#let me know if I need to tag this as eye strain also /gen

[arachnidcakery]

Dancing despite The Horrors <3

(Me rambling utc ♡) (ALSO IK IT LOOKS LIKE THEYRE JUST POSING & NOT DANCING BUT JUST TRUST ME ON THIS <//3 /lh)

(they/he/it/pup/she prns for this OC btw)

OKOK so remember when I mentioned I made a Sparklecare self-insert awhile back?

Well, this is their new design now! <33 The other one was just too pink I suppose, so I changed their design a bit, which I'm now quite more happy w/! :3 (I may tweak this one a bit later on, but this is just the closest to what they look like now ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎) (They also still don't have a concrete name yet tho pfhdvshvq- but I'm considering the name Sofi Hart Ette !)

I won't go too much into their character/story just yet since I wanna ramble abt them mostly under their ref sheet post (which I'm still workin' on), but I will tell you that they're a ⅓ cake anthry, ⅓ dog, and ⅓ cat!♡ (Hence why they have 1 cat ear & 1 dog ear, and only 2 whiskers <3)

They also did previously work at Sparklecare as a nurse before eventually becoming a patient due to getting diagnosed w/ glows-a-lot, and (maybe) thinks-a-lot! :3 (Their part as a former nurse also may or may not be a relatively big part of their story later on,, , (said mysteriously))

[whoawardwinchester]

A Winchester Chronicle (c4)

Please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. It fuels the creativity and lets me know you're enjoying my hard work.

Summary: tensions escalate on set during filming as Y/N, playing Raven, confronts Sam and Dean about trusting Ruby. The scene is disrupted by Dee's sudden arrival, causing a commotion. Back in Washington, Y/N faces tabloid slander and confronts her mother's harsh criticisms. Amidst the turmoil, Y/N's health crisis worsens, leading to emergency surgery. Meanwhile, Jensen learns of Y/N's hospitalization and rushes to her side, where a tender moment unfolds.

Sorry for no erotic bits in a few of these starting chapters. I promise there will be more to share.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Content Warning: (subject to change per chapter as this series is written) Body insecurities, reference to PCOS and Endo. -losing a body part, arguments, tension, angst. Readers are advised to proceed with caution due to these themes and scenes.

Rating: 18+ for the whole series.

This is a work of fiction. There is no hate for anyone in real life.

If you want to be added to the tag list for this series, just let me know! Also be sure to tell me how I'm doing or request anything related to Jensen/Dean!

Taglist: @nancymcl

Masterlist

Chapter 4: Has reference to Episode 4 "Metamorphosis"

The set of "Supernatural" hummed with controlled chaos as cameras rolled for Season 4, Episode 4. You stood in Raven's dark attire, poised for an intense scene with Gen portraying Ruby.

"Sam, we can’t trust her! Ruby literally just slashed that man in half for no reason. What if she was the one to hurt Jack? What if she just wants to use you?" You delivered your lines with unwavering focus.

"Then let her use me, Raven. Besides, who’s to say you’re not just using me and Dean?" Sam retorted.

"Sammy!" Dean stepped between Sam and Raven, with Ruby slyly standing behind Sam. "I don’t need this, Sam. You want my help or not?" Ruby asked, tension palpable.

"Not," Dean stated firmly, just as Sam chimed in with, "We need it," creating a clash of opinions.

Sam and Dean glared at each other. Raven crossed the room as the men continued their standoff, Sam expressing remorse to Dean and Dean furrowing his brows, trying to sway Sam to his side.

“You use unspeakable methods,” Raven's voice lowered to a dangerous tone as she backed Ruby against the wall, inches from her face. “To hurt innocent people. For what? I don’t know what you’re hiding. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I promise, I’ll find out, bitch.” Ruby smirked, a corner of her mouth twitching.

Just as the scene's intensity peaked, the air fractured with Dee's unexpected arrival. She reached Gen on set and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her side. Heads turned, whispers rippled through the crew.

"The hell is this?! Jensen?" The director yelled, cutting the scene.

Jensen stepped between you, Dee, and Gen, looking Dee dead in the eyes. “Dee, LEAVE.”

Dee's voice cut through the set like a jagged blade. "Jensen, you don’t answer my calls, my texts. You don’t come home, and it’s like you’re hiding something from me!"

“I’m not hiding anything from you. We’re over.” Jensen turned to gently guide you off set.

“Are you sleeping with HER?” Dee mocked. “This… This… Ha! MOOOOOOO.” The cast and crew gasped. Gen stepped away from Dee, looking disappointed.

You froze, embarrassment flaming your cheeks as guilt tingled under your skin. You looked back at Jensen, feeling his hand no longer on your back. He had turned towards Dee. Jared stepped in front of him, grasping his shoulders.

"Hey, calm down, man," Jared whispered.

"He just needed a rebound girl, Y/N. He doesn't love you, you cow." Dee's words, sharp and accusatory, pierced the air, amplifying the tension.

Jensen, visibly distressed, attempted to diffuse the situation, his voice strained but firm. "Dee, we've been over this. I left you. We’re done. If I ever see you on set again, I’ll get a restraining order." His gaze warned her to stop amidst the chaos. Jensen was shaking, fists clenched. He wouldn’t hit a girl, would he? You thought to yourself.

The disruption threw the filming into disarray. Security arrived to diffuse the situation before Dee could respond. Your heart raced, caught between shame and indignation as Dee's accusations cast shadows over the day.

You locked your trailer after Dee's confrontation, turning off your phone and sinking into the quiet. A few people knocked, but eventually left you to fall asleep with your thoughts and tears, tearing yourself apart with self-doubt. The next morning, the set buzzed with its usual activity, but you felt like an outsider looking in, everyone's gaze making you feel smaller by the minute.

Overwhelmed by the drama and the impact on the production, you made a difficult decision. You approached the director's office, heart heavy with dread.

“Hey, can we talk privately?” you asked in a small voice, knocking on the open door.

“Sure. Close the door.” The director said, navigating his cluttered office, concern already on his face. “What’s up?”

"I can't play Raven anymore," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, threatening to leak from your eyes.

The director looked up, sadness replacing the concern on his features. "Y/N, I know tensions were high yesterday, but are you going to let your personal life and your professional career conflict each other? We could work something out if you just need a break."

You took a deep breath, considering his words carefully. The weight of everything—the accusations, the embarrassment, and the constant tension—was too much to bear. "I need to do this for my own sanity," you finally replied, passing him some papers with information on your updated address.

The director sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, Y/N. If that's what you need, I’ll inform the cast and crew. Best of luck.”

You nodded, tears escaping and falling off your cheeks as you stood. "Thank you for understanding."

As you opened the door and stepped out to leave, you turned around. “Could you do me one favor? Tell who you absolutely need to, but please don’t tell Jensen where I’ve gone. I need to leave this behind me.”

He nodded in agreement after pondering your request.

As you walked away, you felt the weight of your decision settle in.

The production office buzzed with urgency as news of your departure rippled through the set. The director wasted no time informing the crew and a few key cast members about the repercussions of you leaving the show, making sure to imply that it was confidential. Writers got to work immediately, drafting new scripts to explain Raven's sudden disappearance in case they couldn't find a replacement quickly. The director worked tirelessly with the casting director, scrambling to find someone to fill the role. Unfortunately, everyone they had considered before you was now unavailable. _____

Jensen was called into the showrunners' office, the tension palpable.

"Jensen, your behavior on and off set is putting everything at risk," one of the showrunners began sternly. "I shouldn’t be telling you this, because frankly, it’s none of your goddamn business. Y/N has quit. Every possible replacement is now unavailable and needs to be resolved, and fast."

Jensen felt a knot tighten in his stomach. She left? Already? He knew he couldn’t see you after yesterday’s events because you probably wouldn’t have even talked to him, and he couldn’t blame you. The things Dee said were downright childish and awful. But he thought he’d at least have time to talk to you today.

The ruminations from yesterday repeated in Jensen’s head as he zoned out of the conversation at hand. The showrunner exchanged a glance with his colleague before continuing. "Pay attention, son," he said, breaking Jensen’s thoughts. "If we don't find a solution soon, we're looking at a significant production halt. The schedule and budget are already taking a hit. This is your responsibility to resolve or kiss your career goodbye."

Jensen's heart pounded. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it but said, "I’ll fix this."

Leaving the office, Jensen tried to call you. “Hey, you’ve reached Y/N. I can’t get to my phone right now…” He hung up. “Damn it,” he whispered to himself. __________

The weight of recent events hung heavy as you quickly packed a bag, your mind made up to leave without informing anyone of your whereabouts. Changing your phone number was a necessary step; even the few texts you received were enough to set your anxiety ablaze. With a deep breath, you booked the first flight out of Vancouver to Washington, craving the solitude you hoped to find at your mother's home.

The flight was a blur of muted colors and soft hums, your thoughts too loud to allow for rest. At the airport, your mother waited with a stern expression, her eyes scanning you critically as you approached. The ride home was anything but quiet.

"You were supposed to do something with your life," she berated, her voice slicing through the tense silence. "You couldn't even keep your husband and kids alive, and now THIS. What the hell am I going to do with you now?"

Her words stung, each one a reminder of past pains and present failures. You looked out the window, letting her voice fade into the background as the familiar landscapes of Washington passed by.

The house came into view, a serene, isolated sanctuary surrounded by tall trees and blooming flowers. It was a place that could offer solace, despite the toxic presence of your mother. You took in the sight of the old home, the quiet beauty of it almost at odds with the turmoil inside.

Inside, the air was cool and still. Your room, untouched since your last visit, welcomed you with a kind of melancholic familiarity. The walls, painted in soft purple hues, offered a stark silence enveloping you like a comforting blanket.

For a moment, you stood there, allowing yourself to breathe, to feel. The memories of the set, the confrontation with Dee, and the harsh words from your mother swirled around you. Tears welled up again, even though it felt like you had nothing left to shed. You sat on the bed, briefly glancing at the end table. There, a photo of your last family picture with your late husband and kids sat. You fell to your knees. “What am I doing?! How did I let myself get so lost?” you whispered as you covered your face in your hands.

Your mother’s footsteps echoed down the hallway, a reminder of the challenges that still lay ahead. But for now, this quiet room wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You manage to crawl up on the bed, turning the photo face down. You closed your eyes, letting the silence wash over you into slumber. 

You awaken the next morning to the abrupt sound of your mother’s voice, sharp and unforgiving.The sun wasn’t even up yet as the clock read 4:17. She slams a tabloid and a printout on your bed, the noise jarring you fully awake.

"Look at this," she sneers, her eyes cold. "Can't even stay out of trouble, can you?"

Blinking away sleep, you sit up and glance at the tabloid headlines. The words leap off the page, each one more hurtful than the last. "Disgraced Actress," "Scandalous Affair," "Homewrecker" – the list goes on. Your heart sinks as you skim through the articles, each one painting you in the worst possible light. The term "whore" is used liberally, as if it’s the only thing that defines you now.

"I can’t believe they’d print this," you quietly mutter to yourself, the weight of the accusations pressing down on your chest. 

Your mother scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "You bring shame upon this family. What did you expect? Respect?" She gestures to the printout. "And look at this."

You pick up the sheet of paper, recognizing Misha's tweet:

"In shadows cast by whispered lies, a phoenix in the storm shall rise. Beyond the noise, her truth will soar, a beacon's light forevermore."

For a moment, the poetic words offer a sliver of comfort, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your mother's disdainful laugh. "Don’t you start thinking these people are your friends, Y/N. You don’t have any friends.”

You don’t respond, unable to find the words. The room feels suffocating, the walls closing in as the reality of your situation hits you again. 

Back on set, Jensen paces, frustration evident in his every step. He stops in front of Jared, his eyes searching for answers.

"You’ve got to see this," Jared says, his voice tight with anger.

Jensen nods, his jaw clenched. "FUCK. This has Dee written all over it. I’m trying to find out where Y/N went. Her former assistant said she caught a flight the day she quit, but no one knows where."

"Oh, and this doesn’t help matters, either." Jared hands Jensen his phone, showing him Misha's tweet.

Jensen reads it, his expression hardening. "Jesus. Is he talking about Dee or Y/N?"

Jared shrugs, his frustration mirroring Jensen's. "Who knows? This whole situation is a mess."

Jensen runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "I need to find her. We need to fix this."

"You better hurry…," Jared mutters as Jensen stalks away, determination etched in every line of his face.

Back in Washington, the isolation of your mother's home offers no respite from the storm brewing outside. The tabloid articles and Misha’s tweet play on a loop in your mind, each one a reminder of the turmoil you’ve left behind.

Your mother’s critical gaze follows you as you move through the house, her comments biting and relentless.

You never expected things to escalate this quickly. The stress, the accusations, the relentless scrutiny had taken its toll. The walls closed in around you, suffocating you with their memories and relentless criticisms. You felt the familiar ache in your abdomen intensify, the telltale signs of your PCOS flaring up once more. Ignoring it seemed impossible this time.

In a blur, you found yourself in the back of an ambulance, your mother's voice a distant murmur beside you. Her charm was reserved for the medical staff, her narcissistic comments a constant undertone. "She's always been this way. So dramatic," you heard, drifting in and out of consciousness as the siren wailed.

Hours later, you were wheeled into the sterile confines of the Seattle Hospital, bright lights blurring overhead as medical jargon buzzed around you. Emergency surgery was the only option, they said, to save you from the excruciating pain and potential complications. As the anesthesia took hold, you clung to the last memory of Jensen wishing nothing more than to see him again.

_____

Jensen stormed into the director's office, his frustration palpable. His phone had buzzed with an urgent message, a cryptic call from an unknown number. "Seattle Hospital. Hurry." The words rang in his ears as he demanded answers.

"You know something about Y/N, don’t you?" Jensen's voice was urgent, eyes searching the director's face for any hint of news. "I don’t think she would just quit like that. Tell me what's going on." He slammed his fist on the desk. The director couldn’t help thinking about how very Dean-like he seemed.

The director hesitated, weighing his words carefully before sighing heavily. "Y/N has been hospitalized," he admitted finally, his tone grave. "It's serious, Jensen."

Outside the director's office, Jensen's mind raced. He dialed Jared and Misha frantically, relaying the dire news. "I need a car, a plane ticket, and where the hell is my passport!?" Jensen searched his backpack, urgency coloring every word. Jared's voice echoed concern as they coordinated a car to the airport.

"I know you weren't at the hospital the first time," Jared said, his voice tight with worry. "But PCOS and Endometriosis are rough, man. Misha and I did some research after she told us about her conditions."

It felt like hours, but he finally made it to WA. Jensen's arrival at the hospital was met with wide-eyed adoration from fans and stunned whispers from staff. "Oh my God, it's Jensen Ackles!" a teenage girl squealed, snapping pictures as he hurried to the nurse's station.

"Y/N. What room?" Jensen demanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"Room 308," the nurse replied, star-struck.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Jensen raced down the corridor, his heart pounding in his chest. 

Approaching the room, he paused, overhearing a conversation inside. It was Y/N's mother, her voice laced with disdain and cruelty. "They took your ovary," she sneered. "If you ask me, they should have taken it all."

Jensen's blood boiled as he listened to her venomous words, his protective instincts flaring. "You're a hussy and were an awful mother," her mother continued, reapplying her lipstick with a chilling nonchalance. "You could have enrolled them in private school. But nooooo, being Miss Better Than Everyone, had to homeschool them. As if you could have taught them better. Then to go an sleep around on your husband now. Pffft. I hope my little tabloid escapade shows you exactly how people feel about you."

After Jensen overhears Y/N's mother's hurtful comments, he steps into the hospital room just as Y/N begins to stir from anesthesia. ______

Despite your groggy state, your senses begin to sharpen as you overhear Jensen's voice, firm and unwavering, defending you against your mother's hurtful words. 

“YOU SOLD A STORY TO THE TABLOID?” Jensen’s booming voice made your mother jump as she faced him. “Because you don’t agree with her choices in life after EVERYTHING she’s been through? Based on what I’ve heard tonight, I completely understand why she has so many doubts and struggles trusting anyone.” “Why her husband would never speak to me like this. He…” she continued, flabbergasted by his defense. “HE is DEAD. And if HE had been any kind of a man, he most certainly would have put you in your place.” Jensen stepped closer to your mom with every word.

Security arrives amidst the commotion, but Jensen stands his ground, adamant about staying by your side. “If you need to remove anyone, remove her.” He bellowed. Security took your mother outside to give the situation some kind of resolve.

As you slowly wake from the anesthesia, the scene unfolds before your blurred vision. You feel a surge of conflicting emotions—gratitude for Jensen's protective presence, relief that he's here, but also vulnerability exposed by your mother's callousness. Your heart races making the machines beep furiously. 

With a trembling hand, you reach out weakly towards Jensen, your fingers seeking his warmth and reassurance. A silent plea for forgiveness. “Don’t speak, princess. Just listen,” he said to you, taking a seat as he held your hand. “I need you to come home.”

[xviruserrorx]

Hello! In honor of my birthday I was going to post a fic everyday of November, but I decided a good old "why not make it an event". The primary aspect of this event is to do/create what makes you happy and to have fun!. (Reblogs welcomed!!!)

Prompts:

About:

This is a open multi-fandom event that is open towards all participants of fandom weather you make art, gifs, rant post, fan fic, fanvids, crochet, or simply love to support your fellow creators. Each day has a theme and three prompts to accompany the theme. The prompts are their just to help In case the theme alone doesn't spark the creative juices, but the prompts don't have to be used.

