#i really need to develop some restraint for this fic but on all accounts its not looking promising

[shyvioletcat]

~ PART 2 ~ Fragile Hearts Masterlist

A/N: Fixed the flaws and tags added. Thanks so much for reading.

~~~~~

Aelin held her daughter while she cried, desperately trying to keep the tears back herself. The past half hour had been a shock to her system and she was hanging on by a thread. Elsie was the one reason that she hadn’t fallen apart just yet, that would be later tonight when the rest of the house was asleep and she would look at Rowan and he would open his arms and hold her until they worked out what to do next. Right now Aelin had to be strong for her daughter and needed to be a person she could rely on. It all just broke Aelin’s heart, a parent could never bear seeing their child in pain in such a helpless situation like this.

Rowan stepped into the bedroom and the two parents shared a look. His brow was furrowed in concern, highlighting the lines that ageing had given him. Before this was all over Aelin was sure they both would be looking even more careworn.

“What can I do?” Rowan asked, making Aelin's face crack into a smile. The man was always fussing, always wanting to help.

Aelin cleared her throat just to make sure it was as clear of emotion as it could be. “Can you get dinner started? The others will start getting hungry soon.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said and let them be.

For a little while longer Aelin just ran her hands over Elsie’s hair, from the crown of her head and down her back. When Elsie’s breathing calmed down she pulled back and wiped her own tears away. She looked so tired and more than a little devastated. The only thing Aelin could do to stop herself from crying was to reach out and hold her daughter’s hand.

“Elsie, darling,” Aelin said and gave the hand she was holding a squeeze. “Are you ready to talk?”

There was a loud sniffle but Elsie nodded. “It’s my fault.”

Aelin made a face. “Well…”

“No, this is on me. This is my fault,” Elsie said with more conviction. “It was my idea. I wanted to have sex and like… I didn’t want it to be with some random. I wanted it to be with someone that I trusted so I asked Korby and—”

“I do not need details,” Aelin blurted out.

The flush on Elsie's cheeks deepened. “Gods, Mum. No.”

“Just making sure,” Aelin tried to interject some levity to the situation.

“Anyway,” the word strung out longer than it had to be. “It started months ago and now I’m here. Knocked up and alone. He just… he just walked right out on me. He didn’t even look at me when I told him. I know he doesn’t feel the same way I do but he’s my best friend,” Elsie’s voice broke on the words. “He was my best friend and he couldn’t even talk to me about this. Gods, Mum it hurts so much.”

Elsie was nearly in hysterics by the end and Aelin thought he might be able to hear the cracks fracturing her daughter’s heart.

“What he did wasn’t right,” Aelin told her. “Men are dumb, that never changes, but young men are even dumber. He’s probably scared and that’s not an excuse but that’s all we’ve got to work with right now. You’re the one with the baby in there so we’re going to look after you, first okay?”

Elsie put her hand on her stomach. “That’s so weird.”

That made Aelin laugh, things were going to be a hell of a lot weirder as time went on. “Lay down and have a nap, it’ll be good for you.”

“That sounds good,” Elsie said and started to lay down.

“I bet it does.”

Without being asked, Aelin helped tuck Elsie in and resumed running a hand over her hair. It was what had soothed Elsie to sleep since she was a little baby and it did the same thing now. Aelin didn’t leave until she was sure her daughter had fallen asleep before she pushed off the bed and closed the door behind her. She considered a nap herself, she was emotionally exhausted but there was no way she’d be able to stop her thoughts racing. Besides she had too much to do so she ended up downstairs instead.

Aelin let out a heavy sigh as she walked into the kitchen, glad to find that only Rowan was in there. He’d done as she asked and was prepping dinner, his back to her as he fussed over the bench.

“She’s asleep,” she announced.

Rowan threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “That’s good.”

Walking up behind him she wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled in close, burying her face between his shoulder blades. Rowan gave her arms a reassuring pat then went back to chopping vegetables. They didn’t say anything, the rhythmic chop, chop, chop was the only noise. When that stopped Aelin let her husband go so he could slide the tray into the oven.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Aelin said. “What even just happened.”

Arms crossed and leaning on the counter, Rowan shrugged. “It’s nice to know I want the only one blindsided.”

Aelin let out a sardonic laugh. “How could he do that to her? I just want to…” she mimed ringing a neck.

“Somehow I don’t think that will help Elsie’s cause,” Rowan said, but Aelin knew he had the same sentiments as her.

The boy had fled. Three words and he had legged it out of there, not giving Elsie any time to explain or tell him how she felt, or what she wanted. Honestly, Aelin had expected more from him and that just filled her with so much anger and disappointment. Scared or not, Korbin needed to face up to what he’d done, what they’d done, if any progress was going to be made. And if Aelin had to drag him back here herself, so be it.

“What are you doing?” Rowan asked as she grabbed her keys from the hanging rack on the wall.

“Eamon needs a ride home,” Aelin said casually. “And Korbin left his bag behind. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Moving through the house Aelin found the bag where Korbin had dropped it by the door as he was prone to do, like he’d done it hundreds of times. Aelin picked it up by the loop at the top and called out up the stairs.

“Eamon, it’s time to go home!”

A minute later Eamon appeared and took the stairs two at a time. “Are you driving me, Aunty Ae?”

“Yeah, grab your stuff,” Aelin said.

Rowan appeared before they could leave and he kissed Aelin’s temple. “Remember murder sends you to jail.”

Aelin snorted. “Noted.”

Not long after that Aelin was in her car, driving Eamon the few blocks to where the Salvaterres lived. He hadn’t said much, just read a book he’d pulled out of his bag, so when he spoke it jarred Aelin out of her racing thoughts.

“Am I in trouble?” He sounded apprehensive.

Aelin glanced at him in the rear view mirror. “No, sweetie.”

“Is Korby in trouble?” Eamon asked.

Aelin stewed over her words for a few moments deciding she didn’t want to lie to Eamon. “That depends.”

They didn’t talk after that and when Aelin pulled into the driveway Eamon unbuckled himself and ran off inside. Aelin was slower, she lent over to the passenger seat and picked up the bag. That anger that she had kept under control was starting to bubble to the surface right now. How dare this boy who had been part of her family since the moment he’d come into the world turn his back on her daughter. The car door slammed, Aelin all but marched through the front door without knocking or ceremony.

“Korbin!” She yelled from the entryway and up the stairs. “Get down here now!”

Lorcan appeared a moment later, looking adequately confused. “Is there a reason you’re yelling at my son like that in my house?”

“Your son,” Aelin threw the bag at Lorcan, “Left this at my house.”

“Okay,” Lorcan had caught the bag. “That still doesn’t explain what I asked.”

Aelin ignored him in favour of yelling up to the upper level of the house again. “Korbin Rowan Salvaterre, get your arse down here.”

“His middle name isn’t Rowan.” Lorcan’s tone was flat, probably due to his confusion.

“With his level of dumbassery, I’m surprised,” Aelin said, not losing her momentum.

Lorcan’s laugh was gruff. “What is going on?”

Aelin ignored the question and angled her head back to the stairs. “If you do not get down here in the next 30 seconds I will come up there and get you myself and it will not be pleasant!”

“You don’t speak to my son like that,” Lorcan said lowly.

Aelin turned, touched by Lorcan’s concern for his son but too angry to let that stop her. “Well, your son got my daughter pregnant and has yet to face up to that, so.”

She watched the shock wash over Lorcan’s face, it went completely slack before he blinked once and a similar kind of fury that Aelin was currently all too familiar with filled his face. Later she would probably regret the way she had told Lorcan he would be a grandfather but the longer Korbin remained holed up in his room the brighter Aelin’s anger burned. And from the look on Lorcan’s face it was apparent she had just acquired an ally.

~~~~~

Lorcan didn't know what to say, he didn’t know what to think. He just wanted his son down here to explain.

“Korbin!” He bellowed this time.

That finally seemed to get things moving and he heard the tell tale creak of Korbin’s door and feet shuffling across the carpet. Still too slowly Korbin appeared at the top of the stairs, his dark hair sticking up at all angles and his face looking haggard as it could for a 17 year old boy.

“What, Dad?” He said, completely ignoring Aelin’s presence.

“Don’t you ‘what, dad’ him, I’m here to speak to you,” Aelin said. “What in the name of every damned god were you thinking when you ran away like that?“

Lorcan looked between the two of them, waiting for the missing pieces to be given to him. Korbin was surely asking for a death wish when he just crossed his arms and shrugged. Indeed, Aelin did start moving up the stairs but Lorcan caught her by the elbow.

“Is it true? Is Elsie pregnant and it’s yours?” What a bizarre thing to say and he hoped his son would deny every word.

“So she says.” Korbin was the embodiment of belligerence.

“So she says? How dare you,” Aelin seethed.

Lorcan could see his son was chewing over what to say next, wondering what boundaries he could push.The fact he was running from this made Lorcan feel ill. He’d raised him better than this, this was a matter of respect and responsibility. Now he was lashing out to protect himself. But if Korbin was going to get mean, he’d find that his father could be twice as bad. Not to mention Aelin who had fully formed into a wild mother bear.

“You’re all acting like this is all on me. This isn’t just my fault. You’ve got like 10 kids between you, you know how babies happen,” Korbin threw out.

Lorcan saw red. “I’m well aware it’s not just your fault, but you share in some of the responsibility. And this is Elsie for Mala’s sake. You owe her something.”

“Stop acting like a child and own up to your part in this.” Aelin looked ready to snap.

“I just did,” Korbin answered.

“Korbin,” Lorcan growled, he would have kept going but Elide walked in with their daughter dressed in her dance class gear. Her clever eyes surveyed the situation and she slowly pulled herself up to stand between Aelin and Korbin.

“What’s going on?” she asked, no doubt reading the tension in the room.

“We’re going, that’s what,” Lorcan announced. “You coming or staying, Elide?”

“Oh, I’m definitely coming,” Elide said, intrigued but Lorcan could also sense some defensiveness.

“I’ll take the little ones so you can talk to your son,” Aelin suggested. Although it was probably closer to a command. “Melanie and Eamon, come on I’ve got lollipops in the car somewhere.”

Melanie didn’t need much more convincing than that and Eamon appeared from where he’s been playing on his iPad in the living room. Aelin led them out, sending a deadly glare back towards Korbin, making Elide’s brows rise in question. When the front door closed Elide’s full attention snapped to Korbin.

“Someone better tell me what is going on immediately,” her tone brooked no argument.

Still at the top of the stairs, Korbin looked like he was ready to barricade himself in his room.

“No you don’t,” Lorcan said. “Get down here, right now.”

He did as was asked and walked down the stairs like the sullen teenager he was, nearly stomping on each step. It reminded Lorcan of just how young his son really was. Determined not to say a word, Korbin just stood there, not making eye contact with either of his parents. If this was the way he wanted to play it, that was fine. Lorcan would be the one to condemn him to his mother.

“Elsie is pregnant, Korbin was the one to do it,” Lorcan explained simply.

Elide choked, her hand landing on Lorcan’s arm. “She’s pregnant? And it’s yours?”

Korbon just shrugged.

“We can continue this in the car.” Lorcan said. “Out.”

Miraculously Korbin complied and walked out the front door, Eldie was a step behind him and it was Lorcan who locked up the house. On his way down the front steps Lorcan saw that Elide was trying to talk to their son but he ignored her and just got in the backseat of the car, shutting the door in her face. That disrespect had Lorcan’s already hot blood boiling. He got into the driver's seat and started the car. It wasn't until they were on the road that the real conversation started.

“Boy, you better start talking,” Lorcan ordered.

“Why?” he asked insolently.

Elide jumped in before Lorcan could snap again. “We just want to understand this from your point of view, Korby.”

