#i love when sam does it too.... ach....... clutches heart.

[mummer]

satin swearing his vows to the weirwoods instead of in the sept always strikes me so much when i reread it... get you a disciple like that

[boykingdom]

Dean doesn’t have to drive far before he finds Cas. He’d had a hunch Cas might be waiting for him no matter the direction he went, but still he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he sees the slump of Cas’ shoulders among the trees.

He doesn’t have to walk far, either, once he’s pulled the Impala into the grass beside the road and let the metal door shut behind him with a creak. He’s in the forest after a few paces—it’s a pretty forest, all green and overgrown, the tan of Cas’ coat standing out purely for its dullness. Cas’ back is to him and he’s looking down at something, hands in his pockets, but the rigidity with which he holds himself gives away his awareness of Dean’s presence. Cas won’t turn toward him but will angle his head so Dean can see the sharp line of his cheekbone, like he’s any sort of thing that would need ears to gauge how close Dean is.

Dean has half a mind to hesitate, to stop and take a deep breath and collect his thoughts or something, but he’s so fucking tired of not being near Cas and of schooling how much he gives away to Cas in every conversation that he walks up so their shoulders are inches apart and he doesn’t think twice about it. He looks down to take in what Cas is looking at and finds a small pond with a few muddy-gray fish scooting their bellies across the silt. Dean thinks Cas might be gearing up for a speech about the fish and creation and humanity, something nice and cinematic to bookend their journey, but instead Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

That works, too. At least Dean knows how to respond to that one. “Heya, Cas.”

They’re silent for a second.

“Sam?” says Cas. 

“Went off to the Roadhouse. Wanted to see Bobby and Ellen and Jo,” says Dean. “But you knew that already.”

“Mm. I did.”

They both watch the fish drift. One comes close enough to the surface to form gentle ripples in the water.

Then Dean is smiling, because he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, see the way he shifts and fidgets and is so clearly also looking at Dean out of the corner of his own eye. It occurs to Dean that Cas is nervous—that after everything they’ve been through, after the end of the world, after Cas’ big sacrifice, this angel of the Lord is nervous to speak to his best friend of twelve years. Dean can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him.

“What, did you think we’d never talk about it?”

A pause. Cas half-grumbles, “I thought I’d have a few decades to prepare something to say.”

And then Dean is laughing and laughing and bent over double with it because this whole thing is so fucking absurd and he’s so happy to be standing here next to Cas, weird and awkward Cas who pulled him out of Hell and told Dean he was in love with him just months ago. Cas who he thought he had lost forever. Dean laughs so hard he cries and then he—he cries, and cries, and he’s not laughing anymore. It happens fast and hard. Cas finally turns to him, eyes wide and hands suspended in front of him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Dean’s sniveling and holding his jacket sleeve under his nose so his face doesn’t get all snotty but he probably looks fucking gross anyway, the way the tears won’t stop coming. Cas says, “Dean?” all worried and concerned. Dean practically falls forward into him, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist to clutch at the back of his coat and shakes when Cas immediately holds him in return.

“I missed you so bad,” Dean sobs into Cas’ shoulder. “I missed you so bad. I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so bad.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Cas hugs him tighter, leaving no spaces between their bodies. His voice breaks a little when he says, “I missed you, too.”

They stand like that for a moment. The forest buzzes around them, twiddling with birds and squirrels and insects. Dean breathes Cas in, feels him warm and safe and real in his arms. It’s a small piece of Earth here in Heaven. Unlike any other time before, Dean lets himself lean into it, touch Cas without Death looming over their shoulders. It feels good.

Dean does calm down after a few minutes, and as much as he would love to freeze time and stay suspended in that moment, he knows he can have even more if he gives it one last push. He pulls away, Cas’ hands sliding off his coat, lingering. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed despite himself.

“Don’t be,” says Cas, in a way a that shows he really means it. Dean clears his throat and looks at him. Cas looks back. The whole thing is so achingly familiar, so akin to how they were when they first met. Even when Cas was alien and unknowable and potentially a threat, Dean always had to stifle the breathless thrill of having Cas’ attention. He doesn’t stifle it now.

He hasn’t quite internalized all the things Cas said to him, but he can see Cas was telling the truth about one thing—he is clearly so happy to be standing at the edge of this pond with Dean. Nothing in his gaze is asking for something more.

And as much as Cas would argue differently, Dean isn’t as good as him. He was never content just wanting. He had long ago accepted that he could never have Cas, sure, had recognized that he would spend the rest of his life with a horrible ache in his chest, that he would white-knuckle the wheel of the Impala to keep himself from touching. But he couldn’t find peace with it. Love rotted in him like a body at the bottom of a well. He spent a long time thinking it would kill him and kill Cas too, that it was a weapon to be used against them both, that the heat of his gaze would actually burn Cas if he looked long enough. He still has to choke down those half-formed thoughts when he looks at Cas now and can see in his eyes that he loves Dean without reservation, that despite everything he doesn’t think of Dean’s love as a death sentence. That he wants him.

Dean’s mind was made up the second Bobby had mentioned Cas’ name on the porch. It took him too long to untangle that part of himself that couldn’t separate loving men from danger, but he did untangle it, in the end.

“I know I can do it,” Dean says, both to Cas and to himself, “but I think it might be hard.”

Cas’ brow flickers in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he answers, gesturing lamely at the two of them, at the space between them. He swallows, steels himself, thinks of all the words he spent the nights since Cas died murmuring into his pillow, deliriously drunk. “I don’t know— I don’t know how to be this to someone— to you. I’ve never— and you’re—”

He’s getting frustrated, is upset that after thinking so long and hard about this moment for so many years he somehow still doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how much he means to him, how much he wants him, how hard it is to beat down his self-hatred and accept that he might just deserve Cas, too. But Christ, he wants to try.

“Dean?” Cas says. Dean can see in his expression the flowering bud of hope. He is so beautiful.

“I love you too,” Dean says, because it’s the best explanation he can give. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Cas blinks; his mouth drops open. “God, Cas, you have to know that. Of course I love you too.”

“You mean...?” Cas can’t finish the question. He’s looking at Dean like a man finding faith, finding Heaven. Dean feels so overwhelmed and so happy for the two of them and surely he’s still red from crying before, but again he feels himself burning.

“I’ve been yours,” he chokes out. “You can have me. Please.”

Cas kisses Dean. It happens so fast that Dean feels it coming rather than sees it, feels Cas’ hands on his face, feels himself be tugged forward. Cas’ hands are shaking and Dean’s are too when he grips the front of Cas’ shirt and the back of his neck, eyes closed tight, learning the shape of his mouth. It’s hard and a little desperate and not at all artful, and Dean’s whole self feels a bit like an open wound but Cas is healing him, like he always has, like he has since the beginning.

Dean pulls away for air but doesn’t pull far, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’ and his eyes shut. Cas’ thumb strokes his cheekbone. “Dean,” Cas says, and Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way Cas says his name doesn’t scare him anymore.

Dean opens his eyes. He smiles. “Hi,” he says.

Cas smiles back.

**

They’re sitting in the Impala, Dean’s hand on Cas’ thigh, when Cas asks, “What do you want to do now?”

Dean pauses, thinks. The answer to what do you want has been Cas for so long, but he never let himself think far enough to decide what he would do if he ever got him. He’s safe, Cas is safe, Sam is safe. Realistically, he shouldn’t want for anything.

He looks out the Impala’s windshield, smooths the hand not holding Cas over the steering wheel. He knows that he loves this car with everything he is—that for a long time it was the only home he had. He also knows that he’s tired of the road. Desire has always come too easily to Dean.

“I think I’ll build us a house,” he answers, and immediately he knows it’s the right thing to do. They can pick a spot wherever Cas wants—Dean’s not picky. It’ll be something solid, something with walls that he built with trees he cut himself. Something that reflects the home he already built for Cas, the one that lives between his ribs.

Cas’ eyes light up. “I like that plan,” he says. “I want that, too.”

Years ago, Cas had sat in Dean’s passenger seat and asked him if he would rather have peace or freedom. Dean never got the chance to answer him.

Dean leans across the seat and kisses Cas again, open-mouthed, slow. He does it for him now and for the version of himself who mourned the distance between them. It’s answer enough.

[quillquiver]

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Dean gets the honor of waking Cas.

He fills the biggest Christmas-themed novelty mug they have with fresh coffee and, steadfastly ignoring the flush of his own cheeks, stuffs his prepared sprig of mistletoe into his pocket. Jack is watching A Charlie Brown Christmas with Sam and Eileen, and while Dean would love to relax with them until noon, when Cas will inevitably rouse from bed and stumble towards the caffeine--Jody, Donna and the girls are coming by later and they still need to open gifts and get the bulk of the cooking done. 

So: waking Cas.

Dean puts the Sam-sized mug on the bedside table and perches on the edge of the mattress. Cas is a lump on his side of the bed, dark hair the only thing peeking out from under their fancy-ass duvet. He’s doing that little sigh-snore thing he does since becoming human, and his arms are buried under his pillow. Sam’s faint laugh sounds all the way from the Dean Cave and Dean realizes he’s already smiling. He bites his lip. Reaches out to push his hand into Cas’s hair.

Cas barely stirs, hum turning into a groan when Dean tugs a little. He shakes his head. “No,” he grumbles.

“Merry Christmas to you too, asshole.”

“Ugh.”

Dean’s smile widens as Cas resettles, one unimpressed blue eye revealed from his ridiculous nest of blankets. He’s got pillow lines on his cheek. “It’s too early,” he grumbles.

"It’s almost eleven.”

Cas humphs. “That’s what I said.”

Dean raises a brow and Cas rolls his eyes, shimmying into a seated position half awake and grumpy as hell. He makes a beeline for the friggin’ vat of coffee on the bedside table. Dean digs a hand into the pocket of his robe and takes a deep, shaking breath. 

“Hey, so...” He frowns at his fist, eyes flicking up to where Cas is trying and failing to look engaged and interested. “Uh, I got you a present.”

Cas gives a bleary kinda frown. “Forgive me,” he says, “but aren’t we supposed to open gifts with everyone, near the tree?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says nervously, haltingly. “S’just, um. This gift is kinda... personal? I just. I mean, it’s fine, obviously, it ain’t like you need to accept it or anything, I was just, I mean, I didn’t really want to do this in front of everyone and--”

“Dean.” 

When he looks up, Cas is totally awake, brow furrowed in confusion and concern and Dean still doesn’t know how he nabbed the fucker in the first place, but he’s so friggin’ glad he did. Cas leans in for a kiss that tastes like coffee and pulls away only as far as he needs to press a line of kisses along Dean’s jaw. “We don’t need anymore lube,” he murmurs conversationally. “Or toys. Are they... panties? For you?” He pauses. “For me?”

Dean gives a half-hearted laugh. “Uh, nope,” he mutters. “It--It’s stupid.”

He opens his fist and offers the chain and ring wrapped around a sprig of mistletoe.

“It was Mom’s,” Dean says hoarsely. “Just. If you want it.”

Cas is staring.

“Ha, uh. Be real good if you could say something, Cas.”

“This...” Cas cups Dean’s hand in his own. “You want me to have this?”

Dean nods.

“...Are you sure?”

He huffs a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, Castiel, I’m sure.”

“But I don’t have a ring for you.”

Dean’s pretty sure his heart is gonna make a break for it. “You can get me one,” he says. His palms are sweating and his chest aches and he’s pretty sure no one in the history of ever has loved another person as much as he loves the dumbass clutching at the duvet across from him. “I’ll wear the fuck out of it. But I just, um. I wanted you to have it. As a gift. You know?”

“Oh.” It’s soft, and awed and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that the surprise in Cas’s voice has less to do with the fact that this isn’t really a marriage proposal as much as the fact that he’s shocked Dean wants him to stick around in the first place. A smile creeps across his stupid face until he’s grinning. “Well, I accept. Thank you.”

Inexplicably, Dean feels tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and ducks his head in a nod, fumbling with the clasp as he moves to put the necklace on his--Cas. 

He presses a kiss to his neck and pulls away with a beet-red face. “Okay, uh. Cool.”

“Cool,” Cas beams. 

“Yeah.”

They both stare at where the ring sits over Cas’s purple t-shirt, touching his breastbone. Cas fingers the metal like he can’t believe it exists and Dean remembers the mistletoe in his hand. 

“Oh, hey.” Awkwardly, he lifts his hand over their heads. He wriggles his brows suggestively and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I still think this tradition is ridiculous.”

“Pretty handy right now though, huh?”

Cas scoffs. “As if I need a plant to kiss you.” 

He does it anyway; deep and sloppy and wet and like every lazy morning they’ve ever had rolled into one. Jack will eventually find them, and they’ll do breakfast and gifts and then spend the day ruining the kitchen to cook for an army of family and friends. They’ll all crash in front of the TV and leave the dishes for tomorrow. For now, though, Cas pulls away to hug him. To whisper Merry Christmas and thank you like a blessing into Dean’s neck as he squeezes the shit of out him.

“Love you,” Dean breathes, like a prayer.

[omgrachwrites]

Beautiful - Joaquin Torres

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Request: Hi love, can I request a very warm,fluffy, reassuring and loving imagine ? I've been struggling with my self-confidence and body image lately so I'm in need of softness (you absolutely don't have to make the plot about body image if you don't want to). As for for who I request well... Joaquin Torres is my boy and he's a softie.Okay, I stop rambling now. I hope that you have a wonderful day ❤’ - @moonheartsposts

Warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff!!!!

Words: 1426

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: I hope this is okay @moonheartsposts angel, I love you! I just want you guys to know that even if you’re having a bad day that you’re all beautiful and if you ever need to talk to someone, my dm’s are open for everyone! Hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

The scalding hot shower that you enjoyed helped immensely with your horribly aching muscles after a long day at work, you had been working so hard lately and it was beginning to take its toll on you. You were just glad that you were going to have a relaxing date night with your boyfriend, Joaquin, who’d also been working non-stop so you both deserved some romantic alone time. The fact that in a few short hours you’d be sitting across from your beautiful boyfriend in your favourite restaurant made you so happy.

You sighed happily as you rubbed a towel over your wet hair and dried yourself off before applying your lavender body lotion – the one that Joaquin loved – before slipping into your satin robe. As you stood in front of your mirror, you smiled at your reflection as you began to apply your moisturiser. Lately, you had been struggling with your body image but as soon as Joaquin found out about it, he went to great lengths to show you how beautiful you were. It made you feel so much better about yourself and you promised him that you’d always tell him when you were having a hard day.

You felt his presence lingering in the doorway before you saw him and you grinned when he spoke up, “hello, darling,” you could hear the smile in his voice. It made you grin and you turned to face your gorgeous beaming boyfriend as he sauntered towards you. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips before he softly kissed your forehead, “god, you look so goddamn beautiful. Can you just wear that robe when we go out to dinner, please?” he pouted as his strong arms circled your waist as he pulled you into his chest.

You scoffed with a giggle as you playfully slapped him on the chest, barely able to contain your grin as you wrapped your arms around your neck, playing with the ends of his hair, “I think that the restaurant will have a problem with that,” you laughed, “how was work?” you asked as you stood up on your tiptoes to give him a sweet kiss.

When you pulled away from him, Joaquin whined as he attempted to follow your lips with his own. God, you loved him so much, “it was okay, same old really. I sorted out a new mission with Sam for a couple of weeks’ time. It feels like all I did was count down the hours until I saw you,” he flushed as he averted his eyes and pressed an open mouthed kiss over your knuckles.

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks and he looked up at you with those endless chocolate brown eyes that you loved so much. Grinning, you stood up on your tiptoes again and pressed a long lingering kiss to his lips, “I love you, Joaquin.”

“I love you too, angel,” he kissed your forehead before he reached down to lace his fingers through yours and gave your hand a loving squeeze, “I’m gonna go and jump in the shower.”

“Okay,” you grinned at him and grabbed your hairdryer, getting to work on getting your hair dry.

“Oh my god!” Joaquin gasped dramatically as he clutched at his heart when he came back upstairs a couple of hours later to see if you were ready, “warn a guy next time, Y/N! You look absolutely stunning!”

You laughed as you turned to face hi and your mouth practically watered at the sight of him in a dress shirt and slacks, you grinned as you looked him up and down, “and you look so handsome!” you felt so lucky to be able to share your life with someone as amazing as him, “can you help me with the clasp on this necklace, please?”

He beamed and walked over to you, his gentle fingers brushing against your skin as he fastened the clasp. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the back of your neck as he rested his chin on your shoulder, “you are so beautiful, you know that right?” his words caused tingles to shoot through your body.

When you met his eyes in the mirror, he must have seen the hesitation on your face because he pulled you closer, “you are so damn beautiful and I’m going to keep on telling you that forever, I love you so much.”

You smiled and turned your head to press a kiss to his warm cheek, “I love you too baby, I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” he beamed, his eyes twinkling as you looked at you.

You and Joaquin decided to go to your favourite restaurant for your date night and you were shown to your table on the second floor by your favourite waitress, “you look so beautiful, Y/N,” she winked at you.

Joaquin grinned at you, resting his hand on your lower back, you could feel the warmth of his hand burning through your clothes, “she does, doesn’t she?”

“Thank you,” you smiled shyly, feeling your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you looked out at the amazing view.

“Madame,” Joaquin pulled out your chair for you and performed a silly little flourishing bow that made you laugh.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you smiled as you kissed his cheek.

At first, Joaquin seemed nervous about something but after a couple of your favourite drinks, he seemed to loosen up so you wondered about it no longer. He held your hand from across the table as you talked about your week. You were always taken aback at how he looked at you while he listened, like you put all of the stars in the sky. You never imagined that someone could love you so much.

In between dinner and dessert, Joaquin started to get nervous and fidgety again, when he pulled at the collar of his shirt, you decided that you needed to know what was going on, “Joaquin, what’s going on?”

“Huh?” he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushing.

You smiled as tenderly as you could, despite the worried feeling in your chest; “is there something you need to tell me?” you took his hand and rubbed your thumb across his knuckles, “you can tell me anything you know that, right?”

Joaquin took a deep breath as he shot you a dazzling but shaky smile as he leaned across the table and gave you a quick kiss, “you know that I love you, don’t you?”

You nodded, “of course I know that, I love you too,” on the outside you were calm as could be but inside you were freaking out, “baby, what’s going on?”

He smiled as he stood up, reaching inside the pocket of his slacks and he took both of your hands in his, “Y/N Y/L/N, I don’t think that I ever knew what love truly was until I met you. Everybody told me how amazing it was to be in love but I didn’t believe them, at least not until I met you,” he cupped your cheek and gazed into your eyes lovingly, “beautiful, Y/N, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” he asked as he got on one knee.

You distinctly heard the woman on the next table gasp in delight but all you could do was stare at Joaquin. He wanted to marry you? Tears stung at your eyes and the longer you stared at him, the more nervous that Joaquin got, “I’m err gonna need an answer honey,” he laughed nervously.

His voice made you snap out of it, “yes! Yes of course, I’ll marry you!” he beamed and slipped the gorgeous ring on your finger as he got to his feet and pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the floor and spinning you round as the other patrons whooped and cheered. You giggled as you cupped Joaquin’s cheeks and kissed him deeply, you were marrying the love of your life, you were marrying Joaquin Torres, the most beautiful man in the world.

As you and Joaquin left the restaurant, drunk on champagne, your favourite waitress stopped you with a delighted smile, “congratulations, you two! You make a beautiful couple.”

Joaquin pulled you close as you walked down the street, “you’re gonna be the most beautiful bride in the whole world,” he beamed as he kissed you beneath the stars and it was in that moment you felt beautiful. He made you feel beautiful.

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

@moonheartsposts​ @smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Moment In Time

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: None

Chapter 10 - Final Chapter

******

‘S.O.S’. 

Three letters make your heart drop to your stomach. They also make you jump off your couch, practically sprinting up the steps to your room. Throwing the closet door open you go straight to the back and grab your uniform, making quick work of putting it on and grabbing your equipment before you leave. 

Making a call to one of the men in your life who wouldn’t hesitate to look out for you, Nick Fury. He doesn’t waste a second arranging the transportation you need and in little to no time you’re saying a quick thank you to him as you walk onto the jet. 

Before you take off, you send a reply, ‘omw’.

Those three letters bring a smile onto Natasha’s face. She isn’t surprised that it only took half an hour for you to reply, in fact it’s one of the main reasons she messaged you of all people. 

Looking up from the watch on her wrist, she says,“ don’t worry fellas, we’ll be out of here in no time.” 

The two members of her team in the room look over at the redhead. She has a confident smirk on her face and that makes everyone curious. 

Given their current situation of being holed up in this single room in the base of their enemy as said enemy plans whatever it is on the other side of the door, they didn’t see much reason to be confident.

Steve huffs, hands planted firmly on his hips as he continues to pace the room as he tries to form a plan. Sam picks at a thread on his pants, no doubt waiting for a plan to follow. 

But one wasn’t needed. 

It took half an hour for you to reply and another hour before you got there. 

Your presence was first made known to Natasha. Her watch vibrates and she looks down to find a winking emoji on her screen. 

She rolls her eyes, holding back a laugh and stands up, preparing to leave. 

A moment later there’s a knock on the other end of the thick metal door. 

“Please stand clear of the bombay doors.” The voice is deep but she knows it’s you. 

Not saying a word, she steps to the far side of the room. Sam and Steve both frown, but follow suit. 

A faint hissing sound is heard, followed by a small but steady flow of smoke around the door, then it creeks before falling off the hinges. 

It slams against the concrete floor and you step through the dissipating smoke. 

Your eyes flick over the three people in the room and you smile.“ For a bunch of prisoners, you look good.” You tease, eyes lingering on the redhead. 

Steve walks up to you, holding his hand out for you to shake.“ I wasn’t expecting to see you on the other side of the door.” 

“Well I’m nothing if not unexpected.” You pat his shoulder.“ Now, let’s get out of here shall we?” 

The three follow you out of the cell and down the halls, noting the unconscious bodies of the guards they were previously walked past. Sam and Steve are close behind you, Natasha behind them. 