Continue below for the rules and a list of the Themes/prompts in ID format

Rules:

Multi-fandom event, any and all fandoms are welcomed!

All forms of media are accepted (fic, art, gifs, moodboards, comics, edits, videos etc.) If making media is not your thing then there are also alternatives. 1) make a rant post about the theme for the day.. 2) Arts and crafts projects are welcomed as well! Crochet, knitting, felt work, cross stitch, you name it, it's welcomed!...3) support your fandom creators and reblog your favorite media surrounding the theme of the day!

You do NOT have to create a new entry for each theme. If you already have a existing project/work in progress from past events or that you never got around towards finishing, that fits one of the themes, finish/polish it up and use it!

You can use no prompts or all three prompts, doesn't matter as long as it matches the theme!

Nsfw content is allowed! Ship and let ship! (Please tag everything appropriately!) Everything (and I mean everything) is allowed!!

The "Free Day" can be used three different ways. 1) use it as a free day, take a break and don't post anything... 2) Create whatever makes you happiest!... 3) Create something along the theme of current events going on in the world right now.

There are NO Maximum or minimum requirements for any type of media. It can be a single sentence fic or just a pencil outline of art, everything and anything counts!

Crossovers with other events are welcomed as long as the other events are okay with it too!

This event STARTS November 1st and will technically END December 1st. But you can post any entries/fills as early or as late, the event takes place during November but early or late participation will all be accepted!

Please tag me @xviruserrorx in your creations/post so I can see them and also tag #novemberfandombash2022 along with the following: Ex. #fandom, #day, #prompt, #form (fic, art, etc), along with other things that need to be tagged (warnings, triggers, etc)

If you are uploading Fics, Please be kind to people's news feeds/dashboards and use the read more!

I don't know the amount of participation for this so I am not going to make an Ao3 collection unless anyone wants it. And if so, please send me an ask so I can make it. 😁

If you make a Masterlist please tag me as well so I can see and reblog all the lovely creations you make!

I want to make this all as accessible as possible so please provide an ID on all imaged/gifs and if possible video transcripts. As well as to make sure to tag stuff correctly (flashing/strobes, body horror, phobias, eye strain etc) I understand some of the media may be difficult to put an ID of but something is better than nothing 😊.

[Image Description: A beige background with three colourful spots. The words "November Fandom Bingo" are in black and a bold cursive font. The following is listed.

Day 1: Culture/Religion/Customs - Celebration | Touch of faith | "May I?"

Day 2: Favorite Headcannon - Change | Lie gone too far | "I Care!"

Day 3: Favorite Trope - Bedroom | Light as a feather | "Oh, really?"

Day 4: BROTP - Jealousy | So far so good | "What are you doing?"

Day 5: OTP - Domestic | Achilles heel | "Best part of fighting is..."

Day 6: Favorite Male Character - Apology | A dead king, king laid | "I forgot..."

Day 7: Gen Relationship - Comfort | Caught red-handed | "How could you?"

Day 8: Symbolism - Stars | Penny for your thoughts | "look!"

Day 9: Fem-Slash - Vanilla | Love at first sight | "So... do we?"

Day 10: Found Family - Acceptance | House is not a home | "I can explain."

Day 11: Aro/Ace/Apl - Ring(s) | Hi pot, meet kettle | "Are You Ready?"

Day 12: FREE DAY

Day 13: QPR - Cuddling | True love is not one I "What did you do?"

Day 14: Female Minor Character - Constriction | Swan song | "Make me."

Day 15: POC Character - Power | Draw the line | "Forgive you?"

Day 16: Genre - Chain | Fate worse than death | "Why me?"

Day 17: Sibblings Dynamic - Platonic Love | At a lost | "Who did this?"

Day 18: Favorite AU - Boat | Fit as a fiddle | "How did we get here?"

Day 19: OC - Coincidence | Old flame | "Whose This?"

Day 20: Disability Awareness - Love | As it is | "Not again."

Day 21: Favorite Female Character - Freedom | At the mercy of | "Watch me."

Day 22: NOTP - First | Beck and call | "You hate me."

Day 23: Rarepair - Hand Holding | Sharing is caring | "I missed you."

Day 24: Male Minor Character - Adventure | Like a Moth to a flame | "Where Were You?"

Day 25: Screw Gender - New Experience | Skeleton in the closet | "Don't worry, I know."

Day 26: Next Gen - Start | Hand-me-downs | "I need your help"

Day 27: Family Dynamic - Betrayal | Lost & Found | "They did it!"

Day 28: Polyamory - Affliction | Two hands | "Why not?"

Day 29: Neurodivergence - Space | Break the ice | "Right..."

Day 30: LGBT+ - Equality | Barking up the wrong tree | "Are you sure?"

If there are any questions on anything please send an ask or message me and I'll answer the best I can 😊

*There will be no bullying, harassing, sexism, racism, homophobia, or anything in those regards tolerated in this event by any user participating. Thank you!*

[darks-ink]

Darkness - Ectoberweek 2020

Yes I wrote this one because I just really wanted to write Vlad and Danny meeting in Antonym-verse, shh. Don’t say anything.

[first part]

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Supernatural Words: 2,147 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Sequel

[AO3] [FFN]

---

“Well,” Danny said, humming thoughtfully.

“Well,” the other person agreed, his bright red eyes absurdly visible in the dark room they were in.

Since the man didn’t seem inclined to talk, Danny didn’t bother to, either. Instead he started peering around, blinking his own vivid green eyes. Even though his retained night vision usually did him little good, he was glad to have it, now. He highly doubted ordinary humans would’ve been able to see in the pitch black they were in.

Unfortunately, the room did not include any hints as to where he was, nor why he was here.

“You’re Danny, aren’t you?” the man suddenly asked, his red eyes narrowed. “The Fenton’s adopted son?”

Danny hummed. He wasn’t sure if he was legally adopted, the human world had so much complicated paperwork, but they certainly seemed intent on counting him as their son. “Yeah,” he finally agreed, figuring he should vocalize. “But I don’t think I know you. Do I?”

The man visibly considered that, weighing options against each other. Finally he offered a hand to Danny. “Vlad.”

“Well, you already know my name, obviously.” Danny shot him a grin as he took the hand and shook it. “But I’m Danny.”

“And you’re half-ghost,” Vlad said, a strange emphasis on the ‘half-ghost’. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Danny pointed out with a shrug. “I think that the more pressing questions are “where are we?” and “how did we get here?”, don’t you?”

Vlad hummed at that, expression somewhere between pleased and aggravated. Someone was digging for information, huh? “Yes, I suppose you’re right. You don’t know either, then?”

“Nope,” he agreed easily, taking his eyes off of Vlad to look around again. The room was empty and featureless, absolutely non-distinct in how bland it was. “But! I don’t think we’re in the Ghost Zone.”

“How can you tell?”

“Not nearly enough ectoplasm in the atmosphere.” Danny leaned over to knock on the wall. “And these are solid. Humans can go through walls in the Ghost Zone.”

“You seem to know a lot about the Ghost Zone.” Vlad’s eyes narrowed once more.

“Yeah, well.” Danny paused, reconsidered. Vlad didn’t seem like a ghost, not like him. Vlad seemed like a human. If Danny could become part human as a ghost, why couldn’t a human become part ghost? “I guess I spent a good bit of time there.”

“And your parents?” Vlad pressed, cold disinterest in his voice.

Danny snorted, dismissive. “You mean my biological parents? Dunno. Can’t remember them. That’s why the Fentons took me in, y’know? Now can we please focus on getting out of wherever this is before we continue the interrogation?”

“Yes, of course,” Vlad said, graciously. Like this was anything to be gracious about. Danny bet that if he’d been in full control of his powers he could’ve beaten the other half-ghost easy. But, alas. He was still fighting to control his core, never mind use his powers properly. He would have to settle for civilized human behavior.

“Good.” Danny turned away from Vlad, walking along the wall, one hand trailing over it. The whole thing felt solid in a uniquely human way. Definitely no ghosts involved here.

The door, when Danny reached it, was no less solid. He grabbed onto the rounded doorknob and jangled it, but there was no give. Definitely locked. “Yeah, we’re not getting out this way.”

Vlad, who still hadn’t moved, the ass, hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose we will have to use our powers to leave, then. I see no cameras of any sort, do you?”

“No,” Danny admitted, releasing the door and looking around just to be sure. “I suppose you’re right. Some intangibility and invisibility should get us out.”

“Yes, indeed.” Vlad crossed his arms, waiting for a moment before arching his brow at Danny. “Well, go on then.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “It was your idea. You go first.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer, his red eyes boring straight into Danny’s, before he sighed. “Fine, then. But only because I suspect I cannot hope to out-stubborn a teenager, let alone one raised by Jack Fenton.”

Danny quirked an eyebrow at that unexpected hostility. Sure, he’d only known Jack for a month or two, but still. He seemed like a good man.

Vlad’s transformation was similar to Danny’s own. A spark of light from the chest, from the core, forming into rings which passed over the body, and shifted it from one state to the other. Admittedly Vlad’s were bizarrely black, while still giving off light, but it didn’t really matter. Not now, at least.

No, Danny was far more interested in Vlad’s ghost form. He looked rather like a typical ghost, up to and including a thematic appearance. And what an appearance. Vlad had gone full vampire on his looks, with pale blue skin, empty red eyes, pointed ears and sharp fangs. His hair, black in ghost form, was swept up into gravity-defying points, and his clothing did not match the suit he’d been wearing at all.

Hell, the guy even wore a cape. What kinda person did that?

But… Vlad had gone and shifted to his ghost form, so Danny supposed he’d better follow suit. Mentally crossing his fingers that his powers would hold—his core was still settling back into proper stability after his accident—he called his core to the forefront of his existence. Light flashed as he, too, transformed into a ghost.

Vlad quirked an eyebrow at him, judgment heavy in the air. “A jumpsuit, boy, really? You are certainly a Fenton, aren’t you?”

“It’s Phantom, actually,” Danny correctly idly. “The jumpsuit is just a coincidence.” He lifted up from the floor, trying to judge how well his core was doing that day. “Now come on, I don’t have all day.”

“And you think I do?” Vlad scoffed, but started floating as well. “I will go first. I expect I will be more likely to recognize where we are than you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to be so haughty about it. “Sure, knock yourself out.” Danny swept out an arm in a wide arc to underline the statement, throwing in a sarcastic bow as well.

The gesture clearly wasn’t lost on Vlad, but he apparently made the choice to ignore it, flying towards one of the walls and flickering invisible before he hit it. With a roll of his eyes, Danny followed, focusing his senses on the feel of Vlad’s core so he could track the man while invisible.

Outside it was… also dark, admittedly, but not as hopelessly pitch-black as inside. A glance upwards confirmed that it was a regular dark—stars barely visible due to a nearby city, and the new moon that was supposed to come that night.

Vlad was still nearby, although invisible, so Danny let himself drift over. “Well,” he said when he was close enough, keeping his voice low since they were still invisible. “I don’t think we missed much time. The moon phase is correct.”

“Hm. And what do you know of where we are?” Vlad asked, a tone of curiosity layered under the smarminess of his voice. “Or have you spent all your time looking up?”

“I thought you were going to focus on our location?” Danny shook his head, realized Vlad couldn’t see, then decided to look around anyway.

And, huh.

“Well, at least we’re not far from home,” he said, feebly.

They were on the outskirts of Amity Park.

“You aren’t, no.” Vlad huffed, a sound of displeasure. “Unlike you, however, I live in Wisconsin.”

Cool. That meant very little to Danny. He was pretty sure that it was a state in the country he was living in, but where, or how far away it was? Absolutely meaningless.

“Okay, well… If you know the Fentons you can probably stay over?” He let his invisibility drop, since the strain on his core was rather unnecessary. The people of Amity Park didn’t look up enough to care about ghosts in the sky. “And if you didn’t… Well, they probably would let you stay over anyway. They’d love to talk more about your half-ghost-ness.”

“Joy,” Vlad muttered, and he could not possibly have put more distaste in the word. “And you do not care to stay invisible, then?”

“I can’t keep it up forever, dude.” Danny shrugged, letting his legs blend away into a tail as he drifted in the direction towards home. “Besides, I know Amity Park. It’s a safe place to fly without invisibility, trust me.”

Vlad scoffed, but dropped his invisibility as well. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

Danny nodded back, then shifted into proper flight, making sure to keep his speed fairly low. As annoying as it was to have to hold back, he knew he couldn’t make full use of his powers, not while his core was still recovering from the transition. One day, hopefully, he’d get back to his prior strength.

Still, that did make him wonder. It definitely seemed like Vlad was a human who’d become half-ghost. How did that work, compared to Danny himself? How strong was Vlad? Did he need to wait for his core to mature the usual way? That almost seemed easier to Danny than what he was going through. A slow progressive growth, rather than having all these powers and not having the power to use them.

And Vlad had conveniently skipped around explaining how he knew the Fentons, too. Honestly, he was kind of giving Danny the creeps. Something about his behavior was just… off. Weird.

Or maybe that was just how slimy he was, how haughty, how superior. Yugh.

Vlad didn’t try talking to him while they were flying to FentonWorks, although he did raise a questioning eyebrow at the neon sign when they landed behind it.

“The glow of the sign will hide our light,” Danny explained with a shrug. He’d been told by Jazz that the sign was an oddity among humans, but he didn’t think it was that weird. “We can enter the house through the door up here.”

“Why not phase inside?” Vlad asked, crossing his arms. “That way no one will see us.”

“True. But it’s also rude to go inside without announcing yourself.” Danny grinned at Vlad, displaying his own sharp teeth, before releasing his core to shift back to human form. The flashing light was barely visible beyond the glow of the sign. “Coming, Vlad?”

The other half-ghost sighed, making a motion like rolling his eyes—despite the fact that they were empty in his ghost form—but transformed back into human form as well. “I would’ve thought that using ghost powers meant we were no longer following human sensibilities, but it’s your house.”

Human sensibilities? What, has no one ever told this guy the rules of lairs in the Ghost Zone? Yikes. “You do realize that it’s a thing in the Ghost Zone too, right? Not randomly wandering into people’s lairs?”

“And how would you know?” Vlad sneered back, his eyes dark for the first time since Danny had met him. “You’re what, fourteen? And clearly new to being half-ghost, too.”

“Yeah!” Danny snapped, feeling his core kick up a notch. He was so tired of this asshole. “Yeah, I’m new to being half-ghost! Because I was a full ghost before this!”

He leaned in closer to Vlad, seeing the reflection of his glowing eyes in Vlad’s. “Just because you think you’re a big deal doesn’t mean you are. You don’t know shit, Vlad.”

Satisfied that he’d gotten his point across, Danny whirled around, pulling open the door and climbing down the stairs. After a moment, he heard Vlad follow.

“You are… a ghost turned half-human?” Vlad asked, quietly. “Not the reverse?”

“Not like you, no,” Danny confirmed, opening the door to the upper floor hallway. “But the Fentons will still want to talk to you.”

“No.” Vlad stopped before crossing the door. Danny, too, stopped, turning around to face Vlad again. “No, I don’t think that that’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“I thought I had found someone like me. For that, I was willing to put up with Jack Fenton, at least for the moment. But now?” Vlad scoffed, a derisive sound. “For a poor ghostly imitation? No, certainly not. Goodbye, Phantom.”

With that, Vlad whirled around, vanishing from sight. Danny could still track his core—apparently Vlad had shifted forms almost immediately—but he was, in fact, leaving.

“Well. That just happened,” Danny muttered to himself as Vlad left the premises entirely. “Wonder what the chances are that the Fentons know more than one guy named Vlad.”

He shrugged to himself, continuing down to the living room, where his family waited. Guess he had some more mysteries to solve now.

Like that room. What the fuck was up with that?

[whocalledhimannux]

now that I’ve had some time to reflect on Return of the Thief, I have some more thoughts that are... slightly more critical, in both the thinking-deeply and not-entirely-praiseworthy ways. I’m not going to tag this post because I don’t want to harsh anyone’s buzz, but I’ll just say return of the thief spoilers and rott spoilers right now, and hopefully the blacklist will catch those, and if not the rest of the post is going under a cut

okay so like first off, I want to say that I still think this was a very well-written book and it’s very satisfying from a character standpoint. there are so many great interactions, indications of growth, etc, and the layered writing of the first person POV is, as always, stunning. my main character complaint is not enough Costis and Kamet (or Costis/Kamet)--but even that, upon reflection, I think is colored slightly by my anticipation for a blatant Comet moment. When you’re waiting for a big payoff, and the story isn’t designed to have that, it’ll feel like a bit of a letdown. But from a different perspective, the ending of TaT can be a perfectly satisfying narrative ending, establishing that Costis and Kamet’s storylines are now thoroughly and primarily wrapped up in each other; their contributions to the wider plot from thereon out are mostly incidental, because sailing off to be together is their bigger ending.

side note: a character development I actually loved was us seeing Eugenides teetering dangerously close to a breaking point and being pulled back. I think...... from what I have seen of the fandom in general--bearing in mind I was never a part of Sounis and have dipped in and out of the discord without being majorly involved--based on my general impression of the tumblr fandom, I think there is a tendency among QT fans to let the Thief characterization of Gen affect our reading of him in later books. I think there’s sort of an assumption that he’s everybody’s favorite and that his choices are, by default, correct and sympathetic, even as the series progresses and he makes more, increasingly difficult and sometimes pragmatic or even cruel decisions. and I think RotT really, really challenges that kind of view. Eugenides is under immense strain in this book, and several times he lashes out in ways that are indefensible. Sometimes, even if he’s not being cruel to others, he’s being risky to the point of masochism, and the revelations about his backstory also suggest that quirky innocent Gen of The Thief is also not all he seemed to be.

and I think that was resolved in a very enjoyable and narratively satisfying way. The threats to the Braels had a real edge to them. God!Eugenides was terrifying, in a noticeable step up from the ways regular!Eugenides is terrifying, and it felt like payoff for the increasing role of the gods in Eugenides’s storyline up until now. And I really appreciated the subtleties of Sejanus saying that he won’t tell Eugenides the conspirators because it will damage him in the longrun, and the way Eugenides ultimately decides to forgive and trust Pheris and Sejanus anyway--those scenes, imo, were great followups to the scenes in QoA, KoA, and ACoK that discussed how rulers can maintain their moral center in difficult situations.

but... the Medes. plot-wise, I’m struggling with the conclusion to this storyline.