“Everyone has already decided, what’s the point?” Korbin added.

“Korbin, just tell us,” Elide urged.

“We wanted to have sex so we thought, might as well,” Korbin said.

“Might as well,” Lorcan ecoed bitterly.

Korbin was still adopting a tone of deference. “We were friends, we trusted each other and we wanted to have fun, there was nothing wrong with that.”

Lorcan made a sound that conveyed that he disagreed. “This is the consequence of your having fun. And what? You can’t bring yourself to own up to it?”

“Lorcan,” Elide said softly.

“What? I’m just calling it how I see it,” Lorcan said, a few more turns and they would be at their destination. “I'm just trying to get to the root of this before we get there. Why did you run, Korbin?” Lorcan asked, glaring in the rear view mirror. “Why has it got to this point?”

Korbin didn’t answer and didn’t look likely to, as crossed his arms and stared out the window. Lorcan returned his full focus to driving and within a few minutes he was stopping the car on the street. Lorcan was the first one out, then Elide, and then he was halfway to the door when he realised Korbin wasn’t following. He turned and spotted his son in the car, looking up at the house like it might eat him. Whatever patience Lorcan had been holding onto withered away, and he had enough, it was time to face the music. Lorcan stormed back to the car and wrenched the door open.

“Out.”

This time Korbin complied. Lorcan took a moment to himself, trying to get his anger under control. He put the loss of control down to the shock. It had always been hard watching the kids grow and change, but it had been something wonderful too. Korbin had been his pride and joy, holding that special place in his heart from being the firstborn—the first one to open his heart like that. Korbin had grown and was his own man, but it was hard for Lorcan to reconcile who this person was in front of him right now. There was some part here that he was missing.

Lorcan blew out a breath in a stuttering rhythm and started his own trek to the front door. The house was fairly quiet when he walked in, he could hear a TV playing upstairs, probably to entertain the younger kids and keep them out of the way. Rowan, Aelin and Elsie sat on the long couch, Elide and Korbin on the two seater. Lorcan stood even though the armchair was free, he was far too restless. The room was tense, the teenagers couldn’t look at each other, but Rowan was glaring at Korbin. If looks could kill…

Elsie looked worn thin. Her eyes were red rimmed, starkly brought out by the paleness of her face. She looked terrified.

“Alright,” Elide said, ever the presence of measured reason. “There are things we need to talk about. I think Elsie should go first.”

The girl took in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. I took a bunch of tests everyday for a week. I didn’t want to believe it but I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” Elsie glanced up at Korbin, but quickly looked away when he kept staring at nothing and her cheeks burned red. “I’m keeping it, Korbin. I want to keep it. It’s what I want to do.”

Lorcan’s head snapped to watch for Korbin’s reaction. He nearly went as pale as Elsie had been. He was staring at imminent fatherhood right in the face.

“What about what I want?” Korbin’s voice was so quiet that nearly everyone in the room missed it. Elsie hadn’t, her eyes were wide and worried. “Why is no one asking what I want? Why are you all planning my life for me? I had plans.”

“What is it that you want then?” Aelin asked, still holding onto some of that earlier anger. “Because the way I see it you should have thought about that before you made stupid decisions.”

“This isn’t even my fault,” Korbin became more animated, sitting up straighter and shuffling forward on his seat.

“You were the one with the loaded gun,” Elsie said and for the first time the two of them really looked at each other. Everyone in the room just waited on baited breath. “The way I remember it we both decided to take the risk.”

“Your stakes were higher,” Korbin shot back.

“The no protection was a decision we both decided on,” Elsie added.

These details were things Lorcan rather not be hearing about, contraception or—lack of it—was their own business. But when two idiotic teenagers got themselves into this kind of trouble, awkward information was bound to come out. Right now Lorcan’s main concern was the line of argument his son had chosen. He was walking into the lion's den without weapons or armour. And Lorcan wouldn’t deny that he was a lion himself.

“I’m the one on road to a scholarship if I can keep up this year and next. And what? Now I'm supposed to drop everything and stick around for something I don’t ask for?” Korbin argued.

It was a race to see who spoke first. Lorcan won. “You were careless, she’s supposed to be your friend. This isn’t some random girl we’re talking about, this is Elsie. You know the one who’s been by your side your entire life? And now you’re just not going to take any responsibility for your part in it? You have no care for her feelings at all? Gods son, you can barely even look at her. I raised you better than this.”

Any lingering bravado fell away at the words and Korbin withered, his voice was small when he spoke the next words. “I don’t want this.”

A ripple of shock went through the room, and it was Elsie’s quiet sob that broke the rest of Lorcan’s resolve. He loved Elsie, almost like she was one of his own. What Korbin had said and done was so wrong that Lorcan was failing to see reason. “Then I won’t have you in my home.”

“Lorcan, no,” Elide hissed.

All eyes once again shot to Korbin as he let out a humourless laugh. “I’ve always known Elsie was the favourite child. She doesn’t need me when she has all of you.”

Korbin stood after that, didn’t give anyone in the room a second look before he was fleeing the scene and out of the front door.

“What the hell just happened?” Aelin whispered, but the room was quiet enough that it was heard loud and clear.

A moment later footsteps were thundering down the stairs and Finnian shot past the living room to the front door. He must have been listening on the stairs and if he’d heard everything the chances are he would be filled with that fiery Galathynius anger. That was proven by the yelling that came from the front lawn a moment later.

“Shit.” Rowan muttered as he pushed himself off the chair.

Lorcan was right behind him and when they stepped out onto the front porch it was clear the two boys were squaring up. Finnian was 14 but he was still willing to fight on behalf of his sister. He was getting himself off his knees where Korbin had evidently pushed him down.

“How am I supposed to take care of a kid? I’m a kid myself?” Korbin said, readying himself for Finnian to recover and throw the next attack. With a few years' age difference, Korbin had size on his side but he had the sense to only defend himself. He wouldn’t be go after the boy in an unfair fight.

Shame cut through the disappointment and anger Lorcan was feeling. He was seeing it clearer now, Korbin was just a kid unprepared and scared out of his mind. As a father Lorcan had been too hard on him, had gone too far by kicking his own son out of his home. His anger was his folly and he’d pay for it. He still didn’t think Korbin was right in his actions, but he sure as hell had let his anger get the better of him.

Korbin’s head was down and he was shaking his head. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Finnian was on his feet again. “Neither did she.”

Whatever brotherly bravado he was running on was stopped by Rowan stepping in between the two boys and grabbing Finnian around the shoulders as he took off running.

“Inside, now,” Rowan said lowly.

Finnian shot Korbin a hateful glare, not quite ready to give up the fight. “You think she should have to do this alone? Elsie will have all of us, she doesn’t need you. So stay away from her.”

Finnian went to say something else but his father was not having it. “I said now.”

The silver-haired boy looked like an angry puppy as he pushed his father off and sulked his way inside. Rowan shot Lorcan a brief look and nod before he went back into the house as well. That left the Salvaterre to themselves.

“Your father is not kicking you out,” Elide said to Korbin, sounding furious but they all knew it wasn’t directed at their son. “Do not listen to him.”

“Korbin, I’m sorry,” Lorcan said, trying to bridge the divide he’s taken.

“Whatever, Dad,” Korbin said bitterly. “We all know that you speak your truest when you’re mad.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t regret it and that I was wrong,” Lorcan told him.

“Doesn’t malter.” Korbin sounded dejected.

“Korby,” Elide said, taking a few steps forward. “We still don’t understand why you’re acting like this. We want to understand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Korbin repeated.

Lorcan was going to push the matter, he was ready to keep at it until Korbin cracked and whatever it was that he was holding onto came out. But then yet another car pulled up to the curb and parked outside the busy house.

To Lorcan’s surprise it was Fenrys that got out of the car, “what’s cracking?”

“Finally,” Korbin muttered and started walking toward the car.

Elide followed him, jogging a little to catch up. “Korbin, wait.”

Lorcan knew he’d done too much damage already so he left it to Elide to try and fix this. All Lorcan did was sigh and ran his hands through his hair. Today was hellish and he was ready for it to be over.

“Why’d your son call me asking to stay at my house?” Fenrys asked.

Lorcan turned, not showing his surprise at the newcomer being so close. “None of your godsdamned business.”

There was a moment of tense silence then Fenrys asked, “Okay, what is happening?”

“If Korbin wants to tell you he can,” was the only answer Lorcan was willing to give.

Fenrys looked up at the house like he was contemplating going in for better answers, but then thought better of it. “I’ll look after him, you won’t have to worry.”

“Thank you,” Lorcan said and Fenrys gave his shoulder a squeeze.

He watched from a distance as Fenrys drove away with Korbin in the car. Elide had talked to him as long as she could, even giving the window a knock at the last second to say one last thing. Then she stood there on the footpath, fingers on her lips as she watched the pickup truck disappear from sight. When it was gone she turned back to Lorcan, her face clouded and raging like a storm.

“He told me ‘you obviously don’t want me here so I’ll go somewhere else,’” Elide said when she reached him. “You did so badly today Lorcan. That is our son, our son and he no longer feels welcome in our home. You better fix this Lorcan Salvaterre, or I swear Hellas himself won’t be able to save you.”