She finds it beyond adorable how your gaze continuously falls back on her. The look in your eyes lets her know you’re checking on her. 

Very reminiscent of the first day you two met, Natasha watches you work your way through this enemy base, taking down the few guards who interrupt your path. 

You stop on the way to get their confiscated weapons back and then you’re out of the building. 

A fire fight quickly approaches. Enemies pour from the building as you escape, each of you returning fire. Not a single bullet on your end is fatal but it definitely debilitates the targets.

One glance back however, reveals a group larger than you expected. It was like watching clowns climb out of their little cars. The facility didn’t look anywhere near big enough for all those people to be inside. 

“New plan. You three move ahead to the jet, I’ll lead them away.” Instant words of protest come from the three teammates at your words and you roll your eyes.“ We can’t keep running and lead them to our getaway. I’ll be fine.” 

With no room to protest, you break away but not before planting small explosives on a few trees ahead of you. You blew the charges, the trees falling and cutting the enemies off from following the three. 

You don’t get a chance to boast about that going just as you planned, because you quickly notice a presence at your side. When you look over you’re tempted to stop running. 

“Natasha what the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be with Sam and Steve.” 

Shots continue to ring out behind you, the hightech weapons your enemies have burn holes in the trees around you.

“Dammit.” You pull out your communicator, connecting with the jet you flew here and you’re pleased that Steve answers.“ I need you to bring the jet to me-” you pause and look to your side,“ to us.”

He doesn’t hesitate in agreeing. It takes much more running, some retaliation shooting, and a few more mini bombs. In no time you break from the tree line, a small group of enemies still on your trail as the jet lands a few feet away. 

You think you’re in the clear, your shots effectively chipping away at the few enemies who still come. But your foot is barely in the jet when Natasha gets hit. 

It’s like everything slows down. You watch her fall to the metal floor of the jet, her exclamation of pain is loud and clear in your ears, and once it’s over your heart pounds. 

Snapping back in an instant, you pick her up, quickly moving her to lay on the chairs off to the side as you shout for Steve to take off. 

You rush to grab a cloth big enough to cover her wound, then press it against said wound. 

“Hey Romanoff, keep those eyes open.” You pat her cheek, looking into her eyes as they already start to droop.

It’s unclear if she’s losing a lot of blood, the cloth doesn’t seem to be taking much on but she’s quickly drifting off as if she is.

You try your best to remain calm, watching her eyes flutter shut and not open back up despite you calling her name and shaking her. 

“Rogers, pick up the pace!” You don’t mean to shout like you do but your worry skyrockets. 

It doesn’t go away either. While it only takes a short half hour to get back to the compound it feels like forever. The wheels of the jet are barely on the ground before you’re opening the jet doors and carrying Natasha out. 

You rush her to the medbay, Dr. Cho and the rest of her team coming over instantly. She has you set Natasha on a bed and they roll her away. Dr. Cho asks you what happened after you tell her she disappears after Natasha. 

You’re left standing there, heart pounding as you wish more than anything that she’s okay. 

With nothing left to do, you step back into the designated waiting area and you sigh. 

What do you do when the woman you love is injured and rushed to emergency? You worry, and hope, and you stay by her side unless absolutely necessary that you leave.

Since the moment you landed you were right there in the waiting room, pacing back and forth while Natasha was in surgery, hoping with all hope that she’d be okay. Even after her surgery, having been informed that everything went smoothly, you were planted firmly in the chair right beside her bed once again hoping. 

You didn’t move, keeping her hand clutched in yours as you waited for her to wake up. Your worry, that had gone away when she came out of surgery, returned when she didn’t wake up. Dr. Cho said she was fine, minimal blood loss and they were able to use their fancy tech from Ultron to patch up the wound, so why she wasn’t waking up was lost on you.

As the team flows in and out of the room over the course of the passing hours, you know their suspicions regarding you and Natasha were coming to a head. 

They’d been speculating for weeks. Watching as Natasha and you snuck around. The two of you never slipped on the PDA side of things but they’d been around Natasha and you enough to notice something was up and connecting the dots became easier as they saw you at her bedside. 

It’s not until the second day of Natasha still being asleep that you leave. Steve coming in and telling you that you should go get some proper rest, freshen up, and that Peggy was asking for you. To you, the first two reasons aren’t good enough to leave but if Peggy was asking for you, you couldn’t ignore it. 

So reluctantly you do so. Heading home to take a quick nap, showering and changing, before you go to see Peggy. 

During your visit, Natasha wakes up. Wanda and Steve are in the room, chatting away as her eyes slowly open. The first thing she notices when her eyes adjust to the bright lighting is that you aren’t here. 

It’s odd because she swears you were, she could feel the weight of a hand wrapped around hers and if there’s one thing she’d gotten used to over the past ten months, it was the way your skin felt against hers.

“Wh-” she clears her throat and pushes herself up to sit, ignoring the slight tightness she felt at her side.“ Where’s Y/n?” 

Steve’s and Wanda’s gazes snap over to the redhead, their eyes widening as they realize she’s awake. 

“Nat, how’re you feeling?” Steve asks, moving his chair closer to Natasha. 

Wanda does the same on the other side of the bed, her worried gaze flicking over the woman who she’d grown to see as another mentor.

“I’m fine Steven.” She waves his question off like it’s nothing, her eyes moving over to Wanda who she assumes will answer her question.“ Where’s Y/n?” 

The younger woman frowns a little,“ she went home to rest and get clean.”

“Yeah she wasn’t keen on leaving you.” Steve adds, Natasha noting the knowing look he gives her.“ She stayed right there until earlier when I told her Peggy was asking about her.”

“And this is exactly why.”

Every head in the room turned to the door, eyes watching as you walked in with a bouquet of flowers. Nat immediately smiles, heart warming as she sees you. 

“Hey stranger.” You wink at her, finding your previous seat and laying the flowers on the bedside table.“ How are you?” 

She sighs, fingers twitching towards you as she aches to feel you touch now that she’s awake.“ I’m okay. Side is a little tight but it doesn’t hurt too bad.” 

You smile and nod,“ glad to hear it. Thought you were a goner.” You joke making her chuckle. 

Her eyes roll, a quiet laugh falling from her lips. 

The two of you keep your eyes on each other and Steve looks away as if seeing something he shouldn’t. Subtly he nods to Wanda, who has long since been aware of yours and Natasha’s relationship, and the two leave out. 

 Once they’re gone, you scoot closer. Like magnets yours and Natasha’s hands find one another, fingers lacing together and squeezing. 

“Next time I tell you to move ahead, you move ahead.” You say to her, not once breaking eye contact.

After having gone hours without seeing that beautiful green you refuse to look away. 

She shakes her head.“ We were under way too much fire, I was not leaving you alone.”

The corner of your lips quirk up at that, your heart warming at how much she cares for you.“ I could’ve handled Romanoff. What I couldn’t have handled was you being fatally injured.” Your expression shifts to something more serious.“ Not coming home with you, not telling you how I truly feel. And knowing I could’ve changed that outcome. I would’ve been crushed.” 

“That wouldn’t have happened because we had each other’s backs. We always do.” Her hand squeezes yours.“ And I’m right here. So there’s no reason not to tell me how you truly feel.”

It was a deep dive, a free fall even to try and get it out of you. Being in love with each other for ten months and not saying the words didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to you and Natasha. Not when it was shown in every action.

You both know how you feel, despite there being no labels on this or yourselves, it was clear as day that you love each other. But Natasha wanted to hear the words, almost as badly as you wanted to say them.

She watches you, the way your gaze drops for a moment and despite not seeing your eyes she knows you’re debating it. When you look back up she smiles because she sees you’re going to tell her. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious I’d been living in a limbo of sorts, stuck between my past and worrying about the future. But you, every second with you, I never once worried about those things. I’ve never felt a need to dwell in the past or worry about the future when you’re my present.” 

Her eyes roll in an overly dramatic way.“ Say the words Y/ln.”

You frown at her rushing.“ How bout you say them.” A teasing tone is in your voice, mixed with a bit of challenging. 

“Oh I will.” She counters.

“Do it.”

“You do it.”

A snort breaks through your lips and you shake your head.“ Knew you wouldn’t.”

“I love you.”

You smile, brighter than Natasha has ever seen.“ Was that so hard?” 

She drops your hand, more like throws it away and you laugh. A full on laugh, clutching your stomach and dropping your head back. If she weren’t pretending to be annoyed with you she would have smiled. 

“Hey,” you push yourself up off the chair, sitting yourself on the edge of her bed, and raising your hand to cup her cheek.“ I love you so much. And I have for so long.” 

Natasha bites her lip to hold back her grin, instead nuzzling her cheek against your hand. When the blush rises on her cheeks you pull her closer, pressing your lips to hers.

Both of you are startled out of your moment when Tony’s voice loudly proclaims,“ I knew it!”

Frowning, you look behind you to see not just him, but Wanda, Steve, Pietro, and Sam as well. 

“Eavesdropping, classy.” You say sarcastically, making to move away, only for Natasha’s fingers to wrap around your arm. 

“Lay with me.” She says and you raise your eyebrows.

“You sure?” 

Nodding, she scoots over and you don’t argue, sitting beside her and letting her press against you.“ They know now.” She shrugs, laying her head on your shoulder.

Tony nods, standing at the edge of the bed with his arms crossed.“ Yeah we do. And quite frankly I’m disappointed that neither of you told me.” 

With a quiet laugh, you wrap your arms around Natasha, listening as he accuses you both of keeping secrets. That just elicits Sam to do the same, Steve starts off on your side saying you have a right to privacy but eventually switches over as he wonders why you didn’t say anything. Wanda just smirks and laughs while Pietro questions what the big deal is. 

Admittedly it’s all very amusing and funnily enough neither you or Natasha are given the chance to answer since they all keep talking. 

While their chaotically mannered conversation proceeds you can’t help but think that at this moment in time, with the woman you love in your arms and your friends teasing the two of you, you feel happier and more at peace than you ever have.

******

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @ellobruv @ecruzsalaz

[ray-ray-writings]

Hello! First time submitter to your blog! After reading the hybrid!sam headcannons I’d kill for an angsty story where Hybrid!Sam doesn’t realize you’re near him when he does his little blow up and you get caught in the crossfire by accident

You can call me 🦡 if you’d like, I prolly won’t submit often but I’m always here reading 💛

🦡……. Why? Why must you do this? I mean this is such a good idea, but like…. Why? Idea is pulled from this post here. But also, everyone welcome to yet another edition of “Y/N gets blown up by a creeper because they weren’t paying attention.” We stan consistency on this blog huh? (P.S. This is it for tonight haha. Hope you enjoy)

So Sam is at home but he has been working for a really long time. Dream had paid him all of those diamonds to build the prison and he’d been at work, messing with redstone and testing everything for a very long time with no sleep. So he’s been messing with this one contraption for probably four hours now and he cannot get it to work and he is growing frustrated. He can feel his anger swelling in his veins and before he knows it, he’s hissing. Finally, finally he gets everything in place and for a moment the device works!.... But only for a moment. The machine sputters to a stop and then there is a pop. Sam rushes over to fix it and as he touches it, something swings loose and smashes his hand. And it’s all too much for Sam. He lets out a curse before turning and running out of the house, trying to get to the one place he knows he can blow up safely. 

As he’s running out of the house, he doesn’t notice, but he runs past you. You are aware that he has been working for super long but you have no idea that he’s that upset. You have no idea where he’s going and he didn’t even stop to say hi to you, which clues you something is wrong. So you rise from the couch and you follow him, “Sam?” you ask as you follow him out, no response. So you silently follow behind him as he makes his way to an open field. He stops abruptly and you can see his shoulder’s heaving. You approach him from behind and move your hand up to rest on his shoulder, “Sam?” you ask softly again. But the next thing you know, there is a loud noise and you are being flung back across the field, white hot pain searing your skin as you fly and once you hit the ground your vision goes dark and you’re passed out, but not dead.

Sam made it to his field and let himself take a few deep breaths before letting himself take out the shout. But as he did, horror filled his body. “Sam?” It’s too late, he can’t stop the explosion. His shout echoes through the field and blocks are broken by the explosion. As the noise fades, Sam whips around and his eyes immediately find you laying on the ground. Your eyes are closed but Sam can see that you are breathing…. Doesn’t help his panic though. Sam sprints to you and falls to his knees beside. “No,” he whispers to himself as one of his arms snakes around your shoulder, pulling you gently off the ground and the other carefully cupping your face. He can see the burns that litter your skin and his heart sinks to his stomach with guilt. “No,” he whispers again, tears filling his eyes, “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to be here. Oh Y/N. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So sorry” the tears fall freely down his cheeks as he buries his face into your shoulder and cries. After he’s gotten a lot of his tears out, he pulls his face out of your neck and looks over your body and decides he needs to get you home and take care of your injuries before they get infected. He moves his hand from your face, and moves it to the bend of your knees and carefully stands up, carrying you bridal style. Sam as quickly but also as carefully as he can, makes his way back home. He ever so gently sets you on the bed before rushing to the bathroom and getting everything he needed to take care of you. 

He carefully cleans the dirt that fell on your skin after you were tossed to the ground by… well by him… but once you’re all clean, he gently applies the burn cream that you have so many times applied to his skin and he can’t help but well up with tears again. He did this to you. He’s the reason you’re lying in this bed unconscious. He hurt you… Oh god he hurt you and you’re going to leave him. He tries his best to push those thoughts away in his head and just focuses on being there for you. He sits by your side, clutching your hand, and just staring at your face the entire time you’re passed out. He slightly pleas with whoever is listening that you won’t totally hate him 

Your body aches when you wake up. At first you’re a little confused as to why you feel this way, but then you notice that your hand is being clutched as if you’re going to disappear and it all comes flooding back. You know Sam must feel awful even though it’s not his fault. You manage to pry your eyes open and find Sam already staring at you. “Y/N” he breathes out, standing quickly from his chair to hover near you, “Oh god Y/N” he breathes out again. You manage to give him a sheepish smile, “Hey honey. How’re you?” you slur, your voice tired and sleepy. “How am I? How am I? Y/N I just blew you up halfway across the field and you’re asking me how I am?” You give a tired nod, wincing a little bit at the tightness in your neck, “Yeah,” you state as though it were obvious, “Feel better?” He just continues to stare at you incredulously as you peer up at him. “You… You… You’re not mad at me? You’re not going to leave me?” And your heartbreaks. You carefully lift a hand up to him, motioning him forward before opening your palm. Sam gets the hint and rests his cheek against your palm and nuzzles his face as close to it as he can. “No baby, I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you for something you can’t control. And I would never leave you, you’re stuck with me until you throw me out.” Sam lets out a chuckle at that as his eyes flicker back to yours, “So forever, then?” “I guess forever then” the two of you chuckle at that. And it’s true, the two of you love and each other and couldn’t ever imagine leaving one another. Accidents like this happen. What’s important is that those accidents are made up for, which Sam is more than happy to do. 

[lastxviolet]

Madripoor is for Lovers (Zemo x F!Reader - Ch. 4

Summary: Y/N is a SWORD agent recruited to help Sam and Bucky track down Karli and the super-soldiers. When Helmut Zemo joins the team, he takes a special interest in her. The friendly union is wrought for disaster, but then things take a turn for the worst when Y/N is taken as collateral. Will Zemo keep her forever? Does she even want to escape? And what happened in Madripoor that made the whole thing so complicated?

Warnings: mention of violence

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32878015/chapters/81589774

Madripoor was lovely until the shootout started.

It was difficult to appreciate the city views or even the night before as the shipyard collapsed around you.

One second you were running through fire and smoke, and the next, searing pain ripped through your bicep. The shrapnel and spewed toxic lab material were an afterthought as you hit the ground, clutching the place where a bullet grazed you.

The pain made it impossible to get up, open your eyes, or care about broken glass scraping your exposed skin. The smoke left you breathless, making the scream in your throat die before it could alert your friends of your location. You thought that maybe you heard Sam yell your name from somewhere far away — too far away.

Your lungs stopped fighting to scream and began the fight for air. Short puffs were all you could manage. Counting them held off the thoughts of your body behind left in Madripoor for only a little bit before your vision tunneled.

A familiar voice wafted through the chaos before darkness took you.

“There you are,” it had said as you felt strong arms lift you from the rubble.

That was all you could remember as you awoke from a hazy dream.

There was pressure on your arm and even with your eyes closed, you sensed the presence of people looming over you. They spoke but a harsh white noise filled your head, drowning out their words.

As the grogginess faded away, reality hit. You were on a plane. There was no mistaking the familiar rocking and engines rumble. A sickening thought hit you. Was this a military plane taking you back home, or Zemo’s private jet again. If your injurers were enough to land you in a hospital Sam would've called for backup, even in Madripoor.

You squeezed your eyes tight, unwilling to return to reality. This could be the moment you woke up and went back to your normal life.

The last week of your life had felt like a dream. Galavanting through Europe with super soldiers, uniting forces with a notorious villain, and forming a makeshift Avengers.

You still couldn’t decide if Zemo’s involvement made it more dream or nightmare. Either way, you didn’t feel ready to give it up. Opening your eyes meant coming to terms with what happened. This morning at breakfast, nerves had made it impossible to eat. You’d been sure that Zemo would make some mention of what the two of you had done. He could use the information against you, or worse, Bucky and Sam.

The thought of their eyes turning on you with disappointment almost made you keep your eyes closed for the rest of the ride but a sharp pain chose for you. The overwhelming throbbing of your arm shot you back into full consciousness. A guttural groan was all you could muster to alert the looming figures of your state.

“She’s back!”

Sam bent into view. From behind him, you saw the pristine accents of the private plane. Your heart fluttered.

They’d brought you with them.

Sam knelt next to the couch you’d been laid out on and placed a hand on your leg.

“How you feeling?”

Your mouth was too dry to speak so you nodded and took in more of your surroundings. The bathroom was near your feet, so you were facing backward.

A blanket weighed you down but you tried to sit up anyway. Sam’s arm shot out and knocked you back. He yanked the blanket up towards your neck and eyed the edge to make sure it reached your chin. The cool air on your back told you that someone had taken your shirt off to get to the wound.

“Nothing I have not seen before.”

The voice flooded your body with heat, making your cheeks burn. For the first time, you turned to see who was tending to your arm.

Zemo stared at Sam with a smile and continued. “From her dress last night, of course.”

That was the voice you’d heard. That was the voice that had saved you.

It wasn’t Sam or Bucky, it was the man they’d told you to hate. He’d come back through the flames, gunfire, and danger to pluck you out of the wreckage and bring you to safety. And now he healed you with his own two hands. He didn’t look you in the eye or acknowledge you at all as he bent his neck to focus on your wound.

You returned your gaze to Sam and spoke before Zemo made any more taunts or innuendos about last night. For now, you were partially certain that he hadn’t told anyone what happened. Sam’s demeanor might be quite different with you if he had.

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you when we land, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” your voice came out as a croak. The room around you spun with the exertion of energy, proving your words false.

Sam chuckled and tapped your shin a few times while exchanging words that you couldn’t hear with Zemo. They leaned close and shared a worried glance before Sam entered the main cabin, closing the sliding door behind him.

You felt Zemo's hands at work but the pain subsided. Something had numbed your arm, or perhaps your brain had done you a favor and cut ties with the nerves there altogether.

Alone again, you stared at him, conscious of your hammering heartbeat and the fact that this was the second time you'd been topless in front of him in 24-hours.

“What are you doing?”

“Listen to your comrade. You need sleep.”

His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip. His face was more flushed than normal, almost as if he’d been running but his breathing wasn’t heavy behind his firmly set jaw.

“Thank you,” you muttered. “For saving me.”

A frustrated sigh was all he responded with.

Of all the expressions you’d seen of his, you couldn’t understand this one. No smirk formed as he worked. And where his eyes usually told you everything you needed to know, all they communicated was his desperate need for sleep.

You choked a few words out to quell the tension and distract your mind.

“Were you a medic?”

He shook his head. “Our army did not have enough enlisted for such distinction. I was a commander but we had to learn everything.”

“Commander,” you repeated. “Baron. Quite the collection of titles.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in jest, noticing that you felt lighter than before. An odd giddy feeling bloomed in your chest, despite the dull pain. He must have given you some sort of pain medication before you woke up.

The drugs continued for you. “I’m just an anomaly investigator so I don’t know how to do all that.”

“I’m sure you could learn.”

“I’d need a teacher.”

He hung his head and you adverted your eyes. Even without the oncoming haziness from the drugs, you knew that this little game of flirtations should stop. You opened your mouth to change the subject but he beat you to it.

“I’m not sure we have enough time.” His voice had a twinge of sadness as he spoke the truth.

Eventually, you’d part ways and the world would be better for it. The mission would be over and he’d have less to worry about with the super-soldier serum destroyed.

“Well, who knows how long it will take to catch Karli and…”

He flashed you a somber look and your voice caught in your throat. He wasn’t talking about the mission. He was talking about the two of you.

That's right. Reality came back into full force then, knocking sense into your head.

He was a criminal who'd be locked up for the rest of his days and you would go back to your full-time job, fighting people like him.

It shouldn’t have been as big of a blow as it was, because you’d only known each other a few days. If the drugs and exhaustion weren’t keeping you firmly in place under the threat of passing out again, you’d run as far away from this man as you could.

He was a criminal. He was not to be trusted.

But he’d saved your life.

He didn’t have to, in fact, it didn’t make an iota of sense that he did. But the words he’d whispered on the balcony floated back to you.

Had he meant it all?

His strained voice invaded your pestering thoughts.

“Suffering by nature or chance never seems so painful as suffering inflicted on us by the arbitrary will of another,” he said, caressing your bare skin one last time before tucking your arm underneath the blanket. “Do you know who said that?”

You shook your head, ruffling your hair with the pillow.

“Arthur Schopenhauer. The philosopher of pessimism.”

The fresh stitches scratched against the fabric as you turned towards him.

“A terrible choice for a man in prison,” you whispered.

He played with a roll of gauze in his hands, turning it over and over. The muscles of his jaw flexed and clenched as he sorted through his thoughts before speaking.

