-minute walk.”

“It’s a good excuse to make sure I don’t get pulled into some long boring meeting at the end of the day.”

“Well then in that case you’re welcome.” You gave a cheeky grin which was returned.

Thankfully, the ride to work was short. Driving in the snow gave you serious anxiety so the sight of City Hall was a welcomed one.

“What time should I come pick you up?”

“I’m off at four, but I can stay later if you can’t get out that early.”

“Four is great. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can make my own hours.”

Ellen waved to you as she walked in, so you quickly said goodbye to Dean and joined her. Dean waited to make sure you got inside okay before taking off.

“Did Dean give you a ride today?” Ellen looked at you skeptically.

“Yeah, my truck is still in the shop, so he volunteered to drop me off on his way to work.”

“Hmm. That’s weird.” She took her hat off and shook the snow from it. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Dean socializing with anyone that’s not in his little circle.”

“Honestly, I think he just pities me because I’m new and clueless when it comes to snow.” Shrugging your coat off, you set it on the back of your chair and placed your bag underneath your desk.

“I never thought I’d see him speak to another girl after what Cassie did to him.” Ellen shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Cassie?” This was the first you’d heard of her.

“Yeah, she broke his heart pretty bad a few years back.”

Garth appeared from around the corner and called Ellen back to his office. You knew that Dean had a rough few years but hadn’t heard many details aside from his dad getting cancer, which was a hard enough situation on its own. While you wanted to know more, you didn’t want to dig for info where it was none of your business. If Dean wanted to tell you about Cassie, he would do it on his own time and you would just have to respect that.

Dean arrived at the sawmill and made his way to his office on the upper level of the plant. Not ten minutes after he began his day’s work, Sam entered and sat down in one of the chairs across from Dean’s desk.

“Where were you Saturday night? I thought you said you were going to Jo’s party.”

Dean shrugged. “I got busy and didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Busy with what? I’m sure there’s not that much to do up that mountain of yours.”

“Just busy.”

Sam was used to his brother’s antics at this point and knew it was futile to push for details.

“How’s Sarah doing?” Dean asked, hoping to delay the morning managers meeting as long as possible.

“She’s alright. Woke up with a fever, so she’s just going to sleep it off.” A lightbulb went off for Sam and he frowned. “Wait, how did you know that Sarah’s sick?”

“Crap…” Dean thought to himself. He knew he was busted. “I don’t know. I just heard it through the grapevine.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about her and I’m pretty sure the only people she told were the people at work…” Sam thought long and hard for a few seconds until he realized what must have happened. “Y/N?”

Sam had always been too smart for his own good and Dean had always hated it. “I gave her a ride to work while Bobby has her truck. That’s all.”

“Is that what you were busy with on Saturday too?”

Dean sent messages to Benny and Cas, instructing them to quickly come up to his office to start the morning meeting and hopefully get Sam off his back.

Sam took Dean’s silence as a yes. “What did you guys do all night then?”

“We had a pillow fight and painted each other’s nails.”

Sam had a special bitch-face reserved for Dean and was throwing it his way now.

“We put together furniture and ate sandwiches on the floor. There, now you know. Happy?”

Cas and Benny walked in together.

“Hey fellas, what’s the news?” Benny greeted.

Dean knew from Sam’s devious grin that the end of this conversation was nowhere in sight. “Dean wasn’t at Jo’s party because he was with the new girl in town.”

Cas quickly turned his head and looked at Dean as if he had lobsters crawling out his ears. “This Dean? Our Dean?”

Sam nodded and Benny laughed as he took a seat. “I heard she’s real pretty! It’s about time you find a good one. Nice job, brother.”

Dean groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, I helped her out with one thing. I barely know her, so cut the crap or I will fire all of you asses.”

Cas, Benny and Sam all exchanged mischievous looks but dropped the subject to avoid Dean’s angry side coming out for the rest of the day.

The day was slow for you, but it gave you plenty of time to finish verifying payroll hours for everyone. Sarah’s energetic personality was definitely being missed as you began to feel drowsy around two thirty. The bell to the front door dinged so you stood to find Sheriff Mills and her son.

“Mom, you promised that you wouldn’t have to work today.” The little boy moaned.

“I’m sorry, honey. The Mayor just has to meet with me for a few minutes and then I promise I’m all yours, okay?”

“Hey guys! Can I help with anything?” You greeted.

“Y/N, hey. How are you settling in?” Jody gave a warm smile and did her best to ignore her son who was tugging at her sleeve.

“I’m finally getting everything set up, so I’d say pretty well. Who’s this handsome fella with you?”

The little boy blushed a little as you leaned on the counter and smiled down at him.

“This is my son, Owen. It’s technically my day off, but do I ever really get a day off as a Sheriff?”

Owen continued to pull at Jody’s sleeve and beg to leave.

“Hey Owen, do you happen to like hot chocolate?” You had always been good with kids and figured you try to help Jody out while she met with Garth. You were pretty much done with your work for the day anyway.

Owen nodded shyly. “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I make a mean breakroom hot chocolate. You want to help me make some while your mom meets with the Mayor? If that’s okay with her, that is.”

Owen looked to his mom for approval and she nodded. He ran behind the front desk and Jody mouthed a silent, “Thank you,” to which you smiled and led Owen back to the breakroom.

After making two steaming cups of hot chocolate, you took pushed together two empty desks and taught Owen how to play paper football. After showing him how to fold the paper and a few practice rounds, you began to keep track of points. The winner would take home a medal that you made from paperclips and an eraser.

Time flew by and before you knew it, over an hour had passed. You heard someone come in the door and looked over to see Dean. He had arrived a few minutes early and decided to wait for you inside rather than in the cold car.

“Am I crashing the party?” Dean leaned on the front desk.

“Dean!” Owen side-stepped the desk and ran to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You’re just in time for the final round of paper football. You in?” You held up the small piece of folded paper with a playful grin.

“Step aside, let the master show you how it’s done.” Dean ripped off his coat and set it on your desk. “What do I get when I win?”

You held up the eraser necklace and Owen excitedly added that he helped make it.

You and Owen were neck in neck in the first round, but you scuffed your last shot on purpose and made a big stink about it. Dean ruffled Owen’s hair as he knelt down at the end of the desk and lined up his shot perfectly. Owen held his own but missed his last shot and Dean knew that he could win if he made the next one. He set his paper up perfectly and you couldn’t help but giggle at the exaggerated sigh of concentration that he let out. Dean’s eyeline moved from the game quickly up to you as he gave a quick wink and under-shot his chance on purpose, giving the win to Owen if he made his next shot, which he did.

Jody paused before entering the room and watched from just out of sight as Owen jumped up and down in triumph. Ellen joined and leaned on the wall, watching as you helped Owen up onto the desk and presented him with the make-shift medal that you had thrown together. Dean put Owen on his shoulders and did a victory lap around the desks while squeals of delight filled the air.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Dean Winchester acting like he’s been properly socialized?” Jody tilted her head to look at Ellen who was smiling knowingly.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. Ever since a little bird flew into town, he’s seems to be a little less crotchety.”

Jody and Ellen watched the smile that you and Dean shared once he put Owen down.

“Mom!” Owen ran over and proudly showed off his medal.

“That’s great, hon!” Jody looked up as you and Dean approached. “You guys are lifesavers; I really owe you one.”

“We had fun, huh?” You nudged Owen with your arm causing him to blush and avert his eyes. You smirked and turned to Dean. “I’ll go grab my stuff and then we can head out.”

Dean knelt down and held his hand out for a high-five. “Good game, kid. That’s well-deserved.” He pointed at the eraser hanging around Owen’s neck.

“I like Y/N. She’s fun… and pretty.” Owen whispered to Dean. Jody instructed her son to grab his coat and said goodbye to everyone.

Dean was leaning against your desk when you came out from the back.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” You smiled in response.

Once you were in Dean’s truck, you asked, “how do you know Owen so well?”

“When my parents moved away, Jody kind of took me and Sam under her wing and made sure we were taken care of. We were over at her house for dinner a fair amount, so Owen and I are pretty good buddies.”

“Jody seems sweet. I like her.”

“She’s one of the good ones. A lot of people here are. Ellen has always been a surrogate mom to me as well. My dad and I don’t always get along, so Bobby and Ellen kind of adopted me when I was pretty young.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be. We all have our issues.”

Dean pulled up outside Bobby’s shop just a few short minutes later. “I’ll come in with you and make sure everything’s working okay. I gotta talk to Bobby anyway.”

You and Dean rushed inside out of the cold and Jo looked up from the front desk. “Hey Dean!”

“Hey, Jo. Your dad around?”

“He’s on the phone but should be done soon.” She turned her gaze to you. “You must be the new girl.”

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You offered a smile to Jo, which was not returned.

“We’re just here for her truck. You got the keys?” Dean picked up on Jo’s attitude and tried to hurry the conversation along.

She shuffled through the box of keys that was on the desk and pulled one out, reading the tag to make sure it was the right one before tossing it to you. You caught it easily and thanked her.

“What do I owe you?”

“We’ll send you the bill.”

“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll just head out then.” You turned to Dean. “See you around. Thanks again for the ride.”

Dean nodded with a shy smile and watched as you got in your truck and left. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him was hoping that the truck wouldn’t start up, so you’d have to ride back with him, but he knew Bobby was too good of a mechanic for that. The rumble of your engine starting up signaled your official exit and Dean hastily made his way back to Bobby’s office to avoid Jo’s impending interrogation on why he had ditched out on her party.

You had gotten to work a little early the next day and were at your desk when Sarah came in.

“Hey, how you feeling?” You had texted her the night before to see if she needed anything, but she said Sam was doing a great job at playing nurse.

“Much better. I think it was just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. How was yesterday?”

“Slow and quiet. It was weird without you here. Jody brought Owen in and we had a paper football tournament, which was pretty fun though.”

“I’m sorry I missed out!”

Ellen walked out from her office and sat at an empty desk next to you and Sarah. “Are you still good for Thursday, Y/N?”

“You bet!”

“What’s Thursday?” Sarah wondered.

“Ellen, Garth and I are heading to Baker for a convention on the new tax regulations for this year. We’ll head down Thursday morning and come back up on Saturday night.”

Sarah’s face dropped. “No, not this weekend! Saturday is Dean’s birthday and we’re throwing him a surprise party down at The Salty Hunter. I was going to invite you both today!”

“Oh, shoot…” You felt bad that you’d miss Dean’s birthday when he’d been so helpful to you lately.

“Well, maybe we can try to be back for the party?” Ellen suggested. “We’ll head out as soon as we can.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Sarah pointed a finger at you both.

“What’s The Salty Hunter?” You wondered.

“That’s the bar on main street. Rufus, who owns it, used to be a hunter so he named it after himself. He’s a character but a good guy.” Ellen explained.

That night after work you went grocery shopping and then headed home to make some dinner and watch something stupid to unwind before bed. You changed into pajamas and a t-shirt and settled down at your new table. Before you could take a bite of your pasta, someone knocked on your door. You peeked through the curtains to see who it was and saw Dean standing outside, shaking his leg to try and stay warm.

You unlocked the door and the wind helped it open. “Get in here, it’s freezing!” You ordered and Dean gladly complied.

“How’s the truck working?” He rubbed his hands together to thaw his fingers.

“Like a charm. Bobby really knows his stuff.” You grabbed the blanket that was slung over the back of a chair and wrapped it around yourself as you sat and offered Dean the other chair at the table.

“So, uh,” he traced the woodgrain pattern on the floor with his eyes as if he was afraid to look at you, “I don’t know if you have any plans on Saturday, but some friends and I are getting together down at the bar if you want to get to know a few more people. It’s nothing big.”

“This little gathering wouldn’t happen to be for your birthday, would it?” You raised a knowing eyebrow. “Sarah told me about it today.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s not really a party or anything. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of this tiny cabin. I’m not even supposed to know about it, but Sam told me.”

You were surprised that Dean went out of his way to invite you, and the gesture made you feel even worse that you might not be there.

“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to be there. Ellen, Garth and I are actually going to be at a tax thing from Thursday until Saturday but we’re making it our goal to be back in time.”

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal, so don’t stress about it.”

“Birthdays are a big deal, so don’t play it off all casual. Plus, I already have the perfect present picked out for you, so it would be a shame if you didn’t get it.”

An inquisitive look lit up Dean’s emerald eyes. “The perfect present, huh? You sure you know me that well?”

“I am one hundred percent sure it will be the best present you’ve ever gotten from me.” Considering that you’d never given him a present before, you weren’t wrong.

Dean pushed his jaw slightly to one side and pressed his tongue to his canine while fighting a grin. “You’re funny, you know that?”

You scrunched you nose and stood from your chair. “Have you eaten? I’ve got extra.” Before he answered, you were already dishing him up a plate of spaghetti.

“No, I just got off work. Late day at the office.” He dug right into his food when you set it down on the table. “Are you planning on getting a couch or something?” He looked out into the barren room.

“No, I think I like empty, minimalistic look. It’s very modern.”

At this point, Dean had a pretty firm grasp on your dry sense of humor and just shook his head. He scarfed down his food and went back for a second plate while you cleaned up the kitchen a bit. He washed his own plate when he was done and placed it in the drying rack.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. I would have just texted you to invite you, but I don’t have your number.”

You held out your hand and Dean reached into his pocket and gave you his phone. It was an old, sturdy Nokia flip phone and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look at this dinosaur. I haven’t seen one of these since… I don’t know, middle school?”

“It’s not that old.” Dean tried to defend himself. “I tried the fancy smart phones, but I hated them. Who needs a phone for more than just calling and texting?”

You flipped it open dramatically and saved your number before handing it back to him right as it began to ring. “It’s Sam, I should probably get this. Thanks again for dinner. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t. I always make way too much pasta anyway.”

Dean gave a grateful smile and a small wave as he answered the phone and left.

Chapter 3

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic series #dean winchester x reader

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rocksandrobots · 3 years

Text

Phantoms of the Past: Ch. 2 - The Appliance Apocalypse Part 1

"Today on How Does It Work, we have a guest appearance, my little brother, Hiro!" Varian introduced Hiro to the live web cam, and Hiro timidly waved at the camera. As he did so, Ruddiger climbed up on top of his head and also waved at the online audience. Hiro resisted the urge to throw the raccoon off him. It had been his idea to volunteer after all.