With those final, damning words Elide left him to go back inside—no doubt to help with more damage control. Lorcan stayed outside, needing a moment to himself to figure out what he needed to do. Elide was right, he hadn’t done right by his son today and considering that maybe some time apart would be good. Everyone would have time to cool off and to think about things more rationally. Lorcan had a sneaking suspicion as to why Korbin was lashing out so violently. And that was something his son would need to discover on his own.

~~~~

I know it looks bad... BUT

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[ka-writes]

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Notes: I had already started on the second chapter before I posted the first one, so don’t expect updates every day... I also had to do a lot of googling for this chapter.

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Chapter 1 in case you missed it:

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Inspired by:

Humans are Space Velociraptors

By:FreshRoses_InMyGarden_NeedTheRain

Some kids come from storks, others come from crashed spaceships

By: mmmajora

Home Again, Home Again

By: teeth_eater

All works can be found on Ao3

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Warnings: Cussing, needles, character conflicts, intentional poisoning, poisoning, Jaws reference

——————

“Humans are [and text here]”

Chapter 2: What is this, an interview?

Tommy was now restrained to a chair six feet away from the weird scientist alien. He had a dark brown lab coat with a fuzzy yellow sweater underneath, matched with black pants and black leather boots. His gold rimmed Harry Potter glasses slipped down his nose bridge a bit before he pushed it up and shuffled through papers. He wore a red beanie with a big whiff of his curly chocolate hair. His skin was a weird translucent grayish color with blue speckles decorating it. He had deep brown eyes with an odd electric blue circle outlining the pupil.

His tongue licked his finger as he turned the page. This was a habit that most of the weird teachers and counselors did. It always annoyed Tommy. This time fear was also mixed into that annoyance. His saliva was tinted blue and he had sharp teeth which immediately reminded him of a shark.

“You have shark teeth.” Tommy stated absentmindedly. Clearly, this caught the scientist alien off guard.

“I have what?” The alien asked, confused.

“Shark teeth.. ya know like the weird fish creatures that eat people.” Tommy started rambling causing the shark-alien to become even more confused and slightly alarmed. “I mean I think they eat people. That’s what the shark movie showed… what was its name, Jaws I think? I dunno, my foster mom freaked out in the middle of it and we went home. That lady was weird.. She made us wear itchy clothes and take weird photos before she sent me back to the group home.”

“What?..” The shark-alien asked. Tommy jumped a bit. He forgot he was rambling to a stranger. Alien stranger at that.

“Doesn’t matter.. What's the first question bitch-boy?” Tommy liked the way the alien jumped at the randomly timed insults.

“Er- right.. First off, what’s your name?” The shark-alien asked after collecting himself.

“Tommy Innit. Yours bitch-boy?” Tommy replied.

“Wilbur Soot. Stop calling me bitch-boy!” Wilbur huffed.

“Next question, bitch-boy!” Tommy emphasized the name, getting an even angrier expression in return. Wilbur’s weird blue circle flashed red for a second which caught Tommy off guard.

Wilbur took a shaky breath before asking the next question. “How old are you?”

“Old enough! I am a big man!” Tommy stated. Yet another thing that pissed him off.

“Age?” Wilbur asked, clearly irritated.

“18.” Wilbur raised a brow, “14.” Tommy huffed. His age should only be his business not some alien-bitch who didn’t even have his file.

“If you keep lying, I may have to get the truth serum from the back.” Wilbur half-heartedly threatened. Tommy, the big man that he is, did not get scared at that statement, only slightly unsettled which clearly showed on his face.

“Now, do you have a family?” Tommy tensed at the question. It was a touchy question and was not one that was asked often especially with his reputation.

“I am a big man. I don’t need a family to be great.” Tommy stated, happy with the answer. The alien-bitch shifted awkwardly.

“Right… What is your diet?”

“Umm.. I dunno, whatever I can find. I am allergic to nuts though..” Wilbur nodded in understanding and wrote things down in his notepad.

“What plants are poisonous to you?” Wilbur asked without looking up from his notes.

“Ermm, poison Ivy, poison oak… uh I think parts of rhubarb, and most wild berries. I am not sure other than that.” Wilbur nodded while adding bits to his notes.

“What was the place you lived like?” This time Wilbur glanced up to look at Tommy. This was again another touchy subject… How many times would this alien bitch get into the sad background?

“Shitty.” Tommy snapped. That was the only response the bitch was gonna get.

“Right.. Do you have music on Earth?”

Tommy scoffed, “Of course we have music, dumbass!”

“Can you tell me about the animals there?” Wilbur asked, almost hopeful.. which was weird. What was he hoping for?

“Erm I guess..” Tommy mumbled, trying to figure out where to start, “There’s a bunch of animals. Mainly on land. My favorite would be the cow.”

“What’s that?” Curiosity stained Wilbur’s face. This got Tommy excited; he was practically beaming as he started talking.

“Well they are these big ruminants that make milk and have horns. There are a bunch of types too like the highland cow, which obviously is the most poggers one. They are a Scottish breed with really long hair. I met one once, on a field trip his name was Henry.” Tommy rambled on for the next two and a half hours, jumping from topic to topic and explaining anything that wasn’t personal. He usually ended those paths with short insults.

——————

Wilbur hated to stop the kids' detailed story, but two and a half celestial hours had already passed, and Dream would be coming to check soon. Luckily, he had a couple new poisons that could pass off as a research development. He had even managed to send the distressed signal and no doubt Phil would already be there with the SBI craft ready to fly at any given moment.

“Alright Tommy.” His voice dropped to a serious tone causing the kid to stop his story of how he got poisoned by mushrooms on a camping trip. “You’re gonna have to trust me just for a bit. I am going to get you off the ship at the next stop but in the meantime I need you to tell me how allergic you’re to nuts.” The kid immediately tensed at the question.

“I am mainly allergic to tree nuts.. almonds being the worst. After a few minutes I can’t breathe properly and I usually pass out. The doctor said if I don’t get it treated within 15 minutes, death is most likely.” He took a moment to go through the information. The kid most likely has an anaphylaxis reaction to tree nuts. Meaning either he would have to know the exact time of landing and exactly where Phil was or he needed another poison that was less severe.

“Alright, here is what we’re gonna do. I have a chemical mixture that is similar to that of rattlesnake venom. I also have a chemical substance that numbs any pain you may feel. Side effects would include being very very tired and delirious over the next few days. Along with being knocked out for a good ten hours. To put it simply I am gonna fake poison you, in order to get you off the ship. It’s your choice if you’re willing to do it.” Wilbur paused to study the kid still restrained in front of him. It was odd how relaxed the kid seemed to be in a situation like this. He had no urge as far as Wilbur was aware, to fight against anything that happened. His complaints only being those that touched on personal matters. It was unsettling to say the least, and intrigued Wilbur. He really wanted to unravel the life the kid had lived before this and how he was actually dealing with the situation.

There was a long pause before the kid spoke, “I wouldn’t mind getting away from the weird smiley bitch.. plus you seem nice and to know what you’re doing so sure. Poison me bitch.” He said the last sentence with an enthusiasm Wilbur wasn’t expecting. He took a moment to rethink his plan, which was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Dream says you better have advanced in your stupid testing. Otherwise he’s gonna kick you off the ship at the next stop.” Stated the rather rude blazeling, Sapnap. The blazeling never liked Wilbur and made a point to argue against any advancements at meals. That led to Dream installing a new system of emails and Wilbur eating meals alone.

“Yea yea, it’s going!” He yelled through the metal door.

“Better be.” The blazeling snapped before making a non quiet track back to his quarters.

“Stupid blazeling.” Wilbur grumbled as he sorted through vials and picked up new needles and measured out the substances. “We are going to start with the anesthetic then move onto the poison.” He softly addressed Tommy.

Wilbur swiftly disinfected Tommy’s shoulder and gave the needle. He then gave the second needle. Immediately Tommy slumped over. Wilbur swiftly took off Tommy’s restraints and moved him on to the patient bed in the back corner of the room. After the transfer was done he clipped the body restraints around Tommy and waited for the alert signaling landing.

After about five minutes the light next to the door turned blue. He moved over to his seat and clipped on the safety belts. The light turned green and the ship shook momentarily before a thud could be felt. Quickly as Wilbur could, he emptied the needles into the waste bin and waited for his soon-to-be-ex-boss to arrive.

Dream stepped through the door and glanced around the room before heading to Wilbur for his report.

“Report.” The dreamon commanded.

“The subject's body would have gone through a painfully slow death and have multiple organ failures if I did not intervene. The chemical mixes used created a conflict in the patient’s body which resulted in the patient falling into exhaustion as they recovered.” He responded in a monotone tone. Dream looked over Tommy. He flinched back in disgust as Tommy grunted in his sleep.

“Is that all?” The dreamon questioned.

“No.” Wilbur swallowed down his panic, “This is the last testing I will be doing with this crew.” The dreamon scoffed.

“I am assuming you’re getting off at this planet?” Dream spit. Wilbur knew he absolutely hated when people left his crew as he saw it as a direct violation of his loyalty.

“Yes.” The phantom stated, keeping his even tone apparent. With that Dream stormed out cursing in Siestian. Somewhere in the mess of words he told Wilbur to get his things.

Without hesitation he grabbed his bag from his quarters, which was held in a small room that branches off the lab. He half sprinted down the short hallway and straight to the bed Tommy was on. He swiftly unrestrained the human and sat him up. He slipped on boots and gloves then tied a cloak around the kid. He pulled the hood up and carried him off of the closest exit. There were faint yells from Dream down the hallway and reassurances from the only two beings that put up with him. And with that Wilbur was off to find the only craft he had ever called home. The SBI ship.

——————

Chapter 2- End

Words~ 1774

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End Notes: ‘‘twas to lazy to reread... sorry for minor mistakes. Also suggestions are always appreciated!! Please reblog...

——————

Chapter 3:

——————

Wilbur:

[hawkland]

Dear Fandom5k Author

My AO3 account (sidewinder)

Hello and thank you for writing for me! I’m excited to give this exchange a try for the first time and cannot wait to read what you can come up with for one of my requests. Please note I’d love any of them equally, no matter if I have more prompt ideas for one or the other. Some I seriously would love just about anything about since they are so rare, others I have more specific requests to scratch itches I haven’t seen written before (or that much.)

General Likes:

Soumates with a twist. I love soulmate/soulbond AUs, as long as it’s just not a shortcut to happily-ever, no-conflict fluff. I want there to be some difficulties or angst involved. For instance, I’d love seeing any fusion/inspired-by fics based off the concept of the AMC Soumates series - where there’s a newly-developed scientific test a person can choose to take to find their soulmate (if the other person out there has also taken the test). That way it’s a choice to find out or not. Would an already established couple want to take the test to find out if they’re really “meant” to be together or not? What if they find out other people are their “soulmates”? What about the possibility of platonic soulmates vs romantic? Discussions for the future if/when one partner dies before the other? I’d love to see these questions played out with one of my fave ships in either a  happy or somewhat angsty/dark way.

Vacation/travel stories. Being unable to travel this past year+ thanks to covid-19 has me desperate to explore and live vicariously through my favorite characters! So I’d love a story involving travel to somewhere new (to them). It could be a romantic getaway/honeymoon trip to somewhere special - and I love it when an author “takes me” to a favorite city/place of their own. Or two friends just going on an escapade together, maybe one sensing the other needs some time away from a stressful situation or workplace.

Smutty likes: I love extended kissing scenes, frottage, light restraint play, sharing-one-bed-for-~reasons~-ooops-how-did-we-wake-up-cuddling, bathing/caretaking an injured partner-turns-erotic, desperate/reunion sex.

Canon-divergent AUs - I’m always good with fix-its, shifts in canon that only change one thing and see what happens next or instead.

Do Not Wants:

A/B/O dynamics, mating heats. (I do like Supernatural fics that explore Castiel and the angels having bird-like behaviors and instincts, however.)

animal abuse/death

anything related to pregnancy/childbirth/kidfic (except for Jack in SPN)

formalized BDSM relationships

scat/watersports

unrequested alternative-universe scenarios such as high school/mundane/genderswap/coffee shop/fantasy/etc. There are a few ships/groups where I would enjoy specific AUs, and those are outlined below.

Completely sad endings/permanent character death or injury that isn’t part of canon

Rape/non-con between requested characters. Dubious consent is fine in situations like magic spells/possession/fuck-or-die, however.