“Is it surprising though? For a man with a life sentence?”

He met your eyes then. The hard glare almost made you flinch.

Your heart ached for him. You knew firsthand the harm the Avenger had caused, but you also knew it could’ve been worse. The eradication of Sokovia had been to avoid the destruction of the world. But that had been his family, his home, his world. You knew his vision had tunneled because of what he’d gone through. A smart, military man knew the cost of peace but resented who had to pay.

Did he not think that was what everyone who had to pull a trigger in the name of peace thought of? Did he think that made him different from the Avengers?

Again, the drugs moved your mouth before you could think better of your words.

“Maybe we can push for better arrangements? Your assistance to the US must count for something —“

He raised his hand to silence you before you could finish the thought.

“That opportunity passed as soon as you assisted my escape. You know, as well as I how this will end. It is not the United States that is most concerned with my sentence but those who are will insist upon a worse cell, where they do not negotiate for amenities or comfort.”

Your stomach dropped with the realization. “The Raft.”

He was right. You knew he was. In all the chaos, Wakanda hadn’t crossed your mind, but this was a betrayal of mass proportions. His life sentence was their revenge and they wouldn’t take his brief freedom lightly. You couldn’t blame them of course. He’d assassinated their king in cold blood, in front of the world.

Prison had seemed like a joke to him before. When you’d first spoken to him in his cell with Bucky, it almost seemed amusing. Now the weight of his reality seemed to have set in. You wondered what changed.

“Do you not think you deserve it…your sentence?”

He squinted and stared over your head towards the windows. “That is not the question.”

His words felt the same as the bullet that had hit your arm; sharp, and perfectly aimed.

Normally your banter felt like a dance. There was no point to get across, or set path. You simply swayed back and forth, feeling each other out. But this time, it felt like he had something to say but was unwilling to go through the elegant waltz that you usually did.

The realization struck like lightning.

“Whether you’ll serve it,” you asked hesitantly, hoping for the first time in your conversations with him that you were wrong. His eyes gave nothing away but the hint of a smirk ghosted his lips.

Warning bells rang in your head, overwhelming your thoughts and any willpower to be careful with your words.

“Helmut, you’d be insane to escape the raft and even crazier to tell me about it.”

His eyes widened at the sound of his name.

“But I am not in the raft, am I?”

You stared at him in silence, failing to hide your angry expression.

“Perhaps, I never will be,” he finished with a raise of his eyebrows.

There it was.

He flinched as you brought your good arm up to swat his leg.

“Why would you say that,” you hissed.

He caught your hand, lowering it back down to your side. His fingers lingered around yours, caressing the back of your hand in a random pattern. It was then his smirk reappeared. Whether it was because of how your fingers gravitated towards his, or your anger, was unclear.

“I thought you might like to know.”

You shook your head and dropped his hand. “You’re insane.”

The Zemo that everyone else knew returned right before your eyes. He lived to taunt everyone and everything. You’d only ever seen the mask drop for you but now it was back up.

“No heavy lifting for a while, yes?”

The change in his voice was a show for the others as he stood and spoke loud enough to fill the cabin.

To hell with the pain. You ripped off the blankets and sat up. Thankfully, you’d been mistaken before, you weren’t topless, a thin sports bra kept you from being exposed.

“Zemo —”

“I do think it will heal in a few days —”

“— that would get you killed.”

He busied himself with something and paid you no mind as he spoke.

“— so the hospital in Riga won’t be necessary.”

You used the rest of your energy to shove him. Hard. All your strength went into it. All your frustration with his past decisions that separated you and the future ones that might keep him from you still. There was no way for you to be together and so you put all the maddening anguish into his back.

He hardly registered the blow as he spun, bringing his face inches from yours.

“Do you plan to be a criminal for the rest of your life? Is being on the run better than serving time for something you did?”

His eyes kept his concerned doctor mask for a second and then you saw the damn break. His iris’s widened, making an angry abyss of his warm eyes. You had no choice but to sit back down as he marched forward and braced an arm on the back of the couch, hovering over you.

“Something I did?” He asked in a dangerous tone.

You held his gaze and sunk into the cushions. Fear. You should’ve felt fear but a familiar heat rose from between your legs. You willed it away and focused on his quirked mouth, almost quivering with anger.

“Was it I who destroyed a country — thousands of lives? I, who created that hellish serum that makes gods out of man? I, who unleashed them on the world without a leash?”

He paused and leaned closer, waiting for an answer.

“No,” you whispered.

“One man receives life in prison while a band of thugs runs free, wreaking havoc on earth and calling it justice. They are your friends, are they not? That is your side. So why would you, S.W.O.R.D agent, fighter for the United States, Avenger, care about my sentence?”

His nostrils flared as he hissed and anger burned in his eyes. You could’ve retreated from the accusation that you were the same as those you worked with. But it wasn’t true. It might have been foolish to think that you knew him but the delusion made you speak softy, and tame the beast.

“Because I know what you’re doing.”

He flinched at the words, offended by the meaning and delicate tone. Again, you wondered the last person to show him any kindness or regard him with gentle eyes.

“Enlighten me about what you think you know.”

His jaw was tense when you brought your face closer to his and spoke in nothing more than a whisper.

“You obsess over revenge in the hopes that it will fill the holes in your heart left by loss. I know that you think keeping yourself distracted will heal you but it’s not true. The harder you run away from all that pain, the worse it’ll be when it finally catches up.”

There was more anger in his face when you finished than there was when you started. He stood and straightened his jacket before clearing his throat, unwilling to let you finish.

You tried to get up and follow but blood rushed to your head as soon as you stood up. The room spun and your vision tunneled. The roar of white noise washed over you again, threatening to send you back into unconsciousness.

Steady hands were on you in an instant, making sure you didn’t fall. Despite everything, Zemo reached out and folded you into his chest. One arm looped around your waist, and the other tentatively held up your injury.

“Lie down, liebling,” he whispered, not looking you in the eye.

He laid you down and pulled the blanket back up to cover your torso. You tried to focus by counting your breaths and watching the man who made good on his promise to be sweet as he looked for something in his bag.

He came close again and silently helped you pull one of his sweaters over your head. You hissed in pain as he straightened your arm through the sleeve and he made a disapproving look as if it hurt him as well.

He stood to leave but you held onto his wrist.

“Distractions won’t heal you, Helmut. Nothing — no one can,” you said through the haze, searching for him in your clouded vision. “Only you.”

You meant it, deeply. Even though you longed to be someone that could put broken things back together. You meant it, despite knowing that it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Zemo withdrew from your space and sat the chair opposite, watching you from afar as the plane began its descent. The words he’d said when he’d found you played over and over in your head as you watched him too. His expression was thoughtful and less angry than before. He looked to be mulling something over, and you wondered if your words had made a difference but it was impossible to tell. Sleep threatened to take you again, but you fought it off, opting for a staring contest with the man you couldn’t ever seem to figure out.

It wasn’t until the plane was safely on the ground that Zemo moved.

He crossed the plane to you like a rubber band being flung across the room before tucking one arm underneath your shoulder blades and the other under your knees, scooping you into a bridal carry. Eyes level now, he drew in close and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“You underestimate yourself,” was all he said before walking out into the cabin, towards the exit.

The door opened before you could object and both Sam and Bucky’s faces fell immediately.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Zemo ignored Bucky’s protest and pushed through them to descend the stairs. The sun was too bright so you shut your eyes and leaned into the man holding you. The man who had admitted that you might be enough to heal him. Your heart ached at the impossibility of it but you let yourself live in the fantasy for a little longer.

“James, are you not a gentleman?”

“She hurt her arm, she can walk fine,” Bucky yelled from behind you, stomping down the stairs.

Zemo’s chest rumbled as he spoke. “The question is not can she do it, but whether she should have to.”

Sam piped up, his voice exhausted from the journey. “Put her down, Zemo.”

The man didn’t listen, of course, and crossed the tarmac before setting you down gently a step away from the opened car door. You hobbled in and looked him in the eyes a final time. He no longer looked to be mulling over his thoughts, but rather, like he’d decided something.

“Chivalry may not be dead but it does seem to have many enemies,” he said with a wink, before closing the door.

[kinglazrus]

Dead Man Walking

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Submitted by @syrren: Instead of making him half-dead, the portal accident makes Danny unable to die. This....changes things.

(or: how canon changes if the accident leaves Danny with deadpool-style regeneration abilities to make for a horrifyingly self-sacrificing vigilante, or with some kind of reset ability every time he dies to equally horrifying implications)

Summary: The accident changes Danny in ways he never thought possible. Sam and Tucker watch him fall from the portal dead and burnt beyond recognition, but he doesn't stay dead for long. He never stays dead. Of all the things Danny expected to happen when he walked into that portal, getting unlimited regeneration wasn't one of them, but now that he has it, he's going to put it to good use. Deadpool AU.

Word count: 3606

The first time Danny dies, his friends bear witness. They will never forget the ominous whirr of the portal as it turned on, the warning crackle of electricity, the final throat-tearing scream of their best friend. There are other things, too, that burned into their minds that day. How his body hit the floor of the lab with a thud, burnt beyond recognition, burnt so bad there wasn't any blood. How it smelled, to their horror, not so different from charred barbecue.

They like to pretend that part never happened. It's easy when all they need to do is call his phone and hear his voice, unaffected by the savage electrical heat that brought him to ruin that day. When he doesn't stay dead, it's not hard to pretend he never died at all. It took minutes for his body to fix itself, blackened skin overtaken by fresh pink muscle, which then sprouted new skin, perfectly unblemished.

Even the scar he got when he was fell off his bike at six years old disappeared.

"I liked that scar," Danny says, pouting when he finally notices its absence three days later.

"I don't think that's the right thing to get hung up," Sam says.

"But it looked like a spaceship!"

"I always thought it looked like an upside-down nine," Tucker muses.

"Or six," Sam says.

"Upside down nine is more fun."

They proceed like this for three weeks, mentioning the accident only in the lightest of terms, joking about their new, shared trauma. They are content to move on with their lives, forget it happened, go on as normal high schoolers. Until Danny dies again.

—

"What do you mean you don't want to hunt ghosts?" Jack exclaims. He gapes down at the trio, wholeheartedly baffled by this confession.

"I'll stick with tech, thanks," Tucker says, holding up his phone.

"Ghosts just aren't cool anymore," Sam says.

"Can I go back upstairs now?" Danny asks. At his question, Sam and Tucker fall silent. None of them make eye contact, and neither do they look toward the portal innocently humming only a few feet away. Danny is very aware that this is his first time in the lab since the accident. The same thought runs through Sam and Tucker's minds.

Jack doesn't notice the sudden change in mood. "Nonsense, Danno! You love ghosts. Why, I remember when you were just a tyke, you wanted to be a ghost when you grew up." He clenches his fist. "It was unacceptable. But that's okay! You can hunt them instead!"

He turns his back on Danny and his friends, eagerly going over the array of tools laid out on the counter. Ghost detectors, ecto-guns, protective shield, and an empty space where a thermos should be. "I forgot the best part! Wait right here, kids." Jack charges upstairs, leaving the kids alone.

Danny glances at the portal, unable to suppress a shiver. "You think he'd notice if I snuck away?"

"Nuh-uh, if you go, we go, too," Tucker says.

No one gets to go. Two sets of slimy green tentacles poke through the portal, probing the empty air. Their soft bodies soon follow, revealing a pair of ghostly octopuses.

"Holy shit ghosts are real." That is all Tucker has time to say before the ghosts attack. They launch themselves forward, shrieking in excitement. One goes for Sam and the other charges Tucker. They try to jump out of the way, but the ghosts are faster. The ectopuses tentacles wrap around them, pinning their arms down.

"Danny!" Sam shouts.

In retrospect, a smarter person would have gone for the ecto-gun lying on the table, freshly loaded and ready for a demonstration. Or, they might have shouted for his father, a ghost hunter who has trained his entire life for this scenario. But Danny acts faster than he thinks. He dives toward Tucker, the closest of the two, and digs his fingers into the ghost's tentacles. It screams as Danny's nails dig into its flesh.

The ghost's body goes translucent. Tucker slips out of its grasp, dropping to the floor in a heap, but Danny's hold stays firm. The ectopus panics, thrashing and tugging, its flailing limbs cutting through Tucker over and over without harming him. No matter what the ectopus does, it can't shake Danny loose, and his nails are starting to cut.

"Dude, you're doing it!" Tucker says, too soon.

As it flails, one of the ectopus' tentacles smacks Danny in the face, making his head snap back. At that moment, he and the ghost have the same realization. If he can touch it, it can hurt him back. The ectopus gives another shriek and its remaining seven tentacles surge forward. They wrap around Danny's arms, his chest, curling so tight his bones ache. The last one closes around Danny's throat.

His throat, weak like the ghost's flesh, crumples in an instant. His air disappears. No sound leaves his mouth, not even a wheeze, and his eyes bulge as panic sets in.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker scream. Sam struggles against her captor kicking and gnashing her teeth, but her boots can't reach its body. Tucker grabs Danny, tries to pull him away, to bat off the ghost’s grip, but it is no use. The ghost is too strong, and Tucker can't touch it in this state.

Danny loses focus of them, then. His brain goes fuzzy, everything blurring around him while his face grows hot. All he can feel is the burn, the ache, the need to breathe, breathe, breathe damn it! The haze of the ghost looming over him fills his vision, slowly overtaken by red, then black spots.

As everything goes dark, Danny's last thought is this:

I guess I'm dead after all.

—

He hears the sobbing first. It starts off quiet and distant, but quickly grows louder, great hiccupping coughs scattered between heart-wrenching cries.

"Mr. Fenton!" someone screams. It happens fast, after that. Thundering steps, a deep cry of shock and pain that cuts him to his core. A piercing whine followed by two quick blasts.

The ectopuses' retreating shriek cuts through Danny loud and clear. His eyes snap open and air rushes into his lungs, a hoarse, wheezing breath that he holds for a moment. Then he takes another, and another, and he's breathing again, and he's not anymore.

Sam and Tucker, kneeling at his side, cry out as one. They throw themselves on him, blubbering messes the both of them. Danny's father, facing the portal, turns disbelieving eyes on him.

Danny's gaze drops to his father's hand and the ecto-gun clutched in it. "Oh, right." The word scrapes against his throat. He swallows, twice, until speaking doesn't hurt and says, "I forgot we had the gun.

"Danny!" Jack dashes toward them, dropping to his knees beside Danny. Sam and Tucker scramble back, giving him room. "Are you alright? What happened? You looked..."

Dead.

Because he was. Again.

"I'm fine," Danny assures him. "Lost consciousness, that's all.

"Danny, your face was blu—" Tucker yelps when Sam punches him in the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. He rubs the spot, shooting her an offended look, but Sam's eyes are only on Danny.

Danny nods, just enough that she can see, a silent thanks.

"I think you kids should go upstairs now." Jack's voice trembles. He raises his hand, about to run it through his hair, but stops when he sees the gun he's still holding. "I'll take care of things down here. Call your parents and all that."

For the first time, Danny notices the green splotches littering the floor and the wall. Probably from the ectopuses.

Sam loops an arm around Danny's shoulders, hoisting him up. He stumbles when he gets to his feet, bracing himself against her as the room spins. It settles after a few seconds, but he still feels a bit lightheaded. A side effect of choking, maybe?

Tucker helps from Danny's other side. They go up to Danny's room in silence, their steps thumping up the stairs. Only once they're safely behind his closed door, and Danny is lying on the bed, does Sam speak.

"You died again," she says.

Danny touches his throat. "Yeah." Pressing gently, he feels is no lingering pain. Just like before, he healed without a trace. "Can I just not die now?"

"More like you can't stay dead," Tucker says.

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"What? It's true! Sorry that I'm not handling seeing my friend die twice very well!"

"Be quiet!"

Danny cuts in before they can devolve into shouting. "Let's just leave it at two, okay?"

Sam and Tucker share a glance over Danny's prone form and nod. The weight of that action is lost on Danny, whose only thought is that he wants to sleep for a very long time.

—

The knives don't kill him. They hurt like hell, but they don't kill him. He sees them flying toward him and leaps out of the way. Something strikes him in the gut, a solid punch that blows the air from his lungs and knocks him back into the walls. He thinks one of the frozen steaks got him, but when he looks down, he sees the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his stomach.

He stares at it, stunned, not feeling anything at first. Then, his body jolts, like a shock of electricity is running through him, and his nerves scream, heat building, until every little twitch sends a jolt of pain so deep coursing through him that he can hardly breathe.

"Danny, look out!" Tucker, or Sam, he can't tell which, so lost in his pain, cry out a warning. Danny doesn't move in time and two more knives bury themselves in his body, another in his stomach, and the other through his chest. The Lunch Lady cackles with glee as Danny gurgles. The last knife got his lung, and he can feel it slowly filling.

The pound of Sam's boots on the tiles reaches his ears. She shouts something, but he doesn't hear it. Trembling, Danny grips the handle of the knife in his lungs. In first-aid, they tell you to leave whatever object stabbing you in. It keeps the wound plugged, stops you from bleeding out. But Danny's instincts cry out against everything he was ever taught.

Take them out! Take them out!

He braces himself, then yanks. It hurts so much worse coming out, now that he's aware of the pain, the sharp edge searing as it rips the wound wider. He drops the knife and goes for the next one. All three fall to the floor beside him with a clatter, their blades shiny and red. Danny can't breathe, can barely think through the pain. He presses a hand against his chest, feeling the wound beneath his shirt.

It stitches itself together beneath his fingers. The searing pain retreats, replaced by a dull ache. By the time Sam reaches him and rips his shirt open to see his wound, his chest is healed.

"Technically, I didn't die," Danny croaks.

Sam sobs, covering her mouth with her hand. There's relief in her eyes, beneath the horror, and she makes a noise that might be a laugh, choked and garbled as it is.

Danny dives back into the fight with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes and one Fenton Thermos later, the ghost is gone, but not before half the student body saw some bloody idiot fighting it bare-handed.

"Did you see who it was?" Dash whispers to his friends.

Danny, clean of blood and wearing his gym t-shirt, slumps against the wall nearby, listening. Someone called the police when meat started flying through the hallways, and they apparently called Danny's parents. Ghosts are real and everyone knows it now, but Danny doesn't care about that at the moment.

"No, man. I wasn't close enough," Kwan answers Dash.

"Whoever that was, he totally just saved us all," Paulina says. She clasps her hands together and leans against Star. "He's such a hero."

Hero. The word resonates with Danny. He can't explain it, but it pulls at him. A hero. The school is in chaos, the yard covered in raw meat, the hallways hacked and slashed, but everyone is safe and unharmed thanks to Danny.

"More like a dumbass," Sam mutters from Danny's left.

"Semantics," Tucker says.

Between them, Danny only grins.

—

Jack paces in front of the portal, a tub of fudge cradled in the crook of his arm. Every few steps, he grabs a square and pops it in his mouth, chewing furiously. Between bites, he mutters.

"I'm telling you, Mads. He must have been some kind of ghost," he says.

"I don't know, Jack." Maddie, staring at the computer screen, tilts her head. They managed to grab a few stills from the school's security footage of the figure who fought off the ghost, but they didn't come out right. The surroundings are a little grainy, but no more than a standard security camera, so they know there's nothing wrong with the film itself. The ghost, who called herself the Lunch Lady if Maddie remembers correctly, is little more than a green haze in the image. They expected this. Ghosts don't interact with most technology well, not unless it is designed to interact with them.

But the smaller figure is distorted, a twisted shadow obscuring their form. Not ghostly, but not human either.

She clicks to the next image, getting the same results.

"Are you saying it's a human?" Jack asks without breaking stride.

"It's humanoid, but I don't think it's human, either. Yet it bled, so it's not a ghost. And look at this." She closes the files, revealing a folder full of pictures, all of them taken over the past couple of weeks as ghost sightings increased. "They show up at most fights and leave lots of bodily fluids behind." Jiggling the mouse, she circles a series of four images with the courser, all pictures of significant blood splatters. "But the samples..."

As one, she and Jack turn to the sample tray sitting on the far counter. Where the blood is deep red in the pictures, the samples they took have slowly turned to a dark, murky brown, like thick mud. The oldest sample from the first sighting is black.

Jack grabs a handful of fudge and shoves it in his mouth. "Not to mention," he speaks around the chewy squares, "what does it do with the ghosts?"

The lab door squeaks as it opens. Maddie and Jack fall silent, gazes turning toward the stairs. A pair of red sneakers appears on the top step, creeping down, until the wearer slowly reveals themself. Their son, Danny, with what looks like a thermos clutched in his hand.

"Sweetie, are you only just getting home?" Maddie asks.

Danny yelps in surprise. He jerks the thermos behind his back and swivels to face his parents, freezing on the step. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you guys would be here..."

Maddie narrows her eyes. "What did you do, young man? You were supposed to be home from school an hour ago."

"Nothing! I just got held up." Danny tugs the collar of his jacket.

That's odd. Maddie doesn't remember him leaving with a jacket this morning. The sleeves drape over his hands, down to his knuckles, and he has the collar turned up to cover his neck. It must be cold outside, even though September is only just ending. "What held you up?"

"Uh, that's kind of why I thought you guys wouldn't be here? There was another ghost fight. It got pretty bad." He shifts, pressing his arm against his side. Is his jacket darker there, against his ribs?

"Another ghost?" Jack exclaims. He slaps the fudge down on the closest surface, rattling the test tube samples. "Mads, we gotta go! There might still be some evidence!"

Maddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shoot. You're right! We need fresh samples." They race to grab their equipment, snatching up sample gathering packs from their desks, and charge up the stairs.

Danny presses himself against the wall, offering them a nervous smile as they go. "Stay safe!" he calls. The front door slams as Maddie and Jack make their exit, leaving the house in silence. Still, Danny doesn't relax until he hears the rev of the Fenton RV and the familiar squeal of its tires against the pavement. His shoulders slump and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was close." Taking his hand out from behind his back, he looks down at the Fenton Thermos. "Now let's get you taken care of."