I made a different post already about What the Fuck is going on with the secretary of the archives, because it totally feels like shit is missing there, and to some extent I’m okay with that? it felt to me like a stylistic choice--like, Pheris the historian is writing specifically about the Mede invasion, so maybe the full story of Baron Orutus, and Relius, wasn’t actually resolved til years later and he thought it was an overlapping but ultimately separate story. fine. I actually did kind of like the parts where that was done more blatantly, like his comment that two of the queen’s attendants became famous later on for unrelated reasons. it helped with the framing of the story.

but I don’t feel that way about the Medes plot. For one thing, we’ve spent a couple of books now harping on the fact that Ghusnavidas (sp? I’m tired and my book is too far away to check, y’all know who I mean) is dying and that the primary threat is going to come from Nahuseresh’s brother, Naheelid. Costis made a point of saying last book that if the Little Peninsula could hold out for a year against Naheelid, not only would they win but the entire empire might be in danger of collapsing.

So... they spent ~a few months fighting a single army at a single battle site, with the Big Threat Guy not even present, and that’s it? everybody goes home and the Medes aren’t a threat anymore? it’s not even clear to me how many troops the Medes lost--their principal losses were in the form of Bu-seneth, Nahuseresh, and Baron Erondites, who, yeah, were key officers, but if the Medes lost, saying, 30% of their troops or less, what’s to stop Naheelid from hiring more soldiers and better officers and coming back in a year? it totally makes sense to me that an army that saw Eugenides call down lightning is willing to pack it up early, but inevitably that’s going to be dismissed as rumor and distortion so idk how it’s supposed to be a lasting deterrent. it may not be super realistic, because the downfall of empires takes time, but I think a bunch of us were expecting that the Mede Empire would, at the very least, but conclusively beaten by the end of the book, and I don’t think we got that.

Also, speaking of Big Bads: Nahuseresh. Oof.

I know part of the point of TaT was that Nahuseresh’s situation was becoming kind of sad and pathetic but... I think he went downhill too quickly in this book. and tbh I think part of it is the fact that we’re getting this from Pheris’s POV, and Pheris for one doesn’t have a whole lot of close contact with Nahuseresh in this book, and for another didn’t have any contact with him prior to this. His little “I will be king of Attolia!” outburst honestly made me cringe a little bit, and while I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of Nahuseresh being killed by an anonymous soldier--it has a very “reality ensues, war isn’t a series of epic meaningful confrontations” feel to it--I do object to the fact that Eugenides spent a significant amount of time in KoA and ACoK nursing a grudge against Nahuseresh and then barely got to do anything with it. and a lot of what he did get to do, the reader barely sees.

I think there were ways to make Nahuseresh’s actions in this novel a bit more satisfying without fundamentally changing them. for example, bringing in more commentary from people who knew him before. if there was a passage where Eugenides looked at Nahuseresh and realized that his beard was raggedy, and he looked thinner, and there was a manic light in his eye and he just seemed pretty pathetic and honestly more comical than the villain Gen’s been building up in his head for years--I think that would go a long way towards establishing tone. it would feel more like the anticlimax is intentional and be more about Eugenides’s own character growth, whereas now it just feel like... Pheris doesn’t have a whole lot of personal stake in this conflict even though the reader has been waiting for it for so long.

(although I do find it interesting on a narrative level in contrast with Sejanus, who seems disproportionately important in this book imo--from my perspective, the threat of Nahuseresh has been a constant behind-the-scenes presence for the last four books and Sejanus stopped being important after KoA. and I get why the opposite would be true for Pheris, but I still... want more.)

anyway, I just feel like the villains in this book are a little--warped, somehow. like the huge enormous threat of the series up until this point actually isn’t all that bad and can be wrapped up in relatively little time. it’s a weird sensation for me wherein I’m glad where everyone ended up and I enjoyed the experience of getting to that end, but like... it just feels a little off. slightly anticlimactic. I mean, for a lot of us this series is All About the characters and from that perspective I’m mostly satisfied, but I feel like in previous books the plot has come together SO well that my expectations were really high, and this resolution didn’t really meet them.

and damn does it feel strange to be writing this. feels like I just cobbled together a few of my hottest and most controversial takes and like I need to throw in about twenty more disclaimers about how much I love the books overall, but I’ll resist.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Six! If you’d like to be tagged, please send an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Unrequited feelings. Sexual awareness. Guilt. Use of a currently nonsingle actress, but I love her. So...she’s here. Next chapter starts the steamy side of things ;)

Word Count: Roughly 2,900

The set was solemn as you walked onto it. Two sets of tiny hands tangled with yours as a third held onto your hip. Making your way to the guillotine slowly. Aware that cameras were rolling just around the bend.  

“And we just wanted you to hear from us that, um...” Jensen's voice was strong as Jared cleared his throat beside him. However, as you approached, you saw the strain all three men were under. All eyes were red. Puffy from the tears. The other two hunched around Jensen as if he were their rock. “Although we're excited about er...next year? Um...I...It will be, uh...” He looked towards Misha. Arms crossed over his chest as he talked, “the finale.”

Suddenly, you'd understood why Jared had texted you. Suggesting that the kids may be the boost Jensen needed to get through the day. Your heart broke all over again as a sniffle echoed from the side. Another broken crew member trying to hold themselves together.

No one made said a word as the men finished the beginning of their goodbye to their life's longest work. As soon as they were done? Applause rang through the air. The support in the room overwhelming with its intensity.

“Is Daddy okay?” Arrow's voice was soft as she watched in confusion. Brows pinched together tightly.

You didn't get a chance to answer before Justice Jay spoke up, “No...he's sad.” Her eyes moved up to meet yours. “But, Y/N will make him feel better. That's what she does.”

“Go hug him, Y/N!” Zeppelin insisted, lips tugged down. Upset at his father's pain.

“That's your job, kiddo.” Ruffling his hair, you urged them forward. It didn't take much prodding. As soon as the green eyes caught sight of the three children rushing his way, they lit up.

Your hands stuffed into your back pockets as you followed. Keeping your distance. As if they'd truly not let you be part of the fray. Jared tugged you under his arm as soon as you were within reach. Rubbing his knuckles into your hair affectionately. “Nice of you to answer your texts.”

“I figured you were on set,” A pinch to his ribs gave you a rewarding yelp from the giant. But, the glee only lasted a moment. “How're you holding up?” Growing serious, you looked up at the overgrown child. Fingers cocked under his chin to make sure he didn't turn away from your gaze.

“I'll be alright,” The shadows under his eyes said otherwise. But, the grumbling from Misha had you passed around before you could protest. Demanding a real answer.

Jensen watched as you were lifted into the bubbly man's grasp. Laughing at your long lost friend. Misha had a thing about adopting the unusual. And you fit right into the pack.

“Daaaaaad!” The drawn out cry forced his attention back to Zeppelin as both girls snuck off to hunt down the makeup crew and demand their annual glitz and glammer day. “You need to hug, Y/N!”

“I...I ne...need to what?” His held tilted as he crouched down to his son's level. To not only talk man on man, but to ensure his voice didn't carry as far.

“She gives nice hugs. She'll make you feel better.” Earnest as always, the boy tugged on his hand. Concern etched on his mini's brow as he stormed on in his mission. “Trust me, I know.”

“Oh, do you?” A firm nod was the answer. Lips puckered as he inspected the red in his father's eyes. “I bet you learned to give some pretty great hugs yourself, then.”

“They're okay.” The tiny shrug brushed it off. Still zeroed in on the idea that you'd save the day. Kicking at the ground all the while.

Jensen chuckled before reaching out to tug the boy into his arms. Zeppelin let out a giggle for the ages as he wrapped his tiny arms into a vice grip around the thick neck in front of him. “See? Told you.”

His eyes closed as he breathed in the moment. Squeezing his son tight. As if that would hold his life together. When they opened again, the E/C gaze was on him. A small nod your way said it all. An answering bob his way had his lips pulled up.

The day passed by in a blur of emotion. Social medias were lighting up from the announcement. Fans around the world mourning as much as the cast and crew. All three kids were out cold. Tucked into their beds in the lavish apartment. Sighing, you settled down on the couch. Rubbing at your eyes sleepily.

“Hey,” You yawned out without even looking as Jensen walked in. A muttered curse and small crash followed as he tried to tug his footwear off without bending. When you turned to see if he would make it, you found him looking worse than you felt. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

“Long day.” That much you understood. Slowly, you patted the tan material of the couch beside you. As he sank down into the fabric with a deep sigh, you passed him your own unopened beer. Knowing just a bit of relaxation made up for some of the struggles. “Thanks.”

“You good?”

“Not really.” The defeated huff had you looking over every line on his face. You knew the strained expression well. Grief had risen its head again. “I'm just tired. I'll be fine.” Silence stretched between you two. Tense and heavy. Then, the dam burst. Only, it was the furthest thing you'd expected to hear. “I've got a date next week.”

Excitement was the last thing you felt at those words. But, you weren't what was important in that moment. “You don't sound very happy about it.”

“Aren't you supposed to say 'congratulations' or something like that?” He huffed out. Surliness over ruling the sad. “Ya know, supportive?”

“I was just making an observation.” The unimpressed frown had you letting out your own, exasperated breath of air. “Okay, okay, fine. I'll leave that alone.” Against your better judgment, you crossed your legs. Turning to face him better, you decided if you were going to play the role of therapist? You might as well do it properly. Start where he wanted to. “Who's the girl?”

“Gemma Chan.” As you pulled out your phone, the head tilt of confusion was aimed your way. “What-”

“If I have to do the encouraging friend thing? I gotta do what women do best...research.” Captain Marvel. Crazy Rich Asians. She was bigger screen than him, certainly. Gorgeous. Just a few years younger than his forty three years. Single for a little over a year. There wasn't anything notable to find fault with, there. “Damn... how'd you land her?”

“Cliff had Jared and Gen set me up.” When your brow lifted in question, he diverted from the details further. Skittering back to where he wanted it. Only telling you in more ways that he was hiding at least one thing. “Anyways, I could use more of that support stuff right about now.” He waved you on.

“She seems like...a lot.” His exasperation at your answer was quickly cut off by the rest. “But, you're great, Jensen. Okay? You have the perfect kids. A hell of a resume of your own. Don't look half bad...” The last one earned the breathy, sheepish chuckle you'd been going for. His chin tucking down to touch his chest as his hand ran through his hair. “Even if it doesn't work out? It's not the end of the line. There's a whole world out there outside of this one girl.” A gentle squeeze of his bicep had him straightening up on the couch, “And if you're worried about what Danneel would think?” He hid it well. But, you caught the flash of it at the name. Vulnerability. He was losing his show. But, with the date? He was also losing another tie to his dead wife. You were certain that the pain you'd seen stemmed from all that loss. “Don't, Jay... She'd just want you and the kids happy. Okay? That's the goal, here.” He swallowed tightly. Nodding in agreement. “Good.”

--

“What do ya think?” Jensen turned to the small crowd on the black couch; showing off the brown leather jacket and black tie combo he'd thrown together over jeans.

“It's a no from me.” Justice Jay had no qualms about speaking her mind. She leaned back into the couch with a squinted up expression that looked so much like her mom that you had to bite back a smile. The whole thing was pulled off perfectly with the neon green head band she'd taken from her mom's closet years before. Offsetting the pink t-shirt she'd just grown into.

“Arrow?” Size had nothing to do with personality. The tiny little beauty had dressed herself in a pair of overalls. A bright yellow shirt rested under the jeans. Too loud pink frilled around her from the tutu wrapped around her hips. A red and a black sock covered her swinging feet. Neon green sunglasses rested on her nose. In order to bring the outfit together, she donned a sky blue bow in her fine hair. Looking every bit as solemn as she could, the tiny, rainbow themed child shook her head no; lips pursed into a frown. “Oh, who asked you?” The grumble earned a giggle that made Jensen roll his eyes. “What about you, Zep?”

“Dad...” The actor's mini-me stated very seriously. Folding his hands onto his grass stained knee. Oblivious to the ravioli crested dinosaur on his chest. “I love you.” That earned a raised brow. “But,” Kid or not, Zeppelin went right for the throat, “you need to work on your style.”

It was as if they'd all stabbed him through the heart. His hand rubbed over his chest. Brows furrowed as he took in the beings he'd helped create. Their own fashion statements blasphemy to the outside world as they shot him down. “You're all monsters.”

“It's just casual, right?” You asked from your perch on the floor. Turning away from the puzzle the kids had abandoned half an hour before to save the last shred of dignity on the actor.

“Right,” He was full of nervous energy. Shifting from foot to foot as you inspected his choice in clothes. His squared jaw was smooth from the fresh shave. Too spic and span for your liking.

“Lose the tie, drop a few buttons, and channel Dean. You'll be golden.” With that, you moved back to the puzzle. Forgetting about anymore of that extra bit encouragement he'd asked for when he'd told you about the night out. A deep tug of a frown graced his lips.

Jensen watched the way your fingers trailed across the pieces of cardboard. Pulling together the image of a raven carefully. The same way you seemed to go forward with everything. When did you ever really let loose in your life? Even a little?

“Dad! You're still blocking the TV,” Arrow finally spoke up. Not wanting to miss a second of her precious Rapunzel. Pulling him from his thoughts.

“Right,” He turned away, tugging off the offending tie like you'd suggested. Glancing at the clock to his right, again. The night was supposed to change his life. Get his mind back to reality instead of every lewd image it'd created of the nanny, as Cliff had said. His bodyguard had laid out the perfect plan. It was just a matter of pursuing it. “Alright, there's an hour until bed time-”

“Yes, daddy.” A mocking tone was nothing compared to the words themselves. His breath caught in his throat. The very reason he'd found himself about to go out lingering in the air. “I know the routine,” You chastised without looking his way. Sounding more like an exasperated mother than a nanny. “Go. Have fun on...” You glanced back his way. Knowing that he wasn't ready to let the kids in on what was happening. Quickly, you fixed your wrong. “With your friend.”

Unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, Jensen walked away. Muttering to himself to quell the nerves. It didn't stop as he paced to locate his phone and keys. Didn't even end when he shouted a final goodbye.

When the door finally shut behind him, you let out your breath. In Austin, you could escape his allure easier. Remind yourself that while they cared for you, you were ultimately a side piece in the family. But, in Canada? Things were more cramped. Intimate.

Hanging out on set. In the trailers. Being in the next room over from the father you needed to escape at nights. Torture didn't begin to describe it. So close. And yet, ever out of reach.

The announcement of the ending had only drawn more attention towards the cast and their families. Everyone trying to see what came next. And with that? Came the attacks.

Every kind of conspiracy theory existed. You'd be the next beard for J2. The cast and crew didn't give two shits about your existence, but needed the attention your closeness to Jensen could give them. How you used Jay's grief to trap him into some kind of toxic web. Posts existed about which child you favored and why. Bets on who'd end up in boarding school once the show ended.

You should have ignored them. None of them had any credibility. There wasn't one of them who could say they knew any of you personally. And yet, every one of them dug under your skin. Settling into a poisonous knot in your stomach.

Worriedly, you turned back to the door. Imagining what would happen if he were caught by a photographer. TMZ had eaten his wife's death up. Announcing it a mere hour after it had happened. A grieving widower moving on would be the perfect desert for them.

Shaking away the thoughts, you got to your feet. Ignoring the way Oscar's head shot up at the jerky movement. Sitting around and waiting was useless. There were things to clean. Time to kill.

Ten minutes after tucking the kids into bed, you heard the door click open. Icarus' head lifted from your lap as you turned to see Jensen stroll in. Looking like he'd been through the ringer. For the second time in the span of days, you found yourself about to nurture the head of the house.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” He sighed out. Unzipping his jacket sharply. When it was off, he tossed it haphazardly across the room. Not caring that it landed on the floor.

“Right...” The dirty look you got made you roll your eyes. You picked up the aging cockapoo from your lap. Moving close to the grumpy giant, and placing the snowy pooch in his owner's arms. “Sit down. Cuddle the dog. I'll be right back.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it, Ackles. Trust me!” You ordered. Walking away to raid the kitchen. A few minutes later, you found him less agitated. His hands running over the freshly groomed coat as he rested on the couch. “Take this. And then when you're ready? Spill the dirt.” Your legs tucked under you as you passed him a mug of tea.