Supernatural

AU - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Fix-it fic, Interpersonal Drama, Smut, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, Worldbuilding, Horror

In general for SPN, I love canon-divergence AUs at pretty much any point in time (especially as they kept having so many dumb reasons in canon to keep Dean & Cas apart just when one or the other seriously needed support or TLC!) I’m okay with post-series Heaven fics as well as canon fix-its/completely ignoring the finale, and I like exploring both human!Cas as endgame or Cas keeping/getting his full angelic grace back (which is a slight preference to me, as he repeatedly seemed to genuinely value/want to be an angel? But exploring all possibilities in fic is cool for me.)

I’m a sucker for Castiel Whump/hurt!Cas in general, so long as the author remembers Cas is a bad ass and not just a baby in a trenchcoat. If he’s going to suffer, I want him to suffer stoically until he just cannot keep up the facade any longer.  

SPN-specific DNWs: mentions/implications of Wincest, past or present; extreme bashing/characterization of John and Mary Winchester, or Jimmy Nowak, as homophobic. 

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Give me all the finale fix-it fics - no I’m still not over it, I’m still happy to read any new twist on how Cas got out of the Empty and got back together with Dean (and Sam). If Dean still dies early/ends up in Heaven, I’d like a story that explores what happens when one gets bored of peace-and-happiness-ever-after. (Yes, I’m a big fan of The Good Place and as such it makes me wonder if eternity with no conflict and everything you could ever want would just melt your brain and identity after a few millennia.) So what then?

I’m also stealing a Tumblr rant as a prompt I’d love to read, if you want to get into some good dirty smut:

ive had it up to here with fictional gays being like “i love you and if all i can ever have is that knowledge it’s enough for me” we need more “i have been struck down by horny insanity and i beg you to fuck me once. i’ve had three smirnoff ices and i’m gonna be crazy now. we can pretend it didn’t happen i don’t give a shit just gimme daddy’s blunt instrument” it’s more realistic [x]

Um so yeah. I’d love an au where, anywhere along the line when it’s been their/someone’s/the universe’s life on the life, Cas takes the initiative decides they’re gonna have crazy sex even if it’s just once before the end of the world/we die. But then, oops, we’ve survived, now we have to deal with it. ...Please?

For something different, maybe more romantic/fluffy, I’d really love a vacation/getaway story here, since they never really got anything like that of substance on the show. I want to see Cas take Dean somewhere beautiful and amazing in the world he’s never gotten to see before. Show him there’s more than just greasy diners and the landscape of America to enjoy and experience. If you want, they could stumble on a case/haunting/monster from another part of the world while they’re at it...but I just really want to see Dean having some mind-opening and expanding experiences beyond what’s he’s known and seen so far in life.

In specific with Cas/Dean + Sam, I love another tumblr idea I saw recently where Sam totally keeps bringing up the idea of “Sastiel” as a fun joke between him and Cas, and Cas plays along, and it drives Dean up the wall. Cas has to just keep re-assuring Dean that no, he doesn’t see Sam that way...but why does it bother Dean so much? A.k.a. Dean has to finally own up to the fact that it bothers him because he wants Cas to feel that way about him.

Castiel (Supernatural)

I just love Cas, period, end of story, he’s my One True Character of SPN. I love any stories that try to explore him more fully—be it his relationships in the past with other angels and being a BAMF commander/warrior of Heaven, or what specifically it is that keeps him so tied to the Winchesters. I love stories that feature his true-form in some fashion or try to dig into the alien/different nature of angels vs. humans.

Also, another Tumblr-musing-turned-prompt (I lost who posted it, sorry!) I'd love to see explored in a canon divergence fic focused on Cas. Specifically: 

"I would have loved an arc for Cas (after he got his grace back) where he wanted to help people, like he was helped. Spending time in soup kitchens or healing people, and through that developing a sense of self purpose, leading to his grace replenishing unexpectedly. Sort of fulfilling the traditional angel role (as we know it nowadays) by replacing his faith in heaven/dean with faith in himself, to redefine himself as a protector of humanity instead of heaven's soldier."

Group: Castiel/Dean Winchester & Jimmy Novak Group: Castiel & Jimmy Novak

We know Cas carried a lot of guilt for what happened to Jimmy and his whole family. So I'm interested in a post-finale, canon-compliant (I guess?) fic where Cas tries to reconcile things with Jimmy in Heaven. Maybe Jimmy & Amelia were one of his first "projects" or test cases in trying to build a new and better Heaven with Jack? (And it's what he was so busy with while Dean was still alive.) Or, is it weird in Heaven with Cas and Jimmy looking so similar? Does Cas still fight doubts as to whether Dean really loves him, or just desires this body/form that isn’t his own?

Otherwise, I've been thinking about Endverse!Cas, who had lost his grace/powers as the angels have all left and abandoned humankind. What happened to/where is Jimmy in all of that? (If we go by the canon that Jimmy was not killed, nor went to Heaven, until the end of Season 5, when Lucifer blew up that vessel and Cas was resurrected by Chuck.) Are they now two "mortal men"/souls trapped sharing one body? Is that why Cas is so messed up/always seeking an escape through drugs and sex? (Besides of course Dean having changed so much.) This is one prompt where I don’t mind a very dark/not-so-happily-ever-after ending.

The Police

Angst, Character Development, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Humor, Interpersonal Drama, Smut

Group: Sting/Stewart Copeland

Yeah I’ll always request these two together even though I know it’s a long shot to find anyone else as obsessed about them as I am. Really anything at all whatsoever would make me happy for this ship: Reunion Tour-era fic, early punk days before they grew successful, soulmate AUs...

I’d also love a spooky story where they’re on tour/on the road somewhere and end up in a haunted hotel. Or their tour bus/van breaks down in the middle of nowhere and they have to seek shelter in an abandoned house or farm or something...and supernatural weirdness ends up affecting them or bringing them together.

If you want to go the crack route: it wasn’t enough for Miles to take them all around the world to tour in “exotic” locations back in the day. He’s arranged for them now to go on the ultimate tour...of outer space and alien worlds.

Crossover Fandom

Action/Adventure, Character Development, Interpersonal Drama, Angst, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural

Group: Abe Morgan (Forever TV) & John Munch (L&O: SVU)

I’ve had a long running headcanon that these two could have been friends back in their respective 60s/early 70s hippie days. I’d love either a story set back then, “pre-canon”, or them running into each other in NYC later in life. Munch ending up in Abe’s antique shop, for instance, while on an investigation?  

Group: Dean Winchester (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone) Group: Castiel (Supernatural) & Ezekiel Stone (Brimstone)

I’m fascinated by the idea of crossing over these two canons. Even if there’s some conflict in their approach to Hell/Lucifer/demons, there’s still a lot in common. Dean & Ezekiel having both put in their time in Hell and being demon hunters, for instance, and their complicated relationships with (fallen) angels. I’d love to see them bonding over their experiences (Maybe they even meet in Hell? Time DOES work differently there…) Maybe somehow after Ezekiel completed his mission for the Devil, he did get his second chance at “life on Earth”…but the devil’s trick is that it’s not HIS Earth, it’s in a different dimension (Supernatural’s). I’m also curious how Ezekiel might respond to Castiel as an angel–perhaps he mistakes Cas for a demon at first, with his powers, but then they realize they are in fact hunting the same demon? Cas is stuck in an alternative dimension and recognizes Ezekiel as a similar soul to Dean’s, and seeks out his help?

Basically I’d love some kind of casefic/demon hunt here, with the characters bonding over their shared/similar past traumas, taking care of each other when/if injured on a hunt, and/or perhaps helping them sort out their complicated feelings for another (ie, background Cas/Dean and/or Zeke/the Devil are TOTALLY welcome here, as I ship both of those ships.)

Law & Order: SVU

Group: John Munch/Odafin "Fin" Tutuola

Character Development, Established Relationship, Humor, Getting Together, Interpersonal Drama, Canon-Style Plot - Freeform, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery/Procedural, Slice of Life, AU-Genre shift

Munch/Fin is one of my eternal OTPs so I’m always happy to see something new featuring them! I’m always good for procedural/case-fics. And this is one request where I’d love to read some AU-Genre or setting shift, reimagining the two in some other situations besides police work. I’ve always loved the idea of John hosting a conspiracy/weird news radio show or podcast, and Fin as someone completely skeptical but who gets wrapped up in one of John’s mysteries. Or John as the owner of a bar somewhere that Fin is one of his regulars, and over time their friendship develops/deepens into something more.

Supernatural RPF

Misha Collins/Jensen Ackles Established Relationship, Getting Together, Smut, Fluff, Slice of Life, Humor

It’s odd for me to be into an actor RPF fandom (I usually only fall for music/band-related ones), but what can I say...these two just make it almost impossible not to see the possibilities!

I was thinking I’d love something set post-Supernatural...their first time seeing each other again after a long time apart? (What with the show ending, covid, Misha’s surgery, etc etc.) Could be at a convention or maybe they get to go off on a getaway together somewhere private/romantic and it’s...kind of tense and maybe nervous/angsty at first? Like with doubts about whether they can/should go back to the way things were before.

Or: putting tin-hatty speculation about the “secret/real identity” of Alma Perpetua aside, I love their poetry and I’d love any “Cockles” fic using one of their poems as inspiration.

[cuthian]

Starting Over Chapter One

Welcome to the second-to-last installment of this series (probably, honestly, I didn't mean for there to be as many parts as there are already)!

This fic is focused on both Thor and Steve's journeys, and sets the scene for the main fic, the one that follows this one, the one you've all been waiting for :) There are two chapters fully focused on Thor's journey, so should you wish to skip those, check the notes at the top of the chapter! I'll definitely mention them :)

I expect I'll update this once a week (it's fully written) and hopefully will be able to upload the final installment after I've posted the final chapter of this one!

As always, much love and gratitude to my lovely Juulna, who dragged me through all of this, and kicks my ass into gear when it's needed.

Let us know what you think!

Love, Annaelle

Starting Over

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t letting go, but rather starting over.

—Nicole Sovaugn

Chapter One

RUMORED CELEBRITY COUPLES WE ALL *HOPE* ARE REAL

The celebrity rumor mill is always churning. While it is mostly tittle-tattle, there are certain romance “news” items that, in our heart of hearts, we’re dying to be true. From co-stars with unbelievable chemistry to sure-to-be-legendary duos, here are the pairs we have our fingers crossed for.

10. Nikki Reed & Ian Somerhalder

[...]share a common interest in playing vampires—with Reed’s Rosalie in Twilight to Somerhalder’s Damon in The Vampire Diaries—but also have several common friends. Both are close with Nina Dobrev—Somerhalder’s ex-girlfriend—and Ashley Greene[…]supposed reports of their developing relationship since July, and they have adopted a horse together.

[…]as of yet no official confirmations have been made.

[…]

7. Natasha Romanoff & Steve Rogers

[…] Rogers and Romanoff have been spotted out together on several occasions, ranging from coffee runs—such mundane activity for such extraordinary people—to trips to Coney Island and Avengers Tower[…]The outings have set many tongues wagging, implying a scandalous relationship between the Captain and his Avengers co-worker, despite official, repeated statements that Captain Rogers is still grieving his former life and is not interested in forming romantic attachments.

[…]Captain was also linked to former Army Captain Rebecca Barnes, before she confirmed her own relationship—see No 2 on this list![…]whatever is going on between Captain America and the women in his life, one thing is certain: we would all like to be rescued by this star-spangled man with a plan!

[…]

5. Zac Efron & Leah Michelle

[…]big surprise for everyone! These two have known one another for several years, but have recently been photographed packing on the PDA on a yacht in Italy in July[…]possibly nothing more than a summer fling, but a reliable source told E!online that Efron likes that she is laid-back and he can relate to her. He is, apparently, attracted to her great attitude, and they understand one another.

[…]

2. Rebecca Barnes & Thor of Asgard

This surprise couple accidentally got caught on camera in a picture posted to Tony Stark’s Twitter account on the 4th of July last year[…]emphasis on “accidental”, considering the couple was only barely visible in a corner of the picture that featured almost all of the Avengers.

[…]lo and behold, it clearly showed Rebecca Barnes, seated on a barstool next to who appears to be Captain Rogers, wrapped in an intimate embrace with none other than the Prince of Asgard, looking real cozy together. Gotcha!

[…]picture remained on Tony Stark’s Twitter account without further comment from any of the Avengers for 72 hours before a press conference was held to confirm the relationship between the two, though insistences were made on their relationship remaining casual for now. “They’re having fun, they like each other, but neither of them wants to be in a serious relationship right now.”