As he empties the thermos back into the Ghost Zone, his gaze wanders to the computer screen, still open to the photo evidence. Danny reads the title of the folder. "Challenger?" He snorts. "That's lame." As he skims the photos, a couple jump out at him. In most, he can barely make out the shape of his own body—something he tries not to think about—but in one or two, he can recognize the colours of his clothes beneath the distorting shadow.

Danny slaps the cap back onto the empty thermos before moving closer to the computer, frowning at the screen. "That might be a problem."

—

Danny stands in front of his friends, fists resting on his hips, and shows off his new look. "Well? What do you think?"

Tucker looks him up and down, body shaking as he suppresses his laughter. "Is that a paper superhero mask? Did you spray paint your hair white?"

Danny's hands rise to his head. "It's a spray-on dye! I thought it was cool!"

"Ten bucks says it's super crispy."

"Don't be mean," Sam admonishes Tucker. "I think he looks pretty good. For a discount Jack Frost."

Tucker snaps his fingers. "Emo Jack Frost! The real one would never wear this much black."

"We are no longer friends," Danny says, turning away from them.

"Come on, don’t be a spoilsport."

"Nope, too late. I'm already dead to you."

Sam and Tucker share a confused glance. "Don't you mean we're dead to—" Before Sam can finish the sentence, Danny turns and throws himself out his bedroom window. "Danny!" They scramble after him, falling against the sill as they lean outside, peering down to the alley below.

Danny lies face-first on the pavement.

"Are you dead?" Tucker asks.

Danny raises his arm and gives them a thumbs up.

—

Valerie holds back a startled shout when the metal suit crashes onto the sidewalk next to her. She is not scared, but anyone would be surprised if two tons of metal suddenly fell from the sky. A scream, rapidly increasing in volume, drawings her gaze upwards just in time for a black-clad figure to plummet inches from her nose and land with a sharp crack on top of the suit.

This time Valerie cries out because holy shit, is he dead? Her panic sputters out when she peeks at the possible corpse and gets a good look at exactly who, or what, came falling after. A human figure dressed in all black with poorly coloured hair. It looks crispy as hell.

Valerie sneers. What kind of cheap dye did they use?

She recognizes the Challenger on sight. By now, more than half of Amity Park can, although Valerie can't account for the sudden style change. Maybe they realized how lame their regular t-shirt and jeans are and decided to switch things up. This isn't much better, though. Black hoodie, black pants, black boots, no style.

No one knows their name, but the moniker the Fentons gave them seems to have stuck. Valerie thinks it's a little on the nose, though.

Something wriggles in the corner of her eye and she looks to the Challenger's fist. It clutches a bright green blob, with stubby limbs and a wide mouth.

"Let go of me!" The blob beats its penny-sized fists against the Challenger's thumb. "You are my prey!"

The Challenger groans. "Can you shut up for a second? I think my neck broke." They squeeze the blob until it squeaks.

"Hey. Watch where you're throwing this stuff around." Valerie kicks the arm of the metal suit. "You nearly crushed me!"

The Challenger jolts. Their head whips up, accompanied by a loud crack, and they lurch to their feet. A mask covers their eyes—cheap like the hair dye, probably from a costume stored—but judging by the way their eyebrows shoot up, they look at Valerie with wide eyes.

"Uh, hey, Va—citizen." Their voice drops a solid octave. "Sorry about that! I'll watch out next time." They are about to say something else when a loud squeal interrupts up, the signature sound of the Fentons' approach. The Challenger pales. "Sorry, gotta go!"

They dash into the nearest alley before Valerie can get another word in, leaving her with the empty metal husk and the sound of the Fentons from two streets away. She gapes after them, unsure what to make of the brief exchange.

"Actually, wait a second." The Challenger pops back around the corner, leaping over the ghost's suit to reach Valerie. They grab her shoulders in a cold grip. "Are people really using that dumb name for me?"

At a loss for words, Valerie nods.

"Ugh." The Challenger groans and lets her go in favour of rubbing a hand down their face. "Stop that. It's so boring. Just call me... Phantom. Okay? See ya!" They spin away, too fast, and trip over the metal suit.

Wow, Valerie thinks as Phantom scrambles around the corner once more. We have the lamest superhero ever.

[honestlyfrance]

just feel; let’s exist

ship: sam/bucky

warnings: hurt/comfort, suicidal implications

summary:

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

or

Bucky tries to keep Sam grounded for the night.

—■—■—

We’d all like to know what’s it like living in the Avengers Mansion secluded in the vast forest, the same mansion that you could only reach with a rocky dirt path, the same one where it stretches with its landing strips and pools, the same one where it looked more like a castle lost in the 16th century than one in the 21st century, and the same one where the sunrises were almost as perfect as the ones in Wakanda. Despite this description, Sam Wilson would tell you it was a noisy place, always full of fights and silent conversations—other times it’s a game of cat and mouse on who can eat the last platter of brownies before the super-soldiers can get to them. 

Everyone wanted to know what it felt like to live at the top of the world, unbothered and untethered. Not even touched by the weather, god gifted and forever immaculate: What does heaven feel like? They’ll say it tastes like copper blood, everlasting and stained. Others would say that heaven does not exist, and it’s hell on earth in the Avengers Compound; constant tension in the hallways, there’s always a reason for thunder to break through the walls and shatter the mirrors. It doesn’t sound like heaven, and maybe it shouldn’t be called as such.

Most nights it did feel like heaven on earth, when the room was just the right cold, the water pressure was just right, and the hallways were peaceful as it can be on a Thursday, it’s almost as if you were on top of the world. Damned those who think not, it was better when it was empty and vast as it should always be. 

It was always so full of life, and other times it was full of sorrow, resentfulness, and even, death.

This was one of those nights, the nights when Sam feels decayed and broken to the bone , almost numb at the overriding sensation throughout his body. It should’ve been illegal to feel this way, empty and vulnerable to even air, feeling as if you may crumble at the very touch of kindness. It shouldn’t be like this, but it always has to be; c'est la vie. What can anyone do?

Sam sat on the rounded couch in the vast living area. It had high ceilings, two chandeliers hanging precariously with its heavy diamonds and crystals; the couch was in an unlevel flooring, shaped for the large rounded velvet couch; the moonlight was streaming in the drawn open French windows that reached the arches of the walls; the rose bushes were in full bloom in view of the windows, full and lovely; the TV screen was sat atop a long desk, decorated with picture frames of the members of the Avengers all smiling and serious; the room was dim lit except for the moonlight, and there’s an uneasiness in the room. It was nearing midnight, and Sam didn’t make any plans to go back to bed.

Everything seemed to swallow him whole, and the vastness was only eating at his sides, bringing him down just to build him back up again with hope; it’s a sickening plot to take him down but his mind was almost peeling at the seams, and there’s a need to kill his overwhelmed senses before dawn, because there’s a ticking in his head that he had interpreted as a ticking bomb that would implode him and his thoughts when the sun would rise.

It’s saddening, how the world could beat him down into a pulp, taking his mentality and sensibility. The world has stripped him down to the bone and left his soul to burst into flames, an open-to-all show for the world to see. This is your Captain America! and you’ve let him burn to ashes! The world has left him to drown like an Icarus, burnt to a crisp and broken like glass. Nothing could ever piece him back together except for death, and even then it wouldn’t be the same. There’ll be an aftertaste in his mouth that would taste like gunfire and carcasses, and he wouldn’t be able to wash that foul taste without burying himself six-feet-under.

In the silence of the mansion and the dimness of the night, it’s here that he let himself daze into nothingness, feeling the void wrap itself into his bones, etching his fate with a pen-knife and salt, embracing his wounds as if the Mona Lisa to its Louvre. Sam lets himself decay with the stars, and if his fate leads him into his bed, then so be it; he’s lived long enough, won’t that mean he’d die short enough?

The silence seemed to ring in his ears, and there’s an ache in his chest he couldn’t cater to; it seemed too far away for him to reach, and if it was close enough for his fingers to grasp, it would turn futile. He would let it be; who’s going to tell him otherwise? There’s not a person in the world who decided to let Sam thrive, and even if they did, it was obviously not enough. Sam knew his worth, but did he know this could save him? Months of spiraling into the void, Sam has finally recollected and called himself “extinct.” Reminiscing would lead him nowhere, and the happy thoughts he had clutched onto had become stone; Sam did know his worth, but it only became his enemy.

Sam knew what it meant to know things and had felt things to conflict it, in the end burying himself in his own grave from the pressure of the world. Life has offered him endless tragedies and he has offered nothing but service, ruthlessly nice and angelic to the halo and wings, and it’d be a shame to have him drown in Atlas and the world’s burdens, but that’s what people make him do; stripped down to “support” and “partner” all in one, the world will forever see him in this facade.

As the ache in his chest began to sear him, Sam suppressed his cries to beg mercy at the world; he’s been abused to the bone that he’d let himself get down on his knees to beg for a sliver of mercy from the world. There’s tears rolling down his cheeks as he gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw at every sensation he felt. There was the need to numb himself, and he’d do that even if he has to physically hurt himself, to ache at the skin— yes, maybe that would work…

Footsteps approach Sam, breaking his soliloquies. Sam was left with ragged breaths, wiping his tears away with his bare hands when Bucky Barnes had plopped down right beside him, invading his personal space. Bucky was panting, wiping his forehead with a face towel before facing Sam with a splitting grin; it disappeared when Bucky saw the red in Sam’s eyes, and so Bucky immediately gave the man some space.

“Hey,” Bucky gently spoke, his hands wringing in between his thighs, “You— You don’t have to say anything,” he put on a small smile for Sam, but the man only sniffled, turning into convulsive sobs, “Do you want me to leave? I can give you more space. Do you want me to stay? I have some, uh, few ideas to get your mind off things…”

Sam turned to the rough fabric of the couch for comfort, crying into it as he choked on his sobs. Bucky sat beside the man, resting his chin on his crossed arms on the backrest of the couch; he had fear glinting in his eyes as he watched one of the strongest men he knew break down in pieces. There’s an unmistakable anguish in the air, one that brittles the strong with crashing waves, and Bucky feared for it.

“What do you need right now, Sam,” Bucky whispered into the darkness, and there’s a softness in his tone that just breaks Sam even more.

Sam looked up from his arms, a glare burying Bucky to the ground as he says, “Don’t treat me like I’m fragile,”

Bucky took a double-take, but nonetheless nodded carefully, afraid he’d hurt Sam even more. There’s an unspoken rule about comforting someone: Don’t hurt them even more . Bucky stood up, arms in awkward positions as Sam went back sniffling into his arms. Bucky’s heartstrings chimed to the tune of a love song, one that sings just for Sam; there’s now the only goal he had in mind: make Sam happy .

“Everyone’s fragile, Sam,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, but Sam must’ve heard it, because he stopped his whimpers and stayed robotically still, “Their brokenness only depends on how people handle them,”

Sam looked up, his lips twisted as his eyes searched for something in Bucky. “Stay,” he whimpered.

Bucky warily comes back in his seat, Sam inching towards the warmth of Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist as the man leaned into Bucky’s body, nestling his head on Bucky’s chest. They lied down like this for minutes long, feeling each other’s breathing blend into each other. Bucky tries to even his breathing, already fearing the way his own heart beats deafeningly into the night; does Sam hear the fear and anxiety Bucky feels for him revibrate in his chest, or was Sam too deep into his thoughts to feel anything outside of him?

Bucky planted a soft and gentle kiss on the top of Sam’s head, and Sam instinctively groaned at the action; Sam’s body reacted by burying himself deeper into Bucky, as if it was still possible. If anything, they were practically connected into each other, atoms sharing and merging with one another they wouldn’t be surprised if they had melted into each other's souls by dawn.

Dawn .

Sam lifted his head, and Bucky whimpered at the loss of heat. Sam set his hands on Bucky’s knees as he blinked at the darkness, trying to figure out the murky shapes in the living area; he almost jumped when he saw something move in the darkness, only to realize it was Natasha Romanoff’s cat, Liho, moving around by the carpet. Bucky watched the back of Sam’s head, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to decipher Sam. It seemed like everyday that Sam was jumpy and spaced out, almost like an astronaut from the many times he’s been into the void — Bucky just wanted to bring him back down with him on Earth.

“Where are you, Sam?” Bucky whispered, dragging his hand on Sam’s back, rubbing careful circles to ease the tension in his man’s muscles.

Sam shuddered at the touch, murmuring, “I don’t know,”

Liho is now on the other end of the couch joined by the other cats, Alpine, Goose, and Figaro; so that’s what those menaces do at night.

Bucky sighed, bringing back his grip on Sam’s shoulder, easing out the ache of the world out of him; if it was only possible. Bucky wished it was that easy, because Sam didn’t deserve an inch of this bullcrap, however the world seemed fit, angels just don’t need the burden of Atlas as if it wasn’t from different religions in the first place. If there was just a magic word Bucky could say to bring Sam back down on base, he'd make a song out of it— Anything. Anything that would give back Sam his control, Bucky would pick it out from hell itself if it could bring Sam peace and comfort.

“Why do I bother,” Sam murmured, his voice raspy and ragged.

Bucky hesitantly set his forehead on Sam’s back, breathing in the scent of him; he exhaled, saying, “We bother because we care,” he breathed in once more, his eyes shut closed, “Sometimes we care too much to feel anything. Which is why we rest… Feel… Breathe in…”

“I know,” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, staring into the void of darkness as his idle hands grew sweatier and colder, “I… I can’t seem to do anything right now…”

“Then let’s just exist, Sam. Come back down for you.”

Bucky rested his head right on Sam’s back, eyes upwards as he heard the mewling of the four cats approaching them. They both chuckled at that, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning and had rested just for the two of them. Sam lied back down, bringing Bucky down with him; Sam curled himself deeper into Bucky’s chest as the other rested his feet on top of the mahogany coffee table before them. Liho finds a spot between Bucky’s legs and Alpine is soon behind him; the other two cats, Bucky thinks, should scram before the two of them do anything more.

They sat down for a moment, overwhelmed by the silence to move, and it feels nice to have the weight be lifted from one’s chest; there’s a pang of pain to breathe but there’s also the love that revibrates within the heart, and it blares so loudly between these two it shouldn’t be hard enough to stay oblivious to this. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Bucky whispered in Sam’s ear; Sam hummed in acknowledgement, “I know. I know it’s hard, and it’s fine to be fragile,” he rubbed circles on Sam’s back with his palm, then his fingers, feeling Sam sigh deeply into his chest, “One thing I’ve learned is that… You should just exist. Alone or together, any is fine; just breathe and feel, Sam. The pain leaves like a bandaid,”

It’s probably near two in the morning when Natasha emerges from her bedroom on the other side of the mansion to retrieve Liho, scooping up the noir feline from Bucky’s legs. In exchange, Natasha had brought the two a blanket, and apparently Bucky had requested to bring his laptop and secret stash of champagne. No sooner had she left with her cat, Goose had followed as well, meowing all the way down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Sam drawled out, suppressing a grin as Bucky laid out the blanket around them.

Bucky had set down his laptop on his lap, opening up a browser and going incognito; Sam watched Bucky enter a website that had too many ads for one’s liking, entering a movie title that had only disappeared from the cinemas just yesterday. The movie began to play and Bucky raised the volume, Alpine setting her paws on his arm as he did this. Chuckling, Sam popped open the champagne with surprising ease, laughing fully as some of it spilled; Figaro crawled on top of his legs, and Sam had run a hand across his cat’s fur as Bucky snuggled deeper into the duvet.

They took turns drinking the alcohol straight from the bottle, and no sooner had Bucky seen a smile form on Sam’s face, all gap-tooth and wide, it was too beautiful to miss, even in the darkness. Everything fell back into place, but there’s a new atmosphere surrounding them as explosions and guns blared from the speakers, their two cats purring in the background making everything harder to move, and their breathing was too close to each other to ignore.

They didn’t know who was the first one to lean into the kiss, but they both knew they wanted this. Long and languid  kisses ensued between them, and Bucky’s advice ringed in their heads: Just feel , and they did; they felt each other’s skin against each other as their hands found their way to cup the other man’s cheek and bring them closer with a hand on the neck. They rested against each other’s foreheads as they breathed heavily, eyes still closed as they let the taste of the other be ingrained into their heads, never wanting to forget what love finally tasted like: it tasted like champagne turned into wine and the living room into an abandoned movie theatre, and it felt ten times colder but they were too warm in their hearts to complain.

They stayed like this for another movie, just existing together and alone, and if the world has decided that enough was enough and that they should break apart, just know this: though they were both fragile, in each other’s presence they felt too strong to even believe they were weak in the first place. Dawn had just arrived, and they could say they’ve stayed for another day.

[buckysdolls]

Red Dress

One Shot- Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N- So I listened to Taylor Swift’s ‘Wildest Dreams’ whilst writing this an it gave me the inspiration for the whole concept of the fic, certain lyrics represent a certain memory in the reader and Bucky’s relationship. Sorry if it’s not your music taste but I hope you still read it and like it <3

Summary- The reader recalls her memory’s with Bucky as she struggles to cope with his loss due to the snap heard around the world…

Warnings- fluff, sadness, loss, happy ending tho <3

‘I thought, "Heaven can't help me now"

Nothin' lasts forever

But this is gonna take me down

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad but he does it so well’

You’d heard of Bucky, Steve shared multiple happy memories of the times he and Bucky spent together. He only ever painted Bucky in a positive light, Steve always described him as funny, a man of honour and his hero. So, seeing Bucky for the first time was strange, he looked so tired, drained of happiness… worn out. Steve had asked you to join his cause, and you agreed with Steve, the Avengers only ever meant to be helpful and you truly believed in the cause.

“Steve” You heard Sam shout out catching your attention, both you and Steve rushed to the next room where Sam had been keeping an eye on Bucky. You stood with your arms folded over your chest and watched on as Bucky began to stir from a deep slumber. Your heart ached as you watched him, you couldn’t explain it in that moment as to why but apart of you wanted to help him, even if you we’re never going to see him after this. His hair that draped an inch from his shoulders hung over his face, covering his drooping eyes that were starting to open. The stubble on his face hugged his perfectly carved jawline. Though dishevelled he was handsome, an instant attraction had your eyes burned onto him, his bad boy image had your stomach twisting as if butterflies were fluttering all over. Your attraction to this man wasn’t going to end well and you knew it. You watched him look around, his eyes settled on you and all you could do was curve the corners of your lips and smile. He grabbed the metal contraption that was crushing his metal arm, keeping him in place. He looked over again recognising Steve.

“Steve?” his voice was groggy and rough, but soft you could hear the fear and pain in his voice.

“Which Bucky am I talking too?” Steve questioned slowly approaching Bucky, Steve had informed you of the situation Bucky had found himself in, the trauma he’d been through. You found yourself watching intently to watch Bucky’s reaction.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah”

You watched as Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

A small smile crept on the face of Bucky as if he started to remember something.

“You used to wear newspapers in your shoes” Steve knew that he was talking to his Bucky. You watched on as Steve explained to Bucky the trouble he’d caused; your heart sank watching Bucky beat himself up over it.

“It’s nothing we can’t fix together” Your voice was quiet out of kindness as you tried to lift Bucky’s mood, Steve turned to look at you with a smile as Bucky nodded.

“She’s pretty” Bucky mumbled as he motioned his head to you.

“Definitely our Bucky in there” Steve chuckled as he looked over to you. You tried to hide biting your lip as Steve turned to you replacing it with a quick smile, trying to remain silent.

“It’s one of the nicer views I’ve woken up too recently” Bucky moaned as his head fell backwards trying to regain feeling in his body. Steve released him as you and Steve helped him stand up allowing him to control his balance. He was so tall and heavy from his muscular body. The feeling of his flesh hand holding onto you electrocuted you as you looked up from his hand to him. He’d felt it too, the lingering look he gave your hand that clutched onto him before looking into your eyes was magical. Looking into your sparkling eyes made his eyes glimmer the slightest, his face loosened as you watched him try to understand the feelings that were flowing through his veins.

This was the first of many moments you shared with Bucky and you’d never forget what his first words to you were. “She’s pretty”

‘Say you'll remember me

Standin' in a nice dress

Starin' at the sunset, babe’

Steve had trusted you to look out for Bucky in Wakanda as he underwent special treatment. The time you’d spent together was lovely. Watching Bucky flourish in his new surroundings was something you’d never seen before. How one man, so disturbed had grown into a man who could now enjoy a simple, stress free life. He’d confided in you one night, thanking you for showing him the path to happiness in Wakanda and for looking out for him. Never giving up. Once he received his new arm his confidence improved. Time had passed on, you and Bucky were constantly around each other, he wanted you with him, so he knew you were safe, though you were there for Bucky, Bucky felt things he hadn’t felt in the longest time. The thought of loosing the one person who believed in him was devastating…

“What are these?” you pointed to yellow tulips that were sitting in a vase in the middle of the small table that sat in the kitchen.

“Flowers you dummy” Bucky replied as he came up behind you, the hairs on your skin dances as his hands fell on your shoulders with gentle squeezes almost massaging. You loved how traditional Bucky still was, though times had changed, and he’d been through hell and back he always found a way to be a gentleman.

“Why did you get flowers?”  You turned to face Bucky who was wearing a nice shirt and shorts with a grin on his face. Though your eyebrows were furrowed that quickly changed once the palm of his hand rested on your right cheek.

Bucky had fallen for you the moment he’d seen you, the moment your words left your mouth was the uplift he needed. You were the reason he knew he needed to get better. You were going to be one to bring him back to life and give him a heart filled with love and affection. The moment he felt your hand in his… he knew. He knew that everything he was going to go through was for you.

Your cheek melted into the palm of his hand as you let your head rest. You wet your lips biting them in the process trying to hold back a smile. Though you and Bucky had never really spoken about the relationship you two had grown, you were always falling asleep in each other’s arms, always laughing together. Giving each other tiny bouts of affection…a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the top of your hand, a kiss on the forehead before you both lingered touching foreheads enjoying the intimacy.

“Put on a nice dress.”

“Huh?”