“Thanks,” His voice was still gruff. But most of the tension had left his shoulders. After a moment, he finally opened up. Venting about the awkward silence. The pained, overly polite smiles. Everything that fit the fating scene. “Maybe it's too soon,” Jensen leaned back against the couch. Making himself cozy in the habit that had developed between you two.

“Or maybe she just wasn't right for you,” It was a relief to say it. But, you felt for the guy all the same. Dating sucked. “Or,” Being the good guy sucked even more, “maybe she was just as nervous as you were.” He seemed to think that one over. Nodding as if he agreed. “Drink up, kid. You have work tomorrow.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” He groaned out, taking another sip of hot liquid. “So...what about you?”

It was ridiculous how many butterflies swarmed inside of you when his eyes turned your way, “What about me?”

“You aren't gonna find someone if you never go out,” At that, your shoulders drooped a bit. Plopping back against the couch in an almost pout. “It's true, ya know.”

“I know,” You refused to look over at him. Pondering over everything. “What made you decide it was time?” The question had been just another thing eating at you.

“I just...” He wouldn't explain it all. Couldn't. That'd involve coming clean about every look your way. “I miss the little things, ya know? Waking up to a smiling face and all that jazz. I don't...” His throat worked as he talked. “I don't wanna be alone.”

Silently you absorbed everything he'd said. The fragile crack in his voice. Pain in each note. Relating to it more than he knew. Me either, Jay...Me either.

Part Seven

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​ @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @michaelneedssomemilk​ @lemondropirwin​ @fanfictionismydeath​ @neii3n​

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​  @woodworthti666​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord @smoothdogsgirl @ima-be-a-mongoose @briagallen @agusdoti @my-proof-is-you @deanwinchestersmydaddy @sucker-for-dean @blacktithe7 @thevelvetseries @sucker-for-dean  @sociopathtime @deans-baby-momma @aomi-nabi​ @brandinicole911 @demonqueen47 @c-ly-g @bakabozza @socalgem1124​ @hillface89​ @winchester-fantasies​ @redwineloves​ @monkeymcpoopoo​ @mcshloemer @hillface89​ @chocolateheart

[x688plsloveme]

Day 1 and also 16 Whumptober 2020

Ah here it is. My first whumptober post of the month. The actual prompts are in the tags but that would spoil it. This one was REALLY self-indulgent. Like super super self indulgent. For multiple reasons. Anyways hope whoever reads this likes it!!! xoxo

The first thing Danai feels is the sticky feeling of warm blood trickling down her face as she comes back from the peaceful silence of unconsciousness. She hissed at what obviously was a head wound but was otherwise apathetic. She shakes her head to see how it would make her head feel. “No sharp pain or dizziness. So no major blood loss or concussion.”

This wasn’t an uncommon situation to be in anyways considering she likes to take the  fight close and personal and when she goes to get up. She realizes that it wasn’t a possibility thanks to metal shackles that kept her restrained to what felt like a wooden beam. Now that is not a common occurrence.

There’s a groan to her left from who she assumes is Deacon as he was the last one with her before the ambush. They were traveling back from a mission to help a synth when all of a sudden, dozens of gen 2’s were surrounding them. There was no chance in fighting so they just put their weapons down. One of the bots knocked them out and now she was here. Wherever here was.

The person beside her confirms her guess when she hears Deacon’s voice let out an “Oh-!” Followed by a sharp inhale and a whispered “fuck.” He was definitely seeing something that she both wished she could and couldn’t. She had never heard him be so quiet - even in a dangerous situation. That made it all the more serious and she knew she had to prepare herself, so she steels her nerves and strains her ears to try and get a better sense of her surroundings.

She didn’t have to wait long as the man across the room who was fiddling with his favourite knife and watching her like a hawk notices her waking up.

James smiles and his steel eyes light up in mirth when he sees his rival, Danai, start to stir. He can’t help but feel uncharacteristically giddy at the situation. Her and her…friend tied up and restrained, him holding all the cards, and of course none of the backtalk or fire to be found. Not yet anyway. She wouldn’t be fun without it.

He picked this place specially for her. A location that no one knew about except for his close advisors that has the outwards appearance of yet another run down destroyed house. But go into the cellar and it’s a different story.

A plain basement fitted with nothing except a chair for his princess to rest on and anything anyone would need to extract information out of someone else. But that’s not what he was after. Not today. He had something very special for tonight’s events.

Rubi, who was always seen with her boss, watches in a very characteristically giddy way when she sees her companion’s plan start to form behind his eyes. She looks back and forth between the two rivals, her pink pigtails bouncing as she practically vibrates in her seat in excitement.

The institute operative leaves his victim tied up on the floor and struts over to the two agents. He makes sure every step is loud and precise, ensuring that the woman he was approaching knew exactly where he was.

Said woman knew better than anyone just how quiet he could be when he wanted, so it was unnerving to notice how… perceivable the man was being considering his usual methods of letting his opponent be the last person to know his whereabouts. That meant that either he was being sloppy or he knew her helplessness and no longer saw her as a true danger. Danai could guess which one it was.

She flinches when she hears him come to a stop in front of her. She can’t tell you how she knew, but something in her told her that he was smiling directly at her. He lifted her head with the tip of his knife and they both hardly breath as they still; playing a game that only they knew the rules of.

They ignore Deacon’s attempts at telling him to get away from her until he got a bit too annoying and Rubi spoke up from directly beside Deacon. “Get ya pet to shut up Da~ni. Guess what happens if ya don’t?” She grabs his hair and yanks, her friend yelping at the pain.

Danai sighs, knowing who it is immediately. “It seems that she tagged along as well. Great.”

Her bright attitude was dangerously deceptive and depending on her mood, she would kill faster than it took to say “Look behind you!” Danai couldn’t risk him by ignoring her.

Keeping her gaze fixed on James as best she could with her sightless eyes, she growled at the girl “Touch him again and I will staple your pigtails to your ass sweetheart.” The girl giggles at the venom laced words, happy that she could get under the other’s skin.

“And Deacon? Shut up.” He snapped his mouth shut and nodded out of habit. Satisfied, she pulled away and went to stand next to her boss.

The man whose attention was still fixed on Danai flashed a smile and hummed, pleased that he had won that round, and let her head drop. He could hear giggling from behind him as his second was undoubtedly amused by the resident liar’s stricken expression and Danai’s annoyed face.

He knew she hated losing and it bothers her even more when she loses their little “staring contest” that they always greet each other with. It’s usually something to see who’s the best composed for the day’s meeting. A way of sizing the other up without even speaking a word.

At least her companion was quiet for the moment. He wanted to focus completely on the woman in front of him - wanted to watch her squirm as she figured out what was going to transpire soon.

After removing his knife from her chin, he straightened up and smoothed down any wrinkles that formed on his immaculate crimson button down. He circled the pillar and quietly took in her disheveled appearance, from the blood that had started to dry on her face to her messy orange dreads, and finally her torn up signature leather jacket. He had never seen her so unkempt before, it made him positively delighted.

He stopped in front of her again and with a smirk she could practically hear, started talking. Gloating was probably closer but could you blame him? He doesn’t get many chances to humiliate her with little repercussions.

She hated his voice. The silky smooth timber that fooled far too many people and grated on her nerves at every opportunity. The cocky but even tone that he usually had was replaced with an unusual delight that he so rarely showed around her. That didn’t spell out anything good.

“Danai darling.” The word filled with as much venom as possible. “I so missed you, you should really visit more often, it gets boring without you around.”

An offended “Hey!” Comes from Rubi but all he does is wave her off. “Oh please princess you know how much our friend here entertains me. She’s special.”

The aforementioned can’t help but scoff at this and roll her eyes. “Cut the crap James. What do you want?”

He feigns hurt and places a hand on his chest dramatically, yet still smiles as creepily genuine as ever.

It sends shivers down Deacon’s spine when he sees the odd juxtaposition paired with his dangerous glinting eyes. He wants to say something - a joke, anything - and he would if he couldn’t clearly see the cards they were being dealt.

“Oh darling you wound me.” Ignoring her question he went on. “Of course you’re special, how could you not be? The only survivor of an empty vault and resident goody two shoes that insists on trying to oppose me at every opportunity. You’re the hero of the wastes sweetheart. Act. Like. It.” As he continues on, his smile slowly fades and his voice loses the joyful emotion it had previously before hardening completely at his last word.

She promptly spit in his general direction, hitting his slacks. He frowns disappointingly down at her, giving her a look a parent would when their child misbehaves in a very silly way.

“Now. No need to be childish.” His sentence is accented with a swift kick to her stomach. She immediately feels bruises start to form as she doubles over as best she can and has a coughing fit. Deacon tries to struggle and say something when Rubi catches his eye and playfully points a finger gun at him and makes a shushing motion with her other hand. He gets the message.

James laughs a little. “We still haven’t gotten to the main event after all. But don’t worry, you’ll find out soon.”

He stares pointedly at the railroad agent for the first time, trying to convey silently to him exactly what his plan is. Deacon can guess what is about to happen to the still unconscious woman across the room from them. She was tied in a similar manner that they were, but looked much more beat up. The railroad agent would be embarrassed to say that he may have whimpered in fear thinking about what these psychos could do to her.

Satisfied, James looks back toward his adversary and can’t help but chuckle. Here she is, bound and bloody, entirely helpless with no way to save anyone, and she still glares at him with a ferocity that would terrify lesser men.

Good thing he’s not a lesser man.

As it stands, her anger just fuels his desire to push her buttons more, so he decides it’s time to get the show on the road.

He claps loudly and says, “Alright let’s begin!” and starts to walk across the room. Danai cocks her head in confusion but bites her tongue to prevent from asking any questions.

“Rubi, hand me the water please.”

“Aye-aye cap'n” she says with a salute and hands him a bottle of water that was placed beside the unconscious woman earlier.

The man wastes no time in splashing it in her face, wincing at the ungraceful way she woke up, sputtering and cursing.

“Wha-? Where the fuck am I?” She wastes no time in glaring at her captors.

Danai’s eyes widen and she gasps sharply. That is Glory. They caught her separately and she is in the same situation that they are. Except… Something’s off. Her eyes widen in horrible realization. Glory isn’t near her like Deacon is. That sociopath would never let her die, would never even risk collateral damage from killing someone near her. Anyone close enough to touch was safe that’s why she wasn’t scared for Deek, but Glory was too far and-

“Figured it out have we? Good.” He sneers. “Well there’s no beating around the bush so to speak.” He snaps his fingers at the girl beside him. “Punch this one in the face.”

She obliges gladly, putting her entire weight into it, confident that the muscular woman could take it without passing out again. Her head snaps to the side with a distinct “thump” and both agents yell in protest.

“Let her go-!”

“Don’t touch her-!”

“Ah-ah. None of that. Just sit back and enjoy the show darling.”

Her face twists into scowl. “If you think I’m going to be quiet because you tell me to, you are dumber than I thought.”

He watches her carefully, letting the tension settle on her uncomfortably like a heated blanket on a summer night before speaking again.

“This time, shoot her ear off.” The little maniac actually giggles and does as she was told. The loud bang being drowned out by Glory’s screaming.

Danai was getting frantic at this point. Adrenaline shot through her and she struggles to breath through the panic. Deacon can only scream expletives as his anger rises.

“James don’t - don’t do this. You know how close we are, don’t do this.”

Something unreadable flashes across his face and he makes his way across the room to crouch in front of her again. This time he tilts her face up with his hand, ungloved, some distant part of her mind notices.

“Oh?” He cocks his head, tone still infuriatingly even and calmly says, “Then beg.”

She doesn’t even have to think about it before words are streaming from her mouth, shaky from the extra effort it took not to break down crying. “Please don’t James pl-please don’t kill her I’m sorry I’ll do anything you want just please pleasepleaseplease don’t. I couldn’t bear it you know how much it’ll hurt me.” Tears start streaming down her face at the thought of her friend getting maimed and killed in front of her.

He smiles - so so sweetly - she can hear it in his saccharine voice. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He pats her on the head and it takes every ounce of willpower she has to not bite him. “Good job.”

The two agents breath a sigh of relief as he stands up but it was cut short as another shot rang out. Glory’s cursing stopped altogether, the crazed lackey starts laughing, Deacon blanches in horror, and in the middle of it all stands James with his smoking gun now being put back in its holster.

Danai couldn’t say anything. She just stills there and frantically strains her ears but she can’t hear even the laboured breathing of one of her most trusted friends. She looks up at the monster himself and can’t find it in herself to move. Or scream. Or curse. Can’t do anything as her mind tries to process with what just happened.

He enjoys seeing her like this too. Their banter was fun and she is the most entertaining person he’d ever met, but there was something unique about being the one to extinguish her fire in a single moment.

She starts to shake while silent tears steam down her face. He sighs. “She was a such a sight.”

Her friend on the other hand was out right sobbing and calling Glory’s name over and over on the verge of hyperventilating. He grimaced and beckoned for his second to come over.

“Knock the boy out and leave.”

For once, she follows out her orders quietly, sensing her boss’ mood. Danai could only let out a weak yell in protest when she hears the thud of something hitting her friend’s head, but she couldn’t muster up any real bite from it.

The logical part of her brain was trying desperately to keep her from shutting down completely. “He was just knocked out. You can hear his breathing, he’s fine. He’s alive. Focus now on getting you and him out of here. Breathe in. Now out. Again. You’re a bit calmer. You can do this.”

While she was still very much shaking, her voice came out steady. The first thing she says is a spat out “Fuck you,” and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Proposition me again when you’re less disgustingly dirty and tear stained.” He pulls Rubi’s chair over and sits down in it, bringing along with him a syringe filled with a strange liquid. Not that she would know that of course.

“I tell you time and time again to join my side, the winning side, but you always dismiss me.” He shook his head, curls bouncing with the action. “I had to give you a taste of what was in store for you if you kept fighting it. Fighting me.”

She takes a shaky breath. In and out. “Bullshit. This was off limits and you know it. G-Glory,” her voice cracks on the name, “hadn’t messed with any of yours since the truce you had no right!” Her voice starts to rise so he leans down and puts his hand on her face.

“Hush now. You wouldn’t want what happened to her to happen to your little friend here, would you?” That shut her up alright, although the glare and unshed tears were still present. His breath nearly hitches - her anger and battered beauty was stunning. She reminds him of the lions he read about as a child. They were always his favourites next to deathclaws of course.

He keeps his hand on her face and softens his voice in a way that usually got him what he wanted. His last card to play. His final attempt to get her to stay. “I’ll ask you one more time precious. Join me? We would be unstoppable, feared and worshiped. Between the two of us, the world would be ours. What do you say?”

She can’t believe the gall of this man. She was cracked, not broken. There was nothing that would make her betray everything she worked for. To betray Hancock. Her face twists in disgust and she shakes her head until his hand falls from it. She glares up at him, mustering all her loathing and hated for the man sitting in front of her. Her friend’s murderer.

���Go. To. Hell.”

James isn’t surprised per say but it still stung to be rejected by the one person he found interesting. Though he can’t exactly blame her, he still thought she would see reason and endeavor to pick protection over war.

He sighs and pulls away from her but otherwise shows no sign of  displeasure that she could pick up. He grabs the syringe again and flicks the tip a couple of times to get rid of any stray bubbles.

Her glare was firmly in place up until he utters an almost mumbled “What a shame,” and plunges the short needle through the skin of her neck.

The spot flared up with pain but she was out before she could even think about something rude to call him. The last thing she hears before fading was James sighing almost…sadly? She would decipher that if she had more than a few seconds left of consciousness, but as it stood the most she could do was try and struggle for her last few seconds. The man in front of her strokes her face again and his downhearted face was the last thing she sees before passing out, everything fading completely to emptiness.

[normal-thoughts-official]

Words that you bury

A retelling of the most meaningful moments between Raphael and Magnus, when Raphael was staying at Magnus' home.

Or: 6 times Raphael and Magnus said "te quiero" to each other, and one time they said something else

Relationships: Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago

Rating: M

Category: gen

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Past Abuse, Found Family, magnus is raphael's dad fight me on this, blink and you'll miss it Trans Magnus Bane, camille belcourt is an abuser, lots of crying ngl

Read it on Ao3

“I’m sorry,” Raphael says. Again and again and again, “Dios, I’m so sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Magnus says. His hand hovers over Raphael’s shoulder, debating whether or not to touch it with the air. Every time it moves, Raphael lets out another sob, and Magnus recoils like an animal being attacked. Which is absurd. If anything, Raphael should be the scared animal in this situation. But there Magnus is, scared of a little touch, unable to help him.

“It’s so disgusting,” Raphael continues, and Magnus takes it for the yes, there is that he knows it is. His chest feels like it’s closing in on itself. Magnus tries not to fold in half under the force of it. “Why can’t I stop?”

“You’ve gone over a month without eating,” he tries to reason. “You can’t help being hungry, my boy.”

“This is not- it’s not hunger. Look around you! Look what I did!”

“It’s just a kitchen.”

“It’s- it’s all red.”

“From donated blood,” Magnus repeats. “I told you that, dear, no one was hurt for these. It’s okay.”

He had arrived home to find the kitchen essentially covered in his blood stock, which he had been keeping for Raphael ever since he first rescued him, over a month ago. It was the first time Raphael had used it.

The fact that it was splattered everywhere, and that Raphael had been at the middle, sobbing and bloody, told him that he might not have made that choice, though.