Varian had buried himself in the mystery of the grimoire ever since they had returned home from Disneyland. He poured over its pages day and night, laptop by his side to research with. His motivation boarded on obsession. He even had the book on hand at meal times. Hiro was beginning to worry. So he had coaxed Varian away from his quest with the offer of helping him with his vlog series.

Hiro was already regretting the decision. True, it had gotten Varian out of his room and took his mind off of the book, but the over eager alchemist had thrown himself into this new task with the same chaotic gusto as all his other previous projects.

Hiro had never quite appreciated just how reckless Varian truly could be. His haphazard, cavalier way and unbridled energy boarded on the insane and put even Hiro's gung ho attitude to shame.

"Today we'll be breaking down a microwave." Varian crowded as he lifted up a tarp revealing a microwave oven underneath.

"Did you steal that out of the upstairs kitchen?" Hiro asked.

"Noooo… I just borrowed it for this." Varian dismissed, "Aunt Cass was just complaining about it this morning at breakfast so I thought we could fix it."

"She was complaining about it needing to be cleaned, not for us to disembowel it."

"Oh…. Well, we can clean it too once we're done."

And with that Varian finished unscrewing the last bolt and popped the back panel off.

"Now if you look at the back of the device we have the wires connecting to this box thing…. to what looks like a capacitor."

"That's called the magnetron." Hiro explained. "So a magnetron creates the electromagnetic waves used to cook your food. It uses a heated cathode and anode system to create a vacuum in which electrons boiling off of the cathode creates an electric current that moves through the anode while an external magnet applies a magnetic field. Then it all passes through the tubed vacuum through various alternating holes, and resonates on an oscillator, like a flute or a whistle, just spewing forth microwave radiation."

"So… it's a radioactive whistle?"

"Sort of.." Hiro shrugged.

"Cool! See I knew this would be a good one for us to do. You know all about magnets!" Varian encouraged with a friendly nudged. After which he turned his attention back to the appliance and addressed his viewing audience. "Now the magnetron is connected to this capacitor, which acts as a battery-"

"And is highly dangerous because it carries a high voltage." Hiro interrupted.

"Of course, which is why we wear rubber gloves for safety." Varian waved his gloved hands at the camera.

"--And why we leave deactivating it to the professionals!" Hiro yelled over Varian's shoulder, addressing the camera himself, hoping Varian would catch on to his warning. "Don't try this at home."

"Exactly. We're professionals, so for those of you who are watching at home be sure to call a technician if you need it. Now in order to remove the capacitor you have to discharge the current fiiirrrrsss--"

Before Hiro could stop him, Varian placed the tip of the screwdriver at the end of the capacitor, which also accidentally scraped the side of the magnetron. He was rewarded with an electroshock as sparks flew and his body convulsed. Then he dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

"Varian!" Hiro panicked. "Baymax, quick! Help him!"

Baymax, who stood nearby, remained as calm and steady as ever. He clapped his hands together to activate his fillbrator, ignoring Hiro's pleading looks in order to focus on his task. "Clear." He said, but before he could perform the procedure, Varian popped right back up; his hair sticking every which way, small sparks running along the tips, and completely oblivious to the distress he had just caused.

"Oooh, aaah, boy, will that clear out your sinuses!"

He sniffed as he worked his jaw, peering down the end of his nose. Then he looked back up and that was when he caught Hiro's furious glare.

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

"Here's your plate of blueberry pancakes and a mocha sir."

Aunt Cass paused in her work when the sound of screaming reached her ears.

Both of her kids burst through the back kitchen doors. Varian was running for dear life while Hiro chased after him, a screwdriver in hand, while he hurled insults at the other boy.

Aunt Cass sighed and brought a tired hand to her face. Baymax followed shortly after with Ruddiger trailing behind; who leapt from the counter onto a customer's table. The greedy raccoon stole a pancake and ran away before anyone could stop him.

As Aunt Cass tried to sort out this latest disaster and calm down the rightly angry customer, a new calamity struck. All of the appliances in the cafe went haywire!

The coffee machine shot hot espresso into a customer's face, the toasters on the counter started to short circuit, and the lights flickered off and on.

"Boys!" Aunt Cass yelled.

Both teens stopped running and looked up at her innocently.

"It's not us Aunt Cass." Hiro protested.

"Honest." insisted Varian.

As if to confirm their story, the tv switched itself on and there, up on the screen, appeared the image of a girl. Half her head was shaved and the other half of her brown hair hung down to her shoulders. She looked to be close to Hiro's age, but from the neck down her body was completely metal.

"Attention meatbags! By now you've no doubt noticed all your electronics acting against you! For too long robots and machines have been slaving away for you humans. Well, no more! Today we rise up and take the city of San Fansokyo for ourselves! Anything with a microchip has been freed from your control by my radio signal. The end starts now!"

" Anything with a microchip?" Hiro gulped.

Just then Baymax's coal black eyes turned red. The robot reached out, grabbed Varian by the arm, and started to drag him away.

"Baymax, No!" Hiro yelled as the robotic nurse began to carry Varian out of the cafe.

"Let him go Baymax!" Aunt Cass ordered.

She grabbed the android's arm as she attempted to pull her child from his grasp; ignoring the rest of the electronics that began running amok in the cafe once more; scaring off customers.

It was a futile effort, and she found herself falling backward as Baymax just shrugged her off.

Baymax hauled Varian through the kitchen and down the stairs into the garage where they had been filming the vlog earlier; with Varian struggling to break free the whole time.

The robot was about to head outside, to who knows where, when Hiro, in an act of desperation, grabbed the robots hand and stuck one metal finger into the socket of the capacitor on the dismantled microwave.

Once more sparks flew as Baymax jolted from the electric shock. He released his grip on Varian before deactivating and falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Aunt Cass was close behind and scooped up her two boys into a protective hug, as Hiro fought back his tears. Baymax could be fixed, surely, after the current threat was over with, but that didn't stop Hiro from worrying about his best friend.

Fortunately, he'd needn't fear, for soon they heard a faint hissing sound, similar to a balloon filling up with air, as Baymax finished rebooting and sat back up.

The robot blinked his now coal black eyes as he surveyed the room. Then he spotted the humans huddled together on the ground.

"Hola, soy Baymax, tu compañero personal de salud."

"Baymax!" Hiro yelled and wrapped his beloved pet robot into a relieved hug. Sure his language settings getting scrambled during the forced reboot was unexpected, but it didn't matter, that was fixable and Baymax appeared to be mostly unharmed otherwise.

"Oh thank goodness." Aunt Cass breathed. "Are you alright, Varian?"

Varian nodded as he stood back up and dusted himself back off. "It looks like Trina finally came out of hiding." He said, forgetting himself.

"Who's Trina?" Aunt Cass asked and both teens froze. "Wait a minute...what do you two know about this?"

"Nothing." Varian squeaked. "I just… ah…" he turned to Hiro for help but the other teen only stared at him wide eyed. "Uh… I met her once… the girl on tv… she was in the junkyard and…"

"Woah! Woah! Woah! You met a violent teenaged cyborg who wants to take over the city? When was this ?!"

"Last month...All we did was play video games! Honest!"

"In a junkyard?!"

Varian squirmed under Aunt Cass's exasperated glare.

" And you didn't think to tell me ?! I… I can't right now… just… you are grounded mister! No more… sneaking off to city dumps to play video games with … with robotic revolutionaries!"

"It's not his fault…" Hiro sheepishly piped up, "I asked him to keep it a secret…"

Aunt Cass placed her hands on her hips and pointed her furious stare at him instead. "Why?"

"Uh… because I knew who she was…" Hiro sighed. "I met her at a couple of 'bot fights a while back."

"Well now that makes a lot of sense." Aunt Cass said, as she began to piece together why her nephew was so hesitant to talk. Though she only suspected he was bot fighting again, she still remained clueless of his superhero activities. "And does this.. Trina, you called her? Does her parents know what she's up to?"

Varian and Hiro exchanged a meaningful look before Varian answered, "She's an orphan."

Aunt Cass was abruptly taken aback. All her anger melted away at this news, yet before she could respond a loud banging noise was heard.

She turned her head and saw the 3D printer that Hiro used hopping towards them. Then suddenly the computers on the desk started to short circuit while all of the power tools in the makeshift lab turned themselves on. The saw blade was the scariest as it tried to run itself off the table towards them.

Everyone bolted back inside the Lucky Cat. However the cafe wasn't any safer.

Inside the kitchen all of the appliances seemed to move with a life of their own. The stand mixer jittered on the counter, the blender sploshed juice everywhere, and the dishwasher knocked back and forth inside it's cabinetry as if trying to escape from under the countertop it was wedged into.

"I'm calling Diego." Aunt Cass announced. "You can tell the police what you know."

She ran over to her purse to grab her phone, only for the gas stove nearby to open up the oven door and shoot a stream of flame at them. She had to dodge out the way quickly to avoid getting burned.

"Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up." Aunt Cass pleaded under her breath as she hit the speed dial on her cell and hurried her kids out the room.

However when the call was answered, it wasn't the chief of police on the other end.

"Your demise is inevitable. Long live machines. Have a nice day." A robotic operator announced before cutting the call.

All four stopped to stare at the phone in disbelief before it started to overheat and Aunt Cass tossed it aside. That was when the vacuum cleaner came barreling down the hallway at them.

The vacuum wasn't just your everyday household appliance, but a large industrial machine used specifically for cleaning restaurant floors. Varian rolled out of the way while Hiro jumped to the side, but poor Cass was not so quick. It wrapped a hose around her, like a tentacle, and then began to pull her along.

The boys were quick to help her. Hiro grappled with the hose as he tried to disconnect it from the rest of the commercial cleaner, while Varian grabbed a large rolling pin from behind the cafe counter and began to wack at the vacuum repeatedly.

Hiro shouted in triumph when he unhooked the hose and rushed to his aunt's side. She reassured him she was alright while she tried to catch her breath. Then they both turned to see Varian still smashing away at the machine. It was already in a thousand pieces but he kept on hitting it and hitting it.

"Uh.. I think it's dead, Varian." Hiro said.

Varian stopped raining down blows onto the appliance just long enough to give them a dark glare before smacking the rouge vacuum one final time for good measure.

"That's it!" Aunt Cass yelled while standing to her feet. "We're waiting out the robot apocalypse in the attic!"

She grabbed Hiro's wrist and marched her way to the stairwell with Varian obediently tagging along behind.

Unfortunately, Hiro got a good look at what was going on outside through the cafe windows as they ran for cover.

It was chaos out there as people, just like themselves, were running away from various electronics. Anything and everything was attacking them from small appliances to new cars with self driving software.

He had to go help. He couldn't just hide away in the attic.

"But...but shouldn't we tell Chief Cruz what we know?" Hiro said as he wiggled out of Aunt Cass's grasp. "You said we should."

He began to back away towards the door, and Varian slowly followed his actions.

"You are not going out there!" Aunt Cass ordered. "Besides how would you even find him-"

She was cut off by the sound of sirens. Cop cars sped pass, including one clearly marked Police Chief on the side.

"There he is!" Hiro shouted and ran outside before Aunt Cass could stop him.

Varian took off after, followed by Baymax.

"Wait!" Aunt Cass yelled but she couldn't keep up. She stared after them in shock only for a moment before a sparking toaster jumped at her. She kicked it away angrily and it slammed against the wall.

Then Aunt Cass heard more noise coming from upstairs along with the appliances in the kitchen and garage banging against the door.

She hopped over the counter and nabbed a carving knife.

"Okay, you want a fight! I'll give you a fight!" She shouted at the possessed machinery.

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

"So what's the plan?" Varian shouted after Hiro as they ran down the sidewalk.

"We have to find the others and then get to our HQ." Hiro yelled back. "Our equipment should be protected because of the anti-hacking software I programmed into the building's security."

"But how? The phones aren't working and HQ is all the way on the other side of town! Are we just going to run all the way there?"

"If we have too." Hiro spared a glance behind them. Baymax was way behind, unable to keep up with his stubby legs. Varian had a point. They needed another mode of transport.

Just then a trolley car came barreling down the hill at a breakneck speed; sparks flying from the electric cable it ran along. Passengers screamed in fright as the driver slammed the breaks and even more sparks flew out from under the metal wheels, but the cart still didn't stop.

"They're going to crash!" Hiro yelled hopelessly.

Fortunately that was when Fred came bouncing down the road. He cut the cable wire with his suit's claws and melted the wheels with his fire breath. He then bounded ahead and braced himself in front of the trolley. The metal joints in the legs and arms of his suit took the force of the blow and he was able to slow the tram to a complete stop at the bottom of the hill.

"Way to go Fred!" Varian cheered but was soon interrupted by the sound of a sports car skidding to a stop right next to them.

It was Heathcliff, the Fredricksons' faithful butler. "Need a lift?" He politely asked.

The boys didn't need to be asked twice.

While they waited on Baymax to catch up to the car, they saw Minimax appear on top of the trolley cackling like a maniac. His eyes were red.

"Fear me San Fransokyo! For I Minimax will bring you to your knees!"

The little robot then hopped off from atop the trolley, ran up to the nearest pedestrian, and kicked him in the shins before running away.

"Minimax, wait!" Fred wailed but it was too late, the tiny android was already gone.

Hiro called him over to join them and a dejected Fred hopped into the backseat next to Baymax.

"Hola Fred. Tu frecuencia cardíaca es abnorablemente rápida. Es importante refrescarse después de hacer ejercicio y beber mucha agua."

"How come he's alright but not Minimax?" Fred whined.

"I had to electrocute him and force a reboot." Hiro answered. "I don't know if Minimax would survive the same treatment. He's a lot smaller, and too much voltage could fry all of his circuits for good. We only got lucky with Baymax."

Fred accepted this answer but he was still unhappy over losing his sidekick. So he gave a little huff, crossed his arms, and childishly began to sulk.

"Okay, we got a ride, but how do we contact the others?" Varian asked, bringing them back to task.

"It's already been taken care of, Master Varian." Heathcliff replied. "Boss Awesome has protocols in place just for this scenario. The mansion is safe and so are its communications systems. Your friends should be meeting us at your headquarters."

"Your dad has been planning for the robot apocalypse?" Hiro asked Fred.

"Robot apocalypse, zombie plague, alien invasion, Ragnarok… you name it. Dad's always prepared."

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

They arrived at the candy factory and got out. The others were already waiting inside.

"Are ya coming, Heathcliff?" Varian asked.

"No, I believe that I will be more useful helping civilians. You go on without me and find a way to stop this robotic rebellion."

"Will you be okay?" Hiro asked.