“You have an hour to get ready. We need to head out before the sun goes down. No more questions… trust me”

You took your hour to make sure you looked and felt pretty. Your dress was the colour of red roses with tiny white flower patterns, the dress was tight but comfortable as it hugged your curves and the sweetheart neckline lifted your bust, the sleeves hung halfway down your arms as the sleeves rippled. You made your way downstairs to find Bucky holding out his arm for you to hold on to going down the last couple steps of the house you stayed in together. He gently let you go, turning you around and placing his hands over your eyes, you giggled as he did so.

“Bucky? What are you doing?”

“Just walk forward Y/N. I’ll lead you.” You slowly walked forward without your sight everything felt silent just both of your breathing filled the atmosphere. After what seemed ages but was only seconds Bucky spoke.

“I’m going to remove my hands, but keep your eyes closed!”

You squeezed shut your eyes, to stop yourself from peeking, the urge to quickly open them lose them was high. The noise of a door sliding open made you raise your eyebrows. Bucky’s footstep worked their way back to you, the touch of his hands back over your eyes made you jump but smile, you couldn’t hide your excitement. He instructed you to walk again then warned you to take small step down. You felt the cool evening air hit your skin and you could feel the slight breeze of wind dance in your hair. Bucky stopped you and stepped away then slowly allowed you to open your eyes.  Bucky was sat on a plethora of blankets and pillows surrounded by picnic food and prosecco. He was smiling his devilishly handsome smile that killed you inside whenever he did it. You took in the view of Wakanda, realising the sun was going down, he patted the ground motioning for you to sit next to him. You were pleasantly surprised and in awe of how perfect Bucky and the whole set up was. You took a seat next to him as you both looked at each other.

“You like it?”

“Like it Bucky? I love it!” You whispered in wonder. You felt the same feeling in your stomach as you did the first time you met Bucky, those damned butterflies. Bucky pulled you closer by your waist scotting you closer to him, his arm laid across your shoulder.

“You looking amazing Y/N” He didn’t look at you when he said it and he took a huge breath of air before saying it, the hesitation in Bucky’s voice was prominent but you could tell it was his nerves.

“Are you nervous Bucky?” You turned your body slightly to face him with a huge smile, realising how shy Bucky was suddenly being. Bucky scrunched up his face before shaking his head then nodding his head and shaking it again. You laughed at his playful yet honest expression.

“Why are you nervous?”

“A beautiful girl, who’s been there for me since I can really remember, a breath-taking sunset… I’m a little nervous”

“You’re the Winter Soldier Bucky…”

“That maybe so but I’m never going to forget seeing you walk down those stairs in this unbelievably amazing dress! I’ll remember you in this dress for the rest of my life”

“I really look that good huh?” You smirked, bumping your body against his, you watched as Bucky gave you a chefs kiss.

You and Bucky enjoyed the rest of the evening as the dusky sunset turned to night, by the end you were wrapped in blankets, settled in between Bucky’s legs, his arms draped over your shoulder talking about everything and anything.

 ‘His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room

And his voice is a familiar sound

Nothin' lasts forever

But this is gettin' good now’

The door slammed behind you both, though it didn’t distract you. Your mouth clung onto his, every inch of your mouth exploring each other’s. Bucky had you held up against him one arm wrapped around your waist, his hand holding your neck and his other hand tangled in your as you both moaned pulling on it occasionally as he was feeling the pleasure. Each movement of your lips moving in sync feeling deeper and more passionate. Your legs were locked and wrapped around his waist, not wanting to part from his body. His lips left your as he began kissing your neck making you fling your head back enjoying the sweet pleasure of his kisses. The passionate exchange resorted to your bedroom, you stood in front of him as he looked down at you… you were both fully clothed just looking at each other, smiling as you both knew this is what you wanted. he was blown away by your natural beauty and the confidence you exhibited, he leaned down and began to lift your dress, slowly, he was enjoying watching every inch of you be revealed to him, you lifted your hands to allow the dress to come up over your head. Bucky let the dress slip from his hands before undoing the clasp of your bra, the sensual touch of his fingertips on your back made you crave him so much, you wiggled out your underwear, the whole time your eyes never left one another. It was your turn, the pads of your fingers made Bucky moan and smirked as you let your fingers trace up the sides of his core as you lifted his vest up and over. You let your hands fall flat on his chest, lapping up his picturesque physique, as you did this he unbuckled, stepping out of his jeans and boxers. The silence that filled the room as you both looked at each other’s body was fulfilling until you both broke it immediately crashing into each other, reigniting your passionate exchange, Bucky laid you down on the bed, his lips trailed from your lips, along your neck, down your stomach and along your thighs. You moaned arching your back at every kiss, your nails digging into the flesh of his back. You begged him to give you everything and he did. That night of passionate, loving and playful sex was stunning. You were laid in his arms, his lips placing kisses on your head, his finger stroking your bare shoulder. Life was good.

It’s a shame it wouldn’t last forever…

  ‘And when we've had our very last kiss

But my last request is

Say you'll remember me’

Being reunited with the team after a while was amazing, seeing everyone faces gave this horrific situation a glimpse of happiness. The team didn’t have time to enjoy a reunion or even begin to understand the fact you and Bucky had become a coupe. You all stood on the earth of Wakanda which was now a battlefield. You were Avenger’s it was your job to protect people, and in order to protect those people it was time to protect Vision from Thanos. You watched as these creatures slowly tried to enter through the barricades Wakanda has put up to protect the place. Bucky’s flesh arm was wrapped around your waist as you stood together, his hand settling on your hips. His metal arm holding his most prized weapon. Your arm rested up his back slowly stroking the hairs on his neck. You both didn’t say anything in this moment, you just held onto each other. It was better left unsaid, anything that would be said would hurt more if something happened to either of you. You listened to the plan and saw the barricades come down slowly. You both turned to each other, as a single tear dribbled down your cheek. His thumb wiped it away as he moved your hair over your shoulder letting his hand settle on your neck. You rolled your lips and closed your eyes not wanting to let go of this moment. He couldn’t help but pull you in for a passionate kiss wanting to feel your body against his, your soft sweet lips, giving him hope and love. Pulling away breathless he mouthed ‘I love you’ before running into battle… your heart stopped momentarily as you too found yourself running into battle amongst everyone else.

During the fight you never realised it would be your last kiss… the last time you’d feel Bucky’s hands roam your body, the last time you’d feel his scratchy beard against your skin, the beard you’d grown to love as it tickled your skin whenever he’d kiss you.

Watching Thanos snap his fingers you felt a freezing breeze sweep over you as you laid on the ground feeling broken. You coughed up blood, the pain of broken bones washing over you.

“Steve. Y/N” Your eyes shifted from Thanos to Bucky who appeared from around the corner, a smile appeared on your lips seeing Bucky still alive though clearly riddled with PTSD and pain, his eyes were cold with fright. The smile faded as you began to watch pieces of Bucky begin to rip away and float to the ground in tiny pieces. Your eyes widened in shock unable to comprehend what you were seeing. Steve picked you up along the way as he ran to Bucky, catching him before falling to his knees, pieces of him were slipping through both of your fingers.

“Your red dress… I remember. I’ll see you again” Bucky’s words faded out as he was no longer there. He was gone. Vanished as if he was never alive in the first place. You screamed out in pain, those butterflies in your stomach had crashed into each other and died.

“Bring him back Steve” You cried to him slapping your hands on his chest. Steve cradled as you both watched people fade away into nothingness.

“Bring him back Steve, right now!” You continued to sob your slaps becoming punches repeatedly.

As your cried in pain all you could think about was the first night Bucky had told you how he truly felt about you, that night you watched the sunset, wrapped up in each other bodies.. the night you wore that nice red dress.

 ‘Say you'll see me again’

5 years had accumulated to his moment… and if it didn’t work, there was no more hope left on this fucking planet you thought. Your thoughts raced about how different your life could have been if Bucky was here, would you be married… would you be a mom? All these options were ripped away from you. You wouldn’t move on, there was no moving on from Bucky. Though Steve encouraged you to do so it was impossible, you reminded Steve that Bucky would never give up on him giving Steve the reality check he needed.

Watching Hulk snap his fingers made your heart stop and your eye become glass like as pools of water covered your eyes. You let those butterflies gradually begin fluttering in the pitch of your stomach. You looked outside the big glass windows to see colour, trees fully grown, flowers in bloom and the sun shining.

Round 2 proved to be even worse, less of you fighting was daunting, beginning to feel impossible. You’d managed to bring yourself to your feet and head to the battlefield to stand in line with Steve. You both exchanged looks, he knew you were shattered into a million pieces and if this didn’t work he knew you were gone. You knew he was broken and had nothing left to give. A cracked voice spoke over the earpieces you guys had put in…

“On your left” your eyes frantically searched the skies, your body twisting left to right to catch a glimpse of him, you knew it was Sam. There was no noise just utter silence amongst the destruction, you and Steve shot each other hopeful looks. Time felt as though it stopped as you saw Sam fly over bringing with him a gust of wind as he settled down next to Steve. You bit your lip as Sam nodded at you, he motioned his head for you to look behind. A lump in your throat formed as you couldn’t hold in your tears anymore… thousands of orange spiralling circles floated round you and Steve. You mouth hung open before your cried silently allowing your lips to turn into the biggest smile you’d exposed in 5 years. Bucky walked out from one of the circles with a grin. You turned back around not able to look at him, you wanted to compose yourself. The touch of his hand resting on your waist sent simultaneous shivers down your spine, you found yourselves in the same position as before. Your sides touching and his hand gripping so tightly on your waist. You finally turned your heads to look at each other, his god damn smile.

“I told you I’d see you again” Bucky squeezed you into his side as he let his head fall on to your neck sighing in relief.

“You did” You laughed through your tears as you lifted his head up from your shoulder letting your foreheads rest together.

“You…that night… your red dress… was all I thought about” You could hear Bucky’s vulnerability through the muffled and breathless tone of voice. You shhh’d him planting the tiniest kiss on his lips, those butterflies in your stomach fluttering in full force.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 25)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 6423 Warnings: mention of injuries, fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 24 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Time stands still like the eerie calm of the earth before a storm and in less than the blink of an eye things move all at once. The clouds break open with the downpour of your tears, a tornado sends you in a dizzying frenzy to change your clothes, hellish winds are unleashed that blow you across town so quickly you nearly forgot to take your phone with you as you scrambled out of the Uber that raced you to the hospital.

Sam’s call was brief. Bucky was brought into the emergency room by ambulance, fading in and out of consciousness from a car accident. Sam nearly went into shock himself seeing his friend littered in cuts and scrapes. You didn’t have time to ask much else, barely even changing out of your pajamas. You swapped thin bottoms for leggings, quickly grabbed your bra and threw a hoodie over it all, not thinking about how your hair looked or bothering to pick out the crust that just began to take root in the corner of your eyes. You grabbed a bag tossing in your keys and wallet and clutched your phone in hand to run downstairs.

The fluorescent lights are blinding as you enter the hospital, searching for Sam through the chaos of chatter and noise. The beep beep beep of machinery all around you, coughing, crying, moaning wails from people that want help or attention or just a place to sleep off their drunkenness. The ER was a maze you knew every route of but your mind pushed the knowledge out needing more space to panic.

Where is Bucky? Where is Sam?

You remembered the nurses’ station, sprinting towards it and happy to see a familiar face that does not recognize you right away. You didn’t expect Stacie to; you looked quite different when you were not put together in professional clothes and on the verge of bursting into tears and throwing up at the same time.

Together you quickly found Sam, unable to hold back the dam when you saw him and asked about Bucky.

“He went up into surgery.”

“Surgery!?” you cried out. “Is he going to be okay? Sam what happened?”

He let out a long and heavy sigh. The harsh lights above were unkind, showing the depths of the circles under his eyes.

“His leg is broken and he has some internal bleeding but we stabilized him and…”

You knew how hard Sam works, how everyone in this hospital works, getting an up close experience from your time there so you hated to be this person, frantic and begging for answers that he didn’t have.

“Doctor Palmer is an excellent surgeon. I’m gonna call her assistant now to let them know I’m sending you up.”

You nodded, biting your lip and roughly wiping away fresh tears. Sam pulled you into his chest and you felt your knees buckle. Bucky had to make it through surgery, he had to! A heavy sob wracked through you as you thought of the worst. Sam squeezed tighter, wishing he could stay with you upstairs through the surgery. Hell, he’d scrub in himself if they’d let him just so he could say he’s done everything to help his friend through this.

“I’ll be up when I can,” he promised, walking you towards the elevator.

You forced a worried smile. “Thanks Sam. Do you know… did anyone call his parents?”

Sam clenched his jaw as he thought about it. “It was pretty crazy in there, I’m not sure. I could fi–” He was interrupted by someone calling his name and you knew you had taken too much of his time already.

Your stomach dropped as the elevator went up, bringing you to an unfamiliar floor with unfamiliar faces that made you feel like an unwelcome stranger in someone’s home. You let the staff know you were here for James but a by-the-books nurse wasn’t keen on giving you information. Without thinking straight you had stupidly answered no when they asked if you were family, and when you asked if Bucky’s family was called she wouldn’t tell you.

You exhaled a deep, calming sigh, not wanting to yell at the person that was just doing their job, but as you sink into the uncomfortable chair you can’t help but silently cry to yourself. This woman doesn’t know how badly you need to know if Bucky’s okay. She doesn’t know that you spent the last few months ignoring him and wishing you could take it all back. She doesn’t know how much you miss him, how you love him. Even though he broke your heart you couldn’t help yourself from gluing the pieces back together and you needed to tell him, maybe you couldn’t tell him the truth but Bucky needed to at least know that you didn’t hate him.

The clock ticks away slowly and no one has come to speak with you. You stare at Winifred’s profile. She hasn’t updated her status since late in the afternoon. Does she know? Did anyone call them?

You decide they need to know, they need to be here just in case. A wave of nausea rolls over you at the thought and suddenly you become dizzy in your seat. You’re hot, sweating in the hoodie and yet you push on. Shaky fingers google his parent’s names and hometown in the hopes they are listed. You find a number, hesitant to call at this late of an hour. Rebecca was a few hours behind, and you debated messaging them in hopes of a fast reply. Should you do that? Should you be doing this at all?

Fuck.

If you had some answers you could at least feel a little better about all of this. You messaged Rebecca on Instagram telling them what happened and leaving your number. Your cheeks burn like lava as you rest your palm against them, dialing the number that google provided which may or may not be correct.

The phone rings and rings, and with each unanswered ring your stomach twists a little tighter. Relief comes but only slightly by way of Winnie’s bubbly voice prompting you to leave a message. Your voice shakes as you do, letting out a strangled cry as you leave them the limited details you knew about Bucky. Are they sleeping?

It doesn’t take long before your screen lights up with a number you don’t recognize and you were relieved to hear Winnie’s voice. Someone did call her and George, and they were on their way to the hospital.

“Rebecca sent me your number. I’m so happy you’re there. We’ll see you soon sweetheart,” she said, with sobs in her voice.

After hanging up you saw a message from Rebecca repeating what you already knew. They asked if it was okay to call you and you were thankful for the distraction. Together you tried to comfort each other, worrying about Bucky making it through surgery, about their parents driving with little sleep and so much on their minds.

“They’re here,” you said spotting George first from down the hallway, “I’ll call you back.”

It had been at least a half hour since their call and getting up from the chair was slow, your body ached from sitting for too long but you didn’t care. George and Winnie wrapped you in their arms, tears flowing as you embraced. The tears poured a little harder as you gripped them tightly, realizing how nice it was to see them again but wishing desperately it was under different circumstances.

George withdrew first, going up to the desk to let them know he was there. Winnie cupped your face softly, her hands were cold but it felt good against the heat of your skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that released more tears down her reddened cheeks, her eyes already swollen and full of spidery veins.

Together you waited. Talking, pacing, crying, waiting, waiting, waiting until a short woman in green scrubs called out for the Barnes family. The three of you jump up and you feel immediately sick, holding on to Winnie’s arm as you try to read the expression of the woman before she said anything.

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes my name is Doctor Palmer, I was the surgeon who worked on your son James.”

Winnie held your hand a little tighter, squeezing as every second went by until Dr. Palmer said he was stable and in recovery.

“He came in with blunt force trauma from a crash. He fractured two ribs and there was some internal bleeding from his spleen which we were able to repair with arterial embolization. However, James had a severe compound fracture of the tibia. We debrided the area and secured the bone with plates and screws. James is in the post op recovery room and he’s awake but not fully lucid.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the waiting room, with mixed tears of happiness flowing freely again. The doctor said a nurse would come by to bring you in to see him shortly and you couldn’t wait. You didn’t know what you would say to Bucky or if he would even be alert enough to hear you but you knew it was time to let him know that the past is in the past and you want to move forward.

A beat fills the room, steady like a metronome to keep the rhythm but the sound is unfamiliar. Too soft for the drums, not high enough for strings. Quick, simple. Piano? No. The sound isn’t broad enough. Keyboard? Yes. Electric, synthy. But it still sounds wrong.

Bucky tries to open his eyes but his lids are too heavy, bolted down by invisible chains. He sees the light of the sun through them. He tries to lift his arm to shut the blinds but even they are too sluggish to move, heavy like they were coated in cement.

He feels the scratch of a rough blanket against his skin, vague thoughts cross his tired mind wondering the whereabouts of his comforter. His toes are cold, feeling like tiny icicles are hanging off them. His right foot drags against the mattress. Was it always this uncomfortable? It’s his left foot that isn’t covered, a sock that probably came off in the night.

In a state of half sleep Bucky tries to wiggle the icicles off and suddenly his whole body feels like it’s been set ablaze. The beat quickens. A terrible pain fires through every nerve. There’s a sharp sensation in his hand when he tries to move it making him wince. His left side has a dull stabbing ache that increases as he takes a deep breath. Bucky feels sore all over like he was just hit by a–

And then he remembers.

His breaths are shallow, the tempo moving rapidly like the hook of an EDM song about to drop the beat as Bucky replayed the scene like a movie. He left the premier’s after party in an Uber never expecting the violent jolt of an SUV t-boning the car into a traffic pole. Everything after was a blur. There were flashing lights, noise, a steady bright light, an angel with the face of Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes fly open in state panic as he looks around wildly at his surroundings. His leg is in a cast, elevated by a sling. Needles in his arm, tubes around his nose, wires everywhere. He felt like a mess, he could only imagine he looked even worse but then all of his worries fade away when he sees Y/N, the angel at his side.

You’re asleep on the chair, elbow propped up on the wooden arm with your head leaning against your palm. It’s not comfortable at all but you didn’t complain, it wasn’t important. It was nearly five in the morning when Bucky was moved to a room. The walls were a dreadful sage green that looked more like dirty money in the dim light of dawn. The room was small but the lack of a second bed for the time being made things seem a little larger.

George went off in search of a third chair for the room as you and Winnie pulled yours up close to Bucky, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam came up to visit after his shift ended, introducing himself to Bucky’s parents. The tackling hug Winnie gave him was unexpected by his sleep deprived body but he accepted it all the same, giving her a reassuring hug that everything would be okay. Before he left you whispered a thank you in Sam’s ear, for treating Bucky and giving you a call. You promised to keep him updated as told him to get some rest, he certainly deserved it.

Bucky slept peacefully as you watched over him, your head falling forward and jolting you awake every time you had begun to fall asleep. Winnie had already fallen asleep but you were fighting against your body’s needs. You stared longingly at Bucky, wanting to be awake in case he woke up. George put a gentle hand on your shoulder, nodding with silent permission that it was okay to shut your eyes. A large black cup of coffee aided him in keeping watch and so you blinked slowly, your lids growing heavier with every languid motion until they remained shut for the next few hours. It wasn’t until the sound of rapid beeps that you were alerted into consciousness again.

Your head whipped up quickly with concern at the sound that slowly began to steady, finding Bucky awake with an ever so slight tug of a smile on his lips that grew once you locked eyes. It had been far too long since you looked at Bucky, truly looked at him without anger and heartache clouding your vision.

The scrapes and bruises that littered his face did not hinder any part of his handsomeness. His lips were dull and slightly chapped and yet it didn’t stop you from wanting to press yours against them. You lifted your eyes towards his, feeling blessed to be able to stare at the most beautiful shade of blue once more. They glistened with unshed tears as Bucky gazed back at you.

Your own tears came instantly, falling down the curves of your smile as you leaned over him. Your name fell softly from his lips and hesitantly you lifted your hand, wanting to reach out and caress his face. You pulled it back, dropping your head for a moment, squeezing tears out of your tightly shut eyes. Bucky was a blur when you opened them again but he was there, he was alive and you were more than thankful.

“Hey neighbor,” you sniffled. “It’s good to see you.”

No longer caring if you should or shouldn’t touch his face, you wanted to. Your thumb gently grazed the delicate skin of his cheek, early stubble scratching lightly as you brushed against it.

Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling him smile against your palm. “It’s good to see you too.” His voice was strained, still dry from surgery.

You took Bucky’s hand in your own, careful of the IV sticking out. He asked what happened, knowing he was in an accident but unsure of the details afterwards. It was obvious his leg was broken but you told him the specifics– the emergency surgery to fix his break and stop his internal bleeding, how Sam had treated him when he came into the ER. He smiled at that.

“You broke a few ribs too.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “So that’s why it hurts to breathe.”

Your lips pulled tightly across your face, wishing you could take the pain away from him. The tension released when you felt Bucky squeezing your hand as if he heard your thoughts, offering you comfort when he was the one that really needed it.

“Oh, your parents are here,” you remembered, though you looked around, unsure of where they went. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to contact Claire.” The shock of Bucky’s accident made you forget to text all your friends until the early morning.

His face twists with confusion. “Claire?” Did you really not know? “Claire and I have been broken up for months.”

Your lips move without sound as you try to process what he said. You didn’t know what to say, wondering if Bucky hid his breakup as you had yours. Now you didn’t feel as guilty holding on to the feelings in your heart. You’re about to blurt out the words, to tell Bucky what you couldn’t say back to Peter but the sound of Winnie calling his name stopped you and you turned to see her running up to his bed.

“James, you’re awake. We were so worried,” she cried in his ear, contorting herself around machines while being mindful of Bucky’s injuries.