“I lost control,” Raphael continued, like Magnus hadn’t said anything. “I lost control, I just launched at it, now it’s everywhere, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Magnus says, “you were hungry. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not hungry. When I’m hungry I eat frijoles, I eat arroz de choclo, tortillas, enfrijoladas, un chicharrón que sea. This is blood."

"Donated blood. From mundanes with the Sight who want to help people like you. You didn't hurt anyone, Raphael."

"It doesn't matter! I don't want this. I want to be normal. I want to see Rosita. She was having such a hard time adapting here, she needs me-"

It pains Magnus to have to hold Raphael down, but he has no idea what Raphael might do in this state, with his super speed and strength. There's still sunlight outside and he could burn himself. And he worries Raphael would also hurt himself in… non-accidental ways.

"You need to be well first, dear. You're still weak. And still hungry," he says, trying to make his voice as comforting as he can. Raphael still recoils like he's been punched, though.

"No, I'm not gonna- I'm not. She's my sister! I wouldn't- no!"

"I know you wouldn’t. But seeing her like this will make you feel worse. You can barely stand up, dear." He doesn’t say that he’s seen it happen. Way too many times. Desperate vampires, wanting so bad to be normal, thinking if only they can stay away from eating long enough, everything you go back to normal. Then they see mundanes, and they snap, and it makes them feel worse. Magnus doesn’t want that to happen to Raphael. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to take it.

And Magnus doesn’t want to see any more suffering in this world.

“I-” Raphael says. Then he drops down back on the ground, cross legged, hugging his knees. “I know.” He looks at Magnus with his big, brown eyes, and they’re so full of pain it makes Magnus feel like his guts are bursting, ugly and everywhere. It reminds him too much of himself. “I can never see them again, can I?”

It’s a question, but doesn’t sound like one.

Magnus still hesitates to answer it.

“Maybe you can still say goodbye,” he says, because he knows the silence will just hurt Raphael more. “I know some people who did. You just need to be- well, first.”

“How can I,” Raphael says, his eyes puffy and red and angry, “ever be well?”

Magnus stops.

He could be cheery. He could be bubbly. He could tell Raphael that everything’s gonna be okay, that he’s okay, that he’s gonna be rich and happy and find a family. He could keep up with the detached, perfect persona he’s been playing since way before Raphael arrived, but particularly after that.

Instead, he says, “my mom killed herself.”

Raphael’s whole face transforms, from anger to a mix of confusion, understanding, sympathy, and something else Magnus can’t quite put his finger on. Something that looks that an older brother taking his sister to school. Something like- caring.

Magnus looks away.

“She- my eyes,” he continues. “She was so scared. My stepfather kept telling her about the devil, and then- then she saw it in me.”

A beat.

“My stepfather tried to kill me. I- I killed him first. It made me feel like the devil my mom feared I’d become.”

He turns to Raphael again, and that- undecipherable look is stronger than before. It takes up his whole features.

“It’s not- well. These kinds of things don’t- go away. I didn’t just lose my family then, I lost my city, my culture, my people. Myself.

“It’s not okay,” he continues, “but I am. Or- as much as I can. You find out that life goes on. That there’s more to it than the pain, even if it’s still there. I have more people now. I have another family. And you,” he gives him a sad smile, “you have me, at the very least.”

Raphael’s lip starts trembling, so he adds, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Raphael breaks down.

It’s ugly, loud tears, sobs that rip him in half, burning all the way up. It’s hands gripping onto nothing so hard that his nails are about the break the skin. He shakes in a silent yell, already hoarse without a single word; raw and trapped in his pain.

And Magnus holds him. He slowly takes Raphael’s hands and put them around him, so he can grip Magnus’ shirt instead. He doesn’t want Raphael to hurt himself.

“It’s okay,” he says when Raphael visibly strains not to grip him, “it won’t hurt me, I’m a warlock. Let it out.”

It’s a lie, because Raphael has super strength and the way he grips Magnus digs his fingers into his skin and burns him in pain. But he doesn’t let a single sound out, knowing that soon the grip will make the skin numb. Raphael needs it, and he doesn’t mind.

“Mi hermanita,” Raphael cries, “está tan sola, tan…” he sobs, “me muero.”

Magnus struggles to remember the little spanish he had learnt when he went to Peru. He knows it’s something about his little sister, and- dying?

“Lo siento,” he says, because that’s something he remembers. I’m sorry.

“Me muero,” Raphael repeats.

“You’re not dying,” Magnus shakes his head. “You’re alive, okay? You’re a person. You’re a human. Estás vivo.”

Raphael keeps crying, albeit more silently. Magnus tries his hardest to think of something comforting to say to him, with his limited vocabulary. He knows that sometimes hearing Malay is all he needs to feel grounded, comforted, home. Aku cinta kamu, his mother would say to him before he went to bed. Her native tongue was Javanese, but since his stepfather didn’t speak it and she mostly had to speak Malay in the docks, that’s the language he was raised in. He never learnt Javanese, which makes him feel like a piece of him is missing sometimes.

“Te quiero,” Magnus says, suddenly inspired. It’s all right to say te quiero, right? Raphael has been living with him for a month after all. “Te quiero bién,” he adds on second thought. I want you well. Or at least he hopes that’s what he’s saying.

Raphael nods, still a little lost in his tragedy stupor. Magnus lets him, and keeps stroking his hair and repeating softly, te quiero, te quiero, estarás bién. Until Raphael finally stills, head still hiding in Magnus’ shoulder, but no longer shaking with sobs. Magnus idly realizes that his legs hurt from kneeling besides Raphael for so long, but he doesn’t care.

They stay like this, lost in stillness, until he feels Raphael’s hands letting go of his back. The blood flow returns to the abused areas, and Magnus has to hold back a hiss at the sudden mix of pain and relief. Then Raphael looks up at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I made a mess.”

Magnus looks around, at the bloody state of his kitchen. “Oh, this?” he asks, deliberately light, and then flicks his wrist in an also deliberate flourish. Suddenly the kitchen is sparkling clean. “Pay it no mind, dear.” The wet stains in both his and Raphael’s clothes have disappeared, and he also took away the pain in Raphael’s eyes for crying so much.

It takes Raphael a second to recoil. “Warlocks got all the fun parts out of this whole ‘devil blood’ thing, huh,” he says. It borders on bitter, but there’s some humor in it, too.

“Demon blood,” Magnus corrects, because he knows the weight the word devil carries. “And I think we could do with super strength or speed, but that’s my personal opinion.”

Raphael barks out a laugh, which clearly surprises him more than anyone.

Magnus smiles at him. “Come on, there’s more where those came from. Are you still hungry?”

Raphael’s wide-eyed nod tugs at Magnus’ heartstrings, but at least he’s not disgusted by it anymore. Magnus’ smile widens in encouragement. “Okay. Sit down, let’s give you a more proper meal.”

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t say anything. Magnus knows that, if mexicans are anything like javanese people, the concept of a meal probably involves several dishes, a lot of people, and at least two hours.

The look in Raphael’s face indicates that mexicans are exactly like the javanese. With a flourish of his hands - more ostentatious than necessary, so Raphael isn’t surprised by the sudden apparition - he conjures up a new bag of blood, except the bag is a dark blue instead of transparent, with a few jasmines along with the plate.

“Flowers?” Raphael says, amused, “What is this?”

“Well, you were clearly disdainful of my meal offer, so I thought I’d step up my game. Can’t have a warlock leaving people unimpressed, my dear.”

Raphael lets out a full, smooth laugh this time, one that doesn’t feel punched out of him. “Thank you,” he says, then looks between him and the plate, hesitating.

Magnus takes that as his cue. “Right,” he says swiftly, “I should probably go check the inventory of my apothecary. If you’ll excuse me.” and turns around to leave in long, fast strides.

“Magnus,” Raphael calls for him right as he’s about to reach the door.

He turns back to him almost sharply. “Yes?” he asks, with a small tilt of his head and raise of his eyebrows.

“Te quiero también” Raphael says.

I love you too.

“Oh.”

Raphael gives him a small smile, and when Magnus turns to leave again, his steps are a little less elegant, but a lot lighter.

*

“Magnus, what the fuck?” Raphael asks.

Magnus pauses, stick still halfway on hitting the dummy. He turns to Raphael quickly, but in a small movement; stopping with legs close together, feet touching, arms down, head slightly tilted to the right. He makes sure his shoulders are relaxed so his stance doesn’t seem guarded, but holds still so it doesn’t seem threatening, either. Glamor up, stick gone, breathing silent. He widens his eyes slightly. “Did something happen?”

The vampire is suddenly behind him, and Magnus resists the urge to jump. He knows the boy would not attack him, particularly not in this weakened state. He doesn’t want to act frightened and make him feel worse. He takes a deep breath and does not move.

The boy’s hands touch his back where it’s exposed under his tank top. His touch is so gentle it’s barely there, and Magnus thinks his hand might be only hovering close. He remains still and tries not to invade Raphael’s space.

Raphael takes in a sharp breath. “You’re bruised up.”

Magnus frowns. “I was only practicing. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“No,” Raphael says, almost angry. “This is not- This is-”

Magnus turns again. Slowly, small movements, hands raised but close to his torso, feet touching again by the time he’s done. Raphael is pursing his lips repeatedly, head shaking slightly like its thoughts are scrambling up its balance. Magnus stays still.

Finally, Raphael speaks, tone so icy it burns. “I did this.”

“My bo-,” Magnus shakes his head. Condescendance won’t help. “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know it was-”

“Perfect shape of my fist. It was- You fucker, you said it wouldn’t hurt you.”

Ah. “It didn’t.”

“It’s purple, Magnus.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. Come on, sit,” he says, pointing at Magnus’ own couch. Magnus drags it towards himself, silently showing Raphael that he’s fine. Raphael snorts, but there’s no humor in it.

Magnus sits down.

“Dónde está….. Que coño,” Raphael mutters to himself. “Don’t you have some sort of balm to treat these wounds?” he speaks up. He’s pacing around Magnus’ apothecary so fast Magnus feels dizzy. Fledgelings are like kittens, way too energetic and way too unaware of that. “An apothecary as big as this, and you only-”

Magnus doesn’t keep a lot of balms. He doesn’t need them himself, and when he needs one for someone else, he simply brews it. He thinks over a way to help Raphael calm down.

“I can magick it away,” he offers.

“No,” Raphael answers, turning his head towards Magnus sharply. “I did this, I have to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Magnus protests.

“I gripped you so tight it bruised, Magnus.”

“I told you, it doesn’t hurt. It’s, uh, a warlock thing.”

“Then why does it bruise?,” Raphael hisses. Then he takes a quick step back, like he’s been spooked. “Please don’t lie to me,” he says, voice small, head down.

Magnus’ heart aches. “It really didn’t hurt,” he tries.

“I know warlocks feel pain. I’ve seen Ragnor stub his toe, remember?”

Despite himself, Magnus snorts. “The old man is just dramatic.”

“I’m not about to dispute that,” Raphael mutters, “but I know that you don’t have a higher pain tolerance. And if you had, it would make no sense for the body to bruise. That’s a reaction to hurt.”

“Fine, it didn’t hurt a lot, then. I knew I could take it. I’m used to it.”

Raphael’s face turns even sadder, and Magnus scrambles his brain to find what he did wrong.

“I shouldn’t hurt you at all, Magnus.”

“Nonsense, it’s fine-”

“No mames, cabrón” Raphael mutters to himself. Magnus doesn’t know what that means, but with the way it stings with barely concealed anger, he doesn’t have to. “Just tell me where the balm is. Or whatever you use to treat this kind of wound.”

Magnus sighs, deciding not to argue over this anymore. Raphael is having a hard time, after all. “Third drawer to your left,” he says, silently magicking a little pot there. It’s not as good as his hand brewn one, of course, but it’s a little thing that will certainly lessen the purpleing. Raphael is by his side within a second, balm in hand. Magnus does jump this time, then curses himself for losing control like that.

“Sorry,” Raphael says.

“It’s alright,” Magnus says, “superspeed does that.”

“No,” Raphael clarifies, “well, yes, but I also meant- I’m just sorry.”

Magnus softens like a balloon deflates; so quick it’s scary. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, turning to Raphael on instinct.

“I hurt you. You are already letting me stay here-”

“Don’t.”

Raphael scoffs. “It’s true.”

“No. I brought you here. I invited you to stay. I told you it was okay-”

“Right, and now I can’t believe you, can I, because clearly you would tell me that it was alright, and let me take and take, and get hurt!”

Magnus’ vision feels foggy. For a second, he doesn’t know why. “I-” he begins, but finds himself with no sentence to form.

Raphael’s tone is a lot quieter now. It still rings on Magnus ears, clear as water over the deafening silence that Raphael’s scream left behind. It’s like his shout itself created stillness.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he says, biting his lip, “I don’t want to, I- I’m scared of hurting anyone.”

Magnus’ tear falls, but his vision only clears for a second before the fogginess returns. “I’m sorry,” he says, feeling like a kid who just got scolded.

Raphael shakes his head, but there are no tears for him to wipe. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing,” he says, and it would sound like a laugh if it wasn’t so bitter. Magnus shrinks into himself again. “But don’t do that again. Don’t hurt to make me feel better. Te quiero, ¿sí? Y te quiero bién,” he says, so smoothly even Magnus feels calmed by the words, despite them being nowhere as familiar to him as they are to Raphael. “So your hurt won’t do me any good.”

“Okay,” Magnus says simply. He vaguely has the presence of spirit to admire Raphael for using Magnus’ own words against him like that. This boy is way smarter than he gives himself credit for. “Okay.”

Raphael’s lips quirk up, pursed and sad. “All right then. Let’s treat these bruises. Can you take off your shirt so I can see them better?”

Magnus nods. “Of course, my boy.”

*

Raphael crashes home like lightning on a sunny day; so sudden and loud you’re not even sure it happened.

He slumps against the door, shaking slightly, eyes shut like he’s trying to lock them away.

Magnus’ magic reaches out to him before he even thinks about it. “Raphael,” he says, getting up. There’s no sign of injuries. But he can barely stand straight.

Magnus doesn’t have the time to ask. He draws in a sharp breath, shaky and pained like a dying animal’s. “I went to see my sister.”

“Oh,” is all Magnus can say. Did he try to tell her? He knows Raphael’s family is very religious; maybe she didn’t want to accept him. His heart aches, filled with worst-case scenarios: did she try to kill him? Was he hurt? Did she cry? Did she scream at him to leave, terrified-

“I said goodbye,” Raphael finishes, words leaving his throat like a final breath. He shuts his eyes again, fists tightly against the door like they’re supporting him more than his legs are.

“Okay,” Magnus says, “okay.” He takes a deep breath so his voice sounds smooth and quiet, “let’s take you to the couch, yeah? Let’s rest a little.”

Raphael nods, slowly like he needs to think hard to remember how to do it. Magnus doesn’t let it deter him. “I’m going to put your arm over my shoulders, is that alright?” Raphael nods again. It’s a short walk to the couch, and he doesn’t need to support the entirety of Raphael’s weight, Raphael being more shaky than weak. But it feels like a run on the desert, feverishly painful.

He makes no move to go away once Raphael is settled (maybe he should have, he doesn’t know if he wants company, doesn’t know if he’s intruding, this is about his family, after all, what does Magnus understand-), but Raphael still grabs his arm once he lets him go. “It’s alright,” Magnus says, squeezing his knee slightly. “I’m here.”

Raphael nods again.

They stay in silence.

Magnus doesn’t know how long. Feels like years, his heart beating anxiously in his chest as Raphael cries, terrifyingly still. He shakes is an almost defiant way, his body held tight and tense, the few tears that manage to break free quickly wiped away. Magnus doesn’t know what to make of it, so he settles for caressing Raphael’s hair and repeating estarás bien every once in a while.

You’ll be alright. He’s not sure how effective it is, but every time he says it, Raphael nods, so he thinks that at the very least, it’s helping ground him a little.

Eventually, Raphael opens his eyes.

It’s only then that Magnus realizes he had been holding his breath, too.

His body is still tense, but he doesn’t relax, not yet.

His heart beats anxiously, and Raphael stays still.

“I said goodbye. It’s done,” is the first thing he says, tone boiling with finality. “I told her I couldn’t see her again.”

“Did you say why?” Magnus asks.

Raphael shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t.” He finally turns to look at Magnus, searching him like he expects to see judgement there. Magnus can’t judge him. Not one bit. Raphael turns away again, “It was dangerous enough to go see her, but- I knew how to not hurt her, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t not-”

He stops abruptly, taking another deep breath.

“She started crying as soon as she saw me. Hugged me so tight- if I was still a person she’d have broken my bones.”

“A mundane,” Magnus corrects; heart clenching and unable to let it go unchallenged.

“That’s what I meant.”

They look at each other.

Magnus caves. “So what did you tell her?”

“I told her that I’m okay. That she doesn’t need to worry. But that she won’t see me again. I used- that encanto thing, so she would think I told her before disappearing. I didn’t want her thinking I disappeared for almost four months only to-”

He puts his hand over Raphael’s. He’s gripping his own arm so tight Magnus is almost scared he’ll tear it off.

Raphael huffs, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he says, “she begged me to stay.”

Magnus’ heart goes out for the boy, and a part of him tangs with ugly, bitter jealousy. Rosa didn’t care what Raphael was. Didn’t care what happened. She still wanted to be with him.