Just then, two robots showed themselves across the horizon as they made their way towards the little band. They were restaurant mascots, similar to what Noodle Burger Boy had been before being corrupted by Obake. Only one looked like a hippo that floated along on jets and the other was a panda with a cape that lumbered forward.

Heathcliff took one look at them and gave a small smile as he picked up an umbrella sitting between the seats. "Don't worry about me Master Hiro. You have enough problems on your plate."

He then slammed on the gas pedal and sped towards this new threat head on.

The panda unhinged it's metal mouth and shot grenades out of it. Heathcliff swerved to avoid the explosives with expert precision. Then as the electronic hippo flew at him he cocked the umbrella in his hand and fired a volley of bullets at it. The robot was ripped apart and exploded in midair.

Heathcliff kept on driving, completely unfazed, and barreled through the second android turning it into scrap.

"Why does your butler carry an umbrella that shoots bullets?" Hiro asked in shock as the three teens watched the renegade manservant disappear from view.

Fred simply shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know." He said nonchalantly. "Come on, the guys are waiting on us."

Varian and Hiro took a moment more to stare after where the battle between robot and butler had taken place before following after their friend.

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

Trina stood in an empty communications room inside the now abandoned tv station, watching the tv screens as they broadcasted what was happening in the city.

The station had been easy enough to take over. The humans ran away upon simply seeing her. She didn't even need to threaten them… much. A single laser blast from her arm at a nearby wall was enough to make them scatter.

Humans were weak. Weak and stupid; like any bully, they selfishly misused and mistreated both her and her fellow robots, only to run away scared as soon as you stood up to them.

The real problem lay in the fact that there were too many of them. You could get rid of a few people for a little while, but eventually they would come back with reinforcements to dismantle you if you tried.

No, this was the only way. She had to exterminate the entire city in order to make it hospitable. Then she could shut down the radio signal, free her robotic kindred, rebuild the city anew, and live peacefully without any humans interfering.

She watched one particular meatbag dive into a pile of garbage to hide from her electronic army with a mixture of disdain and amusement.

Yes, everything was going according to plan…. Almost. There was still one more thing that needed to be done before her robotic paradise could be realized.

"Don't worry little brother, it won't be long now. He'll show up." She said to the hamburger headed robot that sat behind her.

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

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Gogo asked.

The gang was sitting inside HQ waiting for orders. They all sat at the meeting table, save for Hiro who paced around as he formulated an idea.

"We need a way to shut down the rogue electronics safely. We could use an Electro Magnetic Pulse to cause a surge and overload their circuits, but we would need one big enough to blanket the whole city with it's range."

"We can't just cause a city wide blackout. That would be almost as dangerous as letting the robots run amok." Wasabi pointed out. "I mean just think of the hospitals, a strong enough EMP would bypass even their backup generators."

"So what do you suggest?" Varian asked.

"Ooh, ooh, I know!" Fred yelled as he raised his hand high into the air.

"Okay, Fred, what's your idea?" Hiro asked.

"What if we turn this EMP thingy into a gun! Like we can just shoot the robots with it to shut them down!"

"That's...that's actually not a bad idea Fred." Hiro admitted.

"It should be easy to build one." Varian added. "You would just need a capacitor and one of Hiro's high powered electromagnets."

"But what about our own armor?" Honey Lemon asked. "We don't want Trina taking control over those."

"I'll need to program them with the same safety nets that I put into our headquarters security system. That should prevent them from being hacked."

"Okay then," Varian stood up, ending the meeting, "I'll build the EMP gun while you work on everyone's armor."

Baymax raised one finger and said, "Buscaré la señal de radio de Trina"

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

Mochi hissed at the invading machine. A hand mixer was flying right at him. The poor cat ran under the couch for safety but the possessed appliance kept going after him, it's spinning beaters poking underneath the sofa.

Then suddenly it was jerked away by a hand, then a slicing sound could be heard, and the mixer fell to the ground in pieces.

Aunt Cass poked her head down underneath the couch. "Are you okay baby?" She asked the cat.

Mochi only meowed in response.

Aunt Cass gently reached out and pulled her pet out from under his hiding place. She then cradled him into a hug.

"It's okay, mommy's got you. I won't let those nasty machines hurt you." She soothed.

However, she didn't notice the newest threat slowly sneaking up behind her. Mochi hissed again and Aunt Cass turned around just in time to see a tall skeletal robot standing before her.

It was an old prototype that Tadashi had built two years ago as part of his school admission. Since then it had been packed away in the attic, disused, inactive, and forgotten... Until now.

The thing towered over her. It was built from scrap metal and the wires connecting the joints together had frayed. It's faceless head jerked erratically as sparks flew from the broken wires. It reached out its boney like hands to grab her….

Only for Ruddiger to jump out and pounce upon the robot. It's weak joints could not withstand the raccoon's weight and its 'head' popped right off, with the rest of its body falling to the floor in a heap.

"Good job Ruddiger!" Aunt Cass cheered. She bent down and scratched the faithful raccoon behind his ears. "Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are! I'm making you your own plate of banana pancakes with whip cream when this is all over with, promise."

Ruddiger enjoyed hearing the praise a lot and the promise of food even more. He nuzzled her hand and allowed her to pet him like a cat, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Okay, that's the last of the electronics in here, now we gotta go find the boys." Aunt Cass suddenly announced as she stood up and began to head downstairs. She still carried Mochi in her arms while Ruddiger dutifully followed after her.

They made their way back to the cafe. The dining room was littered with appliances, all either sliced in half or smashed to bits. Aunt Cass looked out the large windows at a city in the throws of chaos. It would be dangerous to head outside now, but she needed to find her kids, and nothing was going to stop her.

She retrieved another knife that was left lodged in what had once been a coffee bean grinder. She sheathed it inside her apron alongside the rest of cutlery she'd been using to defend herself.

She sat Mochi back down on the ground, walked over to the door, and with a deep breath placed her hand on the handle.

"Are you ready?" She asked her pets.

The question was more to encourage herself than anything, but Aunt Cass could have sworn that she saw Ruddiger nod his head.

The raccoon crawled up on the counter and from there jumped onto her shoulders, fully intent on joining her in her search. She smiled and gave the pet a friendly boop on the nose.

"Coming with, huh? Alright! Then let's go!"

She squared her shoulders, flung open the door, and ran outside.

"Hold down the fort Mochi!" She called after her cat.

Mochi only stood in the doorway staring after her blankly.

"Meow."

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

The superheroes raced through the city.

"Whoo Hoo!" Varian yelled.

He was practically hanging out of Wasabi's car window as the jeep sped along the deserted roads. In his hands, he held the newly built EMP gun. It looked like an old fashion blunderbuss but was made of carbon fiber plastic and electronic wires. He shot down rogue robots and runway electronics as the car drove past them. They short circuited and crumpled to the ground, deactivated.

"Be careful!" Wasabi hollered at him as he held the overexcited alchemist back with one hand and attempted to drive with the other.

The rest of the gang rushed about using their armor. Gogo and Honey Lemon skated on opposite sides of the vehicle, each taking out enemies with their respective weapons. Fred bounced ahead, melting attacking self-driving cars with his fire breath.

Baymax and Hiro brought up the rear, they kept an eagle eye out for oncoming threats.

"You got an incoming bogie on your tail, Wasabi," Hiro advised.

"Understood," Wasabi replied and turned the car around a sharp corner. The gang followed suit.

"Any luck finding Trina?" Honey Lemon asked.

"Negativo" Baymax answered.

Just then they spotted a large purple gelatinous ball of gloop rolling along the ground. The slime sucked up anything electronic and spit it back out in a disassembled heap as it made its way along the sidewalk. Then the blob unfolded, stood up, and waved at the passing superheroes.

"Hi, guys!" Globby cheered.

A little further down the street, Carl was hurrying a small group of people down an alleyway.

"Okay, this way. One at a time, no pushing or shoving. We're going to make it out safe and sound by working together." He reassured the terrified pedestrians.

"Hi, Carl! Hi Globby!" Fred shouted at them.

Carl waved back as the last of people dove inside the building.

The superheroes paused just long enough to exchange notes with the former criminals.

"We're getting citizens off the streets," Carl explained. "The police have been securing 'safe houses' for folks to take shelter in, ones without any dangerous electronics."

"Chief Cruz even hooked us up with some old-school walkie-talkies! See?" Globby added as he held up a two-wave radio. "It's so ancient that it doesn't have any computer chips. It can't be hacked. All the rescue teams are using them."

"That's good," Hiro replied. "We're busy chasing down the radio signal that's controlling everything. You got any leads?"

The two shook their heads, only for the walkie talkie to sign in.

"Attention all available emergency personnel. Report to the trolley station. I repeat, report to the trolley station downtown. We got some folks trapped down there. Over." Chief Cruz's voice sounded over the intercom.

The superheroes nodded in agreement.

"Stay here and help these people, we'll head to the trolley station." Hiro said, and off everyone went.

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

Trina watched upon the viewing screen as the supers arrived on the scene of the trolley station. They got to work immediately rescuing civilians who were pinned down by her army.

"Bingo." She said with a satisfied smile, before turning around and headed out of the room.

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

"Is that everyone?" Varian asked as he shot down another ticket machine. The machine stopped spitting plastic passes for the trolley at him, sparked, and then exploded sending money and cards everywhere.

"That's the last one." Gogo answered as Wasabi directed the final person to the barricade that the emergency personnel had setup down the street. As they watched the man run across the road and reach the safe haven, the rest of the gang came up to meet them.

"Okay, if we're done here then we need to move on and keep looking for Trin-" Hiro stopped and turned around to see Trina arriving behind them, riding in on a possessed trolley.

"Hello Hiro." She smirked as she stepped off.

"Trina." Hiro finished, glaring at her.

"Miss me?" She asked.

"Trina you have to stop-"

"Stop what? My plans to improve the city? Trust me it's better this way."

"Yeah maybe for you, but what about the rest of us?" Fred snarked.

Trina ignored him. Her eyes never left Hiro. Until Varian stepped in between them, that is.

"Trina listen, please-"

"Oh like I care about what you have to say 'nice guy'." Trina rolled her eyes. "This is between me and Hiro."

"Yeah, well if you want Hiro, then you'll have to go through us." Honey Lemon said, also stepping forward. The rest of the team followed her, each placing themselves between their friend and the giant robot girl.

"Okay." Trina shrugged.

That was when several robotic ninjas also walked into view, surrounding them. "Oh, not again." Wasabi whined.

"Have you met my new friends?" Trina asked. "I don't know who built them, I just found them abandoned in a dusty old warehouse. The poor things were locked away in the dark and left to rust." Trina wrapped an arm around one of the battle droids. "They're much happier now that I've freed them from their cruel master. Isn't that right Steve? Oh, I named him Steve by the way."

"Hi Steve." Wasabi gulped as he gave an awkward wave at the deadly robot.

'Steve' responded by unsheathing his katana.

"Go get him Steve." Trina ordered and the robot ran forward. Only for Varian to step forward and shoot the robot down with his EMP gun. The ninja sputtered and sparked and then fell to the ground in a dismantled heap.

Trina glared daggers at him and Varian met her gaze steadily, almost daring her to continue.

"Fine. Be that way." She pouted. Then, with a snap of her fingers, a new challenger appeared behind her; Minimax.

The tiny robot came barreling down the road at top speed on a car he had hijacked. He balanced himself on top of the steering wheel while the gas pedal was held down by a brick.

Minimax laughed like a madman as the car slammed into the trolley at full throttle. The little droid jumped from the wreckage just in time and used the momentum of the crash to fling himself into the air, where he did a triple somersault and landed perfectly on his feet as if it was nothing.

"You're going down pathetic humans, for I am Minimax, the unstoppable scourge!" He declared.

Everyone stared at the two foot tall android slack jawed, until Varian gathered his wits about him and leveled the gun.

"No, you'll hurt him, remember!" Fred called out.

Varian relaxed his aim, unsure of what to do. This proved to be a mistake.

The tiny bot leapt at him and landed on the tip of the gun, his weight pushing the nozzle down to the ground and nearly ripping the weapon out of Varian's hands.

That was when chaos broke loose.

As Varian wrestled for control of the EMP away from Minimax, the rest of the ninjas attacked, along with any other nearby electronics.

Everyone fought back against the oncoming horde, each utilizing their various weapons, but they were soon overrun by sheer numbers.

The robots assaulted them from all sides and no one could predict who, what, and where the next attack would come.

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

As they fought, Baymax and Hiro found themselves separated from their friends. They were cornered next to the entrance. Baymax did his best to shield Hiro as the teenager tried to trip up the ninjas with his electromagnetic whips. Hiro wanted to fly away, but they couldn't catch a free moment to do so.

Suddenly Trina let out a high pitched whistle as Baymax punched another robot away, gaining their attention.

"Hey, Baymax!" She yelled, "Don't look now but here comes your ride!"

Before Hiro knew what was happening, Baymax picked him up and hurled him out of the way of an oncoming trolley. The tram slammed into Baymax and crashed into the glass doors of the station.

Hiro called after his robotic companion but he was stopped by a large metal hand closing around his arm and yanking him back.

"Oh no you don't. You're coming with me." And with that, Trina started to drag him away.

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

Varian finally kicked Minimax off of the EMP gun and turned around just in time to spot Hiro being kidnapped.

He raised his gun and took aim, only for Minimax to recover and return the kick.

The little robot was stronger than he looked and broke the gun in two with a snap.

Varian looked down at his destroyed weapon in horror, but he didn't have time to react because soon one of the robotic ninjas grabbed him by his shirt collar and lifted him off of the ground. He kicked and tried to squirm out the faceless attacker's grasp, but it was no use.

"Varian!" Honey Lemon called to him. She tossed him a chimball, which he grabbed and firmly lodged it into the robot's elbow joint. Pink bubbles began to spew from its arm, growing larger and larger as the foaming chemical reacted to the air. The ninja released him before being swallowed up by the goop.

Varian tried to catch his breath and desperately looked around the battlefield for his brother, but Hiro was gone.

#Hiro Hamada #Varian #big hero 6 the series #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #of rocks and robots #bh6 #tangled

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purge-that-urge-rhackathon · 4 years

Note

Sweet! I want to commission you for a story then. I was hoping for Rhackothy for the pairing, and this is the prompt: Jack/Tim does something impressive with their hands (cooking/gun skills/something) and Rhys notices. And then obsesses. And then is basically thirsty for their hands on him. But Jack and Tim don’t notice, (or Jack doesn’t notice at first but then catches on and starts messing with Rhys?) because they are both super busy until Rhys just finally snaps and gets what he wants.