George walked in with a cup of coffee for you and you thanked him, getting up so he could get closer to Bucky. The warm brew felt good going down even though it wasn’t the best, forgetting to warn them about the cafeteria’s lack of quality. Good thing you weren’t relying on this to keep you awake, not since Bucky shocked every cell of your body into full alertness with his news. Though you were happy to learn he broke up with Claire it still didn’t mean what you wanted it to and you were thankful you hadn’t scared him off with an “I love you.”

Pulling out your phone you saw a text from Wanda, featuring a block of caps locked screaming with question marks and sad emojis. You typed back an update about Bucky, looking over at him with his parents and back down again to the message that was still in the process of sending. It took a few minutes before the message decided not to go through at all.

You excused yourself, letting everyone know you were going to update all your friends about how Bucky was doing. George commented on the terrible service in the room so at least it wasn’t just your phone. You probably could have stood on a chair trying to force better service somehow in different parts of the room but you also wanted to give Bucky and his parents an opportunity for privacy.

“I’ll be right back,” you said with a smile, passing a woman coming in with flowers for the person who had been brought into the other side of the room early in the morning. Your gaze lingered back at Bucky one final time before leaving.

George shared a look with Winnie and staring at her son she said, “Y/N was here all night you know...”

With your phone in hand you follow it like it’s a map with five full bars leading you to treasure. It only took walking around the whole floor to find a good spot on the opposite side of the building near a window for your text to go through. In between sips of coffee you recorded a message for everyone on the group chat, it was so much easier than typing it out and you were still very tired.

You decided to finish your coffee there, giving Bucky and his parents more time as you stared out the window at what looked like a bright and beautiful morning. A slew of notifications came on your phone as half the people responded. Clint was probably still sleeping but Natasha replied asking if Bucky needs anything. Though Peggy was in England she asked if there was anything she could do. Steve wondered if he wanted visitors and asked you to pass along his get well wishes. You typed back that you would find out, promising to keep in touch as the day went on.

When your cup was empty you tossed it into a nearby garbage can and headed back, not expecting to hear your name being called.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You turned to see Elena, concern etched on her face as she held onto your shoulder. Embarrassment washed over you as you remembered how you looked, feeling even worse when you realized that earlier in the week Elena was technically your boss.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m okay. A friend of mine came in last night, car accident. I’ve…” you took a moment to yawn, covering your mouth, “Excuse me, I’ve been here all night.” You slapped your face lightly to wake up, now wishing the coffee had been stronger. “He’s going to be okay though,” you finished.

“He? Is this Bucky?” she wondered, and you were surprised she recalled his name since the wedding was months ago. You sighed, nodding slowly as your lips pulled into a soft smile. “I hope everything works out.”

Elena hugged you before she turned around to see a patient, reminding you she was here if you needed her. It was really nice to know she was there for you, Elena had become more than a mentor in the time you’ve worked for her.

Heading back in the room you couldn’t help the smile that graced your face when you saw Bucky. The few minutes apart you spent were more than you ever wanted to do again. George moved down a seat so you could sit closer to Bucky, letting him know everyone was asking about him, wondering if he wanted visitors.

Bucky sought your hand again, smiling as your soft touch helped to ease the discomfort he was feeling. It would be nice to see friends but he was more than happy you were here with him. It wasn’t long before a nurse came in to check vitals and Bucky was relieved since he definitely could use more pain medication.

Winnie asked you to join her to get food since no one had really eaten and even though you didn’t want to leave Bucky you weren’t going to say no to his mother. Besides, you needed to steer Winnie away from the cafeteria and the nurse seemed thankful to have less people in the room.

Bucky felt settled after a dose of painkillers, easing the radiating aches from all over his body. George poured a cup of water, handed it to him and set aside the pink plastic pitcher.

“How’re you feeling James?” he asked, forcing a smile when all he wanted to do was cry looking at the state of his son, from the deep purple bruises on his temple to the scrapes that marred his skin.

Bucky gulped down the water, quenching the arid condition of his mouth. “M’okay, a little better I guess.”

“Your head feels okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, no one said I hit it or– ”

“Are you sure about that?”

George leaned in closer, as Bucky squinted in confusion. His smile dropped and his eyes grew stern as he organized his thoughts into a more appropriate lecture despite the disappointing anger that bubbled beneath his skin.

“I really wonder James, because see Y/N, a great girl who clearly loves and cares about you and you let her go.” Bucky tried to interrupt, to fill in all the details he hadn’t told him in the past but George wouldn’t let him. “No son, there has to be something wrong with you if you can’t see it.”

“Dad, it’s… it’s complicated,” Bucky let out with a sorrowful sigh.

“James, real love is complicated. It’s wild and passionate as much as it is frustrating, but when you find someone that loves you as much as you love them it makes overcoming obstacles worthwhile. Love isn’t easy but it is easy loving someone that makes you feel alive, that makes life worth living and when you find that someone you don’t let them go. Don’t let her go, James.”

Bucky sits with the weight of his father’s words heavy on his chest. It had already been hard to breathe and now things felt worse. He doesn’t know the full story, how a stupid mistake ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He wants to make it right, to tell you everything not that it would change anything. Bucky assumed that since you spent all night waiting by his side that you at least don’t hate him anymore like you used to, so maybe your friendship can be salvaged. Still, it’s going to hurt him to see you in Peter’s arms but Bucky would rather have you back in his life because not having you there at all is far worse.

You come walking in with his mom, smiling and laughing and it’s such a beautiful sight. The smile on his face can’t help but grow. Bucky watches as his father wraps an arm around his mom, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smiles looking up at him, pulling out sandwiches from a deli you had come from.

“Ohh and someone wants to say hello,” Winnie said, pulling out her phone, trying her best to connect to Rebecca on FaceTime despite the shitty signal. The connection is spotty and Bucky ends up having a regular phone conversation with them. They were definitely happy to hear he was doing better.

After the call Bucky asked about his phone and his mom found the bag of his personal belongings in the closet. She grimaced at the lack of clothes, realizing whatever he came in with was most likely cut off him in the ER, thoughts of the whole ordeal bringing tears to her eyes. Underneath his shoes were his wallet and phone which she handed him, surprised to see the screen had not cracked.

Bucky attempted to turn it on but it was dead. Normally you carry a charger with you but in the rush to leave your apartment that was the last thing on your mind. Your own battery had just passed half its life but you didn’t really care. There was nothing else you needed to focus on today besides Bucky.

His parents stay into the afternoon, getting a chance to speak with the doctor and meeting Natasha, Clint and Steve who arranged their visit together. They left shortly after since the room had gotten crowded between everyone and visitors for the person in the other bed. You and Winnie hugged, squeezing tight for a lingering moment, fighting the urge to cry again out of exhaustion and relief for the night you went through together. George gave an equally strong hug, one that Bucky watched from his bed, overhearing his parents making sure you had both their numbers.

You looked just as tired as they did and Bucky knows you should probably go home. He wonders if you’ll leave when your friends do but when the time comes and Natasha is shrugging on her jacket you make no move to do the same, only getting up to hug them goodbye.

Alone again, Bucky finds comfort in the silence between you, as the speaker for the TV lays beside him filling the background with noise. He watches as you set up the cards he received on the windowsill, making sure Clint’s it’s going tibia okay card is angled so Bucky can see it and smile.

When dinner arrives he frowns at cold peas and carrots, eats the bland chicken and enjoys the soup more than he thought. Bucky urged you to eat something more than the bags of chips and nuts you had been snacking on since the sandwich you split between breakfast and lunch. You insisted you were fine but he forced you to eat his salad, assuring you he was not in the mood to have it.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky groaned through an exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as hissed an unconvincing “yes” through his teeth.

“I need more pain meds and…” he shifted as much as he could trying to ease his discomfort.

“And what? Bucky, whatever it is I can get the nurse in.”

“I… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted.

You smiled softly, leaning close to remind him, “Whatever it is can’t be more embarrassing than the time I nearly shit myself in front of you. Remember? All my trips running to the bathroom hoping I could make it on time?”

Crinkles formed around his eyes as Bucky smiled, chuckling before he realized how much it hurt to do so, at the memory of your food poisoning and the weekend he spent helping you recover. And now here you were by his side, doing the same.

“It’s uh, my…” He looked away, blushing beet red as he squeaked out, “...my catheter. It’s not great.”

An array of expressions crossed your face. “Yeah… I can imagine.” When you finally locked eyes with Bucky again you couldn’t help but smile awkwardly, offering to go get him a nurse.

It took a few minutes to return as you looked for the nurse, coming back with a surprise, Wanda and Sam. Wanda held back tears as she carefully hugged him and Sam couldn’t help but go into doctor mode and ask how Bucky was doing.

“I’m good. Alive thanks to you.”

Sam grinned. “I can’t take all the credit, but you are lucky. Very lucky.”

The nurse lumbered in, tired from a long shift but his demeanor changed upon seeing Sam, the two of them knowing each other well. Riley had praised Sam’s skills having formerly worked beside him in the ER for a while.

“Riley, this is my boy so please, whatever he needs make sure he’s taken care of, alright?” Sam turned to Bucky, “You good? Do you need a sponge bath?”

Bucky sighed, “No Sam, I don’t need a sponge bath.” He blushed with embarrassment, rolling his eyes at his friend’s teasing. “I would really like to pee on my own though.”

“Riley, call the stream team!” Sam shouted a little too loud.

Bucky instantly regretted his admission, pinching the tender bridge of his nose as he shook his head. “It’s nice they let you out for some fresh air Sam, that padded room must get pretty boring.”

Sam wore a toothy smile, happy to see his friend was still in good enough spirits to rib him back. He and Wanda stayed long enough for the shift change and though Sam didn’t personally know the next nurse he introduced himself and wanted to make sure Bucky was taken care of.

Once again you made no move to leave when Sam and Wanda did, getting up only to stretch. Your bones creaked like old wood, stretching out stiff muscles until you felt the slightest bit of relief. The chairs provided were not the most uncomfortable but after almost a day they definitely took a toll.

Bucky notices the way your eyes grow tired, how every action has slowed. You’ve been in the hospital nearly as long as he has and he doesn’t envy you, even with his injuries.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, stirring you alert. “It’s late, you should go home.” Your head shook before you spoke, opening your mouth to protest but he cut you off. “I’m good, I promise. You’ve been here all day and night, go get some sleep in a real bed.”

It would look stupid if you argued at this point, as you tried to fight back a yawn. Bucky asked you for a favor before you left, to grab his keys and bring some clothes and his phone charger tomorrow. “Only if you don’t mind.” Of course you would.

“Oh and one more thing,” he said, his eyes pleading up at you. “Call me when you get home. I need to know you got back safely.”

You nodded, smiling softly, before entering the number from his bedside phone into yours. Leaning down you pressed your lips against Bucky’s forehead, letting them linger against the warmth of his skin. Upon pulling away you shared a moment, smiling back at each other before Bucky took your hand.

“Thank you Y/N,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. There was so much Bucky meant within those words and by the way you looked at him he believed you knew.

With his body on fire Bucky still rested easier than he had in the last few months, knowing at the very least he had you in his life again.

The subway rocks gently as you travel down the familiar route to the hospital, this time not worrying about making it on time to clock in but with excitement fluttering in your belly to be able to see Bucky again.

Last night you called him just before you went into his apartment, grabbing the few things he asked for and not lingering. You were a second away from crashing, having enough energy to plug your phone in before your face hit the pillow.

In the morning you showered, drinking a strong cup of coffee as you got ready. You didn’t bother with much but it felt good to look presentable. You grabbed Bucky’s things, texting people before you lost service underground. Rebecca thanked you for the updates and said they were looking to fly in towards the end of the week. George and Winnie would definitely be happy to see them again. They contacted you this morning as well, saying they would be seeing you at the hospital in a bit.

Bucky tried to keep himself occupied, shutting his eyes and eventually finding sleep for a few hours before the nurse needed to check his vitals. He stared out his window, watching the dark blanket of the sky slowly lift over the buildings, falling asleep once more before the next round of nurses coming in. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to heal if he can’t sleep but the doctor lets him know he should be released tomorrow or the following day.

It lifts his mood but the height of his spirits soar high above the atmosphere when Bucky saw you walking into his room. You look much more rested than he does and he’s happy about it. He savors your arms around him, feasting upon the scent of your floral shampoo, your smile bringing sunshine upon a gloomy world.

You put the clothes he asked for in his closet, taking his phone and plugging it into the nearest outlet, settling down again in the familiar chair beside his bed. You were just as excited to hear about Bucky getting released soon, the thought of him being just beyond your shared wall again was comforting.

After charging for a little bit Bucky asked for his phone, just to check a few quick messages. You got up to unplug it, the screen lighting up and making your mouth fall open. Bucky’s lock screen was you! Well, it was the two of you, from that time Winnie was testing out her new phone. It was a beautiful memory, a candid capture of a moment in time when you gazed into each other’s eyes, the corners of your mouths settled into a smile; two people holding back the feelings that were written so evidently across their faces.

You pretended not to have seen it, handing him the phone with the screen down. Bucky nearly forgot about the picture himself, his eyes flitting quickly your way as he tried not to breathe too hard and have the monitors give away his panicked state.

Your head was turned up towards the TV, watching The Golden Girls through the muffled sound of the speaker resting against the side of the bed. You couldn’t look at Bucky in the moment, not when you felt as giddy as a schoolgirl. No, you needed this time to collect your thoughts, to find the perfect words to express exactly how you felt and right when they were at the tip of your tongue you held them back.

Winnie and George walked in looking a lot better than they had yesterday. They greeted you both and settled in for the next few hours. They too were excited about his impending release, offering Bucky to recover at their home.

“No, ma I’ll be fine. The building has an elevator, I’m good.”

Worry crossed her face. “What about food shopping? What about bathing?”

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “Well you’re not gonna bathe me if that’s what you think.”

You swallowed a chuckle, shifting your expression to a serious one offering your help. “For the food shopping,” you nervously added. Learning from the past, you shut your mouth to avoid the risk of digging yourself a deeper, awkward hole.

His parents left to get lunch for everyone since Bucky was sick of cold vegetables, and the two of you were alone again. He cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking, “You really don’t mind helping me?”

Your smile answered him before your words. “Of course not. Plus we still have a lot of pizza to try.”

You bit your lip watching the smile spread across his face, relief washing over him as things seemed to snap back into place as if nothing had changed. But Bucky forgot about Peter. You had been spending so much time with him this weekend he almost convinced himself things were different.

“Peter isn’t mad you’ve been gone all weekend?” Bucky asked, doing a poor job in hiding the uneasiness in his face as he anticipated your answer. He’s a glutton for punishment, reminding himself that things will never truly be the same again and little does he know how right he is.

“I broke up with him weeks ago.”

Your answer takes a moment to register, the realization hitting Bucky more than the impact of the accident. “Why?”

Haloed by the glow of the sun behind you, the words sang like the message of an angel, because there had to be some sort of divine intervention that brought all of Bucky’s dreams true when you answered, “Because he wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped down your face and Bucky lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and brushing it away. You cupped his hand against you, exhaling staccato breaths and smiling down at the man that brought music into a world that felt silent without him.

You leaned down, the tip of your nose grazing against his, your smile matching his as you closed the distance, pressing your lips together once more. The sound of love flooded your soul as you and Bucky found harmony at last.

EPILOGUE

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[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

Destiny Calling: Chapter Eight

You sat on a rock, watching over the hobbits. You had been guiding them now, walking through what Gimli accurately described as "A labyrinth of stone.". There was one slight problem with your skills though. You were so unfocused it often led you to have to stop. The hobbits didn't mind it, they were just happy to have a guide leading them in the right direction. "Gandalf!" Frodo gasped, leaning up. You looked over, Sam also leaning up. "Frodo, are you alright?" You asked, your voice gentle as you did. "Yes... It was... It was just a dream." Frodo muttered. He laid back down, falling asleep soon after. You looked at Sam who was still sitting up.

"Sam? Can you not sleep?" You asked. He shook his head, getting up and sitting next to you. "What do the stones say?" He asked. "We're taking the right path... I'm only worried of the dangers ahead." You muttered. "Do you not know a safe way?" He asked. "There is no safe way to Mordor." you admitted. He gulped and you sighed. "I did not intend to add to your anxieties, I apologize Sam." you said. "Aragorn being so far away has affected you hasn't it?" Sam asked. You nodded sadly. "Is it foolish to say I miss him?" you asked, handing Sam Lambas bread. He took it. "I miss someone at home too." He said. "Who, pray tell, captures the mesmerizing gaze of Samwise Gamgee?" you asked with a smile. He chuckled.

"Her name is Rosie... Rosie Cotton." Sam admitted. "You seem fond of Rosie." you said. "I've not voiced my feelings... But when I get back, I will." He said. "The journey has changed you, hmm?" you asked. "Yes. Very much so." Sam admitted. "I wonder what it will be like when I return home." you pondered. "Aragorn will probably marry you." Sam said. You chuckled. "He's asked me before." you admitted. "You said no?" Sam asked. "I actually said yes, my father was the one who said no." you admitted. "Does Lord Elrond not like Aragorn?" Sam asked. "No, he does. But my father's relationship with him is very strained." you explained. Sam nodded, looking at the mountains around you. You looked at Frodo who was sound asleep. "Do you think Frodo will be alright after all of this?" Sam asked. You knew the truth was probably no. You didn't want to scare Sam so you simply replied with "I don't know Sam. I don't know."

Sam eventually went back to sleep, you waking them up as the sun rose. The walking annoyed you to no end, you internally questioning yourself of how much of this you could take. Sam tied a rope to a rock, all of you climbing down into the mist. "Can you see the bottom?" Sam asked you. "No! Don’t look down, Sam! Just keep going." You answered. A box fell from Sam's bag. "Catch it. Grab it Mister Frodo!" He said. Frodo grabbed it, just as your feet touched the ground, Frodo falling. He landed in your arms. "Careful!" you gasped. "Mister Frodo!?" Sam called. "Good news Sam, we found the bottom." you said making Frodo laugh. Sam climbed down to you and Frodo. "Bogs and rope and goodness knows what. It’s not natural. None of it." Sam muttered, looking at his surroundings. "What’s in this?" Frodo asked, holding up the box. "Nothing. Just a bit of seasoning. I thought maybe if we was having a roast chicken one night or something." Sam replied. "Roast chicken?!" You and Frodo asked in unison. "You never know." Sam shrugged making you chuckle. "Sam, my dear Sam." Frodo laughed. "It’s very special, that. It’s the best salt in all the Shire." Sam said in a "matter of fact" tone. "It is special. It’s a little bit of home." Frodo said with a smile.

You looked at Sam's rope. "We can’t leave this here for someone to follow us down." You said. "Who’s gonna follow us down here? It’s a shame really. Lady Galadriel gave me that. Real Elvish rope. Well there’s nothing for it. It’s one of my knots. Won’t come free in a hurry." Sam sighed. He yanked on the rope, it loosening and hitting the ground. "Real Elvish rope." Frodo snorted. You tried your best not to laugh but you couldn't resist. After all of you recovered from the rope incident you walked ahead, Frodo and Sam on each of your sides.

"So, what is the Shire like?" You asked. Sam perked up. "Oh it's much larger than most people think!" Sam said. "You've never been?" Frodo asked curiously. "No, me and Aragorn never saw reason to go." You admitted. "Well, Sam is not wrong, it is really big compared to what most people believe it to be." Frodo agreed. "But it's beautiful! Flowers everywhere!" Sam said. "You say that because you're the gardener." Frodo chuckled. "And a darn good one too!" Sam said proudly. "Is it true you live out of holes?" You asked. "More like we live in the sides of hills." Frodo corrected. "Can I ask you somethin' Miss Y/n?" Sam asked. "Of course Sam." You answered. "What is the other elven city like?" Sam asked. You sucked in a breath.

"Sorry-" "No Sam, it is quite alright." You assured. "it is quite large and the other elves are very pleasant... Unless you're not elven, in which case they tend to be quite hostile." You stated. "My uncle said it was beautiful..." Frodo said. "Oh it is. It is almost like it is autumn all year round though and unless you're gifted with the ability to speak with nature it is far to easy to get lost in the nearby woods." You explained. "Yes, Bilbo mentioned that." Sam nodded. "He's been?" you asked. "Oh yes. Though according to him, he was imprisoned there." Frodo said. "...And escaped? How pray, tell did he manage to do that?" you asked surprised. "Barrels." Sam and Frodo said in unison. "Barrels?" You asked. "He smuggled himself and the dwarves in barrels." Frodo said. "Dwarves- what in the world did your uncle do- Why was he out there to begin with?" You asked. "Uhhh... That's complicated." Frodo said. "eh?" You made a confused noise.

You all walked until nightfall, you looking at the stars. You wondered if Aragorn was safe, wherever he was. Your heart was practically aching, you missed him so much. You sighed, bringing your knees to your face as you sighed, poking the dirt with your fingers while the hobbits slept. The next morning finally came, you all walking through the sharp and dangerous rocks of Emyn Muil. You looked forward. "Mordor..." You muttered, seeing the dark lands. "The one place in Middle-Earth we don’t want to see any closer is the one place we’re trying to get to." Sam said with a sigh. "Do you think Gandalf meant for us to take this way?" Sam asked. "He didn’t mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam. But they did." Frodo muttered. "We cannot lose hope now you two. We must press on." You said to them. Frodo seemed to lock onto something in Mordor, collapsing to the ground. "Frodo?" You asked, kneeling to him. "Mister Frodo? It’s the ring, isn’t it?" Sam asked. "It’s getting heavier." He nodded. He clutched the ring, his breaths slowly relaxing. "What food have we got left?" Frodo asked. "Well, let me see." Sam said, going through his bag. "Oh, yes. Lovely. Lembas bread. And look! More lembas bread." He said, pulling out the bread wrapped in large leaves. He broke off a piece of it and threw it to him and threw another piece to you.

You bit into bread. "Say what you will about my grandmother but she has the best bread." you said, earning laughs from the two hobbits. "I don’t usually hold with foreign food, but this Elvish stuff, it’s not bad." Sam said. "Nothing ever dampens your spirits, does it, Sam?" Frodo asked, smiling. "Those rain clouds might." Sam said with a sigh.