He bites the inside of his mouth, trying to get rid of these thoughts. Raphael is suffering, he’s in pain, he’s lost the person he loves the most and yet here Magnus is, selfish as always-

Raphael finally turns to look at him, eyes puffy and shining with caged tears, and all of Magnus’ thoughts silence before the pain that he feels for him. “I’m so scared of leaving her alone, Magnus.”

“My boy.” Magnus is unable to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Raphael into a hug. The boy is shorter than him, and smaller, and he buries his face in Magnus’ chest as he doesn’t shake, doesn’t sob, doesn’t wrap his arms around Magnus too tight. It burns in a thousand different ways, this not-closeness, this cage of fear Raphael put himself in.

They’re both trapped within themselves, desperately afraid to step out, but still weakly trying to reach for each other.

“She told me we’d find a way. That I didn’t have to tell her what was happening, didn’t have to explain, that she would help me anyway. She kept- she kept trying, Magnus, and there was nothing I could do-” he laughs wetly. “I’ve always hated saying no to her.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus says, because he is, and there’s nothing else he can say. Raphael can’t stay with her; that never goes well with anyone. Besides, the clave has been particularly adamant on keeping downworlders and mundanes strictly separated lately; Rosa’s life is not the only one at risk if Raphael stayed with her.

She might even accept him, but it’s worthless. All that means is that he has to be the one to leave.

It’s a completely different kind of tragedy, not at all like what happened to Magnus’ family all those centuries ago; yet it feels exactly the same.

“Lo siento,” he repeats, hoping the familiar sounds of Raphael’s language bring him comfort instead of pain. All he does in response is nod, so Magnus can’t be too sure, but he’s shaking a little less, seeming to ease a bit into the hug and the way Magnus strokes his hair.

“When we moved here,” Raphael starts. The sound of his voice startles Magnus a little bit, and he chides himself for getting distracted by the touch; he’s not the one who needs comfort, “Rosa was four. It was all- pretty fast. One day we were helping my mom sell enchiladas on the street, the other we went on a days-long trip. And suddenly, we didn’t know anything. Even the way we sat would get us weird looks. We couldn’t understand anyone. No one could understand us. She was terrified.”

Magnus swallows down the lump on his throat. He understands this way too well, having seen his mom’s language suddenly become forbidden in her own house. It’s scary, being locked away from the world like this.

“She stopped talking,” he continues. “At all. Even in spanish, at home, to our mom- she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t cry out when she was distressed, or in pain. She wouldn’t yelp in surprise. It was like she was mute.”

“She must have been scared,” Magnus says, trying to sound sympathetic, and not like he had no idea what to say.

“It was scary. I think- if she wasn’t there, I might have done the same thing.”

Magnus keeps stroking his hair.

“But I couldn’t, because I had to take care of her. Our mom couldn’t. There was so much on her plate. I was so worried for Rosa. She was so bright, and funny, and smart, way more than me. Still is. I wish you could have met her,” he sighs. Magnus knows he’s grieving over that, too, all the things he didn’t do. “Seeing her so quiet, I couldn’t take it. I talked to our neighbors, they taught me English, so I could speak for her, and explain things to her. We made our own kind of sign language, so I could understand what she meant- and one day she started talking to me.

“Not anyone else, just me,” Raphael continues, “I would go with her everywhere. She would talk to me, and make jokes, and laugh - and then someone else would say something around us, and she would draw back again. It was terrible, seeing her so scared, kept away from the world. But I could be her bridge, and with that, she got to learn at her own pace. I didn’t, so I know that that’s a big deal.”

“It’s terrible,” Magnus agrees, “walking blindly trying to find straws to grasp, knowing you can’t afford to make mistakes.”

Raphael hums. “Did you have to leave after- your stepfather, too?”

“Well, no. I was found by my father soon after. But after I ran away from him - I was in a completely different country, in a completely different time, and I didn’t know anyone.”

Raphael nods again, in a way Magnus knows means he’s paying attention to what he says. His fingers start tracing little circles on Magnus’ belly, and he looks serious, like he’s trying to commit this information to memory.

He doesn’t ask anything, though, and Magnus is glad for that.

“You went through it so she didn’t have to,” he states. “That was pretty brave.” He knows Raphael isn’t a lot older than Rosa. From what he’s told Magnus, two or three years, tops. He can’t imagine it, being only six and having to figure out your own on the world, with the responsibility of someone else on your shoulders.

“I don’t regret it. I kept trying to teach her English, even if she wouldn’t say anything when I did. I knew she was listening. Eventually she started talking again. First with my mom and the neighbors, in Spanish, then a little English then and there. She can speak perfectly now.”

Magnus nods. “She’s strong, too.”

“She is.” Raphael’s smile is unbearably sad, barely a tug, his eyes too still. “But to me- I still see that little girl who was too scared to stand up for herself. She’s so- great, and happy, and I was supposed to be there, to take the blows for her, to make sure she keeps- she doesn’t-”

Raphael shakes his head. “I know she can do without me,” he continues, “but I don’t want her to have to. And I- I don’t want to do without her.”

There’s a sob at the end of the sentence, and then a few more. It’s way more quiet than the breakdown he had when Magnus first found him, or that fateful day when he finally caved and tried to eat the blood on Magnus’ stock; he’s not crying with abandon. He holds himself tight, and hides his face on Magnus’ chest, and doesn’t make too much noise.

That makes it even more heartbreaking.

“I had to run away,” Raphael says. “When she started crying, telling me to stay. I had to run away so she wouldn’t see me break down. I turned my back on her. I’m so sorry. God, Dios, I’m so sorry-”

“You’re protecting her,” Magnus tries to reassure him. He knows it’s pointless, but he tries anyway. At the very least, he doesn’t want Raphael to feel guilty for doing the right thing. “You didn’t turn your back. She knows this. She knows you wouldn’t turn her back on her, Raphael. She knows.”

“I couldn’t even hug her,” is all Raphael answers, muffled by the tears.

Magnus holds him tighter, purely on instinct. He feels a little silly; he’s nowhere near the comfort Raphael wants. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and Magnus is nothing but the reminder that his life is all upside down.

A crazy, lonely warlock who can barely handle his own baggage. That’s all he has to offer to Raphael.

But he’ll still offer it.

“Lo siento,” he repeats again, “cry away, it’s okay. I’m sorry. Lo siento.” Then, because he feels like Raphael doesn’t know it, and he needs to, “you’re a good man, Raphael. You’re so good to your sister. She won’t forget that.”

It makes Raphael sob harder, but he keeps it up, knows he needs to know it, and needs to let it out too. “You did good,” “you’re a good brother,” “you’re so strong,” “I’m proud of you.” He barely notices it when the first “te quiero” slips; probably wouldn’t have had at all, if Raphael hadn’t immediately answered.

“Te quiero también,” he says. It’s the first thing he’s said since Magnus started talking.

Magnus takes that as a win, and continues to comfort him, letting Raphael cry himself to sleep.

Once he does, instead of pulling away, Magnus simply lies down on the couch, and sleeps right there with him, hand still tangled in Raphael’s hair.

It’s as much for his sake as it is for Raphael’s.

*

When Magnus gets home, back from a day of shopping for potion ingredients and getting some more blood to replenish his supply, the sun is about to set. He’s pleasantly tired, ready to waste the rest of his evening away with Raphael, who must be waking up.

He closes the door behind him, and there’s a blur in his peripheral vision. Fast and noisy and going straight in Magnus’ direction, too fast for him to even process anything but the threat.

The worst part is, his first instinct is to freeze. The flinch is all but imperceptible, the move to cover his face and not really defend himself; he doesn’t move, doesn’t jump, his magic doesn’t react in time. Pliant. Helpless.

He registers that, bitterly and with just the narrow - sharp - edge of fear, before he registers that it’s just Raphael.

Who’s looking miserable. And also has a bag in hand.

“Sorry,” Magnus says, at the same time, and his tone just as small, as Raphael. He almost laughs to himself at the ridiculous pair they make, before he’s distracted by his double take. Raphael has a bag in hand.

“There’s no need to apologize,” Magnus says, his body looking as if it’s waiting for the bell to ring so he can move. Undecided on his next step. “What’s going on?”

“I think I should leave,” Raphael answers, and even if it’s a direct answer to his question, it still feels abrupt. “I was just getting my things and waiting for the sun to set. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Oh.

He- wasn’t expecting that, somehow. Raphael had been doing well lately, but he hadn’t really found a clan. Magnus wasn’t even aware that he was getting close to other vampires. “Okay,” he says, like he hadn’t been planning on watching a movie with Raphael that night, or teaching him how to make potions next week - Raphael had mentioned that he liked cooking, but it was too painful to do that just yet when he knew he couldn’t eat, so Magnus was thinking of teaching him how to make some potions that didn’t require magic, have him reconnect, somehow, with his hobby. Then again, it’s not like he told Raphael about any of these plans. He just- assumed. “Where are you going?” is the first thing he asks, stomach churning at the idea that it’s the New York Clan. He doesn’t want Raphael with- her. Then again, it’s not any of his business.

Raphael looks, if possible, even more miserable. “I’m not sure. For now I was just going to look for the nearest one. Then I’d see where would be best.” Then, mumbling to himself, almost like some sort of reassurance, “New York is big, there must be plenty of clans.”

Actually, there is only one, because Camille has been systematically dismantling and destroying other clans for decades now, and Magnus stops and frowns. Raphael doesn’t even know about the clan situation in New York. Why is he in such a rush to move?

Magnus sits down on the couch opposite from him, slowly. Like he’s afraid of scaring Raphael away. Once he’s settled down, legs crossed, arms relaxed, he speaks, “wouldn’t you rather know the clan before you move there? It’s a pretty big commitment,” as softly as he can. Maybe Raphael needs a change, he reasons with himself. Or maybe he just wants to get away from here. “If the problem is the loft, I can always redecorate it. Or I can find an hotel for you to stay,” he offers. Raphael shakes his head vehemently, like Magnus’ words are attacking him.

“No. I don’t want to take even more from you.”

Understanding downs on Magnus like the descending of an elevator, and suddenly he feels silly. Of course. He should have known. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, “you not wanting to impose?”

“I think we can both agree that I overextended my stay here.”

“You must have really good persuasion skills, then,” Magnus answers, raising an eyebrow. Raphael always speaks - clearly, for lack of a better word, almost technically, his terms precise and specific. But when he talks like that, like the lines were taken from a textbook, Magnus knows that he’s speaking from rationality, not from heart. He can’t say he likes it.

Raphael just looks at him for a moment, brow just slightly furrowed. Like even he doesn’t know what to do with it. In the end, he replies like Magnus hadn’t said anything, “I’ve been here for months. Just staying and- crying.” He says it like he’s tripping, and there it is. That little lapse of truth. Magnus tries to grab it with all his might. Subtly.

“If I recall correctly, you also tended to my bruises right on the first month,” he says, “and showed me some really good music the other night.”

Raphael grimaces like Magnus is being difficult. “You know what I mean. You’ve been way too kind to me. I can’t keep taking advantage,” he says, sincerely.

“You’re not taking advantage. It doesn’t bother me.”

Raphael chuckles, like the idea is a joke. “You don’t mind a stranger staying at your house, feeding off your supply, needing your help at every turn for three months?”

“It’s hardly a stranger if they’ve been living with me for three months.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, sighing, like he’s drained, like he’s trying to get every ounce of air to have the energy to keep going. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for me. It’s because I appreciate it that I can’t keep doing this. I’m pulling you down, taking your space. I have to go and figure this out on my own.”

“I don’t think you’re underappreciating me,” Magnus answers sincerely, and for a second, it feels like his own offer of vulnerability to Raphael, “I think you’re underappreciating yourself.”

“It’s not about me,” Raphael says after a second of silence. “It’s just. I’ve been taking too much from you. And I know you’ll just keep letting me. Don’t tell me it isn’t true,” he adds when Magnus makes just the smallest of moves, “It’s not fair. You’re giving me a house, things to- feed, emotional support. You were there for me after Rosa, you-” Raphael falters, and that’s new. He hardly ever leaves a sentence unfinished, unless he’s having a breakdown. “It’s too much,” he finishes softly, painfully.

“It’s not,” Magnus says, just as softly. He sees Raphael shake his head, like he’s ready to say that Magnus is lying, so he takes a split second decision. “Having you here far outweights it.”

It’s his own display of vulnerability, but it’s not incidental, this time. It’s not an offer for Raphael to take, either; it’s a promise of honesty he makes to the both of them. He doesn’t want this conversation to be over before it even starts.

So he continues. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Raphael looks positively shocked, the force of it taking up all of his features, like he hadn’t even considered that option. He looks more shocked than he did when he first saw Magnus using magic. Magnus tries not to let that sting too much, not to think, did I do something wrong? Does he really not know?. Tries not to wonder if he’s so closed off he’s forgotten how to love. If he’s denying that boy the affection he so clearly needs, even as he feels it. If he’s becoming Camille, or his father.

“Having you here… It’s been doing me good. You have no idea how much,” he confesses, a little scared of how scared he is of saying it. “You’ve been giving way more than you think,” he finishes, nowhere near satisfied with what he’s managed to express, but still not knowing how he could continue.

“I don’t understand,” Raphael says, and the sincerity of it cuts Magnus.

“I-,” Magnus doesn’t look at him. He can’t. There’s something grabbing at his throat, a mix of fear and pride, the kind that’s heavy, that pulls you down. “I’ve been lonely,” he manages.

Raphael still looks lost, almost afraid, like a lone sailor who sees a storm approaching. So out of his depth it’s terrifying.

Magnus sighs and pauses, trying to gather himself, because he feels the same way. He's never even talked about this with anyone who wasn't there when it happened - and even then, Ragnor, Cat, and Dot had gotten a version with more furtive silences than words. Because they were there, and they knew how to fill the gaps.

Talking about his mum had been easier. Hell, even his father.

Camille was different. And he battled within himself, simultaneously sure that he was just telling this to Raphael to force him to stay, and that telling him would drive him away for good. And that's just typical, with Camille - all paths are equally painful, and all lead to the same place, no matter how wildly different and even conflicting.

So, in a fit of stubbornness, and defiance, he does the opposite of what he's convinced he should do. He tells Raphael.

"I had an ex. A vampire. Over a century ago," he begins, and has it been this long? It definitely doesn't feel like it, the wound fresh and rotting like it was carved only yesterday, like it was being carved right now, "she drove me away from almost everyone." He admits quietly, and feels, strangely, like what Raphael had described a confession to be like. "Even Ragnor, and Catarina. I-" deep breath, "I haven't been able to bounce back."

"What did she do?" Raphael asks, and his voice is quiet, soothing, as if it's holding Magnus' hand. But there's a strain underneath, too, something that sounds like the fire that burns in his eyes, that rightful fury that reminded him of hell. A fire Magnus had only really seen in the eyes of those who believe in it.

"Honestly? I don't know," Magnus says, truthfully, despairingly, like he hates the words. "It was just exhausting. Terrifying. Every time I looked, it seemed I was more cornered than before, and I was so scared of being alone, scared enough that I'd just… Let her do what she wanted," he admits, the shame burning hot in his throat, scratching him raw, leaving him defenseless and burning and weak like before. But he pushes through, a miracle in and of itself, "and she convinced me that she was the only one who could ever love, or even like, me."

Raphael looks at him, that fiery gaze even more intense than before, and Magnus can't face it, because if he does, it'll take him over, and he doesn't deserve it, doesn't deserve its protectiveness. It'll burn him, because he's unworthy, and he's weak, and heavenly fire is poison to people like him.

His hands are clenched so tight they're shaking, and he focuses on them, on the grounding pain, on the movements of his fingers as he rubs them together. "When I freezed, today," he says, his voice sounding shaky, and small, and pathetic, "it was instinct. Something I learnt from her. When she was mad, she would come to me running, just like you did," so fast he just heard the noise of the disgruntled air being cut by her body, sharp and loud and destructive, "sometimes she'd shove me, sometimes she wouldn't. But I never knew, so sometimes I flinched, and that would - really hurt her. So I learnt not to flinch, just freeze and brace myself to keep from hitting my head."

Raphael hisses, and Magnus jolts, seeing his fangs are drawn out. He covers his mouth with his hands quickly, looking a little sorry, but still burning, rage, anger, fury. He's getting better at controlling himself, though, because he manages to draw them back, and say "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, that's - probably the last thing you want to hear now is a vampire hissing."

Magnus chuckles, humorless, "it's ok, my boy. You don't scare me, just- like I said, it was instinct."

"Still, I don't want to force you to remember that. If I had known what I was doing to you-"

"No!" Magnus says, with that kind of strength and conviction that jolts his whole body, his brain only processing that he said it after he already had. "No, no, Raphael, I'm sorry, that's not what I was trying to say at all, my boy, I'm sorry-"

"I just never expected to be hurting you on top of-"

"You don't! That's what I was trying to say-"

"Please, Magnus, what can I do to-"

"No, my boy, no," he says, this time calm, but firm, and Raphael silences. Briefly, he notices that he got up at some point.

Raphael looks at him, and his eyes are big and wild and expectant, like he's waiting to follow Magnus' lead, and it's heartwarming and confusing and helps him keep talking.

"It's not about that. You hadn't even done anything that reminded me of her before this, today," he says softly, softer than he's ever heard himself talk. "And it was just a split second. Believe me."

"I believe you," Raphael answers, nodding. Magnus smiles.