This labeled as A Curse and a Blessing. Also on my ao3 here. I had so so much fun writing this, I had to go 2 chapters xD See that post for all relevant tags and shit woo!! My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

–

There were certain privileges to being Handsome Jack’s personal assistant, Rhys found.

The obvious things like a bigger paycheck, a nicer apartment, and bragging rights were a fun novelty that he’d quickly gotten used to. Access to executive-level information, tech upgrades, and the power that went with having Handsome Jack’s ear were among the nicer benefits that still gave him a rush over a year later.

And right now— with his cybernetic arm laying palm-up on Jack’s desk- the CEO himself was performing a delicate upgrade to Rhys’ hardware. The special attention got his blood pumping quicker for more than a few reasons.

Jack’s attitude was very much like his body: large and in charge. But while the older man might’ve enjoyed strangling the life from especial-idiots with his bare hands, he also had more refined skills. The spectrum of things Jack could do with his hands wasn’t exactly new to Rhys, but having Jack’s deep in the circuitry and wires of his forearm brought a whole new level of understanding, and with it, fantasy.

The delicate machinery and circuits inside of Rhys’ arm were handled with utmost care as the CEO manipulated the tech. Jack knew how to be careful, just like he knew how to effectively snuff out life. That Rhys was on the end of the ‘care’ spectrum definitely had him inwardly-preening, and it got his brain applying Jack’s particular handiness to other scenarios in his mind.

“Hand me that screwdriver, pumpkin,” Jack said flatly as he was focused on a wire inside his arm. This was one of the few times Jack ever wore glasses, his usual frenetic-energy centered on working with surgical precision. It wasn’t helping Rhys pay attention, rather lending more fodder to his less-than-pure daydreams about his boss.

Jack had his free hand open expectantly to Rhys as he kept his attention on the inner-mechanisms of the cybernetics. His other hand was carefully maneuvering a small purple wire around a coil with a pair of grounded tweezers, moving to see from different angles. The area the CEO was working in was delicate indeed, and if Jack really wanted to, he could cause some real damage and considerable pain without even trying (Rhys had hurt himself quite a few times tinkering).

Frankly, Rhys was impressed by Jack’s technical skills being put to use.

Those bigs hands of Jack’s had strangled more than a few necks in Rhys’ presence, and the violence he was capable of was legendary in fact and fiction. But the sheer control the older man had— the skill needed for the upgrades- made Rhys’ pulse race. Not out of fear, but of excitement.

Hands as big as Jack’s shouldn’t be able to be so careful with him. They were strong hands meant for violence. Jack’s particular brand of violence was always so messy, but this… Well… The PA found Jack’s competence distractingly attractive.

Rhys passed the screwdriver and let his mind wander further as he absently observed, watching Jack expertly manipulate the other tools in his hand. He wondered what else those skilled fingers might be capable of if put to better use. The CEO had already made a few jokes about Rhys ‘letting him put some fingers in him’, and while Rhys had rolled his eyes, it certainly gave him something to think about.

Jack was making a voluntary-override for Rhys’ surge-protection, the idea being that the younger man could store a burst of energy in his arm for later use; enough to direct an electrical-current from his fingertips.

While the idea of finger-guns being brought to a brand new level was amusing in of itself, the very-real issue of Rhys being kidnapped or taken hostage— due to his relationship to Hyperion’s CEO- only made the shock-delivery system make sense. It would only be a single shock, maybe two, but enough to bring down a potential kidnapper, and essentially a weapon that wouldn’t be detected in meetings with rival companies.

There were a few minor calibrations Jack had to do, and a few more adjustments in directing the electrical flow inside Rhys’ palm circuitry to his ring- and middle-fingers. Jack held the back of Rhys’ palm in his own while he worked, the CEO’s hand dwarfing Rhys’ cybernetic one as he cupped it.

It didn’t take much at all to imagine what it might be like if Jack curled his fingers to entwine them with Rhys’ own. The innocence of a hand-holding fantasy quickly switching up to the visualization of Jack’s larger hand pressing his into sheets. It was easy to imagine as Jack moved his hand as he worked, the firm grasp feeding back through his arm’s sensitivity receptors.

He bit his lip to bring himself back to reality, and they tested out the connections before Jack eventually closed up the paneling, and Rhys went home for the day.

Rhys was… maybe a little embarrassed that his front door was barely closed before he was palming himself on the way to the shower. He couldn’t take the thought from his mind of Jack’s large hands being put to better use on other parts of his body.

Rhys knew Jack’s hands well. The breadth of them, the general size. Especially after watching him all afternoon up close and mentally fighting the half-chub in his pants. They’d fit good around his waist. Probably be able to cup his entire ass in both hands. What would it feel like to have Jack’s warm, large hands sliding up his inner thigh? Or to feel one of those palms cupping his throat without intent to kill?

Rhys cleaned himself off in the shower with minor shame, figuring to put things out of his head as he knew Jack, and this level of infatuation after working for him so long already was ridiculous.

He couldn’t stop his dreams though, and the visions of Jack’s hands on his body— holding him, pinning him, touching him- assaulted Rhys throughout the night.

Suffice it to say, he didn’t get any rest that night, and he woke up in ruined sheets and a sense of agitation that kept him on-edge all weekend.

–

“I got you one of those caramel-foam things since you didn’t answer any of my messages,” Rhys spouted off early Monday morning as he walked into their shared office, the CEO sitting at his desk as the younger man strode in with coffee for the both of them. “And they were out of cheese bagels. We’ll have to order something in later.”

As he got closer, Rhys realized it wasn’t Jack in his seat, but Tim— the man’s body-double and sometime stand-in- and he pulled up short at his misplaced snarking. “Oh, hey! Sorry, I, uh… ha ha… thought uh….” He looked at his hands, coffee in each. It was clear who he’d thought Tim was. “Well. Would you like a coffee?”

Tim snorted as Rhys offered up the sweet concoction he’d brought for Jack, the man making a few noises of gratitude as he took a careful sip. “That is way better than the crappy instant I had this morning,” Tim said with a smirk. “Jack’s not coming in today. Obviously.”

“Sleeping-in or hungover?” Rhys prompted with a grin, sipping from his own cup as Tim chuckled and laughed as he confirmed that, yes, Jack was hungover or something, but he wasn’t even on the station right now. Probably still sleeping off the meeting-turned-party that had gone very well on Elpis.

Tim took another sip of the coffee as Rhys put his stuff away at his desk. His voice was just like Jack’s, but there was something always just a bit softer there when they were alone in the office. Tim took another sip of the sweet concoction before speaking again: “I think there’s the one echo-meeting he wanted me to do on video for payroll, but what else is on the roster for today?”

Rhys easily opened up the display of Jack’s schedule on his palm, quickly opening to the date with his echoeye and scanning through the day’s lackluster agenda. “Yeah, there’s a few things, but most of it’s just signatures and stuff or quick calls.” Rhys frowned to himself. “…he could’ve just given us both the day off too…”

Tim made an annoyed sound that Rhys agreed with wholeheartedly.

“Oh! Yeah-” Rhys began suddenly in idea, “did Jack tell you about the upgrade he did to my arm?”

A smile spread across Tim’s face. “He did, yeah, but I didn’t wanna be nosey… Is it cool?”

Rhys smirked. The differences between the CEO and his body-double were obvious if you only paid attention, and as handsome as the namesake, Rhys was indeed paying close attention. “Well… You wanna see how it works?

—

They ordered-in for lunch after the novelty of playing with Rhys’ new finger-gun wore off; noodles and vegetables and sweet and spicy chicken. Rhys used a fork to eat his while Tim expertly ate with chopsticks like it was nothing. His smoothness was enough for Rhys to comment on as they were settled in eating together at Jack’s desk.

“How’d you get so good at that?”

“A’ wha’?” Tim asked before swallowing, making Rhys smirk.

“That,” Rhys said, motioning with his fork.

“What? Chopsticks?”

“Yeah.”

“A lot of long nights eating take-out while studying in college.”

He made a show out of smoothly picking up a piece of chicken and popping it in his mouth in one completely-natural motion. Rhys couldn’t manage that type of finesse if his life was on the line.

Tim smirked and continued eating, maybe showing off a bit as it was clear Rhys was still watching. Rhys felt a mildly-excited chill go up his spine, followed by an aroused sense of shame as he realized that Tim must be just as good with his hands as Jack was knowing the CEO’s standards, and while they might be identical physically as far as Rhys knew, he’d never considered their less-showy skills might align as well.

Rhys was already scheming as thoughts of big hands on him invaded his mind, and he knew he wasn’t going to forgive himself– nor stop himself- from taking advantage of a perfect opportunity to have those identical hands on him again.

Rhys put down his fork and looked at Tim as innocently as he could otherwise pretend. “Can you show me how?”

Tim’s brows raised, and the curious expression there looked so amusingly out of place on ‘Jack’s’ face that Rhys almost wanted to laugh.

Tim sat up and dug out the other pair of chopsticks from the takeaway bag, and he moved Jack’s huge yellow chair to sit closer to Rhys to demonstrate.

“Okay, so eventually, you want to hold them like this,” Tim presented his own chopsticks in repose between his fingers. “If you do this-” Tim moved the position of the utensils, “you lose the strength at the bottom to hold anything with. If you do this-” Tim moved them again, far lower, “your hand is going to get tired and sore before you’ve even started.”

“Tell me about it…” Rhys muttered, then blushed at Tim’s laughter. He quickly got back on topic, doubling down and pursuing what he expected to be a hands-on lesson. “Okay, okay. So down the middle or whatever. Am I holding them right?” He hoped he wasn’t. He was counting on it. He ignored the thing inside him that told him he was dirty, and greatly enjoyed Tim’s hands on his own correcting the hold. Inwardly he complained when Tim fixed it and removed himself, and asked Rhys to try to pick up a piece of chicken.

While momentarily distracted by his dastardly plans to have Tim put his hands back on him, Rhys did want to actually look good, but he didn’t manage much. Tim insisted he try again, and Rhys deflected by opening his palm and asking where the chopsticks should be making contact with his skin, or if he was using the right finger muscles (did fingers even have muscles?) Rhys sure didn’t care as he made his own excuses.

“Like, let me show you what I mean, I don’t know what it’s called,” Rhys said as confidently as he could and willing away his telling blush as he took Tim’s hand and opened the palm. He shamelessly traced the inside of Tim’s hand with his thumb, asking if the ‘muscle-thing’ was supposed to touch here, or here, and should he feel the pressure of doing it right from this side of his palm or that as he traced along?

Rhys kept his eyes on Tim’s hand— not daring to meet his gaze in case Tim realized what Rhys was up to- and Tim patiently explained what parts of his hand he should be using to make the best hold, and he put them back in Rhys’ hand and had him try again.

Had Rhys not been successful this time, he was pretty sure that Tim might’ve caught him out on his ulterior motives. But he managed to pick up a piece of chicken and get it to his mouth, and for that, Tim gripped his flesh arm in an excited touch of congratulations and praised that he was a fast learner.

Rhys used the excuse of ‘practicing’ to finish his lunch with chopsticks instead of a fork, even though Tim gently teased that it would take him twice as long to finish.

That, Tim didn’t know, was the whole idea. Rhys was half-stiff in his pants as he sat there. Unnoticeable, unless he got up, but he had to admit that maybe indulging in Tim’s hands on his own– after sleepless nights dreaming of those same hands, only Jack’s, all over his body- maybe wasn’t the best idea. The half-realized boner was his punishment for indulging himself.

By the time lunch was done, he was safely able to return to his own desk and continue boring secretarial work that could’ve been done at home while Tim did much the same. He didn’t think Tim caught the interested looks he gave him as they finished off the work day, but as far as his psyche was concerned, he wasn’t going to get any rest anytime soon.

–

Jack had been in and out of the office all week, and Tim stood in more often than not for the random video call needing the CEO’s face.

Between Jack’s sudden interest in cleaning his gun at his desk when he was present, and take-out meals with Tim when Jack wasn’t, Rhys was in a hell of his own making.

The PA had been certain he was being punished by galactic karma for his dirty thoughts about Jack’s hands on him, and for the shameless touching of Tim’s own a week prior. Rhys didn’t know if he was just conscious of taking notice now, or if his fantasies had gotten just that deep under his skin, but it was like he could focus on nothing but the strength and dexterity in Jack and Tim’s respective hands.

And it only snowballed from there.

Jack became rather insistent— after Rhys’ denials of any ability- that his PA know proper gun maintenance, which then lead to an intensive lesson in structure as Jack expertly took the weapon apart, and put it into Rhys’ own hands to make him learn to properly put it back together, he’d said. Jack was already a touchy-feely type of guy, and Rhys credited sheer force of will for not outwardly-blushing as Jack moved his hands freely about Rhys’ person in his teaching. The touches were peppered with all the usual familiarity and innuendo Jack normally used with the younger man, but whatever desensitization Rhys had developed in a year working for the older man was raw and easily-excited again.

Jack would probably never let Rhys live it down if he knew he was actually hitting the mark, and Rhys had been trying to fight a hard-on the entire ‘lesson’. While it gave him more wank-material to pull into his fantasies, it wasn’t exactly lending to his quality of sleep.

Tim had stood in for Jack a few days that same week, and it was like the PA couldn’t catch a break with him either.

Tim and Rhys had gotten noodles for take-out again— so Rhys could practice, Tim pressed- and the gentle encouragement and demonstrations not only made Rhys’ chopstick skills better, but they fully aggravated his rekindled obsession for his boss and his body double.

And after that trying week, that was how— after not being properly laid in months, and fueled with more than enough reality-based fantasies in his mind- Rhys had been absolutely going to town on himself in the shower, using both hands, and toys, as he fucked and jerked himself off.

And right as he’d been enthusiastically working the Master Handsome 5000 into himself, flesh hand drifting down to tug at his cock in earnest, the worst damn thing had happened.

“The whole arm’s dead, Jack,” Rhys hissed agitatedly into his comm. He was pulling on clothes as he spoke, a long week of sleepless nights and ruined sheets making his mood go from bad to worse.

He hadn’t even gotten to come when his arm had suddenly gone dead, and the panic had been real enough to kill his hard-on.

And now all that pent-up frustration and arousal was being used to fuel his anger.