You all walked, following a very odd, yet specific path before you stopped. "What in the world is that smell?" Sam asked. You felt like you were being watched and you remembered one other time you felt like this. "Let's... Keep walking." you muttered. It wasn't long that night came, Sam and Frodo both sleeping soundly. You sat on a rock, sharpening your blade.

Gollum.

You looked up, pretending to be oblivious to the creature climbing down the rocks as he spoke to himself. "They’re thieves. They’re thieves. The filthy little thieves. Where is it? Where is it? They stole it from us. My Precious. Curse them, we hates them! It’s ours it is, and we wants it." Gollum said, climbing down the rocks. Then he reached for Frodo and was met with a blade. "Lay a single finger on him and I will cut it off." you hissed. Frodo shot up, Sam and him scooching back.

As cruel as it may have seemed, you put the elven rope to use, tying it around the creature's neck due to Frodo's insistence that you leave Gollum alive. You walked, Gollum yelling and crying. "It burns! It burns us! It freezes!" You sighed at this yelling. "Oh by the Valor do you ever SHUT UP!?" You snapped. Gollum stopped walking, Sam yanking on the rope and making Gollum fall. "Nasty Elves twisted it!" Gollum spat, looking at you. He turned to Frodo and Sam. "Take it off us!" Gollum begged. "Quiet you!" Sam hushed. Gollum let out another yell. "It’s hopeless! Every orc in Mordor’s gonna hear this racket. Let’s just tie him up and leave him." Sam suggested. "I think Sam is correct, this is extremely annoying and my sanity is deteriorating very quickly." You said. "No! That would kill us! Kill us!" Gollum wailed. "It’s no more than you deserve!" Sam snapped.

Gollum rolled around, squirming to get the rope off. "Maybe he does deserve to die. But now that I see him, I do pity him." Frodo admitted. Gollum hushed at the sound of this, looking at Frodo on his knees. "We be nice to them, if they be nice to us. Take it off us! We swears to do what you wants. We swears!" Gollum pleaded. "There is no promise you can make that I can trust." Frodo said. "We swears to serve the master of the Precious. We will swear on…on the Precious!" Gollum said before hacking out a noise similar to his name. "The ring is treacherous. It will hold you to your word." Frodo said. "Yes on the Precious. On the Precious." Gollum said, inching closer to Frodo. "I don’t believe you!" Sam yelled, forcing Gollum back. Gollum attempted to run away, Sam yanking back on the rope and pulling Gollum back. "Get down! I said, down!" Sam shouted at Gollum. You sighed. "Sam!" Frodo yelled. "He’s trying to trick us! If we let him go, he’ll throttle us in our sleep!" Sam said. Gollum coughed, grabbing at his throat.

You stumbled, Sam looking over his shoulder as you dropped.

Visions bombarded you, war being the subject of the vision. It was Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn, fighting a battle. A banner soon filled your mind, one of a horse... Then you suddenly returned to your normal state, Frodo standing next to you. "War." you whispered. "What?" Frodo asked. "War is brewing in Rohan..." you muttered. Sam turned. "Do you wish to turn back-" "No... I-I promised you I'd help see this through." you muttered. Frodo looked over at Gollum. "Maybe he can lead us through the Marshes. You made a comment saying it was dangerous." Frodo recalled. "Frodo... I do not trust him." you admitted. Still, Frodo was right, even if you were being guided by nature itself you didn't have confidence in the marshes. "You know the way to Mordor?" Frodo asked. "Yes." Gollum responded. " You’ve been there before?" Frodo asked. "Yes." Gollum repeated, this time more anxious. Frodo removed the rope and you sighed, closing your eyes. Sam shook his head with a frown. "You will lead us through the Marshes, and anywhere else we may need guidance." Frodo said. Gollum nodded.

He was weirdly quick, rushing across the rocks as you all tried to keep up. He rushed off, taking a moment to talk to himself. "To the gate, to the gate! To the gate, the master says. Yes!" He muttered. Another version of himself seemed to take over. "No! We won’t go back Not there. Not to him. They can’t make us." He said, hacking out his name again. "But we swore to serve the master of the precious." He said, feeling guilty. "No! Ashes and dust and thirst there is and pits, pits, pits. And Orcses, thousands of Orcses. And always the Great Eye watching. Watching." He said. He turned to the group that was distant before screaming and running off. You all followed, running after him. "Hey! Come back now! Come back! There! What did I tell you? He’s run off, the old villain. So much for his promises." Sam sighed. Gollum popped up behind a stone making you gasp in surprise. "This way. Follow me!" Gollum said. You and Sam exchanged a look, sighing before following the creature.

You ended up taking a break. "Why we stop?" Gollum asked, looking at you who was sitting upright against a rock with your eyes closed. "Y/n watches over us at night, she needs rest." Sam sighed. Your face was so peaceful when you rested. If only Aragorn was here, you'd probably be sleeping better. Your heart missed him terribly, every time you closed your eyes you could see him. "I think she misses him." Sam muttered looking at your sitting figure. "Elfie misses someone?" Gollum asked. "A friend..." Sam sighed. "She misses friend?" Gollum asked. "Yes." Frodo muttered. Frodo too, thought of Aragorn. He always felt some sort of levity when looking at you and Aragorn together. You two were the sliver of light in a very dark time. Truth be told, you didn't need rest. You wanted to see if there was another vision. Another hopeful message or outcome. Instead you were met with darkness and silence.

It took about thirty minutes before you sat up. Sam looked over. "Let's go." you muttered, clearly deep in thought. You followed Gollum through the mountains before finally seeing the Marshlands. "See! See! We’ve led you out. Hurry, Hobbitses, hurry! Very lucky we find you." Gollum said. Sam passed him. "Nice hobbit." Gollum said to Sam. Sam walked alongside you, accidently slipping his foot into the water. "Ooh! It’s a bog. He’s led us into a swamp!" Sam gasped. "Swamp. Yes, yes. Come master, we will take you on safe paths through the mist. Come hobbits come. Real quickly. I found it, I did. The way through the marshes. Orcs don’t use it, orcs don’t know it. They go round for miles and miles, come quickly, swift and quick as shadows we must be." Gollum said.

You walked for a while in silence, trying to listen to nature to be met with silence. This unsettled you to no end. Nature was always talkative. Never this silent. "I hate this place, it’s too quiet. There‘s been no sight nor sound of a bird for two days." Sam muttered. "No, no birdses to eat, no crunchable birdses. We are famished, yes! Famished we are, precious!" Gollum said before picking a worm up out out of the ground. He ate it making you gag. "Here." Frodo said, tossing him a piece of Lambas bread. He took it confused. "What does it eats? Is it tasty?" He asked. He at it before choking and spitting it out, making you all jump. "It tries to chokes us! We can’t eats Hobbit food! We must starve!" Gollum wailed. "Well, starve, then. And good riddance!" Sam huffed. You had put it together earlier why Frodo was so lenient to Gollum. He was terrified the ring was going to turn him into Gollum.

"Oh, cruel hobbit! It does not care if we be hungry. Does not care if we should die!" He cried as you went through your bag. You pulled out a jerky like food. You knew Aragorn had a tendency of leaving somethings in your bag and this was definitely his. "Not like Master. Master cares. Master knows. Yes, precious. Once it takes hold of us, it never lets go." Gollum said. He reached for the ring but you stopped him, handing him the food. "It's meat. Not something any of us eat, maybe you'll like it." You said. He looked at it, taking a small piece and eating it. He seemed to actually like it and you handed him the rest. "Elfies gives us good food. We thinks the elfies is good." He said. You sighed and stood up, pulling your backpack back onto you.

You all made your way through the swamp, Sam looking into the waters around you. "There are dead things, dead faces in the water." Sam said. You looked in the waters too, seeing the armor. "Elves... There are... Elves out here." you breathed. "All dead. All rotten. Elves and men and orcses. A great battle long ago. The dead marshes. Yes, yes that is their name. This way. Don’t follow the lights." Gollum warned. Sam slipped, nearly falling into a hole before you gripped his cloak, pulling him up. "Thank you." He breathed. "Careful now, or hobbits go down to join the dead ones and light little candles of their own." Gollum said, unsettling you. Frodo wandered off, looking into the waters. He saw an elven corpse. He leaned forward, falling into the water. You gasped, sprinting over and yanking him out of the water. Gollum stood next to you. "Gollum?" Frodo asked. "Don’t follow the lights." Gollum repeated, this time more sternly. "Gollum." Frodo called. "Mister Frodo, are you all right?" Sam asked. He nodded slowly.

Night soon came, you sitting against a rock with your eyes closed. You didn't actually fall asleep, despite feeling strangely tired you were very alert with Gollum near. "So bright. So beautiful. Our Precious." Gollum said, making you open one eye. Frodo leaned up. "What did you say?" Frodo asked. "Master should be resting. Master needs to keep up his strength." Gollum muttered. "Who are you?" Frodo asked him. "Mustn’t ask us, not it’s business." Gollum said before hacking again. "Gandalf told me you were one of the river folk." Frodo said. "Cold be heart and hand and bone, cold be travelers far from home." Gollum sang in what you assumed to be an attempt to block Frodo out. "He said your life was a sad story." Frodo said. "They do not see what lies ahead, when sun has failed and moon is dead." Gollum sang. "You were not so very different from a hobbit once. Were you? Sméagol." Frodo asked, earning silence from Gollum. "What did you call me?" Gollum asked. "That was your name once, wasn’t it? A long time ago." Frodo asked. "My name? My name? Ss… Ss… Sméagol." He asked, genuinely not recalling his own name.

The smell of blood filled your nose and you felt the dread. You leaned up, opening your eyes. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, groggily before the loud scream from a Nazgûl. "Black Riders." You muttered. "Hide! Hide!" Gollum yelled. Frodo let out a yelp, grasping where he was struck with the Nazgûl blade.

You hid under a bush with Sam and Gollum. You motioned for Frodo to run. "Come on Frodo, come on!" Sam called. "Hurry, they will see us, they will see us." Gollum said panicked. "I thought they were dead." Sam said to you as Frodo laid next to you. "You cannot kill a ringwraith." You whispered. You watched the wraith fly overhead, your heart pounding. "Ah! Wraiths, wraiths on wings!" Gollum yelped. You noticed Frodo reach for the ring. "They are calling for it, they are calling for the Precious." Gollum said. You stopped Frodo from putting the ring on. "We're still here Frodo... it's alright." You whispered. the Nazgul flew away. "Hurry hobbits, the Black Gate is very close." Gollum said after you all climbed out from under the bush.

You all walked, following Gollum before you fell again, this time being sent into a shock. You were practically blinded, a white light filling your eyes. You heard a voice, barely audible at first. Distant. Very distant. "Y/n" It called. You knew the person's voice you just couldn't remember. "Y/n." The voice repeated. "Rohan is in danger. This is the start of many wars, people need you. Turn back now." it said. "I can't." You whispered. "You can. Reach the river on your own. A boat is waiting. If you run without stopping you can make it before the orcs do." The voice said. Then you realized who it was.

"Gandalf, how are you speaking to me?" you asked. "I am not yet dead my girl." He said, his face coming to light. You breathed. "You want me to go to Rohan, why?" You asked. "Because the further into Mordor you go, the more corruption kills." He said. "The corruption is killing you. Why do you think you feel exhaustion?" Gandalf asked. A good question. "Aragorn needs you. Rohan needs you. We need you." Gandalf said before your vision returned to normal, Sam hanging over you.

"Are you alright? You just fell back! I was worried." Sam said. "Gandalf is still alive." You said. Frodo turned around. "What!?" He asked. "He's alive... War is coming to Rohan and... Something bad is happening, I can feel it." You breathed. You wondered if you should turn back. "Go." Frodo said. You looked up. "What?" You asked. "If there is war in Rohan and Gandalf is alive, it's most likely that Aragorn will be in the center of all of this. You deserve to be with him through all of this. Go." Frodo said. "But-" "Y/n, he's right. You should go, you've looked more exhausted here than anywhere else... This is destroying you. You don't think we can tell but we can." Sam admitted. You sighed. "Any messages you want me to send to them?" You asked. "Yes. Good luck." Frodo said. You nodded. "Elfie remembers the way?" Gollum asked. "I do. Thank you." you nodded to Gollum before tossing him the rest of the meat. He took it before you hugged both Sam and Frodo. "If you two weren't so damn stubborn, I would've marched into Mordor with you." you said. "We know." Sam said before hugging you again. "Don't let us down Frodo. Fight strong. Keep your hope." you said softly. He nodded before you turned around, looking at the area you just came from.

"Alright." You told yourself. "Here we go again."

[dothwrites]

spn15 spec, destiel, post 15.18, mcd?? sort of???

---

And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend.--Antoine de-Saint Exupery, The Little Prince

---

Castiel opens his eyes in nothingness. 

It’s not dark, though the air which presses around him is thick onyx. There is neither gravity nor weightlessness here. Castiel exists but he does so in a void so barren that he doubts his own mind. He opens his mouth to call out, but no sound escapes. 

Castiel exists in ignorance for one, glorious moment. Then the weight of memory crushes into him. His chest buckles underneath the pressure. He tries to scream, but the vast emptiness swallows the sound. 

---

“Cas, we can fight this!” 

Dean, his Righteous Man, Dean, the shining beacon, his friend...The first real friend he’d ever made. Dean is ready to fight. Dean would fight God, has indeed fought God. But he can’t fight this. 

The door shudders in its frame. Blow after blow rains down on the weakening wood. Already, the wood is splintering under the assault. The thin strip of light at the bottom of the door disappears underneath a sea of writhing black. The Empty is here. It wants what it was promised.  

“Dean,” he says. He intends to say much more--It’s too late, let me go, thank you--but his voice cracks on the single syllable of Dean’s name. 

He wants to stay. God help him, but he wants to stay. 

“No, dammit Cas! You don’t get to give up! We can fight this thing, we can keep running, we can...” Dean’s voice trails off into nothing as he looks wildly around the small room. 

Though he might protest, Castiel knows that Dean is a man bailing out a sinking ship. In his heart, Dean knows the battle is already lost. But he’s still defiant, still clinging to the faintest shred of hope.

Castiel loves him for that. 

“You fought for the whole world.” Castiel’s voice is weak and pale against the ear-shattering thunder of the Empty’s attempts to break into the room. 

“Cas, no--” 

“But you can’t fight for me.” 

The words shatter something vital in him. Castiel gasps as the agony shreds through him. He thought there would be more time. He thought that happiness was an ideal that no one could ever reach. He thought there would be time, he doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay--

“Cas, I can’t...Not again, I can’t lose you again, please don’t go--” 

Black seeps into the room, slender tendrils snaking across the room towards where they stand. Castiel feels every second ticking away. He’s lived for millennia, seen worlds and empires rise and fall, felt the passing of centuries like nothing more than a passing breeze. Millions of years, and now, when it means everything, he has no time. 

Castiel cups Dean’s cheek with one shaking hand. If this is it, then he doesn’t want to leave with any regrets. “Dean,” he croaks. That word has become his compass, his prayer, the star to which he hitched his wagon. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave you. If I had a choice, i would stay. I would stay with you through every sunrise and sunset, through every moment, the mundane and extraordinary alike.” Castiel’s voice catches in his throat as the door finally shatters and darkness pours into the room. 

“You’ve taught me everything, Dean, and I...I’m so grateful that I got to know you. Without you...” 

Castiel can’t continue. He’s immeasurably grateful for all he’s experienced with Dean, but he’s always been greedy. He wants more. He wants to see Dean’s hair continue to silver until it’s soft and grey. He wants to go fishing with Dean and discover the peace inherent in the activity. He wants to watch Jack grow into his own and Sam start a family. He wants, with a fierceness that takes his breath away. 

Darkness curls around his ankle and winds its way up his calf. 

Dean shakes his head. Tears well in his eyes but refuse to spill over, though his lower lip shakes. “Please,” he asks, tilting his head into Castiel’s palm. “I can’t...how am I supposed to do this without you?” 

Castiel starts to respond, but his voice is cut off by the swift, hard press of Dean’s lips into his. His heart jolts and gutters in his chest before it picks up again, beating so hard he thinks it might escape through the confines of his ribs. 

“I love you.” 

The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, the same as they did years ago when he was rotting from in the inside out. The same frantic need consumes him now as it did then, when every beat of his heart dragged him closer to the edge of oblivion, when seconds were more precious than gold, when he was so close to losing everything--

Dean sobs. He clutches the lapels of Castiel’s coat and kisses him, teeth bruising behind his lips.

Castiel’s whole lower body is engulfed in darkness so complete that it feels as though it’s ceased to exist. His whimper is lost in Dean’s mouth. 

“No,” Dean gasps, pulling away. Castiel already knows the cause of Dean’s denial. He can feel it, creeping up his chest and shoulders, slithering down to his arms. He remembers how it was to be devoured, remembers the noxious black ooze of the Leviathan crawling through him, but this is worse, is so much worse, because now he knows what Dean’s lips taste like, now he knows everything he has to lose--

“Cas, I love you,” Dean tells him, though his words echo strangely. The Empty crawls up his throat. Castiel chokes on it, but he doesn’t dare to blink. He can’t lose a second of this, of Dean’s face, horrified and tear-stricken though it is. 

Seconds tick away like centuries, Dean’s face in front of him. Castiel can’t hear what he’s saying, but he can see the words shaped on his lips. 

I’ll find you, I promise, I’m coming for you, Cas, Cas, I love--

And then. 

Empty. 

---

With the image of Dean’s face in his mind, Castiel screams. 

There is no sound in the Empty, but he screams anyway. His agony and loss pour out of him, his grief and fear. Everything that he’s lost, Dean--

Castiel screams until his voice cracks and breaks, until his throat is shredded and raw, until he tastes blood in the back of his throat. 

Hollow, he slumps to the side, curling into himself. His one consolation was that he would at least be asleep for the rest of eternity. He wouldn’t have to live with the weight of everything he’d lost. Now, even that slender comfort has been ripped from him. For the rest of time, he’ll have to exist with the memory of Dean’s glassy eyes, with the sound of Dean’s choked voice echoing through his skull, with the phantom ache of Dean’s lips against his. Castiel shudders, sobs ripping out of his throat. 

“Jesus. So much for helping.” 

Castiel blinks. The sound of another voice is foreign in this void where nothing should exist. He rolls over, looking up at the sardonic face staring down at him. 

“Ruby,” he rasps, then remembers himself. 

That’s not Ruby. 

“Go away,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. There’s no point in having pride here, not when time is meaningless and every second is a torture. The Empty already knows his secrets, though why it chose Ruby’s form to torment him is a mystery. 

“Look feathers, you were the one who screwed the pooch on this whole ‘fixing eternity’ thing. So I think I’m going to stick around for a bit.” 

“There’s no point,” Castiel says miserably. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. I’m suffering. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Were you dropped on your halo? I told you what I wanted the last time you were here. I want out, you moron. I told you to find a way out, and you wound up here, which is kind of the opposite of what I asked.” 

Castiel blinks slowly, lifting his forehead from his knees. “Ruby?” he asks. 

Ruby rolls her eyes and sighs for dramatic effect. “Yeah, dumbo. You know, I’ve only been trying to tell you that since the beginning.” 

“I can’t trust that.” Castiel remembers all too well the last time he was here, the jolt of pleasure at seeing Meg once more only to realize that the Empty was aping her appearance to hurt him. “The Empty, it takes on your visage, your memories--”

“Yeah, you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” Ruby’s eyes flash black. “You know, as much as you can.” 

“I’d pay attention to her, Clarence. If you don’t, then she’ll probably kick your ass.” 

Castiel knows that voice. He whirls around. Meg’s face greets him, a tiny smirk twisting her lips upward. “Meg,” he whispers, an odd combination of grief and happiness twisting in his chest. 

“The one and only,” she assures him. 

A small shred of doubt clings at the back of Castiel’s mind, but he has to trust in something right now. Even if it’s two dead demons. 

“Castiel. So lovely to see you again. Though I can’t say that I agree with the company you’re keeping these days.” 

Make that three dead demons. 

“Crowley,” Castiel breathes. 

The demon looks exactly the same as he did  the day he died. His suit is pristine, down to the pocket square. He looks at Meg and Ruby with disdain before he turns that expression on Castiel. “I suppose you’re doing your biannual visit to this dump? Feel like taking any passengers out with you when you make your escape this time?” 

“I’m not...I made a deal,” Castiel whispers. He made a deal to save his son and he’ll never regret that, not for a second, but then he thinks of Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so negative, Cassie. You do have a way of wriggling out of the tightest of places.” 

Mingled guilt and joy sear through Castiel as he turns around. Balthazar’s familiar face looks at him. Balthazar raises an eyebrow. “No hug?” he asks. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel breathes. Surrounded by ghosts from his past, he feels weak. “None of you should be awake. That’s the whole point of this place. All of us, asleep, forever.” 

“That’s the way it should be, but you have a habit of wrecking the natural order.” Castiel winces at Anna’s cool voice. Though there’s no real judgement in her voice, there’s also no real warmth. “It’s been changing here, ever since your last visit.” 

“I woke it up.” 

“And because you woke it up, we all started to awake as well.” Hannah’s calm voice joins their small group, though it’s growing steadily larger. “All of us, demons and angels, started awaking. At first, it was just for moments, but lately, it’s been distracted. More of us have been able to stay awake for longer. Eventually we started finding each other.” 

“That’s my boy,” Meg says, unmistakable fondness in her voice. “Shaking up the natural order, wrecking the whole of the afterlife.” 

Castiel’s eyes dart between all of them, former enemies, allies, and friends. “Is this all of you?” 

“Were you not listening? Did they not just tell you that we’ve all been waking up, at least a little bit?” 

Gabriel pops into existence next to Castiel. Despite himself, Castiel jerks back in surprise. 

“So, what’s it going to be, Cas? Are you going to just pop out of here like always?” Crowley brings Castiel’s brain back to the present. 