Casual seems to be working for the couple though, because all appearances point to them still being together two years after their first press conference!

[…]only confirmed couple on this list!

—M.S. Sura, E! Magazine, « Rumoured Celebrity Couples », July 2013

————————

Washington D.C., United States of America

August 9th, 2015 – 5:19 AM

Steve

Steve liked going for a run in the morning.

When he and Becca had first moved to D.C., he had felt at a loss—he’d never really lived anywhere but in New York, and D.C. had felt like an unknown entity, nothing like the city he’d been born and raised in. It was… It was quieter, in a way, less crowded and less intense than New York had been, and Steve had both hated and loved it with equal measure during their first few weeks there.

Running in the morning had been something Karen the therapist had suggested when he’d originally confessed to feeling antsy and cooped up when there were no missions to be done, and no bad guys to fight.

It’d become a way to blow off steam, to get rid of the horrid feeling of inactivity, and to get to know the city he’d be living in for the foreseeable future. Becca hadn’t really understood—nor had Steve expected her to, considering it would’ve involved leaving her bed before she absolutely had to—and though Thor, bless him, had done his very best to give it a try, he really didn’t understand the appeal of running without chasing something.

Steve, however, loved it.

Running was one of the very few activities where he could let go of all restraint and just go, without having to worry that he was going to hurt someone, or break something irreparably. Running allowed him to test the very limit of the serum without truly having to worry, and it was a feeling so incredibly freeing it made him feel dizzy the first time he’d realized.

He’d learned to appreciate D.C. for its own merits, over time. He loved New York and he would always consider Brooklyn home in a way nowhere else could be, but here… Here he could walk down the street without getting pulled aside for selfies and autographs constantly. He could run for hours without paparazzi not-so-subtly trying to sneak pictures of him.

He could visit Peggy, who had—very reluctantly—taken up residence in a care home close to his and Becca’s house, after a nasty fall that broke the femur bone in her left leg in two places.

New York was not so very far away either, and when they wanted to visit Tony and the others, the flight there usually didn’t take them very long. Steve felt more settled here, and much less anchored in the past, than he had in New York, although it had taken him a long time to admit it.

Of course, it wasn’t like Steve loved everything about their life in D.C. He’d initially loved the job, and the way it gave him a sense of purpose in his life, but the intensity of some of the Agents put him off, and he decidedly disliked the way everyone had had set expectations of who and what he was supposed to be—both as a leader in the field and as a person.

He loathed the way Fury treated him sometimes, for that matter, like he was some dumb kid who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He hated when Fury sent him on missions with people who had their own missions, when he was expected to lead people who had their own agendas and their own timetables.

He especially disliked the agents that Fury had set to tail him at all times—he wasn’t supposed to know they were there, but it seemed they’d all conveniently forgotten he was good friends with the Black Widow and Hawkeye, and that he lived with Becca Barnes, who had the uncanny ability to spot agents, no matter how well they disguised themselves.

He hated them, but, over the course of the past four years of living in the 21st century, two of which he’d spent working with S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d learned to pick his battles. There were bigger things going on in his life than trying to figure out which hapless idiot they’d sent to try to tail him on his run today.

There was, for instance, a new guy—not an agent, Steve thought—running on his preferred route.

Steve didn’t tend to run the same route every day, because he’d get bored and probably run into a tree or something, and he didn’t quite fancy the idea of having to explain to Fury—or worse, Tony—why there were gossip rags with the headline “Captain America Can’t Handle Morning Wood” or something equally ridiculous.

Also, by changing up his route regularly, he was able to figure out how long it took S.H.I.E.L.D. to figure out where he was. The longest it had ever taken them was fifteen minutes, and Steve was pretty sure they’d only figured him out because he’d stopped to take a phone call from Becca.

This route, though, starting at the World War II memorial, crossing Inlet Bridge and going past the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, was one of Steve’s favorites to run. It took him past his favorite sites in the city, and ended whenever he ran past the cute little bakery a few blocks from the Holocaust Memorial Museum with the best croissants he’d had on this side of the Atlantic. There weren’t usually a lot of people around at this time of morning, because Steve could admit that he was slightly overzealous when it came to running in the morning—as in leaving before the sun was up, and not coming back until at least two hours later—and it was easy to notice when there was a new fellow maniac who liked to exercise before dawn.

Steve let his eyes trail over said new maniac’s back appreciatively.

He definitely looked good.

He felt a pang of guilt—much less debilitating than the stifling sense of dread and guilt and horror it had once been—and shook his head, pushing himself to run a little faster, to pass this new, cute, unknown entity and leave him behind, because for all that Steve was doing pretty well, he didn’t think he was ready to acknowledge when he actively thought someone was cute.

It was different than when he went on dates because Natasha set him up. Those were nearly always women, and much as Steve appreciated Nat’s effort, they were never into him for him.

That, in itself, was enough of a turn off.

The fact that they were absolutely never his type was just an easy excuse to give Nat when there were, inevitably, no second dates. This, though, he thought as he caught up to Cute Fellow Maniac… this felt different.

“On your left,” he bit out as he ran past New Cute Fellow Maniac, barely allowing himself a glance to look at the other guy, refusing to see, because that would mean he actively liked someone who wasn’t Bucky, and he wasn’t sure he could do that.

He’d talked about that with Karen-the-therapist at length too.

After he’d seen Thor make an effort to let go of his promise to only ever love Loki, to give his relationship with Becca an honest chance, he’d wondered, because he’d been convinced that Thor was the only person Steve had ever met that understood.

He’d understood why Steve just… couldn’t.

Why the very thought of being in love with someone other than Bucky made him feel sick to his stomach, like he’d be betraying everything he had shared with Bucky, like he’d be making a mockery of Bucky’s memory if he did allow himself to move on. Going on dates with women had been much easier than this, because… well, they were women.

For all that Steve was hopeless when it came to flirting with them—or even just talking to them—they didn’t run much of a risk of reminding him of Bucky. It wasn’t so very hard to not give them a chance.

He knew it was poor manners, to give a lady hope where there was none, but… it got his friends off his back, and it was easy to let it all wash over him.

Men, though…

He knew Bucky would hate that Steve felt that way, and that he might even be insulted to learn Steve hadn’t tried to fuck his way through the 21st century in his name yet, because Bucky had been nothing if not a realist (and also a horny bastard), and whereas Steve had been—still was—optimistic enough to believe he could spend his entire life loving just the one person, Bucky had… Bucky had said things that made Steve think—now, in hindsight—that he’d never really believed he’d make it out of the war.

Maybe he’d always known Steve would, eventually, have to move on.

Steve sighed and slowed down, eyeing the split in the path that came up ahead of him contemplatively. The left branch would loop him back to roughly where he’d seen Cute New Maniac, and might give him a second chance.

The other…

“Come on, Rogers,” he told himself firmly. “Make an effort.”

He took the left path.

————————

Washington D.C., United States of America

6.03 AM

Steve

Alright, so maybe he hadn’t stopped to talk to Cute New Maniac right away.

He watched, slightly amused, as the other man limped his way to a patch of grass and collapsed back against a tree, wheezing a little. Steve felt a little bad—just a little—but then, he hadn’t made the other man try to race him.

Honestly, after the third time Steve had lapped him, Cute New Maniac should really have realized that he wouldn’t actually be able to keep up with Steve even if he did try.

Which he did.

It hadn’t really gone his way.

“You need a medic?” he blurted before he could think about it, moving towards where the other man sat with a grin that was probably just the right side of smug. Steve felt a little gratified when the other man laughed, shaking his head a little before he replied.

“I need a new set of lungs.” He laughed and pushed himself up a little, glancing towards Steve with a smirk. “You just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

Steve grinned a little.

It wasn’t like he could come right out and say he looped around four times with the express purpose of seeing Cute New Maniac again, so he shrugged, putting his hands on his hips in a way he knew accentuated the contrast between his broad shoulders and narrow hips. “Guess I got a late start,” he quipped cheekily.

“Really?” Cute Maniac laughed. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You should—you should take another lap.” Steve couldn’t stop grinning, cheeks burning and heart pumping fast with exhilaration, even as the cute guy looked away for a second, before he looked back and rolled his eyes.

“Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve outright laughed at that, shaking his head a little before he gestured to the dog tags that had slipped from underneath the guy’s sweater. “What unit were you in?”

He saw the minute stiffening of Cute Maniac’s posture before he relaxed again, and felt momentarily bad for asking, but before he could take it back, Cute Maniac replied, “58th Pararescue. But now I’m working down at the V.A.” Before Steve could do more than nod, Cute Maniac held out his hand, wiggling his fingers insistently until Steve grasped it in his and pulled him to his feet.

“Sam Wilson,” Cute Maniac—Sam, a voice in Steve’s head that sounded suspiciously like Bucky insisted—offered, smiling when Steve floundered a little.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve finally said, grinning shyly. This was usually the point where people either freaked out and started treating him like… well, like Captain America. Steve hadn’t hoped someone wouldn’t this badly in quite a while.

“I kinda put that together,” Sam grinned, fingers lingering on Steve’s for a second longer than strictly appropriate, and Steve’s stomach swooped. “Must’ve freaked you out,” Sam continued, and Steve’s stomach sank, because he knew what those next words were going to be before Sam even said them out loud. “Coming home after the whole defrosting thing. “

Steve heaved a sigh and shrugged. “Took some getting used to.”

He swallowed thickly against the disappointment that curdled in his stomach and shot Sam a small, insincere smile. “It’s good to meet you, Sam.” He turned away before Sam could say anything that would make Steve’s stomach ache harder than it already did, becauseof course, the one time he decided to take a chance, the guy turned out like everyone else.

“It’s your bed, right?”

Steve stopped, turning around with no small sense of bewilderment as he looked at Sam. “What’s that?” he said cautiously, eyeing the other man nervously. He wasn’t sure if Sam was being dense, or if he was blatantly trying to come onto Steve, but it made him feel off-balance, and Steve hated feeling off-balance.

“Your bed,” Sam repeated, raising both eyebrows. “It’s too soft. When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground, use rocks as pillows.” Steve turned towards Sam fully, now intrigued and a little relieved, hoping he might’ve misjudged. “Now I’m home,” Sam continued, “lying in my bed, and it’s like…”

He shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

“Like lying on a marshmallow,” Steve finally finished for him. “Feels like I’m gonna sink right through to the floor.”

Sam smiled a little and nodded.

It was a cute smile too, damn him.

“How long?” he asked, eyeing Sam carefully. He figured he could get away with asking something similar to Sam’s earlier question, and it wasn’t that he doubted that the other man had served, but…

It just felt different knowing.

“Two tours,” Sam answered curtly, although he didn’t appear all that put out by the question.

Steve swallowed and nodded tightly. Though Sam hadn’t specified, from what Steve understood, two tours could mean anywhere from a year to eight years total, and Steve couldn’t imagine being out there for that long, even with a break in the middle, without losing his mind. It’d baffled him during the war too, seeing European soldiers of various countries that had been fighting for literal years without stopping, refusing to give up.

He’d both admired them and felt incredibly sorry for them.

“You must miss the way things were,” Sam finally said, cautiously, as though Steve would explode if the past was mentioned. If this had been three years ago, Steve might’ve. He would’ve put on a brave face, but the reminder of the life that had been torn from him would’ve sent him spiraling and heading for the hills to lick his wounds in private, and he was mature enough—now—to know that.

As it stood, Steve had been in intense therapy since his breakdown four years ago, and he’d learned to deal with his grief in far more healthy ways.