"What I am trying to say," he continues, making a show of sitting back down on the couch, all relaxed body and certain movements, and he can see Raphael visibly relax on his own couch, "is that after her, I was afraid that everyone would hurt me. I was afraid that I'd let them, like I had let her. I put up walls, and I made a front for myself, and I didn't let anyone get close. I didn't make any new friends. And I felt as lonely as I thought I would once she left me."

Raphael looks at him with something akin to shock in his eyes, but Magnus just keeps going, not stopping to think of the implications of that. "You're the first person who got close to me. You're my friend, and having you here has been doing me so good," he confesses, "to remind me that I don't have to be lonely, that I won't be. You haven't just been taking, my boy, you've given me so much. So-," he stops when he sees Raphael get up and walk towards him.

The hug is almost sudden, even if it follows very slow, calculated movements, the kind that is designed to give you every out. Magnus overflows with it, even with the awkward position of him sitting and Raphael standing, even with the limited contact. Raphael's face hides into his shoulder, and he feels fierce, strong protectiveness in place of the vulnerability from before.

"So," he chokes out, "I really don't want you to go."

Raphael nods. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"None of that," Magnus laughs, a little wobbly, like he's overloaded.

Raphael huffs, suspiciously fond. Then he says, "te quiero, Magnus."

Magnus' eyes widen only slightly, and he answers, "te quiero también."

*

Magnus stumbles down the street, trying to support himself on a nearby house’s wall. He’s close; only a matter of two blocks before he gets home, but he feels like he’s been walking there forever. He’s so exhausted he didn’t even manage to portal himself home.

It had been an emergency call - a friend of Catarina’s who had recently adopted a little warlock girl reported her missing. They went straight to Magnus. He had been dedicating a lot of his time to that, recently, many warlocks reaching out to him when there was some kind of emergency.

He’s always kind of fulfilled that role, helping people when they needed it, but recently the number of calls he’d gotten had skyrocketed.

People have been speaking of making him High Warlock of The City Of New York.

There’s no High Warlock of The City Of New York.

He doesn’t even know if there are any High Warlocks for specific cities; distance is not a problem, so High Warlock positions usually cover a pretty large area. Hell, some of them cover entire countries. The Iberian Peninsula has only one, and most of the time she is so bored she petitioned to be able to make regular warlock work as well.

(It was approved.)

But New York - New York had been messy, and scary, recently. There had been a rise on hate crimes, and most of the downworlder community was on edge - but especially warlocks, who had been preferential victims of kidnapping. Crazy shadowhunters wanting to study “demon blood”.

They weren’t very organized political groups - yet. But the number of hateful shadowhunter groups had been on the rise, and the Clave had done nothing to stop it - not that anyone expected them to.

And New York, well, it had a pretty high warlock population density, and a particularly uncaring Institute in the hands of particularly bigoted shadowhunters. It was the best place for hate groups to start, and the High Warlock of the state hadn’t been managing to handle all the calls from all the population.

Hence why Magnus had been called in so many times, and why people were speaking of giving him a position.

He’s not sure if he should take it - certainly there are people more fit for the job than him. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to turn his back on his people in such a hard time, and he never believed a lot in institutions such as the High Warlock position in times like this. And - well, he isn’t sure if he would be able to manage all of the region’s problems, his own, and also take care of Raphael.

Not that Raphael needs him a lot - he was more and more independent these days, long used or at least resigned to his vampire life. He has started volunteering as a cook in a nearby shelter, something Magnus had learnt filled him with joy; he’s made a few other downworlder friends, even a few vampires. It has been over a year - soon, Magnus guesses, he won’t need Magnus anymore, and will look for a real place to live in.

Magnus is - scared of that.

He doesn’t want to - he should be happy for Raphael, and he is, he truly is. He’s glad he’s making friends, going outside, finding joy, reconnecting with himself, his love for cooking, finding a place and a community. He’s proud of him, even. He would never want Raphael to be dependant on him, unhappy and lonely.

Honestly, Magnus is probably the dependant one.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without Raphael - he had been feeling so lonely before him, even with his small group of friends, with his regular visits to Pandemonium; he had no one to talk to and no one to give him company for more than an hour or two. He and Raphael had settled into an easy routine; for the first time in, who knows, so long, Magnus felt like he had someone to share his life with, somewhere to belong, something he could be a part of.

It scared him to know he’d lose that soon. Raphael won’t want to see him again once he leaves - Magnus is probably a walking reminder of the worst moments of his life, anyway.

Seeing him leave will hurt.

But as long as Raphael is still there, he’ll want to focus on him, because Raphael doesn’t have anywhere else to go, while there are plenty of competent warlocks who could take a High Warlock position. He doesn’t want to leave his people, and he won’t - which is precisely why he won’t take such a responsibility if he can’t have it be his priority. Even if he knows Raphael probably won’t be there for much longer.

But he doesn’t want to prepare for that ahead of time. He doesn’t want to face the inevitability of it.

He’s just so scared of being left. Even if he knows it’ll happen. Has to happen. For Raphael’s happiness. For his good. It’s not like Raphael - owes it to him to keep in touch, to see him, when Magnus knows that he had no choice when he decided to stay with Magnus, and he probably only represents more pain for the boy.

So he supposes he’ll cross that bridge when it comes crashing down under his feet.

He’s alright with that - it’s not like preparing himself will really lessen the pain.

The visits that end up being shorter and shorter, the calls that will stop being returned, the furtive running when Raphael encounters Magnus by chance - Magnus knows he’ll pull away slowly, because Raphael is a nice boy, and he probably thinks that it would be ungrateful to cut Magnus off his life completely once he leaves.

But the disgust- the bad memories will win out, eventually.

And that’s okay. Magnus doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone. Much less to Raphael - he’s not only company, not just someone to fill the hole Camille left in his heart; Raphael might be the person that comes closest to understanding him. He knows about Magnus’ past, and he understands what it’s like to lose everything you knew in just a day. He’s hilariously sarcastic and never endingly good, he cares for others more than he cares about himself sometimes, he has a patience Magnus could never hope for and a cool head that never meant a cold heart. Magnus was so proud of him, of how he acted and his values, he could cry. He loved Raphael like he’d love a son, and he’d rather die than make Raphael suffer, force him to revisit the times that almost managed to dull his light and pull him away from the very things he dedicated his heart to.

He wishes he could be something other than darkness in people’s lives, though.

At least he managed to save today’s girl - she had been kidnapped by a small, but vicious shadowhunter supremacist group, and even her caretaker couldn’t find her.

Magnus had been trying to find her for a few days, when he supposed one of the shadowhunters slipped up. He got a try. He got to her fairly easily, but he didn’t know what state she was in, or what they were planning. Catarina was working a shift, Ragnor took too long to answer, and Dot was helping the actual High Warlock with another problem she couldn’t tell them about. But Magnus didn’t have time to wait, so it was just him and Kai - the girl’s caretaker.

Kai was also a warlock, although a pretty young one - only starting to venture into their 50s. Noelani, the girl, was only 7, just old enough to start to get a real hold of her magic, and just naïve enough to let people know about that. They had been on visit in New York, Kai having been called to speak about gender colonialism at a Nā ʻŌiwi NYC event. As their tutor - Noelani wanted to be a kahuna lapa’au, a magical healer, and, as the only other warlock and seeing as māhūs were traditionally responsible for keeping alive the traditional hawaiian practices, Kai had taken her under their wing - Kai had taken her with them, and the bright, overly enthusiastic about sharing her knowledge of magic, girl had attracted the attention of shadowhunters. About halfway through the month-long event, she went missing, and Kai called to Catarina, who was helping them both with healing magic, and who called for Magnus’ help.

Taking down the shadowhunters with their combined power wasn’t hard, even if Magnus did most of the work - there were only 4 of them, although he suspects they might have other connections. But the last one managed to cut Magnus with her sword, and, as it turned out, it had magic-suppressing venom.

If Kai hadn’t given her the final blow, Magnus could have been in deep trouble.

As it was, though, they were both fine, and they managed to leave with Noelani safe, the shadowhunters’ little lair burnt to a crisp, and their bodies sent over to the nearest clave branch. Magnus knew the clave wouldn’t mind, because that way they could return the bodies to their families, say they died honorably in some battle, and once it was clear that the crimes were stopping, take credit for solving the problem.

“Protecting the downworlder community is part of our job,” they kept saying, even as they did a piss-poor one.

But Magnus couldn’t portal back, and, because Kai had never been to his loft, the best they could do to help was portal him somewhere in Brooklyn. Magnus didn’t have any money for the subway or a cab either, so walking it was. Noelani and Kai had offered to walk him to the loft, but he had waved them off, saying that he was fine, just needed a magic replenishing potion; and besides, they were scared and needed time to cool down. A walk would probably do him good, anyway, get some exercise and a bit of fresh air after so long working on this case.

It was all true, at the time. But the venom seemed to have longer-term effects that were much slower on the uptake. By the time he reached the street of his loft, he was exhausted, his wound was bleeding out, and he had trouble walking as well as breathing.

By the looks of it, the shadowhunters were succeeding in creating new weapons against downworlders. Fantastic.

He would be fine though. He just needed to get home, take his magic replenishing potion, and then get rid of the venom. Worst case scenario, he’d call Catarina. She’d know what to do, and if she didn’t, she would figure it out. She was smart like that.

So that’s what Magnus is telling himself as he limps down the last bit he needs in order to get home, the magic replenishing potion is on the apothecary, right on the first drawer, you just need to drink it, have a stamina potion if you need to keep yourself awake as well, you’ll be fine, as he stops for a moment to get some breath, almost there, just this little breath and you’ll be fine, no need to panic, it’s okay to go slow, as he starts walking once again, just that corner and a few more steps and that’ll be it, the wards will let you in, it’s so close now, come on, as he turns around the corner, there’s a shadowhunter at my doorstep.

There’s a shadowhunter at his doorstep.

Magnus blood runs cold, and instinctively he freezes, but the shadowhunter immediately turns to look at him. They’re like sharks, they can smell his blood as soon as it starts to drip down, showing his weakness. They thrive on it.

This guy is not here as a clave representative - if he were, that wouldn’t be much better, but the fact that he’s not makes even more anxiety pool deep inside of him. Magnus didn’t tell them he was the one who gave them the bodies, and if they traced the magic back, it would be Kai’s, not his. Besides, the shadowhunter’s alone, and smiling, and shadowhunters never smile when it comes to clave business.

He also has a huge seraph blade drawn and at the ready. And shadowhunters do smile when it comes to using these.

“Magnus Bane,” he says, almost conversationally, except for his distinctly threatening stance. Magnus figures the snarl at the end of his words is just how he’d normally say any downworlder’s name. “I knew we should have come for you sooner. This little chat of ours is long overdue, don’t you think?”

Were he not in a distinctly weakened state, Magnus would be rolling his eyes. Shadowhunters’ one-liners were always absolutely terrible, and the fact that they always said it like they were evil geniuses only made it more cringe-worthy.

But Magnus is is a distinctly weakened state, and he can’t afford himself to relax, not when he know he’s slow and weak and has no magic. So he stays still, and stops his automatic magic functions - his magic already subconsciously keeps his glamour up and his adrenal glands producing testosterone, even when Magnus is too weak to use it consciously, much in the same way that his body would keep breathing if Magnus were in a coma. Right now, though, he needs every reserve he can get, and he’s also hoping that having his warlock mark exposed will make him look more ready for the fight than he actually is. Maybe even make the shadowhunter feel a bit more threatened.

It doesn’t. He’s starting to shake in weakness and the shadowhunter only lets out a low whistle. “Oh, I love it when you do this. You guys try so hard to hide it, pretend you’re real people, don’t you? But this is when you show who you really are. Ugly, deformed animals. You know it, and you can’t hide it, not when it matters.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know if he could. He just looks at him, his vision at least a little better with his natural eyes out at night, his legs shaking slightly as he tries to keep himself upright, his throat closing up in fear and the almost childish refusal to let the shadowhunter’s words truly sink in.

He’s too weak to throw a punch. He’s too slow to run, and has no place to go to. He has no weapon. He barely has enough magic to create some sparkles, even now that he ceased all of its functions. He can’t send a fire message to call for help. Raphael isn’t home. Maybe if the shadowhunter lunges at him and he can reach his throat, he can use the last of his magic to taze him, but even that’s a long shot. He can feel his magic getting weaker and weaker, and the shadowhunter’s sword is long. He has no strength, he has no speed. He has just enough adrenaline running to keep up with what’s going on. The shadowhunter lets out a disdainful, “bring it on, warlock,” and makes towards him.

And it hits him. He’s going to die.

He’s going to die the only way he never wanted to - by the hands of greedy, hateful killers, his body to be used to inspire more fear in his people. Weaponized against those he tried to protect.

And painfully.

Bleeding out. Beaten up. Helpless and tired. And something tells him this shadowhunter won’t mind taking his sweet time with him.

Magnus falls as soon as the shadowhunter’s body hits him, a full force launch that knocks him down easy. So easy the shadowhunter himself loses his balance for a second, not expecting so little resistance, and in his stumble Magnus manages to touch his neck.

But not to conjure any magic.

He realizes, belatedly, that he should have gone for his eyes. It wouldn’t require much strength, and if he fell down, Magnus would have a chance of making it to his loft. He could even call Catarina the mundane way from there, not to mention he had his wards.

But he didn’t. He tries to reach up with his other hand, but the shadowhunter lands a punch to his exposed ribs before he can. When his arms fall down from the blow, he steps down on Magnus’ shoulder, hard, not enough to break anything, but enough for him to scream, which is just humiliating.

He’s going to die, and he can feel the cold of the seraph blade against his throat, and the shadowhunter is probably saying something, and he doesn’t know how he could move without cutting himself right now, and he’s too weak to do anything, and the adrenaline is only helping him panic, not think, and the shadowhunter is probably laughing, enjoying his weakness like they always do, and he’s going to die, and that might be his last thought, he’s going to die, alone and weak and hated and not even managing to put up a real fight, this shadowhunter is going to kill him, and he’s going to die.

Raphael lunges at the shadowhunter and breaks his neck.

It cracks like wood under someone’s feet, and just like that, he’s gone.

“Raphael,” is all Magnus can manage, and it’s a useless thing to say, but it’s the only one he wants to right now.

Raphael. Raphael. He’s here. He saved Magnus.

“Magnus,” he answers, his voice laced with all the fear Magnus was feeling before, and Magnus can barely register why. Suddenly, he’s lying on his couch, and there’s noises of things being open and thrown out so fast coming from his apothecary he kind of snaps into life again.

“Mierda, mierda, mierda, carajo, coñ- puta madre, ese desgraciado puso esa mierda en su- vamos, vamos, por favor, Magnus-”

Magnus has no idea what he’s saying, even if he has a feeling he could piece it together if he could think clearly right now, but Spanish is far from coming naturally to him. Still, Raphael says his name with so much anguish, Magnus feels the need to intervene.

“First drawer of my desk. Magic replenishing,” he says, still a little weak. Raphael is at his feet so fast he can’t help but jump, and Raphael’s face does something that Magnus can only describe as twisting.

“Sorry,” he says, and for a second Magnus marvels at the fact that Raphael knows, that he understands. He’s forgotten what that felt like, to have someone know, to not have to fake smiles whenever he was forced to remember. “Please drink, Magnus, please,” he insists when Magnus looks at him for too long.

Magnus gives him a small nod, then downs the potion. He can feel his magic spark to life again, slowly filling back up. He feels more aware, more grounded, even if still tired.

Raphael looks at him expectantly, like he’s hoping for Magnus to start floating or curing himself, so he feels the need to explain, “it’ll take a while for it to fully take effect.”

Raphael tenses in a way that tells Magnus that if he had weaker self control he’d be bouncing around the walls. “We can’t wait. Magnus. What else can I do? Please-”

“Did you- my wound-”

“Applied pressure, bandaged a little, I couldn’t find-”

“Third drawer, the little purple thing. I also need a stamina potion. I’m afraid I don’t have this one at the ready.”

Raphael is back with his balm. “Should I call Catarina? I couldn’t remember her number.”

Magnus shakes his head, even if he’s a little unsure. He doesn’t want to bother Catarina, but he also doesn’t want to put more stress on Raphael. Then again, standing in the sidelines while Catarina works would probably only make him more agitated. “You can make it pretty easily. Just mix some ginger powder, grinded malagueta, honey, and werewolf fangs. Equal parts. They’re in my apothecary, all labeled-”

“Like this?” he has all the ingredients in an instant, and mixes them in front of Magnus, like he’s afraid of doing it unsupervised. Magnus knows he’s far from a boy, but when he’s like this, so eager to help and anxious for his guidance, Magnus can’t help thinking of him like one.

Like a son, he tries not to think, even if he knows, deep down, that that’s what he feels. He’s watched Raphael grow and build himself, has seen him change and open up and look up to Magnus for help, for advice. He’s held him as he cried and been shocked to find out Raphael could do the same, too. Every time he sees Raphael helping others, or making new friends, or starting new projects, pride swells in his chest as if ready to burst. Raphael is his own man, but Magnus also feels that a part of him is permanently with him, and a part of him is permanently changed by Raphael’s presence.

It’s terrible, and he knows it. Raphael has his own family. The last thing he’d ever want would be to replace them.

But Magnus can’t help it.