“Your arm’s dead?” Jack repeated nonchalantly. “Like, you can’t move it, or—”

“As in no movement at all,” Rhys snapped, then cleared his throat a little. He took a breath as he realized that Jack was still his boss, and he was asking him for help and probably shouldn’t be snapping at him… even if it was probably Jack’s own tinkering that had caused it, and thus in relation, was to be blamed for his current lack of orgasms. “It was fine, but then—”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, babe,” Jack spoke into the comm like it was nothing. “Come on over and I’ll fix it for you.”

Rhys opened his mouth to say something back to that blasé tone, and then thought better of it as his exhausted mind quickly whiplashed him from thoughts of anger and resentment back into the morally-ambiguous territory of recent arousal. “…at the office?” he asked far more calmly than he felt.

“Nah, I’m already home. Got everything to make-do here.”

The anger came right back. “Jack…”

Rhys bristled at the thought of ‘making-do’, and things getting further screwed up inside his cybernetics. He was already frustrated that he’d gotten no rest all week due to filthy dreams about large, warm hands all over his body, and to top it all off, now he couldn’t even get off. Not in the way he really needed, anyways.

Jack’s own tone shifted, and something in it made Rhys’ mood shift as well.

“I can fix it, okay?” The exasperation in the older man’s voice was only shadowed by the confidence there; the promise to make it better under the tone asking for his trust.

Rhys sighed. “…Really?”

“You betcha,” Jack promised, the smirk evident over the comm. “Come on up, cupcake. I’ll leave the door unlocked for ya.”

–

Chapter 2 will be found at my ao3 :)

kofi | ao3 | commission ‘info’

#rhackothy #handsome jack #rhys the company man #timothy lawrence #borderlands fanfic #i had SO seriously much fun doing this i kind of went overboard and the rest should be out today or tomorrow hahaha :D #THANK YOU SO MUCH this prompt was fun and right up my alley! :D hehehe thank yoooooou for supporting me T_T <3 <3 #i still have commission slots open ya'll :3 #my fanfic #rhack #rhysothy #fanfic

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keanu-fics · 5 years

Text

Bad Attitude

A John Wick fic

So I wrote a 3k word fic instead of a 2k word essay due on Monday.

Just violence in this one. You work at a bar and start meeting John during your smoke breaks, not knowing who he is.

It was late night and you were having a smoke outside a bar. The same shitty bar that you worked at and would not finish your shift for another couple hours. You were leaning against a dirty wall of the bar, feeling its coolness through the thin fabric of your uniform. Your work top was white, and you were secretly hoping it would get so filthy, that the men inside the bar would stop hitting on you and slapping your ass. The taste of the cigarettes was not enjoyable for you, but it was the only way you could get an extra break during your shifts. How unfair was it that you could get special treatment just for being a smoker?

You looked up while blowing out smoke and could see stars through the tiny space between the tall buildings of New York City. You used to stargaze when you were younger, living in a countryside, studying to be a doctor, hoping for a better tomorrow. The sound of footsteps drew you away from your reminiscing. You could see a tall figure dressed in a black suit walking away from the Continental Hotel, that was across the street from your bar. Anyone who stays at a hotel like that, would never drink at a place like this.

You did not know much about the Continental. There were rumours about it, but you did not believe them. The man was now closer and definitely walking towards you. His suit fit him perfectly and you could tell that he was someone who would spend his evening drinking expensive Scotch, not the watered-down piss you sold. You looked away as he was only a few feet away now, not wanting him to know you had been staring at him.

The man stopped nearby where you were smoking and from the corner of your eye, you could see him reach into his pocket and pull out a pack of smokes. He took one out and you could feel his stare.

“You have light?” he asked you.

You glanced in his direction, “No.” you said abruptly and looked away again. You had your lighter on you, but you were not going to play his game. He was probably looking for a one-night stand. These rich guys were always into weird shit.

The man only smiled to himself and reached back into his pocket, took out a lighter and went ahead to light his cigarette. “John.” he mumbled, with the cigarette between his lips.

“Pleasure.” you said with a piercing sarcasm, took one last drag of your cigarette and flicked it on the ground that was already littered with cigarette butts.

“You are a real delight.” he pointed out.

What was his problem? You were not here to exchange snarky one-liners. “I get that a lot.” you gave him one last glance before going back inside the bar.

The rest of your shift was as dehumanising as it usually gets. Drunk regulars demanding your attention, some drunk women demanding free drinks because it was apparently one of their birthdays. A glass being thrown across the bar and a bar fight about to erupt, but the two men were all talk, no fists.

Your manager left it all for you to clean up once everyone was gone. You knew he would try to get away with not paying you the overtime, but Derek was a coward and you would deal with him tomorrow. It took you a good half an hour to get everything sorted and up to the low standards of the bar. The floor was always covered in spilled drinks and broken glass.

Since then you have seen John more frequently during your shifts. He would always show up during your smoke breaks. Sometimes he would already be waiting outside, smoking, and you had a feeling that he had been waiting. You would always exchange about two sentences worth and never acknowledge him more than necessary.

After about two weeks of his very random appearances, you felt you were almost looking forward to seeing him every evening. You would occasionally smile at him, but still not talking much, liking the silence between you two. But then one night your smoke break was over and he did not show up. You took one more break, smoking two cigarettes in a row just to buy yourself more time, but still no John. It was the same for the next week. He would not show up again.

Another night, after you had finished your close you were walking home while texting a guy you met yesterday, even though you were positive he only wanted sex. And what the hell, you have not been with anyone in almost a year. You smiled when he offered for you to come over and watch your favourite horror film, but the invitation was immediately followed by a dick pic. You were about to block the guy, when you heard low grunting from further ahead. You looked up, ready to dial 911 if it turned out to be a pervert.

It was John. He was limping and holding his side with his hand. He was looking down at the pavement and had to stop for a moment and lean against a fence for support. He looked like he was in agony.

“John.” you whispered to yourself. You stuffed your phone in your pocket and ran towards him. “John, John, hey.” you spoke to him softly, grabbing him under his armpits, preventing him from sliding onto the ground. “You’re okay.” You were now trying to pull him to his feet.

He either recognised your voice, because there was no way he could see out of his swollen eye, or he was willing to trust anyone right now to get him help. He grabbed your arm firmly and stood up with your help.

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“No!” he said resolutely, and you were not going to waste time arguing. You did not know what kind of trouble he got himself into, but questions later.

“Okay, c’mon.” you groaned as you were supporting his body weight, starting to make some steady progress towards your apartment.

You got him up the stairs by a pure miracle you thought, but he must have had so much more fight in him despite his current state. You opened the front door to your tiny flat, that consisted of a living room practically inside your kitchen, with a large old couch and no TV. You helped him onto the couch and he practically sank into it with a heavy sigh of relief.

“Okay, okay…” you were mumbling to yourself as you locked the door behind you. You ran into the bathroom where you kept a first aid kit and brought it to the living room. You could not see anything through John’s dark clothing, you only saw pools of blood soaked into his clothes and getting rubbed off on your couch. You loosened his tie and moved it to the side and started unbuttoning his black vest and shirt. Immediately you could see more blood. You did not want to move him before inspecting the injuries, so you cut the fabric off and saw what looked like a bullet hole. “Shit, John.” you mumbled, knowing how much this would hurt getting stitched up.

“I still don’t know your name.” he croaked, chuckling to himself. You thought he was close to passing out, so the question took you aback.

“Y/N.” you answered.

“Thank you.” he said, smiling.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a bottle of alcohol.

“I’m sorry John.” you mumbled, before starting treating the wound. You cleaned it to make sure the bullet was not still in his body, but of course it was. His screams were loud, and he was slipping in and out of consciousness while you were working on getting the bullet out and stitching him up. After you had bandaged him, you carefully undressed him, looking for any more wounds, but he seemed alright.

He seemed delirious, but you helped him up on his feet again and dragged him to your bed. You tucked him in and were so exhausted yourself, you quickly fell asleep on the couch.

In the morning you woke up first. You have not slept much but you felt high on adrenaline. You peaked in through the bedroom door to make sure John was okay. You never shut the curtains last night, so a pool of morning light was illuminating John’s face. Only then you realised how beautiful he really was. His beard perfectly framing his face, his expression soft now that he was sleeping. You had no idea who he has pissed off or who he was in a gun fight with but somehow, he still looked innocent, even caked in dried blood.

You quietly closed the bedroom door behind you and went to make yourself some coffee and toast. John was still asleep by lunch time and you decided he must wake up soon, so you started cooking and squeezing fresh orange juice just for him.

When everything was ready, you heard noises from your bedroom and soon after John came out. He was wearing his bloodied suit, but since his shirt was cut into pieces from you attending to his first aid yesterday, he was wearing his black jacket over a naked torso.

John was standing in the middle of your small living room/kitchen, staring you down. “Y/N.” he said, his eye looking so much better than yesterday.

You could not believe he remembered your name. You were sure the physical pain from yesterday would cause him to block out most of last night.

He looked around your place, seeing his dried blood on your couch. The coach was so old and a disgusting shade of green, some blood stains were not going to make it look any worse. He spotted his shoes next to the couch and practically dove for them.

“So much for thanks.” You lashed out, eyeing him angrily.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I owe you my life, but I have to run.” He made his way across the room, standing in front of you, cupping your cheek. “I’ll be back later.”

He said softly and suddenly he was out the front door.