“It’s not so bad here,” Steve shrugged. “Food’s so much better. I need to eat a ton, because—” he gestured towards his body sheepishly and blushed when Sam smirked. “Back then, getting enough calories was horrible. We boiled everything, and the stuff that did have what I needed was barely edible at all.” He grinned and added, “Internet’s great too. Super helpful. Becca showed me how to use it back when I first woke up. Definitely read that a lot, trying to catch up.”

Sam nodded, raising an eyebrow. “Becca’s the roommate, right? Your guy’s grandniece or something, right? Freaked out every gossip rag from here to L.A. when you two moved here, to D.C., together. Big scandal.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I remember. Ridiculous. Becca’s one of my best friends. Currently dating one of my other best friends.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, because much as he loved Thor and Becca, he really didn’t like to think too much about it. He’d walked in on them one time too many to still be casual about it.

“Yeah,” Sam smirked. “I remember seeing that revelation around too.”

Steve winced a little.

Everyone remembered that particular Fourth of July. Tony still felt bad about it.

“So,” Sam said, smiling lightly, “You doing anything fun today?”

Steve saw it for the change of subject that it was and grasped at it eagerly—maybe a little too eagerly. “Hopefully you,” he blurted, blanching when his brain caught up with his mouth, wincing at Sam’s slightly stunned expression. “I mean—that’s not—I wasn’t trying to—”

He gave up on his spluttered explanation when Sam burst into laughter, hiding his face—cheeks burning with an increasingly embarrassed blush—in his hands. He didn’t look up until Sam reached out and put his hand on Steve’s arm, gently pushing it down so Steve would be forced to look at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam grinned, winking when Steve dared to look directly at him again. “I mean, you should definitely buy me a drink first, but it’s good to know I wasn’t imagining that you were flirting.” He looked momentarily confused and then asked, “I wasn’t, right?”

“No,” Steve admitted breathlessly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the idea that he’d actually managed to ask someone out—sort of—and that said someone had actually returned his interest.

What the fuck.

Stuff like this didn’t happen to Steve—he was the hopeless single friend.

Willingly.

Sam smiled—a real, bright smile that made Steve’s stomach do another funky flop—and bit his lower lip. “Well then. You gonna ask for my number, Rogers?”

“Right!” Steve blurted, fumbling to get his phone from his pocket without accidentally tossing it across the damned park. Sam took it from him with an indulgent smile, and Steve was pretty sure his face was stuck somewhere between bewilderment and soppy admiration, and he wasn’t sure…

Well, he wasn’t sure what to do now.

“There,” Sam handed his phone back and raised an eyebrow. “You better call me, Rogers. I ain’t one for getting stood up, even by a superhero.”

Steve nodded eagerly. “I will, definitely, I just—” His phone buzzed in his hand, and he frowned when he recognized Nat’s S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued number. Nat only used that number to call him when they were being called in for a mission.

“Duty calls,” he said ruefully, wiggling his phone at Sam. “I’m sorry. Thanks for the run though.” He grinned and winked, “If that’s what you wanna call running.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam exclaimed indignantly, although there was no real heat to his words.

“That’s how it is.”

“O-okay,” Sam chuckled. “You better call me when you get back.”

Steve nodded dumbly, not turning away until he heard the familiar engine roar of Nat’s favorite Corvette—because of course she’d tracked his phone instead of waiting for his reply, damn those spies—grinning sheepishly at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “Can’t run everywhere.”

“No, you can’t,” Sam agreed, smirking when Steve awkwardly tried to fit himself into the small seat—he swore that was at least half of the reason Nat always picked him up in this thing.

“Hey fellas,” Nat grinned, baring all her teeth with a predatory gleam in her eye as she looked at Sam.

“No,” Steve said firmly, before she could do or say anything that would make Sam realize Steve was a goddamned disaster and he should run while he still had the chance. He frowned at her, and when that didn’t have much of a visible effect, he pouted.

Her expression softened, and Steve barely managed to keep from grinning.

Worked like a charm. Every damned time.

“I’ll call you,” he told Sam, offering him a quick smile, before he turned back to Nat, putting thoughts of Sam and the conversation and the potential date in his future out of his mind, focusing entirely on the folder Nat had tossed onto his lap and resolutely ignoring her attempts to pick apart what little she’d seen of his interaction with Sam.  

“What do we have?”

————————

EXCLUSIVE: CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVING IN WITH DEAD BEST FRIEND’S GRAND-NIECE?

Captain America, also known as Steve Rogers, and Rebecca Barnes—granddaughter to Rogers’ late best friend’s little sister—aremoving in together, but they are most definitely not in a relationship, despite an absurd tabloid report.

Gossip Cop can exclusively correct the story and report that it’s completely false.

According to OK!USA, our favorite supersoldier is moving out of the Avengers Tower to follow Barnes to Washington D.C., where they’re “on the hunt for a love pad”. An alleged insider tells the magazine that Thor and Barnes, who were recently accidentally ‘outed’ by Tony Stark, have split up because of the “deep, intense feelings” between the Captain and the youngest Barnes.

“They’re both so attracted to one another,” says a supposed source, who further contends that the other Avengers and the Barnes family “aren’t surprised Cap is following Becca to D.C. and that they’re looking for a home together.”

The outlet’s premise is flat-out ridiculous.

Just last Sunday, Thor joined Barnes and Rogers for dinner at Rebecca Barnes Sr.’s home.

The idea that Rebecca Jr. has dumped him for Captain Rogers is ludicrous. Additionally, the tabloid’s article is based on claims from an anonymous and untraceable “source,” but Gossip Cop reached out to Rogers’ spokesperson, who tells us on the record that it’s untrue. Despite what the magazine’s so-called “insider” claims, a rep qualified to speak on the Captain’s behalf assures us he and Barnes aren’t a couple, and the relocation is funded and requested by S.H.I.E.L.D., where both Captain Rogers and Agent Barnes are employed.

[…]gossip media is constantly trying to create new milestones in the relationship between Captain Rogers and the females in his life, despite their relationship being friendly and professional. […] Last week, we busted another bogus report alleging the Black Widow might be pregnant with Rogers’ baby.

Earlier this week, Gossip Cop also shot down a phony article claiming that the Avengers were split between Barnes and the Black Widow, picking sides in a vicious fight for Rogers’ affection.[…]

This latest article involving the supposed lovers house-hunting together is yet more fiction.

—A. Shuster, Gossip Cop, « Captain America moving to D.C. with Rebecca Barnes?», August 2012

————————

Indian Ocean

11:08 PM (UCT+6.30)

Steve

He listened intently as Rumlow briefed them, eyeing the specs intently. Natasha stood beside him, brow equally furrowed in concentration, while Becca fiddled with her gloves, alternating between looking at Rumlow and the screen. Normally, Steve would try to scold her into paying attention, but by the time he and Nat had gotten to H.Q., Becca had already been debriefed and had several plausible plans ready for Steve to review once he’d been briefed on the jet.

He’d learned to value her insights on cases like these, because there was a reason she had made it to the rank of Captain in the Army at twenty-two, and he knew how hard it was for her to stand still.

“Any demands?” he inquired when Rumlow finished identifying the target and outlining the situation.

There hadn’t been when they’d left D.C., but that had been mere minutes after contact with the Lemurian Star had been lost—two and a half hours ago.

“Billion and a half,” Rumlow nodded curtly, facing Steve directly, preparing for the questions he likely knew were coming. They’d worked together quite a few times over the past few years, and Rumlow had learned to anticipate what info Steve needed to effectively plan a successful mission in minutes.

“Why so steep?”

Demands were all good and well in hostage situations, but no agency deploying simple satellites would be able to afford quite that much money on such short notice.

Rumlow looked surprised, for a moment, before admitting, “Because it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s.”

Steve barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, quietly cursing Nick Fury in the back of his mind, and glanced towards Nat. “So it’s not off-course.” That’d been one of Becca’s theories; an attempt to explain what the ship would be doing this far out of international waters; why they’d been vulnerable to pirates in the first place.

“It’s trespassing,” Becca agreed, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

Rumlow looked like he wanted to say something—probably something derogatory that would make Steve want to punch him regardless of his professional competence—but Nat stepped in before he could. “I’m sure they have a good reason,” she offered, smiling winningly at Steve.

Steve did roll his eyes this time. “I’m getting real’ tired of being Fury’s janitor.”

He could’ve been having lunch, at home, right now. He could’ve asked Sam out for breakfast, could’ve tried to figure out if he could try dating without wanting to throw up at the mere thought of it.

Why did Fury always want him to clean up his own damned messes?

He turned back to Rumlow and gestured to go on. “How many pirates?”

“Twenty-five,” Rumlow replied immediately, pulling up several profiles of well-known international fugitives. “Top mercs, led by this guy.” He pulled up and enlarged a picture of a built man with a buzz cut and a dead-eyed expression Steve had seen in too many men in the service before.

“Georges Batroc,” Rumlow continued, “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions.” He looked Steve dead in the eye and frowned. “He’s got a rep for maximum casualties. It’s why they wanted to get rid of him in the first place.”

Steve nodded curtly. He wasn’t sure what a man like that would want with a S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel, but he was sure it couldn’t be anything good. “Hostages?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rumlow faltered, and Steve frowned, because that couldn’t be a surprise question—they’d been sent specifically to rescue said hostages. “Uh...” Rumlow stuttered. “Mostly techs. One officer.” He nodded towards Steve. “Jasper Sitwell. They’re in the galley.”

Steve knew of Sitwell.

He wasn’t terribly high up the chain of command, and certainly didn’t have security clearance as high as Steve and Natasha, but he wasn’t just another grunt worker either. From what Steve knew, he was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top mission handlers.

He dealt with junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that went on lesser undercover missions—had dealt with Becca’s undercover mission too, until Nat had unceremoniously usurped him. Steve had no clue what he’d be doing on a satellite launch platform.

“What the hell is Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” he mused, more to himself than to either Nat or Becca, before he shook his head and pushed the issue from his mind. Honestly, it didn’t matter what Sitwell was doing on the ship, it just mattered that Steve needed to get him and the techs off of it.

Safely.

“Alright,” he said briskly, glancing to his core team briefly. “I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you kill the engines and wait for instruction. Rumlow, you sweep the aft and find the hostages, direct S.T.R.I.K.E. as you need them. Just get them to the life-pods, and get them out.” He glanced towards Becca and grinned. “Barnes, help Rumlow get into the galley and then cover my six.”

Becca grinned back and cheekily saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

He followed Becca and Nat to the hold, taking the communicator Nat held out with a grin. “Secure channel seven,” he said into the communicator when he’d attached it to his wrist.

“Seven secure,” Nat replied, sidling up beside him with a smirk that predicted little good things for him. Usually conversations that started with Nat smirking at him like that ended with dreadfully boring dates with lovely dark-haired women that bore suspicious resemblance to both Bucky and Peggy.

“So,” Nat drawled. “Who was that positively gorgeous specimen you were talking to when I picked you up?” She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Were you flirting, Steve?”

Becca popped up from behind one of the S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, her expression bordering on gleeful, and Steve barely repressed the urge to groan. He’d hoped to keep Sam to himself a little longer, at least until he had decided how he felt about the whole thing.

He should’ve known he would never be able to keep it under wraps with these two in his life.

That not mean that he wasn’t going to try, though.

“I’m not talking about this now,” he said firmly, shooting a glare at Becca when she had the gall to pout at him. Thankfully, the pilot’s voice interrupted the two women before they could pester him more, warning him of the drop zone coming up.

He ran his hand through his hair one more time before he pulled the helmet on, moving towards the loading bay as he did.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Becca piped on from behind him, snatching him by one of the straps on his suit and pulling him back with surprising ease—to everyone but Steve, who’d hoped she would let him get away with it this time. “Put on a fucking parachute, Rogers,” she bit out, shoving aforementioned parachute in his hands.

“Come on, Becs,” he wheedled. “I need to get in stealthily. The ‘chute ain’t covert. It’ll slow me down.”

Becca didn’t seem particularly impressed by his reasoning. “I’m not letting you jump out of a goddamn plane without a parachute, you moron.”

“You let Thor do it all the time,” Steve pointed out, smiling winningly, sneakily pushing the parachute into a hapless S.T.R.I.K.E. agent’s hands, stepping in front of the man to make sure Becca wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.