When he made his deal, he made it with full awareness that there was no coming back. He accepted that burden because he knew it was the only way he could save Jack. 

But that was before he felt Dean’s lips against his, before he heard the words fall from Dean’s mouth. I love you. 

When he made the deal, he had never heard those words directed at him. When he made the deal, he had nothing to fight for. 

Now he does.

He made a choice long ago. You don’t have to be ruled by Fate. You can choose freedom. 

Castiel looks at all of them, demons and angels alike, and makes a choice. 

“We’ve got work to do.” 

[cap-winter-barnes]

Talk To Me (Sam Winchester x Reader)

Request: Hey ! Would it be possible if I got a Sam Winchester fic? The reader is super nervous around him so he confronts her about it because he mistook her nervousness for fear or anxiety. Reader awkwardly confesses n then lots of fluff? 🥺

@anxiousbarnes - I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting! I did do this a little differently to the request itself so I hope that this is okay.

Warnings: blood, mentions of death

Buy Me a Coffee

Blood coats my fingers as I press my hands harder against Sam’s stomach, the wound he has sustained turning his skin a deathly shade of grey.

“Please hang in there Sammy.” My voice comes out weak and broken as I beg for him to stay alive, trying to ignore how much darker the liquid that coats my own skin is becoming. Everything moves in slow motion as Dean barrels into the room, pausing momentarily as he takes in the sight before him. He immediately removes his over-shirt and screws it into a ball as he falls to his knees beside me, pressing it gently to the source of the bleeding. It only takes a few seconds for the material to soak up the blood and Dean looks at me with complete fear in his eyes, tears already spilling down his cheeks.

Both of us know that there is only one way that Sam is going to walk away from this and the one person that can help has been missing for the last few months, hopefully now will be the time that he responds to our prayers.

Time stands still as Sam’s breathing is barely noticeable, his eyelids ceasing any movement.

“Sam, please. I can’t lose you. Please.” I stroke his hair back from his face as I feel my heart aching in my chest, so this is what it is like to be heartbroken. Dean watches sadly at my interaction, eyes red and bloodshot, his tears had stopped when he realised Cas wouldn’t be coming.

“Did you ever tell him?” Dean’s voice startles me from my trance as I look up towards him. He had always known, even since we were children growing into young adults, how I felt about Sam. Yet, after all these years he has never said a word to his brother, only giving you an outlet to voice your feelings comfortably without judgement. “Y/N.”

I shake my head as fresh tears begin to spill, my lip trembling, caught between my teeth.

“Dean, I-“ Before I can speak there is a blinding stream of white, causing the both of us to shield our eyes. A few seconds pass before the light dissipates and before us stands our guardian angel.

“De-“

“Can you save him?” After waiting for what felt like a lifetime for Castiel to appear, Dean has no patience for greetings or niceties. The angel closes his mouth, and taking a fleeting glance at the younger Winchester, he hums a response followed by a curt nod of his head.

Kneeling over Sam, Castiel begins to heal him, although it is clear that there is a struggle from within him to do so, a weakness. Dean takes my bloody hand within his own, squeezing reassuringly, a silent promise that all will be okay.

I watch Castiel’s actions carefully as he heals Sam, hoping that his efforts will not be futile, noticing how his chest is being to rise and fall more prominently than before. The dread and pain that was newly settled in my chest fading until there was only hope.

Like waking from a bad dream, Sam lurches forwards, coughing and spluttering as he does so. Eyes wide with panic, searching the area until his gaze meets Dean and I. The realisation that he is okay and truly alive has me stumbling to my feet and a nervousness seeping into my bones – I nearly lost the man I love and he could have died without knowing how I feel.

Although I know it to be selfish, I cannot stay any longer in this place. Instead, I flee to a clearing in the trees, turning with one last glance to make sure that my eyes are not telling lies, before I take my leave and stumble back to where Dean had parked Baby hours prior.

In the safety of the impala, I let out a shaky breath, exaggerating each inhale and exhale as I try to calm myself. Flowing waves of sorrow and regret envelope me as I think of how close we had been to losing him.

“Y/N, I’m going on a supply run. You want anything?” Sam’s voice cuts through the bunker’s kitchen as he enters the doorway, his body resting against the framework.

“Er, I-“ I berate yourself in my head for being so nervous around him, my stuttering unbearably embarrassing. I can feel a flush quickly spreading across my neck and cheeks under his gaze. “I, erm.”

Sam chuckles softly, yet mocking me or to save me from myself, I do not know.

“How about I surprise you, huh?” Not trusting my own words any longer, I nod my head enthusiastically, pushing a strand of loose hair behind my ear as he leaves the room. Once I am sure he is gone, I relax back into my chair, a loud exhale leaving my lips as Dean enters the room, a smug grin on his face.

“Not now, Dean.”

“You should tell him, Y/N. Tell him exactly how you feel and all of this embarrassment will go away.”

“De-“

“Trust me, what’s the worst that could happen.”

Since Sam returned to us from the clutches of Lucifer, not only has my attraction for him remained but my confidence around the hunter has lessened. One fateful night, after unknowingly and partially confessing my love for him, Lucifer had revealed himself. Never in my life have I felt so mortified and to then be belittled by the devil himself only amplified the negative thoughts and emotions in my head. And although I know that Sam is now free of Lucifer, the fear of truly being honest with Sam and revealing my love, still has me trembling, the fear of rejection too overbearing.

After what feels like infinity, I see Sam and Dean trailing back to the Impala, Dean holding back some. Even covered in blood, Sam is still strikingly handsome and my heart flutters, as always, at the sight of him. Yet, as Dean ceases his approach, lingering at the tree-line, a panic sets itself in my chest, spreading under my skin. As Sam opens the Impala door, my hands begin to violently shake in my lap.

“Hey.” Clenching my fists tightly, I look over to the younger Winchester, giving him a soft smile.

“Hey, Sammie. How ar-“

“Are you scared of me?” His question alerts me to the unease in his voice as well as his demeanour as he looks at me, concern in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath and steadying myself, I turn to face him completely.

“No, Sam. I’m not- I’m not scared of you.”

“So, what is it?”

“I-“ Never one to push too much, Sam stays quiet, the look of complete trust in his eyes spurring me on. “I’m in love with you, Sam. And, I have been for a very long time.”

Silence ensues as a nauseous feeling settles into my stomach, the expression on Sam’s face not giving me an reprieve.

“Why did you not say anything before?”

All I can muster is a shrug, my hands less shaky, but I can’t help put pull at the skin around my nails as I wait for him to say something, anything.

“Is it because you didn’t think I would feel the same way? Because, that’s so far from the truth, like you wouldn’t believe. I have been in love with you for such a long time, I’m surprised Dean hasn’t opened his mouth and-“

He is rambling now, gesticulating with every word that leaves his mouth. Looking anywhere but at you he stops and chuckles to himself.

“You love me?” I am surprised that my voice is so steady as I speak and as Sam nods his head in confirmation of his feelings for me, I can’t help but let out a lighthearted scoff. Upon making eye contact, the both of us begin to laugh and when Sam takes my hand, tracing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, I can’t help but think that this feels right. Being with Sam feels right.

Little do we know, that in five minutes time as we drive back to the bunker, that Dean is going to set some house rules.

[aibari]

safe returns

a @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

notes: this fic is set after the s15 finale. there’s a bit of canon-typical grief at  the start, but this is a fix-it fic :)

read on ao3

Afterwards, the world knits itself back together slowly, like broken bones healing. People come back to their loved ones, but not all at once, filing in gradually. Dean guesses they've had a long way to go. Wherever the hell they went, when Chuck had punted them out of existence.

So it's a slow and gradual thing, and it sucks. He catches himself out constantly, thinking that maybe -

And then Sam will give him a concerned look, so understanding and careful it makes him feel like he's been skinned alive.

And he knows by now what that feels like.

Anyway, the point is that while people are still coming back, he can't quite let go of the thought that Cas might, too. Even if he's in the Empty. Even if it's dumb as hell to think that it could ever -

So. The thought sits in his chest like a tumor metastasizing, like a rusty fishhook, like a birdcage. Hope is a thing with feathers, or however the fuck that saying goes.

He can't think about it for too long. If he does, he starts needing a drink, starts to feel his jaw lock up. Can't touch it, or he'll slice his fingers open.

So instead of thinking about it, he joins a pie eating competition. Goes on a series of hunts with Sam that all resolve easy. Drinks beer and sleeps in motels and eats greasy diner food, and it's familiar in a way that's both familiar and deeply fucking depressing if he lets himself think about it. He's forty-one, he's helped defeat God, and he's still doing this shit? Does he even know how to be anything else? Does he have it in him?

Six months after the end of Chuck, the stream of people showing back up slows to a trickle and then dries up. Dean takes his fragile hope and buries it as deep as it will go.

So it goes.

-

He dreams about Cas, which is business as usual. Dreams with Cas used to mean something, and maybe that something was covert fraternization and angel politics, most of the time, but it was Cas. Now it's just trauma. Dean sits on their bench, and Cas sits next to him, and Cas says:

Because you cared, I cared.

And Dean says:

Don’t do this, Cas.

And then he starts to choke, words and letters pushing up against the back of his throat like yesterday's dinner.

Cas is still talking, words fading in and out like a radio with bad reception, and his hand rests heavy on Dean's arm, and he says:

"Dean."

And then Dean wakes up, gasping, staring up at the water-stained motel room ceiling.

The handprint on his shoulder burns.

He stumbles into the bathroom to splash water on his face and then stands there, hands clutching the edges of the sink, staring blankly at his own reflection.

There's a pull in his chest, tethered somewhere under his ribs.

He takes a deep breath, and then another.

Then he wakes up Sam, who groans and then squints at him in the half-dark of the room. The light of the neon sign outside paints a violet streak across his cheek.

“Dean, what -?” Sam says. “What’s going on, what time is it?”

“Don’t worry your sweet little head about it, Sammy,” Dean says. “Just got a little something to take care of, so I’m heading out.”

Sam frowns at him. “What do you mean, out?”

“What are you, some kind of detective?”

“Dean,” Sam says, with the kind of heavy, long-suffering bitchiness that means he’s gonna get passive aggressive about it.

Dean doesn’t have that kind of time. “I’m going to Minnesota and I’m gonna have to go there alone.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something.

“Don’t say anything, Sam,” Dean grits out.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Sam says, like a liar. 

Dean rolls his eyes at him and starts packing. It takes about a minute; it’s not like any of them ever really unpack.

There’s a joke in there, somewhere, Dean thinks, jaw clenching despite himself.

“Dean,” Sam says from behind him. Dean freezes in the middle of stuffing a t-shirt into the bag, unable to turn around and look at him.

“What,” he asks, stiff like set concrete.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Sam says, like he has his own ideas about where Dean is going. “Promise me, alright?”

“Sure,” Dean says. It’s a like, but he’s pretty sure they both know it.

It’s not like he even knows where he’s going, exactly.

He doesn’t even know what he’s going there for. He just knows that he has to.

He finishes packing and they say their goodbyes. Sam bitches about it when he takes the impala, but Eileen will be coming up later in the day to discuss some kind of hunt developments. Sam will be fine.

Whether or not Dean will be fine might be a different question.

He’ll figure it out.

-

He takes the I-35 up through Illinois and Iowa, barely stopping to take a piss. The burn of the handprint has settled into something gentler, but it still throbs in a telltale heart rhythm. He thinks about Cas, at the end, standing tall and telling Dean that he loved him.

It makes his jaw go tight.

He turns up the music. It’s Creedence, and he sings along as hard as he can stand, white-knuckling the wheel.

“That’s real healthy,” he murmurs to himself in the space between songs, but it does help to have something in the car that isn’t his own thoughts, his own fuck-ups and messes.

The closer he gets to Minnesota, the stronger the pull gets.

He’s playing with fire, not doing the research and going in solo like this. Whatever’s pulling at him could be freaking anything.

But it won’t be.

He knows that for sure, even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is.

He just has a feeling.

-

After he crosses state lines the final time, rolling on into Minnesota, he stops at a diner for dinner. He gets a burger and fries, and by this point he is so full of whatever thing is pulling him forward it’s hard to stop moving. His ribcage feels like it’s full of bees.

He keeps thinking about Cas.

“This is you, isn’t it,” he murmurs. “Whatever’s happening here. It’s about you.”

No-one answers him, but he’s used to that by now.

He can fill a silence like nobody’s business, so he launches into a rambling review of the music on the regional radio station, (bland enough to give Wonderbread a run for its money,) the scenery (cold and snowy), and the present company (non-existent; please, Cas, come back to me).

The waitress keeps looking at him funny. When he goes to leave, she won’t let him pay. For a second, he thinks she might be interested, but then she gives him a soft, sad look and tells him about how her partner had taken months longer than her to come back, and that she understands what he’s going through, that he shouldn’t give up hope, and then he has to go.

-

He sits in the parking lot for a while, hands on the steering wheel, wishing he’d paid more attention to the mindfulness kick Sam’s been on for the past month.

He can’t stop thinking about the look on Cas’ face, right before -

Fuck.

If he were in any other car, he’d be punching the dashboard.

He turns up the music again instead, and wipes his face, and gets back to driving.

So it goes.

-

He stops at a motel by the interstate and stumbles out the morning after to a bright winter’s day. The sky is blue enough that he has to squint against it; the snow crunches under his boots. With every breath, the cold air knifes down his throat.

He follows the pull of his invisible line.

-

The forest is quiet. The snow muffles all sound but the crunch of his boots, which reverberate like gunshots. Dean makes a quick mental inventory of Minnesota monsters. He’s unprepared for most of them; if any of them show up, or if this is a trap, he’ll be up shit creek. He’d probably deserve it, too, coming here like this.

He walks for hours, pulled forward, chest sweetly aching and handprint throbbing to the beat of his own heart.

By the time he reaches the field, he’s almost lost track of time.

It’s just a large, empty space. If it hadn’t been covered in snow in the middle of winter, it’d make a sweet concert space.

There’s no-one else here, but -

(something in his chest wrenches)

-then there is.

A man in a trenchcoat stumbles into the clearing, and Dean knows him. He knows him, with a bright and certain rush of heat that leaves him breathless.

“Cas!” he yells, and hears the answering, “Dean!” and then he’s running and laughing and tearing up at the same time. He’s a mess, but he can’t help it, couldn’t stop it if he tried. They meet in the middle and it’s like a scene from Love freaking Actually, hugging each other tightly and spinning each other around. Cas smells like petrichor and ozone and day-old sweat. The stitching on his coat is rough and reassuring under Dean’s fingers. He never wants to let him go.

“Thank you,” Cas says, serious as a freshly dug grave, “for meeting me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, buddy,” Dean says. Then he leans back a little to look Cas properly in the eye. “Cas,” he says. “Earlier. I said the wrong thing.”

Cas gives him an expectant look. His hands are fisting into Dean’s coat. “What did you want to say, Dean?”

The way he says his name makes Dean shudder. He swallows thickly. “I. Back when you - I said don’t do this, but what I should have said was - me too, Cas.”

Cas tilts his head slightly to the side, like he’s confused by something. Dean had almost forgotten what shade of blue they were.

“What?” Dean asks, as softly as he can, which isn’t much. He’s not good at this. Not with Cas. Not yet, but hopefully - if he dares to hope - hopefully soon.

“You don’t have to humor me, Dean,” Cas says, stiffer than a freaking fridge magnet in a freezer. “I know I’m not what you -”

And Dean can’t stand hearing him finish that sentence, can’t stand not having them be on the same page.

“Alright, fuck this,” he says, and pulls Cas down into a kiss.

[werepiremalewife]

january 24th (~1.4k)

yeah, so, i’ve never written any type of fic before but i simply could not resist for the love of my life’s birthday. it’s a little late, but it’s still jan 24 where i live. so enjoy, the finale meant absolutely nothing to me :))

-------

It’s January 24th.

And when Dean wakes up, his first thought is, “Today is my birthday.” Despite his posturing and what everyone may think of him and how much he wishes he could just let it all go, he can’t forget that today he turns 42.

And he woke up to an empty bed and cold sheets.

He turns onto his back and stares unseeing at the ceiling. He wasn’t expecting anything, but he hoped he could at least spend a lazy morning in bed cuddled with Cas. And he maybe hoped for-

No.

Dean shakes his head. He won’t do this to himself. Even in the safety of his own thoughts, he can’t bring himself to think about candles or celebrations or anything. He learned long ago that these thoughts only added to the ache in his chest. (The ache which has slowly been eased away to almost nothing after the world was more or less put to rights and he fixed things with Jack and yanked Cas’ ass back from the Empty.)

With a sigh and an internal mantra to just make it through today, Dean climbs out of bed (fuck making it— it’ll be his birthday present to himself) and tosses his dead man’s robe on as he strides out to the Bunker’s kitchen. He’s still half-asleep and caught in the middle of a massive yawn when he runs into someone.

Someone holding a mug filled to the tippy-top with burn-inducing coffee.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry. I was trying very hard not to let the coffee drip down the sides and you were supposed to still be in bed.”

It’s Cas with his big blue eyes full of sincere apology and concern as he looks at Dean who’s now got boiling coffee seeping through his shirt and burning his toes.  

“It’s fine, Cas. I’m just gonna go change-“

“Wait! Let me.”

“What? That doesn’t even-. I just need a shirt that ain’t soaked.”

Dean turns to head back to his room, but Cas huffs and actually stomps his foot. Before Dean gets the chance to ask what his problem is, Cas steps in front of him, forcibly hands over the half-empty coffee, and lace his fingers with Dean as he leads them to their bedroom.

“I’ve already made a mess of things, just let me fix them.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, Cas.”

Once inside their bedroom, Cas takes the mug back and places it on their dresser before quickly stripping Dean of his robe and soggy shirt. Dean stands there and lets him do it, because the path of least resistance is usually his best bet when Cas gets in these moods. Cas manhandles him into his (favorite) Dr. Sexy t-shirt that he mostly wears under a hoodie to avoid the inevitable teasing from Sam and wrestles his arms back into his robe. He keeps his hands on his chest, lightly clutching the edges of his robe and smiles up at Dean.

“There. I think we can get back to starting today’s events. But, first. Happy birthday, Dean.”

With a light tug, Cas pulls Dean into a gentle kiss full of love and appreciation and all of the good things and it’s too much too much too much. 

Dean kisses back (because it’s Cas and how could he not?) but all the while his mind is reeling because Cas knows it’s his birthday. Cas knows it’s his birthday and made it sound like he had something planned. When they part, Cas is still holding onto his robe and looking at Dean the way he always does these days: with naked affection. But, Dean not knowing when to just shut up and let good things happen just has to pipe in-

“How’d you know?”

Cas tilts his head and brings his hands up to cradle his face (and Dean completely melts into the touch, but it’s his birthday and he loves Cas a lot, so sue him).

“It’s the second most important date in my life.”

And wow. That’s. That’s just. Wow. And as much as Dean is freaking out because he, fuck up Dean Winchester, means that much (anything at all really is a shock) to Castiel, badass angel who’s always been too good for him (for anyone really), he just can’t help himself.

“What’s the first?”

And God. He is just so stupid. Why he can’t he leave things alone? Cas is a freaking angel who’s seen the world be born and created things and saved humanity and has a son now and there’s also Claire and Sam and-and Dean just needs to be grateful that Cas wants to be here with him at all and not so fucking greedy and insecure and-

“The day I raised your soul from the Hell. The day that changed everything.”

Dean’s frozen. He’s frozen and gaping like a fish because what. How can he even. It doesn’t. And Cas is just standing there, still cupping his face and stroking his thumbs over his cheeks and smiling that smile with all of that love and emotion just bare for anyone to see but only Dean is there so he’s hit with it full force and fuck. 

He really, really loves Cas. 

And because Cas knows him like no one else ever could, he just trails his hands to his neck, across his shoulders, and down his arms to link their fingers together and doesn’t make Dean say a word.

“Come on, love. Breakfast is getting cold.”

And with a squeeze to fingers and a quick peck to his lips, he turns and guides them to the door.

“Don’t forget your coffee.”

Dean manages to pick up his coffee (now at a drinkable temperature) as he follows behind his incredibly sweet boyfriend. A fairly substantial gulp (doctored exactly how it likes it because Cas is simply the best) helps clear his head of any lingering sleepiness. When they arrive in the kitchen, Cas guides him into a seat at the table.

Seconds later a stack of pancakes with a candle sticking right in the middle are placed in front of him.

They’re mishappen and all different sizes and almost burnt in some places and almost raw in others and a broken piece of bacon and two strawberry halves make the strangest smiley face Dean has ever seen and Dean’s heart is so, so full that he thinks it might consume him. He’s definitely on the verge of tears and these shitty pancakes that are barely edible should not choke him up, but fuck it, because they do and he’s not even ashamed.  

“Cas.”

That’s all he can manage and his face must be doing some weird things as he struggles to not let his emotions spill over until he’s nothing more than a puddle on the floor because Cas starts to look somewhat frazzled and concerned as he rushed to explain. 

“I know pancakes aren’t the typical “cakes” that one puts candles in and makes wishes on for their birthday, but I wanted to give you wish just from me and it was hard enough to convince Sam and Jack to let me have the morning alone with you, but I’m selfish and just wanted-“

He’s cut off because Dean stood and smashed their lips together in what can barely be called a kiss with how wide he’s smiling but he just can’t stop. A lifetime of birthdays unacknowledged, uncelebrated, unimportant and spent hunting monsters or drinking himself stupid in bars or binging on burgers and milkshakes and now, now, he’s not alone or forgotten or hurting. He’s so disgustingly happy and in love and it’s not even 10 A.M. and it’s already the best birthday he’s ever had.

Dean pulls back from the not-kiss still beaming so much that he thinks to himself he might blind Cas. 

“Thank you. I love you.”

Cas kisses him this time.

“I love you, too. Happy birthday, Dean. Now, eat your breakfast. We have cuddles and Dr. Sexy for an hour before Sam and Jack come back for the rest of the festivities.”

Dean sits down and looks at the little flame of the candle, trying to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to wish for when his life is this filled with love and happiness. He closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

I wish for more of this.