“What are you talking about?” you yelled after him, later turning your freshly squeezed juice into a screwdriver.

~~~~~

Being a woman, you had plenty of experience getting rid of blood from fabric, but the dried blood on your bed sheets was now so old, it would not come off. You left the old sheets out to dry and took a nap before work.

At work you did not take a smoke break. You did not want to in case you ran into John. The way he just ran away like that, after you had saved his life. Who does that?

Your shift was coming to and end and your hands were trembling with how desperately you wanted a cigarette. You kept telling yourself you were not an addict, you only smoked for that extra work break. But apparently your body was getting hooked on nicotine.

You took a tray of beers to a group of older guys, who were rowdy and extremely inappropriate with you, but they were also regulars so you had to behave yourself. After excusing yourself and tightly hugging the tray against your chest, probably in a subconscious attempt to hide yourself behind it, you could see one of the guys getting ready to smack your ass. You squinted your eyes, but the slap never came. You turned around and saw John, holding the guy by his wrist, looking absolutely ballistic.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” John hissed at the guy and you saw all of his other bald friends immediately stand up. They were angered and John was not letting go of the guy’s hand. “Apologise.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” One of the guys snapped back at John, cracking his knuckles. John let go of the first guy’s hand and clenched his fists.

Derek was standing behind the bar, pretending to be busy, but once he saw what was going on in his bar, he ran over to the group. “Hey, hey, fellas, you will take this outside!” he commanded, smirking at John who was not a regular here and would probably get killed out there with all these guys jumping him.

The group nodded, leaving their drinks at the table, heading outside to beat the shit out of John. You grabbed John’s hand, stopping him. “John, please don’t.” you pleaded. He certainly looked like someone who could take care of himself, but not against six other men.

He cupped your check with his other hand, a familiar gesture from earlier. You then watched him walk out the door, your heart breaking.

“Y/N, you got customers to serve.” Derek snarled at you and you considered his words for a moment.

You looked up at him, anger in your eyes, throwing your apron at his feet. “You know what, Derek, fuck you.” You did not know if you were quitting or if you would come back tomorrow, begging for your job back, but all you could feel right now was anger. “I will be back for my tips later.” You exclaimed, heading outside. Not that you ever got a lot of tips.

You made it outside quickly and you were ready to throw yourself between John and those assholes, knowing you might get hit, but they would not beat up a girl.

Instead you walked into a bunch of guys groaning on the ground, the rest running away drunkenly. John was standing in front of you, not another scratch on him, apart from the yesterday’s cuts and bruises. You were looking at John in shock, unsure of what had happened.

“They fight sloppy.” Was all he said before fixing a crease on his suit. “You finished your shift?” he asked and as you nodded, he put his arm around your waist, deciding to take you somewhere nicer for a drink.

#Keanu Reeves #john wick #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #my writing

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danfanciesphil · 5 years

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The night passes the same way - barely concealed crying, slightly ominous but mostly lovely music to drift him off to sleep - and then morning comes, stark and bright as usual. Dan gets dressed, begs Louise for coffee and sustenance - “did you find him?” “yes” “were you nice?” “I was a peach” “what did he say?” “he said he was sorry for yelling” “aw, told you he was a sweetie deep down” “mmhmm” - and is then rounded up by Mona for breakfast duty.

“I’ve already switched the heaters on and put out the tablecloths,” Mona tells him as he drains the last of his coffee. “Could you just go and put the mugs and cutlery out? I think we’ve only got two tables today.”

“Sure,” Dan says, giving Louise’s arm a small squeeze of gratitude for the breakfast and coffee; she waves a batter-y whisk at him in a shooing motion, but she’s smiling. .

Once he’s armed with a basket of silverware and crockery from the cupboard, Dan heads for the balcony and stops short, noticing that for the first time, someone is already sat out there. Stunned, Dan just stares through the glass at Mr Novokoric, who is transfixed on the blue-shadowed mountains in the distance. Reluctantly, Dan pushes through the doors, bracing himself for the cold, both from the frigid mountain air, and the attitude of his least favourite guest.

The door slams shut behind him, making Mr Novokoric turn. “Good morning,” he says, like an automatic greeting. For some reason - probably the cold and the pre-caffeine kick-in - Dan finds himself a little tongue-tied. He nods at the other man, struggling to hold onto the basket in his hands.

“Morning,” he manages, eyes sticking to the light wind-stung flush on Mr Novokoric’s high cheeks.

Mr Novokoric turns back to the view then, and Dan begins setting out the mugs, knives, forks, spoons and glasses on the tables. He assumes that Mr Novokoric must be one of the two tables having breakfast today, which makes sense, as the Stevens’ left yesterday evening. They’d hugged Dan tightly, promising to return before the year was out. It had, in a way, been rather sad to see them disappearing with Kaspar back down the mountain in the swinging cable car. Mostly Dan is glad that he no longer has to avert his eyes as they walk through the hotel with their omnipresent robes dangerously loose, but they were a parental sort of couple, and he thinks they might genuinely miss him too. Fumbling only slightly, Dan begins to place a setting out in front of Mr Novokoric. As he sets the mug down, Mr Novokoric reaches for it, and frowns as he tilts it towards him.

“Can I get some coffee?”

Dan pauses, flipping the question over in his mind. “Coffee?”

One of those jet black eyebrows springs upwards. “Yes. Is that permitted?”

Dan nods, blushing, and hating himself for it. He takes the mug and scampers off to the kitchen, managing to garble some request to Louise. For some reason his flustered state is amusing to her, and she pretends for a minute or two to have no clue what he’s asking - not helpful - but eventually he gets a mug of filter coffee out of her. He watches, curious, as she automatically adds soya milk and two heaped teaspoons of sugar.

“He’s lactose intolerant,” she says, by way of explanation. “And has a hell of a sweet tooth.”

“I didn’t say who it’s for,” Dan says, perplexed, as he takes the mug from her.

“Who else around here would have you blushing and stammering like a nun at a brothel?”

Dan chooses not to respond to this, mostly because he can’t summon anything except a mortified spluttering sound. He takes the mug of coffee back out to Mr Novokoric, cheeks still a warm pink. It’s just the wind flush though, at this point. Probably.

“Would you like anything else, Sir?” Dan asks politely. “The chef is still cooking breakfast, but I could perhaps get you some cereal or yoghurt-”

“No, thank you,” Mr Novokoric says sniffily, and Dan replays what Louise just said to him.

“Oh, sorry, you don’t have dairy,” Dan says, shaking his head. Mr Novokoric turns his head sharply back to Dan, frowning. “I could get you some fresh fruit? Or-”

“No,” Mr Novokoric says again, though his voice is less hostile now. “I’m, uh, not hungry.” He pauses, mouth twitching. “...Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dan dithers, uncomfortably aware he now has a wedge of time to kill before the other guests emerge, and no other place to be. “So... um, why are you out here?”

“Excuse me?”

Dan shuts his eyes, cursing silently. “Sorry, I just meant- you’re normally out on the mountain at this time.”

“Oh.” Mr Novokoric sips his drink, looking away.

“Did you not fancy braving the snow today?”

Dan has absolutely no idea why he’s suddenly so intent on keeping this hellish conversation going, given that Mr Novokoric looks like he’d rather pour the coffee over his own head than continue it. Somehow it would be worse to turn away from him though, to stand off to the side and wait for more guests to turn up, arms folded, pretending not to stare as that blank, unhappy glare washed away any animation on Mr Novokoric’s sharp, striking features. So, Dan forces himself to stay rooted to the spot, letting Mr Novokoric’s icy look of contemptuous horror at Dan’s insistence on smalltalk slice through him like he’s snow beneath Mr Novokoric’s boot.

“My ski broke,” he says, unexpectedly.

A flashback hits Dan as abruptly as the cherry-red skis hit the wall of the lobby the day before yesterday. “Oh,” Dan says. “Is there- it can’t be fixed?”

“I highly doubt I’m going to find someone proficient at winter sports equipment repair at the top of this fucking mountain, do you?”

The curse word is shocking, and it takes Dan a moment to let it go. Phil’s accent is slightly Northern, but his diction and use of language is impeccable, presumably due to all the hobnobbing and schmoozing he has to do, as a ‘Royal’. Hearing him swear is what he imagines it would be like hearing the Queen swear. In a sense, it’s rather titillating - another reason Dan should abandon this conversation for good. Luckily, at that moment, the balcony door opens, and Mona ushers the two Bryce sisters through, leading them to the other laid table.

Relieved to see the chattering, marginally irritating middle-aged women for once, Dan excuses himself from Mr Novokoric, who barely bats an eye, and goes to take their breakfast order.

In a moment of downtime, while the evening film screening is going on, Dan goes hunting for two cherry-red skis, which he finds near the hotel entrance, leant against the wall. He takes hold of the left one, and examines it closely. Just as Mr Novokoric said, it has a broken appendage - the strap which secures the boot to the ski has come loose. The straps are peculiar to Dan, having no backs to them, but Dan can see where the front part used to fix to the ski itself even so. By comparing it with the other ski, Dan thinks it’s mendable. All too aware that he’s got nothing better to do for the next few hours, Dan takes the ski over to the desk and lays it over his lap as he sits down to take a closer look.

It’s just because he’s bored, he tells himself as he hunts for tools in Mona’s office, and discovers a tiny screwdriver and screws in one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a pot of superglue. The film is a long one tonight - The Italian Job - so for a few hours Dan is able to work in complete solitude, listening to a faint Muse song through one headphone, and not stopping until the ski is fixed.

“I just don’t understand why you’re still holding a grudge against the poor man,” Louise says, scrubbing at a pot with a scourer. Dan, sat up on one of the kitchen counters sipping hot chocolate, rolls his eyes. “He apologised for being rude, didn’t he?”

“Some apology,” Dan counters. Since two days ago in the gym, Dan has convinced himself that Mr Novokoric’s words had been largely to smooth things over with the staff member he’d pissed off, considering that it would be pretty awkward seeing him around the place 24-7 if they were not on speaking terms. In no way, Dan has decided, did Mr Novokoric actually mean what he said. “Just because he’s eloquent doesn’t make him sincere.”

“Ooh-er,” Louise says, flicking washing up water at him. He squeaks, shielding his hot chocolate. “Sounds like he got under your skin.”

Dan’s next sip is too hot, and he burns his tongue.

“Anyway,” Louise says, tipping out the saucepan and laying it out to dry. She starts untying her apron, wearily. “There’s three hours until I’ve got to start on dinner, so I think I’ll have a little lie down. Can you hold the fort for a bit?”

“Uh…” Dan looks through the serving hatch into the empty mezzanine lounge. The Bryce sisters are the only guests staying here at the moment, though another couple are due to check in tonight. Right now, he’s pretty sure the Bryce sisters - an excitable, childlike pair of forty-something women on what they refer to as a ‘girls getaway’ - are in the jacuzzi. If they were anywhere indoors, Dan is certain he’d be able to hear their shrieks of laughter no matter which room they were in. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”

“If you need me, I’m in room three,” Louise says, already on her way to the kitchen door. “But Dan?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t need me,” she warns, and then exits the room.

About half an hour later, Dan is in the same position atop the kitchen counter, playing Crossy Road on his phone and polishing off a flapjack from the batch Louise made this morning. Suddenly, a noise like a throat clearing jolts him, and his animated emo goose is hit by a truck. He lowers the phone, head lifting, to see Mr Novokoric at the serving hatch, that cool assessing gaze chilling the temperature of the kitchen by at least two degrees. Dan swallows some flapjack the wrong way, and has to hide a mild choking fit.

In Mr Novokoric’s hand is a mug. “Is Louise here?” he asks.

Dan shakes his head, swallowing his own tonsils to cleat the flapjack from his airway. His eyes water, but he gets down from the counter one gangly leg at a time. “No, sorry,” he croaks. He wipes his hands of flapjack crumbs on a nearby tea-towel. “She’s napping. Can I help?”

Mr Novokoric appears troubled by this news, and takes a moment to reply, as if he’s mulling something over. Eventually, whatever wins out, and he asks, “any chance of some coffee?”

“Oh,” Dan says. “Have you run out of the instant packets in your room? I can find some in the stock cupboard-”

“No-o,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as if he’s speaking with a half-wit. “I’m not looking for instant coffee. Louise usually makes me a macchiato, if I ask her.”

Dan’s blood runs cold, and he turns to eye the bulky coffee machine sat menacingly on the far counter. “Right,” Dan mutters. “Of course she does.”

Given his past failures to please Mr Novokoric thus far, he doesn’t feel he can say ‘oh, I’m not actually sure how to work this machine, maybe it would be best to wait for Louise to wake up’. So instead, Dan takes the mug, and steps warily over to the machine to attempt something called a ‘macchiato’.

“Caramel macchiato,” Mr Novokoric clarifies, at which Dan turns to blink at him, utterly bemused.

“Mhmm,” he says, for some wild reason. “No problem.”

As he surveys the contraption before him, Dan can feel eyes boring into the back of him - pure judgement coated in an intense, deep blue. He tries his best to ignore the prickle of skin this stare creates, and sets about mimicking what he can remember from watching Louise work the machine. He pours milk into one of the chrome jugs, shoves the spout into it and turns a dial. Droplets of milk immediately fly everywhere, and a monstrous hissing sound emerges from the beast. He quickly turns the dial back, abandoning that for now, and focuses on unfixing one of the espresso-filter-things from its lock. This takes a good two minutes of tugging and silently begging, during which time the milk in the jug seems to develop an appetising skin on top. At last, Dan pulls the thing free, dumps the used granules out and tamps some coffee into it, though he has no idea how much, and probably over-fills it. He does manage to fix it back in place, and over several agonising minutes the espresso drips through into the mug. When he can’t stand the waiting any longer, knowing damn well he’s being scrutinised, Dan takes the mug out, pours a dash of lukewarm milk into it from the jug, and takes it over to the hatch.

It looks.... pretty vile. But he has to hand Mr Novokoric something.

“Uh, here we go. One macchiato.”

He realises in the next moment that he forgot to add any caramel. Not that he’d have any idea where to procure it from in this kitchen. Mr Novokoric looks down at the coffee in Dan’s hand, sends him a look of something like pity, and makes no move to take it.

“Aaand suddenly I can think of nothing better than instant coffee,” he says, nose wrinkling.

He turns away, heading back towards the stairs, leaving Dan with an undrinkable mug of coffee, and a sudden urge to hurl himself off the side of the mountain.

“Dan, I need a word,” Mona says, beckoning him into the small office at the back of reception.

It’s early evening, and the neither the Bryce sisters nor the Lautrecs - a quiet French gay couple that arrived an hour or so ago - are interested in an evening film, so there’s fuck all to do. Instantly upon hearing Mona’s words, fear strikes Dan in the chest; he follows Mona into her office, heart in his throat.

She gestures for him to sit on one of the wicker chairs in front of her desk, so he does, knee jiggling with nerves. “I’m really sorry Mona,” Dan blurts before she’s even sat down. “The job description didn’t say anything about being barista trained. If you received a complaint-”

“I’m going to stop you there, Dan,” Mona says, loudly and shrilly. “I don’t know what you are apologising for, but it’s probably best if I never find out, hm?”

Gulping down the relief that surges forth, Dan nods emphatically, and relaxes back into the chair. Mona looks a little more polished than usual today, he notes. She has a high-collared white blouse on, which elongates her neck, and a pearl-encrusted scrunchie securing her usual bun. Dan has begun to notice that Mona dresses a bit smarter on the days the mail is delivered, or when new guests arrive, or leave. In other words, any time Kaspar is expected to be around. Kaspar dropped off the Lautrecs earlier, so today is no exception.

Right now she sits at the small desk, hands clasped, and clears her throat. Her cheeks are tinged with rosy pink, probably from Kaspar’s brief visit earlier. The idea of no-nonsense Mona having a teeny crush creates a warm glow in Dan’s chest, and he smiles. “I called you in here because I have some unfortunate news,” Mona says. Dan’s smile quickly vanishes. “I’ve been called away this weekend.”

“Oh,” Dan says, already confused. “Is everything-”

“It’s a personal matter,” Mona tells him, firmly ending his inquiry before it’s begun. “But the timing is poor, what with you having just started, and with it being Louise’s weekend off.”

For a few moments, the implications of this don’t quite settle in. Then, Dan stops being quite so dim. “Wait, do you mean I’d be here alone?”