Becca threw her hands up in exasperation and shoved at his shoulder, even as Steve moved back to the loading bay. “Thor can fly, Steve, he doesn’t need a parachute.”

Steve grinned at her over his shoulder, and winked at her. “Neither do I.”

He jumped.

————————

Lemurian Star, Indian Ocean

11:14 PM (UCT+6.30)

Steve

“Hostages en route to extraction,” Rumlow’s voice alerted Steve. “Barnes is on her way to you. Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap. Hostiles are still in play.”

He didn’t have eyes on Batroc anymore, and the entire ship had fallen suspiciously silent following his attempt to smash Batroc’s skull in with his shield. Of course, they did have standing orders to subdue the man, not kill him, but Steve had seen an opportunity and he’d taken it.

He’d rather be scolded for taking out a terrorist than risk the man getting out again.

Steve cursed under his breath before he replied, voice hushed, “Affirmative. Natasha, Batroc’s on the move. Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.” There was no reply, and worry coiled in the pit of his stomach. He stopped, distracted, and lifted his arm to speak directly into the comm unit.

“Natasha?”

He didn’t see the attack coming.

He didn’t have time to do anything other than parry the volley of blows that came at him, faster and harder than anyone he’d fought in recent history. He was bowled over by the sheer viciousness of the attack, and before he knew it, his attacker had knocked him on his back, giving him no time to recover.

All Steve could see when he straightened up was the boot flying right at him, and he barely managed to move just enough so said boot landed on the floor instead of on parts of Steve’s anatomy he’d really rather keep intact—especially with the possibility of a date in the near future still in the back of his mind.

Batroc—because of course it was Batroc, Steve hadn’t expected anyone else—froze for a heartbeat, as did Steve. The stillness of the moment was over as soon as it had begun, and Steve didn’t spare much thought to technique when Batroc attacked again in a violent flurry of movement, punching and kicking so fast Steve couldn’t do anything but block, at first.

It only took a few moments before he spotted a pattern in Batroc’s attacks though, and then, instead of concerning, the fight became fun.

Batroc was a good fighter, and while he was certainly no match for Steve, he was far more of a challenge than anyone but Thor had been able to provide since he’d gotten the serum. Even Schmidt, for all his bluster of being the perfect man, had had shockingly little fighting technique and had mostly relied on brute strength alone.

Batroc, on the other hand… Batroc fought like it was an art, and Steve loved it.

Steve did not, however, have time to relish in the fight. Batroc was getting cocky, likely spurred on by Steve’s insistence of blocking and not punching—because he did have orders to bring the man in alive, and if Steve would punch him with full strength, he’d probably punch right through his skull.

It was too easy, really, to shove the man back with the shield, tossing him several feet.

It didn’t slow Batroc down though, and Steve was grudgingly impressed. The man had to be highly trained to be able to shake off a hit like that, and even when he attacked again, and Steve punched back, with his fists and the shield, Batroc got back up.

Steve was a little impressed.

“Je croyais tu étais plus qu’un bouclier,” Batroc sneered when he’d gotten back on his feet, and that… the implication grated, even though Steve knew, he knew Batroc was goading him, he knew Batroc knew he couldn’t beat Steve… But it stung nonetheless.

Before he knew what he was doing, he holstered his shield, keeping his eyes on Batroc as he undid the chin-strap on his helmet. “On va voir,” he said evenly, and he was itching for this fight, itching for a reason to beat this guy into the ground, regardless of how well he fought—

He and Batroc both flinched and spun around when a loud gunshot rang out across the deck, and before either of them could react further, Becca appeared, shooting Batroc twice, without hesitation, with the stun gun they had designed specifically to take hostiles in alive.

The man dropped like a sack of flour, and Steve was left staring between Becca—who looked positively furious—and the third man there, laying face-down in a pool of his own blood, a gun lying slightly beyond his outstretched fingertips.

“On va voir?” Becca hissed, stepping over Batroc’s prone body with an expression so infuriated Steve was almost afraid she’d set him on fire with just that look. He’d seen her angry before, but… shit, he’d messed up. “On ne vois rien! What the actual fuck, Rogers?!”

“Okay,” he said slowly, raising his hands in surrender, because Becca was still holding her stun gun, and she was not lowering it. “In my defense…”

“In your defense?” Becca shouted, stomping forward, shoving him in the shoulder hard. “There was no in your defense! You put away your main defensive weapon! You took off your helmet on an active mission with hostiles still in play! Jesus Christ, Steve, you knowbetter!”

Steve opened his mouth, but Becca waved her gun around angrily and he snapped it shut again, because he might be a supersoldier and if she shot him, he’d survive, but it’d still hurt like hell, and he wouldn’t put it past her to shoot him just to teach him a lesson about how close to death his body could take him.

“He had a gun on you,” she hissed. “He was waiting to take the shot, damn it! He would’ve blown your fucking brains out, Steve, and it’s not like you have any to spare!”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed indignantly, glaring at her. “That’s not fair.”

“Try that again when you didn’t put away your main weapon in front of a hostile!” Becca shouted, poking her finger so close to his face, Steve was worried she’d boop him on the nose and make him laugh, because he knew laughing at her now would definitely make her shoot him.

“Okay, look,” Steve tried, backing away a little, because he was no fool, and staying within arm’s reach of an angry Barnes was never a good idea. “My entire body is basically a weapon. I mean—”

“Well, this is awkward,” Natasha interrupted.

Becca and Steve spun around to find her sitting cross-legged on Batroc’s back, securing his wrists with heavy handcuffs that could probably hold even Steve. Steve’s cheeks flamed, because Natasha was smirking in a way that meant she had heard all of the conversation that Steve would have rather kept between him and Becca.

Of course, he’d rather have not had the conversation at all, but he wasn’t that lucky.

“Where were you?” he bit out angrily, desperately grasping at the only thing he could to change the subject, glaring at Nat when she just raised her eyebrow. “Rumlow needed you with the hostages.”

“He’s fine,” she waved a hand dismissively. “I…” she paused and her eyes darted between him and Becca, who was still steely-eyed and angry, but at least not shouting anymore. “Fury gave me a secondary mission,” she admitted, holding up a hand to stave off the angry tirade that was already itching to burst from Steve’s lips. “I can’t talk about it here. Later, Steven.”

“Fine,” Steve bit out. “Fine.” He pointed to Natasha menacingly. “But you’re coming back to our place later to explain.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances: 

(1) 

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Nostalgia [Equilibrium, Chapter 1]

First chapter of the multi-chapter fic I’ve been writing about Emma and Lux, and their time with the Inquisition.  It’s long, so there’s a cut.

AO3 link

It occurred to Lux, as he shivered relentlessly while lugging the small pile of firewood he’d gathered through the snow back towards camp, that he had not entirely thought this through.  

Staring southward at the greenish-tinted remnants of the hole in the night sky over where Haven used to be, he attempted to remind himself why he had insisted on this journey to find the Inquisition’s new fortress in the first place.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been perfectly happy in the Free Marches, occasionally adventuring across Thedas, discovering bits of it old and new, and eliminating any slavers encountered along the way.  After hearing of the attack on the Inquisition’s former base, and seeing the aftermath of what the Venatori cultists did in Redcliffe, however, it seemed like the most logical course of action.  

Worthy cause or no, he was ill-suited to cold, harsh climes such as this, no matter how many extra furs he piled on - and piled them on he had.  They were called the ‘Frostback Mountains’ for a reason, he supposed.  At any rate, it was no longer an option to turn back, and his companion back at camp had been difficult enough to convince that this journey was worthwhile in the first place that she would never let him hear the end of it if he complained.  So, he hugged the twigs and branches closer to his chest and trudged on in silence.  

By all accounts, and to his immense delight, Lux was, in fact, a rather comely young elf: he was thin and reedy, doe-eyed and olive-skinned, with straight coal-black hair cut close to the skin everywhere but the top of his head, where it was left shaggy and fell slightly in front of his face.  ‘Unmistakably Tevinter’, he’d been told on numerous occasions, although it wasn’t always a compliment.  A large scar crawled across his left cheek and his right ear had been crudely docked, its characteristic point shorn off long ago as punishment for some trivial transgression he had since forgotten.  He found a strange comfort in that, having forgotten.  

At that particular moment, however, he was hoping less for emotional comfort and more for a fire to suddenly appear and swallow him whole, so long as it meant he was out of this blasted cold.

Although it hadn’t been a terribly far walk, Lux heaved a winded sigh of relief as he crested a small hill and the dwindling campfire came into view, and his companion’s lean, muscular frame coalesced on a large rock nearby.  She never really sat so much as she perched, comfortably at rest but able to return swiftly to her feet if need be.  Presently, she had one leg curled under her body, the mug of tea he had made her before he left still resting on that knee.  The other dangled off of the rock, the toe of her boot rhythmically kicking at the snow on the ground.  

She lifted the steaming mug every few kicks, sipped gingerly, and set it back on her knee in a smooth, graceful motion while remaining focused on something in her lap.  The firelight danced off of the bits of her face not covered by a brown, fur-lined hood, and her thick mess of unruly deep red curls hung loose in an opaque curtain to obscure whatever it was that held her attention.  

Emma Grace Sparrow entered his life eight years ago at what he was certain at the time would be the end of it, and entirely by chance.  

Following a daring and bloody rescue from the all too common fate of elven Tevinter slaves, being sacrificed for blood magic, and a narrow escape from Minrathous, Emma, albeit reluctantly at first, allowed him to accompany her home and took him under her wing (a whimsical turn of phrase, he noted, given her name).  In the years that followed, the diminutive, taciturn apostate mage from Starkhaven became his protector, mentor, and, when the need for those passed, his very dearest friend.  

Lux thrived under Emma’s guidance, and for good reason.  The woman was a marvel.   She was nearly a decade his senior, absolutely brilliant, and simultaneously managed to be the kindest and most terrifying person he’d ever met.  She scarcely spoke, and smiled even less, but in all of their years together, she’d never once raised her voice to him, even when he probably deserved it.  She displayed such unwavering restraint and self-control that, had she not used magic to save him when they first met, Lux would likely have gone years in her company without the slightest hint that she was a mage at all.  

Emma held herself to a high standard in all things, and expected no less from him.  

Unwilling to waste time and breath, she had a particular talent for saying a great deal with very few words, and over the years Lux had learned to understand her well.  It was probably his favorite thing about her; after all, how else could he have learned that Emma, for all her efforts at remaining objective and who would certainly never tell him outright, had a soft spot for him big enough to swallow all of Thedas?    

The thought crossed his mind briefly that they must have appeared a strange pair.  Lux was tall for an elf, where Emma was short for a human (he was endlessly amused by the fact that the top of her head was at the perfect height for him to rest his chin on it), and dark where she was fair.  He maintained a strong wit and healthy sense of humor, regardless of the marks his life in slavery left on him, and in stark contrast to Emma’s quiet, austere practicality.

He also made a point to rarely take anything seriously; the increasing frequency of her responding to his jokes with a smile, or even a chuckle, made the times she glowered at him in silence (which he found endearing anyway) worthwhile.

The elf continued to watch his friend as he set the wood in a neat pile near the fire.  He could see, now, that she was reading a book, although he didn’t know how, with those curls in the way.  She was strangely vain about her hair, despite it being quite impractically bothersome to keep it so long.  Lux often amused himself with the thought that her hair was the true source of her magical ability, and if it were ever cut short she would be rendered powerless.  It wasn’t true, of course, but he liked the story, and it explained why the only time he had ever really felt he was truly in danger from her was the time he jokingly threatened to cut her hair off in her sleep.        

Lux managed to pry his attention away from her with the rationalization that she often brought a book or two on long trips, and turned instead to his pack, which he’d rather made a mess of when he made her tea.  He dug through it for a few minutes, and then became concerned when his journal was nowhere to be found.  

Once he learned to read on his own, rather than having Emma read to him, Lux developed a voracious appetite for it.  After devouring every book he could get his hands on, he got it into his head to try writing his own.  The journal was an encouraging gift from Emma before they left Starkhaven.  He’d spent an hour or so scrawling in it each night, immortalizing, with some artistic embellishment, of course, the story of his life since meeting her.  He was clearly no Varric Tethras, with whose literary works Lux was particularly and hopelessly enamored, much to Emma’s dismay, but he liked to think he could at least do that story justice.  

He frantically searched under and around the pack, his clothes, then inside the tent, before he finally gave up and returned to the fire to ask Emma if she’d seen it.  Just as he was about to open his mouth, she tossed the wall of hair to the side and he could plainly see the small, leather-bound book she’d been reading.

His journal.

“Hey, snoop!” he protested facetiously.  

She didn’t startle, much to his dismay, although he had to admit that the most likely result of successfully scaring her would probably not be pleasant.  Only her eyes left their former position as she glanced up to meet him; their movement was controlled, deliberate.  She did not snap the book shut quickly in a wordless admission of wrongdoing, but rather returned her attention to it and continued reading, as if he weren’t even there, turning the page with the utmost fluidity.  

“Hush, Lux,” she replied, without looking up.  Her voice was soothing and quiet, flecked with the remnants of a Starkhavener’s accent.  Even if he were actually angry with her, he would have ceased to be the moment she spoke.  It had to be some sort of sneaky magic she used - she vastly preferred using magic for subtle things most people would never notice to throwing fire and lightning - but he enjoyed listening to her talk so much that he didn’t care.  

“That’s not for you,” Lux snatched the book from her and cradled it to his chest with an exaggerated frown.  Emma’s brow relaxed as her eyes followed the book, and the corners of her mouth tugged ever so slightly outward into a kind smile.  

“That is very well-written,” she offered, nodding her head towards his prize. “I’m impressed with your improvement, and I’m quite honored you’ve chosen to write so well about me.”

Lux scoffed nervously.  “About you?  What are you talking about?  It’s not about you.”  She raised an eyebrow incredulously.  Blasted woman always knew when he was lying.

“Your heroine is named ‘Jemma’.”  

He met her accusing stare with one of his own, and some colorful Tevene muttered, hopefully inaudibly, under his breath.  Making up names was certainly not his greatest strength as a writer.

“Fine.  Maybe it is, but you still weren’t supposed to read it yet.”  Lux folded his arms indignantly across his chest.  “I’m never going to be able to surprise you with anything, am I?”  Emma smirked and shook her head, then shifted to the side on the rock, tilting her head slightly to invite him to sit.  He did, and tossed the book on his disheveled pack as he stepped over it.  

“I meant it, Lux, it’s a good story.  You flatter me,” she said kindly as she removed her worn brown cloak and offered it to him.

“I try,” Lux replied with a grin.  Emma’s smile widened and she chuckled softly.  Her cheeks did not flush as he had hoped they would, but he was happy to have gotten her to smile enough to bare her teeth.  It wasn’t an easy task, but he was up for the challenge; she was really quite beautiful when she did it.  He took the cloak readily, as it was sure to be pleasantly warm, and wrapped himself tightly in it.  

“I wasn’t gone that long.  How far did you get?”

“Rux and Jemma just escaped Binrathous.”  

Lux winced; hearing his awful attempts at naming spoken aloud, even in her soft, lilting tone, was physically painful.  Blessedly, she didn’t laugh at him, only maintained her gentle smile.  She’d read most of it, then, but it was hardly a surprise.  He could only dream of being able to read as quickly as Emma did.  

Suddenly, her hand flew to her forehead, and her expression momentarily shifted into a pained grimace.  Lux felt a split-second stab in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the first time the intense headaches she suffered, had suffered for years before they met, overwhelmed her, his sympathetic pain relieved a moment later by the memory of her gratitude the first time she realized the tea he made, a simple brew he learned from one of the kitchen slaves, was the only thing that would consistently alleviate them.  She took a long sip from her mug, and her face relaxed once more.  She had a frustrating tendency to hide how much pain she was really in, though, and Lux worried for her.

“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”  He leaned forward, trying to get her to look at him.  She hated when he tried to play mother hen and would undoubtedly tell him it was nothing to worry about, but she would only look at him when she said it if it were true.  Predictably, she pointedly avoided allowing her eyes to meet his.  He pursed his lips fretfully.

“Don’t concern yourself.”  Of course she would say that.  He moved again, his face closer to hers this time so as to dominate her field of view.

“That’s a yes, Emmi.”

She finished the rest of her tea in one swig, then turned her head and smirked.  “It’s a ‘don’t concern yourself’, Lux.”  

Lux laughed despite himself, and shoved her gently with his elbow.  Emma had mastered a precious few jokes since he’d known her, and that particular one by accident; the first time she’d said such a thing, she was being completely serious, but Lux was in tears with laughter.  

She smiled fondly and snaked her arm under the cloak and around his, clasping their hands and resting her head on his shoulder.  It was a recent and welcome development that she no longer shied away from such gestures.  He knew she cared greatly for him, against her better judgment, and she was his dearest friend and heart’s sister, but Lux was certain she did it less out of a desire to show him affection than a characteristically pragmatic attempt to keep him warm.  Although, she had always shown her affection for him by making sure he didn’t die, so perhaps it was equal parts of both.  

Between them they had four layers of furs, and Lux wore three of them tucked under his leathers, as well as his and Emma’s long underclothes (although hers could hardly be considered ‘long’ on him), smalls, several pairs of his and Emma’s socks, thick boots, bracers, and both his and Emma’s cloaks.  He appeared almost the size of a lean, healthy human bundled up so, instead of the gangling, scrawny elf he was, but still, he shivered.  Emma’s small, wiry body was always unnaturally warm, perhaps as a side effect of her magic.  She was miserable in deserts no matter how she dressed, and only mildly chilly in what he considered unbearable cold with only her sleeveless leathers, unders, smalls, hooded scarf, a single pair of socks under her boots, wraps on her hands and forearms, and a single layer of furs, the last of which she only wore because it would’ve been quite a blow to Lux’s pride if he were to need all of them.   After a few moments of her leaning against him, Lux finally stopped shivering, and she sighed heavily as she pointed towards the book.  

“It pains me to think you still remember all of that so vividly.  Such horrors are better forgotten.”  Her tone was somber, mirroring her words more than she usually let it.  Lux shook his head solemnly before resting it on hers.

“You know I can’t.”

“It was a long time ago, Lux, and I’ve told you I am no hero to be worshipped.”  

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Of course you’re not. Those heroes have an unfortunate propensity for being dead, and you aren’t allowed to die,” he replied, tucking a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear, and he shifted his shoulders so that she lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “And I do not ‘worship’ you.  I simply recognize that without you, I’d be dead, and not a single person would have noticed or cared.”  

“And without you, I’d be dead, as well.  You know my circumstances at the time; who do you imagine I had left to mourn me?”  She always seemed to have a counterpoint at the ready when he spoke highly of her, and he hated it. They were equally alone in the world when they met, that much was true.  He had his doubts, however, that he had anything to do with her being alive.  Perhaps she meant the headaches, but he doubted they would’ve killed her, either.  In any case, she never gave an explanation for such assertions, and he knew better than to press her for answers she did not wish to give.

“You were the fool who bothered with saving me first, you know,” he said with an almost forced laugh.  After a moment, his expression grew severe.  “The years since I met you have been the best of my entire life.  I’ve been places and learned things I could never have imagined.  But, I was nothing before I met you, Emmi, and I was always going to be nothing.   You made me something.  That may not be that important to you, but I can’t ever let myself forget what you did for me, and what it almost cost you.  It’s too important.   You are too important to-”

“Pollux,” she interrupted with a sharp sigh, holding up a hand with her palm facing him.  Pollux servus Navalius was the closest thing Lux had to a full name, and Emma hated it.  “You ‘servus’ no one, Lux, not anymore,” she’d told him.  Now, she only called him Pollux when giving him a lecture, or otherwise being very serious, and she was very rarely more serious than when this subject came up.  He was brimming with self-confidence now, sometimes almost insufferably so, but he knew what he said about his old self and her influence on him was true.  He suspected she did as well.  Nevertheless, Emma was determined that he not feel beholden to her, and there was little he could do about it.  While it was usually possible to sway her given a good enough argument, on this she was always steadfast, so he simply huffed and waited for her to continue.  She reached her hand behind his head and pulled him closer to her, resting her forehead on his.  

“You were never ‘nothing’. That is what you must never forget.”  

Lux sighed, and wrapped one arm around her and hugged her tight.  Maker bless this silly girl, he thought.  Her commitment to improving his opinion of himself was admirable, even if all it really did was improve his opinion of her.  He had certainly done nothing to deserve such kindness.

“You’re going to have to stop being so good to me,” he joked.  “I’m going to end up spoiled rotten.”  

Emma smiled fondly and planted a soft kiss on his forehead before gently shoving him away.  

“You are far too insufferably grateful for that to be a legitimate concern,” she informed him.

Lux grinned mischievously as he stood, hugging the cloak to himself to compensate for the loss of her warmth.  “I suppose I best get some rest, since I’m sure you’re going to wake me absurdly early.  Again.”  Emma nodded, and stood as well to feed the fire.  The elf removed his leathers and furs and crawled into his bedroll inside the tent, piling the furs on top of him.  Emma followed shortly after, stripped down to her undershirt and leggings, and climbed into her own.  

She wouldn’t sleep for hours yet, but she would stay because he’d begun every night since they reached the mountains just fine, but had inevitably ended up huddled against her for warmth before morning.  She didn’t mind, but it was a matter of pride that he didn’t repeat the pattern.  He bolstered his resolve to remain on his side of the tent by nearly disappearing under the furs, only his eyes and nose visible as he turned to face her.

“So, we should reach Skyhold sometime tomorrow?”

“Provided we get a timely start, yes.”  She lay on her back with her hands behind her head, her hair bundled underneath it as a makeshift pillow, staring upward at the decidedly uninteresting ceiling of the tent.  Something was on her mind, he was certain of it.  She was hardly forthcoming with such things, but she would tell him if he asked.  He almost did, but thought better of it; her headaches were getting worse, and she was being rather melodramatic, at least for her.  Forcing her to talk about it now wouldn’t do any good.

It was already getting colder, much to his dismay.  He curled up his legs and pulled the furs closer.

“It’ll be interesting, I think, seeing what he’s really like.  The Inquisitor, I mean.”

“Very busy, more than likely.  I wouldn’t get your hopes up on meeting him.”  

Not what he wanted to hear, but, she was probably right.  

The Inquisitor, the fabled ‘Herald of Andraste’, was probably the aspect of the Inquisition she was looking forward to the least, not that she was particularly looking forward to any of it at all.  She was here because he wanted her to come, not because she did.  Emma despised the Andrastian Chantry, asserting that it was “the equivalent of making up a shoddy, half-hearted answer rather than admit you can’t be bothered to adequately consider the question”.  The Inquisitor’s fame and proximity to the Chantry made him uninteresting to her, but Lux was intrigued by the idea that an elf, someone like him, could be hailed by humans, elves, and dwarves alike as the last, great hope for Thedas.  

“Just a ray of sunshine, you are.”  He scoffed, trying to mask his chattering teeth, and inched closer to her, hoping she didn’t notice.   “It’s just nice hearing people - well, people other than you - speaking so highly of an elf, I suppose.”

“He could be Dalish, Lux.”

Lux’s nose crinkled.  He’d never gotten over the blatant dismissal as a ‘flat-ear’ he received from the first Dalish clan they’d encountered, and subsequent run-ins left him firmly entrenched in the opinion that the Dalish were a pretentious and rude lot.  The Inquisitor being one of them would be thoroughly disappointing.

“Why would you…you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”  

Emma looked at him with a wry smirk and extended her arm towards him, and flexed her fingers as if to say ‘come on, just get over here’.  He grumbled in Tevene before heaving a sigh of defeat, and sheepishly moved next to her.  She folded her arm around his head as he laid it on her shoulder, and gently stroked his hair as she went back to staring upward, clearly lost in thought.  He mused briefly on asking her about it again, but instead dismissed the idea and allowed himself to relax and drift off to sleep as the comical amount of furs piled on top of him trapped her warmth and finally halted his shivering.