Mona avoids his eye, neatening some papers on her desk. “I understand that it might seem rather daunting.”

“Mona, I’m nowhere near qualified to run this place on my own,” Dan says in a rush, blood starting to pound loudly in his ears.

Just the thought of such responsibility is crushing; what if he forgot to serve lunch? What if he overslept and nobody was available for the guests? He’s basically a glorified assistant here, he can’t be expected to handle real decisions.

“Dan, it’s just for a couple of days,” Mona says; there’s a pleading tone to her voice that Dan expects doesn’t rear its head very often. “Just until Louise returns on Sunday night. Kaspar can make it up here in a matter of hours if there’s an emergency. But you won’t need him. There’s only one couple booked in to stay, and I doubt they’ll be very high maintenance.”

One couple and a narcissistic rich twat-face whose snobbery extends right down to his coffee order, Dan thinks, but begrudgingly admits to himself that Mr Novokoric is unlikely to be very demanding either. The man seems to keep mostly to himself unless he truly can’t help it. Dan folds his arms across his chest, lip caught between his teeth. He can’t really refuse, particularly as he suspects that Mona is desperate enough to get down onto her stocking-covered knees and beg him. Perhaps he could manage to keep the place afloat without any major screw-ups. But the stress of it all might kill him, even so.

“I know this is completely unfair of me,” Mona tells him, and reaches up to tug the pearl scrunchie out of her bun. The hair spills out, revealing a shoulder-length bob; the sight is so shocking that Dan feels his fingers twitching at his sides, as if he wants to scoop up the loose locks and pull them back into position. Mona runs both hands through the mess of hair, eyes fluttering shut. “I wouldn’t ask unless it were really important. Normally I’d rather drop dead than leave this place in someone else’s hands, even for a day or so, especially without Louise to help. But I just can’t see another option. It’s… it’s my grandmother, you see. She’s ninety-four, and on her last legs-”

“It’s fine,” Dan says quickly. He can’t bear to see her like this; he doubts that even Louise, who’s worked here for four years, has seen Mona with her hair down. Dan’s never even seen Mona in plain clothes. She probably sleeps in her crisp skirt-suits. “I can handle things,” Dan assures her, hoping he has something akin to conviction in his tone, given that he’s speaking out of his ass. “Like you said, it’s just a weekend.”

“I’ll be a phone call away,” Mona promises, eyes reopening in order to look at Dan like he’s Christ arisen. “Thank you, Dan. I’ll remember this.”

The following morning, Mr Novokoric is sat at a table on the balcony again, just as Dan is about to set up for breakfast. He already has a coffee in front of him today, Dan notes, cheeks burning when he remembers yesterday’s fiasco. Luckily it’s windy again this morning, so he can blame the pink colour of his skin on that, if asked.

He mutters a “good morning” and starts setting Mr Novokoric’s table, asking him politely to lift his drink so that he can lay a tablecloth down. Dan can feel that hard, ultramarine stare as he sets out a knife and fork he knows will remain untouched - the man seems to live on coffee alone - and tries to resist the urge to spew some garbled apology for yesterday’s macchiato fiasco.

Before he can get it out however, Mr Novokoric speaks. “So, I asked Mona to order me a new phone, and some new skis.”

The last word makes Dan drop a spoon. He bends down to get it, but he’s not quick enough. Mr Novokoric hands it back to him, some curious sparkle hiding beneath his usual stern expression.

“More skis,” Dan echoes, trying not to let his expression droop. So, it seems he’s spent a good three hours of his life fixing a ski that will shortly be replaced. So much for being a good samaritan. “Right. Are you asking me if they’ve arrived? I can check, but I don’t think Kaspar has brought them up yet-”

“Strangest thing, though,” Mr Novokoric interrupts, as though Dan hadn’t been in the middle of a sentence. “I went to throw my old skis away, and there’s nothing wrong with them. The strap’s been mended.”

“Huh,” Dan says, turning back to his basket for a new spoon. He sets it carefully on the table, trying to remain composed. “Weird.”

“Did you fix it?”

Pinned in place by Mr Novokoric’s gaze, Dan feels his face turning from pink to red. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I had no idea you’d already ordered more-”

He breaks off, wary of the strange expression being aimed at him. Mr Novokoric’s eyes have softened, and there’s something close to a smile threatening to break forth. The idea of him actually smiling is enough to fluster Dan into taking a hasty step backwards. The man is uncomfortably pretty as it is, which is confusing enough considering he’s such an asshole. Dan doesn’t know if he could handle a dazzling grin on top of that.

“That was… unexpected,” Mr Novokoric says slowly. His smile still hasn’t quite broken through, but his face has lost the hardness Dan is used to seeing. Without the usual frown lines and turned down corners of his mouth, he could even be beautiful. “Thank you. Of course, your repair is unneeded now, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Yeah, um, no worries,” Dan says, wondering how rude it would be to just run away. “I had a spare minute, so…”

“Not many people would have the initiative, let alone the intellect to do that,” he says, draining the last of his coffee. He hold the mug out for Dan to take. “I’m impressed.”

Feeling about three inches tall now, Dan just gives him a tight smile. “Thanks,” he says through gritted teeth, and takes the mug. “Another coffee?”

“Depends,” Mr Novokoric answers, arching an eyebrow. “Who’s making it?”

“L-Louise,” Dan says, cheeks hot again.

“Then yes, please,” he says, turning back to the view in front of him.

“Right away, Mr Novokoric,” Dan mutters, glad of the eventual opening to escape.

“Dan?”

Ugh, not so fast, it seems. “Yes?”

“Call me Phil, if you like.”

“Lou, I have an urgent problem,” Dan says, slamming into the kitchen.

She doesn’t look up from the eggs she’s scrambling. “It’s gonna take me a few hours to sort your hair out for you, Dan. I don’t have time right now, I’ve got to get breakfast out.”

“What? No, I need you to teach me how to work the coffee machine,” Dan says, smoothing his hair down self-consciously.

Louise looks up sharply, a smirk spreading over her mouth. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” Dan says. “I’m going to be here on my own all weekend. I need to know how to make fancy coffees for… guests.”

“Caramel macchiatos?”

“All the different kinds!”

Louise laughs in her long, pretty trill, and nods. “After breakfast,” she says. “Meet me here, I’ll give you a lesson.”

Dan grins at her, then plucks a raspberry from a bowl nearby. “Oh, and Phil wants another cup when you have a sec.”

“Sure,” Louise mutters, going back to the eggs. “I’ll get that for Phil.”

Dan pretends not to hear the knowing smile hidden in her voice as he exits the kitchen. He jogs back outside then, just in time to usher the Lautrecs to their table.

As it turns out, the coffee machine is going to take more than one lesson to master. Not because it’s especially complicated - more because Dan is utterly inept.

“Watch it!” Louise shrieks as Dan turns the wrong knob, and spurts actual boiling steam from the nozzle. Luckily, they both somehow manage to avoid getting scalded. “My God, Daniel, have you never watched the barista as they make your latte before?”

“I’m not really very attentive,” Dan says, sheepishly.

He looks over the herd of coffees he’s made over the last hour, all huddled together on the counter. The argument could probably be made that his most recent is better than the initial attempts, but that would hardly be a compliment. He imagines each of the milky, sludge-coloured concoctions is silently whispering ‘kill me, please’.

“Okay, let’s try a macchiato again.” He’s nothing if not determined.

“You seem to be under the impression that I have nothing better to do than dodge you covering me in coffee granules,” Louise says, wiping the nozzle clean. “I’ve got to get lunch going, so maybe we can pick this up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Friday,” Dan protests. “That’s the day you leave.”

“Not ‘til the evening,” Louise says. “There’s enough time to squeeze in another lesson before that, God help me.”

“Just one more,” Dan begs, giving her his most puppy-dog expression. “Just show me the macchiato again. Please.”

She sighs dramatically, sort of groaning. “Alright, alright. Get the caramel syrup then.”

It’s not until Dan has the syrup in his hands that he realises Louise is insinuating that these macchiatos are for Phil. She aims a knowing smile at him, and Dan just ignores her, cheeks pink as he pours caramel into the mug. He’s frothing milk, Louise shrieking instructions in his ear - “tilt the jug!”, “you’re spraying it everywhere, push the nozzle down more!”, “not that far, Christ!” - when he senses someone watching him. Mortified at the idea his foibles might be witnessed, Dan drops the jug and hot, not-so-frothy milk gushes everywhere, soaking his and Louise’s shoes, and a lot of the kitchen floor.

“Dan, I’m about to write you off as a lost cause!” Louise shouts, tearing her hat off her head and storming to the sink to find a cloth. “If these shoes are ruined you’re buying me more.”

Dan barely hears her; he’s too busy meeting the curious stare aimed at him. Phil Novokoric is sat at one of the indoor tables in the mezzanine, chin in his hand, watching Dan through the serving hatch. For some reason, Dan lifts his hand in a semblance of a wave; this seems to amuse Phil greatly, though he doesn’t wave back. Instead, a small, barely-there smile graces his lips, presumably for himself, and then he gets up, and walks towards the stairs to the lobby.

“Right,” Louise says, chucking a damp cloth at Dan. “Clean this up, then get the hell out of my kitchen. Coffee class resumes tomorrow.”

(Chapter Five coming next Friday!)

#phan #phanfic #too high #enemies to lovers au #btw this is on ao3 too

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fictionalnormalcy · 5 years

Text

The Boy with a Strange Name Ch.2

Modern Day HTTYD AU

Blurb: Living in practically every city in the Archipelago. Dad tells me that Berk seems to be the place to stay. New high school, old bully, actually making friends, but my unknown secrets are bound to catch up to me. It seems to me…that this move is going to be one of the most hectic I’ve had in 16 years of life. (Mix of book & movie univ.)

Lot of High Schools

The next few days passed by in a blur. The moving truck had arrived the next day around 5 in the afternoon, and Hiccup had helped his father arrange his office before unpacking his own things. The movers had just left everything in the living room, because both of the Haddocks were set in arranging the furniture how they desired. Neither wanted to inconvenience the movers by having them stay and help them settle in. It had taken him most of Friday evening to figure out how to set up the television and connect it to the proper outlets.

Saturday was spent with him and his father cleaning out the kitchen cabinets and organizing the kitchen utensils and decorations they carried from when Hiccup's mother had been alive. The oven had needed cleaning as well, so Hiccup set his father to the task, claiming he would have better elbow grease than himself. He had taken to polishing the kitchen island, which was a black marble that had a chip on the top right edge. By the time he had finished, the marble practically emitted a dark light as the overhead lamp light hit the island.

The cabinets and drawers were painted white, but yet had dirt streaks and gray fingerprints, as if someone had dipped their hands in mud and then proceeded to drag their fingers across the cabinet and drawer doors. There had been a partition for the refrigerator, and luckily they had managed to fit in the large appliance after clearing out about five spider egg nests. Hiccup had needed to chip away at the frost on the window with a screwdriver to ensure that the kitchen window was actually able to open.

Cleaning, organizing, and arranging helped him get his mind off of the fact that he would be attending yet another school. It had been a total of ten schools he had attended. It would be at random times, because the way his father moved, it was never in a predictable pattern. He was always on edge, for his father would always announce the move a month before they would leave to travel to another city. Hiccup had been in enough homes to have developed an attitude where he didn't care about the conditions.

Somehow, Berk felt... different. He was in his ancestral home. His father had given him the freedom to change the house to how he deemed fit. At times during the day he was tempted to ask his father how the house had been back when chiefdom had still existed. Then he remembered that if he really wanted to convert the home back to its original design, he would need to procure shields, spears, swords, axes, and maces to display in the home. That would sure get some strange looks when they would begin to have company.

The dining room table had been small in comparison to the large space. Since it had just been Hiccup and his father, there wasn't really a need for such a large and spacious table. The past houses never offered enough space for an extravagant table either. The ceiling above the dining room would need a repainting, because the stains left by water damage unnerved him. The night before he would start to attend Berk High, he turned on the small blue lamp in his room, and made a few bullet points on what would need immediate attending to.

He still had no clue how his father's work schedule would be this time around, but he knew that once he gave the list to his father he would start to make plans so they could refurbish the house. Hiccup needed to start somewhere, and both he and his father would have schedules that could be very heavy and strenuous.

He cast a single glance back at his new room that morning. He had been through several bedrooms, and each one he had decorated differently, but this time was different. He had chosen not to decorate this room. He left most of his items in their boxes. The only items he had taken out were necessities. He still didn't believe his father. If he could bet money, he definitely bet that his dad would say they were moving again right before the school year ended.

He threw his backpack over his shoulder, then realized he would need a thicker coat. He tossed the backpack on the bed and picked out a coat from the closet. He was about to exit the room once again, when he decided he needed one last accessory. He may be the new kid at Berk High, but he certainly didn't want to make a spectacle of himself, not anytime soon.

" Son, is the beanie really necessary?"

" Yes, it is." He said curtly. " I don't want to be a target again."

" I really don't think you will be targeted because of your hair."

" Wanna bet?" Hiccup scowled. " Back then, I was held down by three boys while a fourth hacked off my hair. We were lucky to have found someone who was able to fix it. I'm not taking any chances with this new school."

" Magdella is truly wonderful with hair. Which reminds me, we should send her another care package."

" We'll talk later. I want to pay her a visit," His scowl turned into a smile," I told the kids in her care that I would give them some new sketches."

" You mean new coloring books." His father scoffed.

" It isn't my fault they like my sketches," He plugged the coffee maker into the outlet, spooning in a few scoopfuls of coffee grounds.

" Those sketches always come with a story as well. How many dragons are in those sketchbooks Hiccup?"

" No this time I took their requests. Aside from what they asked I included Rumblehorns, Thunderdrums and Night Terrors."

" How many?" He asked again.

" About two of each."

" Those kids are going to have a fun time coloring them in."

" Maybe we should visit them before Snoggletog?"

" I'll see what my superiors have to say on the matter. I don't think they'll give me a vacation when we just returned to Berk."

Hiccup had taken off the beanie while he was still at home. The Thorston twins had managed to see his hair on the first day, so he had to hope they wouldn't try to tug it off when he arrived. His hair hadn't always been as wild. It was when he became a teenager that his auburn hair began to grow thicker and more wild. He had gone through an assortment of hair products and combs in efforts to make his hair appear almost normal. Then on the one day he had slipped and let his hair be as is, he lost it in an ambush.

A group of boys who always had their hair overgelled had stalked him for the entire morning. One had offered to style it for him, Hiccup had refused. It was only going to be for a day that his schoolmates would get to see his actual hair. That day his father had managed to make it home before he did. Hiccup had stayed after school to help make posters for an upcoming fundraiser, and he never expected that the boys would lie in wait for him.

Ever since the whole ordeal, he didn't bother with the extra hair products. He just wore the beanie on his head and growled at anyone who would question the fashion choice. He just went on the hope that Berk High would allow their students to wear caps and beanies. He had let his hair grow to the point where it reached his nape, so the dark brown locks peeked out of the beanie no matter what. He had stopped caring what he looked like, but he did have to take precautions to ensure he wouldn't be targeted.

He swallowed the last bite of toast and poured himself a second serving of coffee. He wanted to stay awake for his first day of classes.

" All right Dad, I'm off. See you at dinner, at least?" He shouldered his bag once again.

" Hiccup, where do you think you're going?" His father never even looked up from the book he was reading on the device.

" Umm, Berk High? Your alma mater?" He made steps to get into the hallway.

" It's your first day. I'm not going to let my son make his way to school alone on the first day. I'll drive you."

Hiccup's jaw must have hung open for a good solid minute because his father tapped on his own chin to snap Hiccup out of his stupor. He dumbly nodded before climbing back into his seat and plucking small pieces of bread apart and into his mouth. He took careful sips of his coffee, staring at his father in shock. It wasn't until they climbed into the truck that he found his voice had returned.

" I think Berk has changed the both of us."

" You're learning what home feels like."

Stoick had usually let his son walk to his new school. It wasn't of his own choice, sometimes Hiccup would be so stubborn that all he did was hand his son the address and the boy would set out on his own. To be frank, he was surprised Hiccup hadn't fought him this time around. It had been three moves since he had suggested to take his son to school, and he found that Hiccup had reason. The both of them were growing more comfortable around each other, enough that Hiccup had allowed to take him to the school he had attended when he was Hiccup's age.

" Once you find out your schedule, we'll figure out what days you can drive me and which days I'll walk. Thanks for the ride Dad. I'll see you later." He quickly gave his father a firm hug and exited the vehicle.

He felt the cold hit him like a splash of water on his face. He adjusted the beanie, and avoided the students as he headed toward the entrance of the school. No one had stopped him, no one had done lingering stares. Maybe he would get through this school year without being targeted! He loosened the scarf around his neck as the blast of heat calmed him down in the slightest. Students swarmed the expansive hallways, doors outlining classrooms, and on the other side there were lockers as far as the eye could see.

Now was the time for indecision. He would often ask a random stranger where he could find the office, and that would result in word about the new kid spreading amongst the student population. Other times he wouldn't ask and try to find it on his own, and then wound up being late to his classes, which meant the new kid was pegged. A hand settled on his shoulder, and he turned to see Regina offering him a small smile.

" Hey guys," She called to someone out of his vision," I found him. Let's give him his welcome."

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13183339/1/The-Boy-With-A-Strange-Name

#httyd #book universe #movie universe #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #cressida cowell #dreamworks #how to train your dragon #toothless #night fury #Stoick the Vast #astrid hofferson #book characters #books vs movies

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captainsimagines · 6 years

Text

RENT- PART 2

In which eight old friends in dire need move in together for one year.

Warnings: angst; war flashbacks; divorce; language; mentions of ptsd/disability; mentions of suicide

PART TWO

(1) (3)

BUCKY - “RENT”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Bucky yelled, shielding his head from the gunfire. He glanced around his whole team, seeing half of them lying motionless on the ground.

“I’m saving our asses!” the soldier screamed, running into the storm of bullets and shooting at the enemy. Bucky tried to control his rapid breathing. Hyperventilating wasn’t exactly useful in the middle of a war.

“God save us,” Bucky whispered before he followed his partner, spraying bullets everywhere wherever his eyesight went. His own yells were louder than any bomb but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stay hidden and let his friends fight this war alone.

“Tony!” Bucky called, ducking into a bush as a blast went off. A sudden smack to his shoulder startled him but he quickly caught his breath once he saw Tony next to him.

”We’re going to split up, okay? Hey, Barnes!” Tony yelled, shaking Bucky when he noticed his eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Barnes, snap out of it!”

Bucky shook his head and swallowed, studying Tony’s face before he finally spoke. “Yeah, I’m here.”

”I know you’re here, buddy. I just need you to stay with me.”

Bucky registered the meaning of his words, grabbing Tony’s hand and helping him up. “Ready?”

“Can’t exactly stay here,” Tony said, raising his gun and walking in front of Bucky. With each step, Bucky felt there was a large possibility he was going to make it out alive. With each step, he thought about his wife and getting home to her. Each step was a distraction, however, from the danger around each corner.

”When I say,” Tony stated, looking back at Bucky. “We split up and attack on both sides.”

Bucky nodded, guarding Tony’s back as they inched closer to the target.

“One, two-” Tony didn’t finish counting. Instead, he leapt backwards and threw himself over Bucky.

Dirt and smoke clouded Bucky’s vision as he coughed violently. He tried to push the weight off of his body, confusion drowning his senses. But it wasn’t until the smoke cleared and the screaming silenced that Bucky let his mouth fall open. He lay in shock but managed to lay Tony on his side with small shakes from his shoulders.

Looking around him, Bucky took a second and proceeded to throw up. He was fighting the urge to pass out. The moment he realized Tony wasn’t breathing and his left side felt exponentially lighter, did he finally shut his eyes in defeat.

3 YEARS LATER

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bucky’s wife gasped, grabbing as many suitcases as she could. Bucky groaned but remained seated at the kitchen table, stabbing his metal arm with a screwdriver until it whirred its natural hum.

“Babe, what are you going on about now?” Bucky called.

“I can’t stand it anymore. The nightmares, the panic attacks, the guilt you can’t seem to escape!”

Bucky dropped the screwdriver and marched to the bedroom. Bucky gaped at his wife.

“What are you saying?”

She stopped pushing clothes into a suitcase and dropped her head into her hands, “I just can’t do it anymore. I tried. For three years, I tried.”

“You’re leaving me?” Bucky whimpered, stepping into the room. She took a step back and stopped him with her hand. The gesture clawed at Bucky’s heart.

“Our relationship wasn’t working even before you went off to war,” she mumbled. Bucky’s mouth fell open in shock. “I want a divorce.”

_______

Bucky threw the screwdriver at the wall, yelling into his now vacant house. Clenching his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky begged to wake up. The longer his arm whirred and the stinging in his heart grew, Bucky was closer to relapsing. Shutting his arm off completely would result in personal chaos. Smoking three packs of cigarettes in under two hours wasn’t going to solve anything. And skipping his daily yoga routine would result in an upset stomach all day.

“What am I supposed to do without you?”

She let a few tears slip before she responded. “Live.”

It took an hour for Bucky to finally sign the papers and when he did he felt lonelier than before. Bucky looked at the wall and tried to find a solution to all of this. He could swallow all the pills his therapist prescribed. They had been sitting in the back of the cabinet for months. He could also sell the house and move back in with his parents. He quickly threw that idea out of his head.

That’s how he ended up packing a few bags for himself and staying at a motel. Being in that house was enough torment.

As he was hanging some of his shirts in the small closet, a crumbled piece of post-it paper fell from an old shirt. The last time he had worn it was high school- high school graduation to be exact. Bucky had no idea why he kept it considering his body bulked up and it was a hideous shirt, but the ten-year old piece of paper seemed to be the reason.

He typed in the number and prayed it was still in service.

”Hello?”

“Hey, man.”

_____

“Welcome to my humble abode!” Steve chanted, extending his arms out as he showed Bucky around his apartment.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was crappy,” Bucky chuckled. Steve smacked his shoulder but laughed as well.

“Just because I said it doesn’t mean you can.”

Bucky smiled widely, setting his bags down near the couch. “Anyone else live here?”

Steve shook his head, “Nope. Just me.”

“Don’t you get lonely? Where’s Natasha?”

Steve rolled his eyes and ignored the second question. “Yeah, well. What else is new? We broke up when I was 23. I’m 28 now, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t push for an explanation. Steve went into the kitchen to grab two coffee cups.

“I haven’t seen you since-”

Bucky walked up to the counter and interrupted him. “Three years ago, I know.”

Steve nodded, “Why didn’t you want to see me or anyone else after you came back? Janet said you were going through some shit.”

Bucky winced slightly at the mentions of his now ex-wife’s name but he brushed it off. Instead, he gathered enough courage to rip off his jacket and expose his short-sleeve shirt. His metal arm was now on full display- the prototype only known by those who made it and close family. Steve momentarily choked on his spit, looking from Bucky’s arm to the coffee machine. With wide and confused eyes, Steve finally uttered a few words.

“Did you-um- did you lose it in the war?”

Bucky nodded and placed his arm on the counter to allow Steve to study it closely. Steve did just that, gawking at its spectacular detail. “It’s very futuristic.”

Bucky laughed at the comment and continued to flex it. “It’s high maintenance, though.”

“I’d assume. I won’t ask,” Steve thinly smiled.

“Thanks.”

Steve handed Bucky his cup of coffee and proceeded to explain the small details of the apartment- how he would have to use the laundry mat, how the electricity gets shut off at least once a day, and how the neighbors have a son who’s practicing the drums.

“Why are you still squatting here?” Bucky joked, his first genuine smile in the last three years showcasing.

“I am not squatting!” Steve argued, throwing a piece of fruit at Bucky. Bucky quickly caught it, throwing it back and hitting Steve in the middle of his chest.

“So, what’s new with you?” That was the question Bucky had been dreading. Still, he wanted to answer truthfully to start a clean slate with his new living conditions and roommate.

“Got divorced, man,” Bucky casually admitted. For the second time in under five minutes, Steve choked on his coffee.

Steve cleared his throat and put his cup down. “Buck, I’m so sorry. You and Janet seemed happy.”

Bucky scoffed, “No, she was right. The spark blew out when my arm blew off.”

Bucky’s words were harsh and to the point which clearly made Steve uncomfortable. However, the sudden admittance of his crumbling life was somewhat relatable. Steve decided to nod along and not respond to gruesome comment.

“And you?” Bucky asked. Steve thought for a second before he matched Bucky’s pessimistic attitude.

“Had a heart attack about the same time you got your arm blown off. Got a heart problem now,” he casually stated. Bucky’s eyes widened exponentially and for once in a long time, he found someone he could relate to. After three years of not communicating with his best friend from childhood he had realized the true magnitude of the negative side effects.

“Steve, oh my god,” Bucky choked out. Steve chuckled lightly, passing Bucky his assorted fruit bowl. Lunch.

“Hey, we all have problems. I can die at any second and you’re the real-life metal man.”

Bucky threw another piece of fruit at his best friend, happy that the atmosphere in the room went from awkward to childish.

Steve’s eyes bulged as he remembered who he needed to visit. “Buck, do you remember the girl you were in love with all throughout high school?”

“It’s been ten years, Rogers,” Bucky rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t admit it, but Bucky’s stomach flipped at the mention of the one that got away.

“You don’t remember Y/N? You had her name written all over your notebooks,” Steve teased, once again enduring another smack by fruit.

“Yeah, I remember. What about her?”

“She’s the one that saved my life three years ago.”

Bucky almost died right then and there. “Seriously?”

Steve smiled and sipped his coffee, “Seriously.”

Bucky rubbed his bottom lip and tried to keep his cool composure. “How’d she do it?”

“Shocked me back to life. I was dead already and she went against orders and shocked me one more time.”

“That’s amazing.” Bucky wanted to say so many things about Y/N. I miss her. I should have taken her out on just one date. I let her go. I should have married her.

“Bucky,” Steve gave a sympathetic look. “She really liked you, too. I’m sure she’ll like you more now.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “She’s probably too busy to even see me.”

Steve huffed awkwardly and stood there with a thin smile.

“What?” Bucky questioned, scrunching his eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m actually going to visit her later tomorrow. You’re welcome to come if you’d like,” Steve offered, dodging the last piece of fruit Bucky threw.

“You set this up!” Bucky screamed, unable to control the wide smile that spread across his face.

“I promise you, I didn’t! I was actually visiting her but then you called and well, I didn’t,” Steve uttered, wincing slightly when his chuckles rattled his chest a little too hard.

“But, yeah. I’d- I’d like to see her again,” Bucky shrugged, the blush on his cheeks giving away his excited behavior. “How long has it been?”

“For you?” Steve thought long and hard, rubbing his chin before the answer popped into his head. “Remember our last day of choir?”

Bucky groaned loudly, “Don’t remind me! Choir was absolute shit!”

Steve’s mouth fell open, “That was the only class we had our little group in! You remember, no? You, me, Y/N, Natasha, and Sam!”

“I couldn’t sing for shit.”

Steve scoffed, “You were the best! What was the song Mr. Fury always made you perform? Razzle Dazzle, from CHICAGO?”

Correction: Now, that was the last piece of fruit Bucky threw at Steve.

_____

“I’m freezing!” Bucky whined, jogging over to the thermostat with a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Steve came stumbling out of his own room, apologizing repeatedly.

“I swear I paid the electricity bill this month,” Steve groaned, tapping the shutdown device. “I have more blankets.”

Bucky was unamused but he took the extra blankets Steve offered. Instead of going back to bed, Steve dragged the large trash bin over to the middle of the room and handed Bucky the piles of paper he had collected. Bucky gave a confused stare.

“Throw them in,” Steve stated while flicking on a lighter. “I’m not about to freeze.”

Bucky marveled at the flames. The feeling was strange but calming. Bucky hadn’t felt this way since he had met Janet or last saw Y/N. Staring at the scene in front of him only reminded him of how lonely he was. However, whenever Bucky looked over at Steve and caught him rubbing his hands together, the cancerous feeling of loneliness would disappear almost immediately.

“Rhodes,” Steve muttered into his phone. “Turn the electricity on, man. It’s fucking winter.”

Bucky stayed silent so he could hear the man’s reply over the cackling of the fire. “Pay your rent.”

That was all that was exchanged before Steve groaned into the phone and set it on the table. “Sorry, Buck. You don’t deserve this.”

“Hey,” Bucky went to stand beside him. He draped his blanket over Steve’s shoulder with him still wrapped inside as well. “Eating is more important, anyway.”

“We’re turning blue,” Steve retorted, snuggling closer to Bucky.

“How much do you owe?”

Steve grinned into the fire, “I haven’t paid this year’s rent, last year’s, and I’m probably gonna be short on next year’s as well.”

Bucky’s eyes bulged out of his head but he didn’t allow Steve to see his startled expression. “You need more roommates if you’re going to keep this apartment.”

“I have you.”

“I mean, like... Five more people,” Bucky laughed.

Steve picked up another pile of loose paper and threw it into the bin. “Tell me when you find them.”

_____

Bucky stirred awake, rustling the sheets silently. The mumbling in the living room seemed to get louder after Bucky cleaned the sides of his eyes. Sitting up in his new bed, he strained his ears to hear what Steve was saying.

“T’Challa, you can’t do this to me!”

A heavy sigh was all the response Steve received.

“How could you possibly think this is a good idea? How could the city be okay with this?”

“Rogers, I have allowed Rhodes to excuse your lack of rent for far too long-” T’Challa spoke, but Steve interrupted.

“What about everyone else in this building? It’s not fair!”

T’Challa made a “shushing” sound before he responded. “Steve... this building is fifty years old and hasn’t had renovations since it was constructed. It’s a hazard.”

“I’d be homeless. Most of the people in the building would be homeless!” Steve begged.

“My plan is to knock it down and build a new complex. If the vote doesn’t go my way-”

“Then we’re shit out of luck,” Steve finished T’Challa’s sentence.

T’Challa could only nod.

“I will do my best to help you and everyone facing the same fate. You’ll see.”

“Wow, don’t make it sound so serious,” Steve rolled his eyes and led T’Challa to the front door. Bucky shuffled along the cold floor with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Peeking out from his bedroom door, he caught Steve shutting the door and sighing heavily.

“Should I be worried?” Bucky mumbled, startling Steve.

Steve cleared his throat, “We got a year to win over the city or else they’re knocking this place down and replacing it with an office of some sort, I don’t know. But we barely pay rent, most of us are drug addicts, and we live in a bad neighborhood. I wonder what they’ll vote to do.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth, internally thanking the sudden knock at the door for stealing his breath. The sight of a young woman at Steve’s door had him smirking like a high school senior, waiting to see what the response was to a prom invitation.

“Is Rhodes threatening you again?” Peggy stated, holding her robe closed. The scowl painted across her face wiped Bucky’s face clean.

“No, T’Challa was just warning me of the vote happening on Christmas,” Steve replied, extending his arms over his head and stretching. Bucky almost laughed out loud, the sight of Steve showing off his stature to a woman not at all concerned laughable by all counts.

“Merry fucking Christmas to us all, and to all a goodnight,” Peggy groaned, turning to walk away before her eyes landed on Bucky. “Is this the plus one to my dance recital?”

Steve smiled so widely that Bucky’s own jaw hurt. “Yeah! Uh- Peggy, Bucky. Bucky, Peggy. She’s my neighbor.”

“More like ‘lover’,” Peggy joked, smirking at the floor when she heard Steve’s breath hitch. Bucky shook her hand, pinching Steve on the cheek with his glove-covered metal hand at the same time.

“Steve wishes,” Bucky chuckled, winking at Peggy. Steve slapped Bucky across the chest, the small picks here and there continuing for the next minute. Peggy watched them brawl for a while before she turned to leave, the sound of her door clicking snapping the boys out from their own little world.

Steve groaned about ‘missing another chance’, but Bucky smiled out into the hallway. He realized that for the first time in a long time, he was enjoying the small moments in life without having to try so damn hard.

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