So instead of saying any of that, Magnus just nods, and adds the last bit of magic that the potion needed to hold up, and drinks it in spoonfuls as Raphael carefully lifts his bandages, cleans his wound up with alcohol - for the second time, Magnus can tell now that he’s paying attention, and either Raphael was incredibly fast or he was more out of it than he thought - and spreads the balm in deliberately slow strokes.

It fills him to the brim with a mix of pride and some sort of love that’s almost painful, aching. He knows Raphael is doing it not to scare him and he feels so- touched, he can barely compute it.

He tries to reign it back in before any tears could make their presence known, and by the time Raphael is done, the wound is already closing and Magnus can feel his glamour snapping back into place and his hormone activity returning to normal. Soon the magic will finish what the balm started and the wound will be closed. He’ll just have to check to make sure the venom is out of his system. But if his simple magic replenishing potion was enough to undo its effect, he supposes it can’t hold up for more than a few hours.

“Water,” Raphael says, resolutely, “and food.”

“I don’t think I should eat,” Magnus protests, and immediately regrets it when Raphael’s eyes widen like he just passed out. No matter how much time passes, he never fully gets used to Raphael’s idea that feeding a person will solve all their problems.

Not that the idea itself is that foreign to him, but - the gesture is. No one’s really worried about that since he lost his mother.

“It’ll slow down the healing potion,” he explains, “I haven’t fully absorbed it.”

Raphael keeps still for a second, like he struggles to process that, but then he nods. “Water, then,” he says in a tone of finality that Magnus wouldn’t have dared to protest, even if he hadn’t noticed that he’s actually pretty thirsty. When he comes back with a cup and the hugest water bottle Magnus had on the fridge, he ends up drinking it all, and then some more after Raphael fills it again, until finally he feels like he’s stable enough to fully settle into his tiredness. His head falls back on the couch, and he closes his eyes as he hears Raphael shuffle about and carefully sit beside him.

Once he’s done, Raphael wraps his arms around Magnus and rests his face on Magnus’ shoulder, and Magnus has the weird feeling that he’s comforting Raphael as much as Raphael’s comforting him, even if that makes no real sense. His grip is so tight it almost hurts, but it’s exactly that Magnus needs, comforting and putting the best kind of pressure over him, grounding him, making him feel- safe. Raphael knows it, he realizes, he’s been living with Magnus long enough to know what he needs for comfort.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Raphael asks, slightly muffled. His hands are rubbing up and down Magnus’ arm, where they meet, like he wants to make sure Magnus knows he’s real.

“I feel fine,” he replies, and it’s not a lie. “My mind isn’t foggy anymore, my magic is going back to normal, the wound is closing. Soon I’ll be good as new,” he half-jokes. Raphael just nods, but otherwise doesn’t move an inch, and Magnus allows himself to just bask in that presence, that feeling of- home.

(He shouldn’t think it, he really shouldn’t. Not when he knows this is the last place Raphael would want to call his home)

“Are you okay?” Magnus finds himself asking, when the silence starts to feel heavy enough to put itself between them. Raphael looks at him like he’s crazy, and Magnus would feel sheepish if he had enough energy for that.

“He didn’t even touch me, Magnus, I’m fine,” Raphael says, in a slightly confused but still reassuring tone, like he’s afraid Magnus hasn’t processed what went down.

“You killed him,” Magnus replies, shame lodged at the base of his throat.

He couldn’t defend himself. He was weak, and dependant, and Raphael had had to step in for him. Raphael, who almost starved himself so he wouldn’t hurt others, who paid penance almost every day, who could barely handle the thought of upsetting someone else. He killed someone because Magnus was too weak.

He imagines catching the boy on his knees again, burning himself with ashes because of this, and the thought makes his stomach churn.

“Yeah,” Raphael says, still rubbing his arm affectionately, the touch grounding, “yeah, he’s gone, it’s okay.”

He thinks of his father’s voice, booming and disdainful. You’re weak. Thinks of feeling stuck, of being a burden, dependant. You need me. Thinks of Camille-

“Magnus,” Raphael says again, a note of desperation in his voice. He always got so lost when it seemed like Magnus lost his footing, and it only made him feel more responsible. “Magnus, it’s okay. You’re safe. He’s gone. You have your wards. I’m here. No one else-”

“I know. I just… I didn’t want to make you do this,” he admits, embarrassed. It makes him feel more childish, the way there’s nothing he can do. Nothing he could have done. He put yourself in danger, and he wasn’t strong enough to end it himself. If-

“Magnus,” Raphael interrupts, sounding shocked, “he was going to kill you.”

Magnus nods, a self deprecating smile on his lips. “I know.”

Raphael swallows, and Magnus can feel the distress in his movements, in the way his hands twitch, and his arms sometimes press a little too tight against Magnus for just a second. “Please tell me you weren’t going to let him,” Raphael says, “please tell me you weren’t- Magnus,” he pleads.

“I wasn’t going to let him,” he says, “I just. Couldn’t win. Of course I would, if I had the chance, I just. Wish I hadn’t made you- I know how you feel about hurting others.”

He turns to look at Raphael, even if it slightly upsets their embrace, and his eyes are wide like he can barely process what Magnus just said. He wonders, briefly, if Raphael hadn’t realized what he had done, until Raphael speaks. “Magnus. He was going to kill you. I would kill him a thousand times over. Honestly, I- I won’t even ask for forgiveness for this one.”

Magnus doesn’t know what to do with these words. They hit him like cold water, shocking but way too quick for him to realize it.

“I don’t care, Magnus,” Raphael says, even more emphatic this time.

Magnus breaks down crying.

It’s - hard to explain. He’s still scared of being so weak, the idea that he almost died still hitting him with shock every once in a while like crackling electricity. And he doesn’t want Raphael to have to deal with these things for him.

But there’s something about being cared for like this, of knowing that Raphael wouldn’t hesitate to protect him, that floods him with something that feels almost like relief.

He knows Raphael doesn’t have a “no-exceptions” moral code; he’s told him all about Rosa, about the fights he would get into when other students tried to bully her, about the people he’s hurt. He told Magnus about how he stabbed a white supremacist who went after a girl in Raphael’s neighborhood, one day. Raphael doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but there’s very little he wouldn’t do for those he loves.

I’d rather it is me making the hard choices, he had told Magnus once. It’s better if these sins are mine to carry.

But he knows how Raphael truly feels about it, from the small, almost imperceptible whisper that followed. I’m already rotten with them, anyway.

And Magnus feels terrible, sick to his stomach, like the worst man on Earth, that he added one more weight to Raphael’s shoulders. And even worse than that, because the fact that Raphael is willing to protect him, enough not to regret it, makes him feel so much lighter, better, relieved.

It’s been so long since anyone stood up for him without utterly despising him for it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hands going to his face so he can at least hide the tears that he knows he won’t be able to stop. Magnus rarely cries, is very good at hiding it up with smiles and gestures and mean comments, but when he does, it overtakes him with all his might, breaks him down into sobs like his lungs want to tear him apart, shakes him like there’s so much trying to get out that he can barely keep himself from bursting.

It’s ugly, and loud- and obnoxious, and annoying, and pathetic, and weak, and manipulative, and he can hear their annoyed voices in his head, every time we fight you just break down and then I have to stop everything and handle you, we will talk when you’re finished with this little fit of yours, and he can’t stop it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Raphael says, “don’t be sorry, okay? I don’t care, I’m just glad you’re okay, Magnus.”

Magnus nods, letting Raphael draw him closer and hide his face on his shoulders. He feels a little stiff, and cold, but Magnus melts all over him anyway, grabbing his torso desperately like he’s scared Raphael will be torn from him.

Raphael pets Magnus’ head slightly, muttering words of comfort to him, and he really feels like this whole thing is on reverse. He’s been the one to take care of Raphael for so long- and not just Raphael, he realizes.

By this point, taking care of others is something that comes from an almost sense of duty. If it were a choice, he would choose it, of course; but he doesn’t feel like it is. To not be the one helping Raphael feels completely unnatural, and he has a feeling that, if it were with someone else, it’d be good - but he feels like, somehow, he’s losing Raphael by doing this. Like it’s proof that he doesn’t need Magnus anymore.

He knew this. He already knew this. He’s been getting ready for it. But having Raphael hug him and murmur words of comfort to him, seeing himself as the dependant, crying one- it’s really rubbing it in.

He doesn’t even know what to do with it, because he’s not about to pull away, to drive their distance, to put himself together. He can’t. He’s so distraught, and wild, and terrified, all he can do is grab him like a lifeline, and hope that it’ll take at least a little longer for him to go.

“You’re alright. You’re safe. That’s all that matters to me. Okay? Don’t apologize. Te quiero,” Raphael says, in that short, calm, but unbearably strong way only he knows how.

“Te quiero también,” Magnus answers immediately, through sobs, agitated and weak, and just as sincere. He wants Raphael to know. That he loves him. That it’s okay.

Raphael nods and hugs him tighter, and keeps saying it. Te quiero, te quiero, I love you, Magnus, te quiero, te quiero tanto. It makes Magnus sob harder, but it’s good, and he needs it, needs it like his strength and magic, needs it like he needed Raphael to barge in at that moment, desperate and unwavering, and make him safe, and bring him home.

He cries to Raphael’s words, and then falls asleep to them, and by the time he wakes up, startled to see neither of them had moved an inch, and is practically yanked back into the hug as soon as he tries to move, he starts to believe them, too.

*

It wasn’t long after that that Magnus took the High Warlock job.

They got a better name for it - High Warlock of Brooklyn. Less of a mouthful, more respectful, even if not as accurate. He carries it with pride, of his role, of his people, of the lives he’s saved, the people he’s helped. Slowly, he’s using the role to turn the city of New York into a safety net for warlocks, keeping them connected and tuned to help each other when needed. He has to, otherwise there was no way he’d be able to handle the amount of cases they get.

But he’s happy with what he’s been doing with it, with the way his influence has slowly started to gather warlocks closer together, connecting instead of hiding away from each other. He’s proud to be building a community based on mutual support and trust. He’s proud of the way people look up to him.

And yes, part of the reason he did it was because he thought Raphael was going to leave soon. He wanted to have something else to do so the loneliness couldn’t get to him. He wanted to help more people, since it was clear Raphael didn’t need him.

Even if Raphael took his sweet time to leave. It’s been almost a year since that happened, half of which was spent with Raphael all but glued to Magnus’ back, like he was scared that Magnus would be attacked again. Magnus had not-so-subtly started to train more in front of him, with dramatic and impressive bursts of magic and powerful punches and kicks. Raphael smiled in a way that told him that he knew what Magnus was doing, but otherwise took a long time to relax.

But he’s ready for it. He knows it won’t last long. Maybe Raphael is scared of leaving him alone, is looking for a better place to stay, is letting him adjust to this new role he’s taken. Maybe he feels indebted still - he wouldn’t be surprised if Raphael refused to leave because he wanted to “repay” Magnus first.

Magnus tries not to let that part sting. He knows that’s just how Raphael is, never believing he deserves care without giving anything in return; but a part of him keeps thinking, he wants to pay his debts so he won’t be tied to you anymore.

Anyway. He’s ready. He is. Even if he still feels like his home is only truly home once Raphael is back from the restaurant, even if he loves his late night talks with him, even if he’s the first person Magnus has opened up to in centuries, even if he has to hold himself from saying that’s my boy! whenever Raphael brings in some good news, even if he’s growing used to ruffling his hair and kissing his forehead in goodbye and even if he’s definitely way too attached, he’s been preparing himself for it, and he’s ready.

That’s what he tells himself.

But Magnus is a terrible, terrible liar.

"I suppose this is not another guilt-ridden outburst," Magnus says, calmly. Steadily. Still.

Raphael's smile is small, but real. "No," he says, ruffling his hair. "I've given it a lot of thought."

"Of course," Magnus answers, neutral as the diplomat he sometimes is. He pretends to be looking at something in his desk, even if it's completely cleaned out and he always magics what he needs into his hands, anyway. "I assume you have a place to stay?"

Raphael lifts his chin. "I'm joining the New York clan."

"That's…"

"I know," he sighs. "Camille's clan. I hate it as much as you do. But I can't… I can't let her get away, Magnus. For what she did to you. For what she's doing to other vampires. I've only met a few, and she makes them miserable," his fists clench and unclench almost subconsciously, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that Raphael holds himself so tight Magnus is scared he'll snap out of his own skin.

"You don't have to- avenge me-"

His voice sounds almost angry in distress, which is - not what he wants. He very rarely fails to keep his tone in check, especially when it comes to things like these. But Raphael doesn't seem to mind. He knows full well Magnus isn't angry at him. It hurts a little, how easily he can read him.

"I know that," he says with a little tilt of his head, like he's acknowledging all that's going on inside of Magnus in that moment. "But I don't want to watch her destroy so many mundanes' lives. I don't want to go to another city and be away from home. And I don't want you to have to deal with her presence everywhere. I don't want her to go unchallenged-" he takes a deep breath. "She's a monster, and I want to take her down. And I have a plan to."

Magnus doesn't know what to say. Raphael sounds resolute beyond words. And even if he feels guilty - for turning against Camille when she had helped him once, for letting Raphael go through her violence because of him - he can't find it in himself to tell Raphael not to.

He's seen what she's been doing to the other vampires. Even helped a few of them she had turned her back to. If anything, they deserved better - but Camille was good with political alliances, and she ruled them with a mix of painful isolation, favors, and fear, just like she did Magnus.

His stomach turns, and suddenly he doesn't want to think about that.

He doesn't have to, because Raphael keeps talking. “You don’t have to visit me, of course. I’ll come here. I won’t make you see her, I promise. I’ll try not to let her know about us, if she doesn’t already.”

Magnus’ nod is a little dumb. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t go see Raphael. He can’t make it known that they know each other. He has to stay away. He was expecting the distance to stretch slowly; he never thought it’d be like this.

“I understand,” is all he can think to say, soft and with just the smallest hint of the sadness that swirls inside of him. He swallows, and hopes that the motion puts a lid on his feelings. “When are you leaving?”

He doesn’t think the question sounds like an accusation. But Raphael still lunges forward and takes his hands in his. “I’m going to visit, Magnus, I promise. I’ll need it, too.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he replies, a little embarrassed. “Wouldn’t want you to be stuck with her nail polish claws all the time.”

Raphael smiles at him, a tiny thing that doesn’t quite land, just like Magnus’ joke. “I’ll miss you, Magnus. What you did for me… I can’t say how much it means to me.”

“It was nothing,” Magnus says, and it feels like it’s choked out, but the end result is so smooth he’s almost terrified at his own ability to hide it. “Just what anyone would do.”

“No. Most people would help me. You gave me,” he looks down at his own hands, fingers twisting a little around Magnus’, like they’re not quite sure what to do with themselves, “a home,” is what he settles with, “when I didn’t think I could ever have one again. I- this means a lot to me, Magnus. You mean a lot to me.”

“You too, dear,” Magnus answers, a little more firmly this time. “Te quiero.”

“Yeah,” Raphael says, sounding somewhat defeated, and Magnus tries not to think about what that means. “Te quiero también.”

“Well then. Let’s plan your moving,” Magnus says, already thinking about how he’s going to redecorate Raphael’s old room. He does that a lot, and he knows it; his things are too easily tainted with the presence of others. When he loses them, he can’t stand them anymore.

Raphael lets himself be led by Magnus’ automatic rambling, and even when they eventually settle on the couch and Magnus falls asleep on his shoulder, the distance between them feels wider than ever.

*

Magnus has always wanted to have a family.

Even from before he lost his mom. He wished his stepfather would raise him. He wished him and his mother didn’t have a purely contractual relationship. He wished he wasn’t going to leave within a year. He wished he didn’t scream at them both, or look at them with what could only be described as disgust in his eyes, or twist his nose when Magnus came back from his apprenticeship with the dukun. He wished he didn’t hate their food.

He wished his mom hadn’t died. He wished he could feel her hands again, washing his hair, the soothing smell of jasmine. He wished he could make her laugh one more time. Better yet, smile. That wide, soft, careless smile she pointed at him sometimes. He wished she would hold his hand as they walked to the port, feeling the cool breeze when it was day, shielding him from the cold wind when it was night. He wished he could hear her say it again, the this is my child that soon turned, as it was clear what his gender was, this is my son.

He wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t hated him.

It made him sick to the brim, like he could barely stand being inside himself, to think about it. His mother hated him. His stepfather yelled it at him as he tried to drown him. His father was so terrible Magnus couldn’t even wish that he was different - he just wished to get away, to run, to hide, anything. To not be him. To not be his family.

But he wanted family. He wanted the comfort of knowing there would always be a group of people who’d care for one another. A group he could belong to. A group he could love. He wanted to have a home, and he didn’t want to do it alone. He wanted to be soothed by the certainty of having others around, not terrified by it. He longed, and he looked for one in all the right and wrong places - Ragnor, Catarina, Camille, Freddie, lovers and friends alike. In Ragnor he found a quirky and caring uncle. In Catarina a close friend. In Camille, just enough to feed his hope. In Freddie - maybe the closest he’d ever gotten to companionship, even if tainted by both of their fears of opening up, and lost forever to his death. Raphael had been the one who felt the most like it.

He knew it was preposterous to even hope to be Raphael’s family. It was everything to him, too. And he had actually had it once. Magnus wouldn’t know where to start making one. He felt so helpless at his leaving, just like he did when his stepfather yelled at him, when his mom died, when his father brought him to Edom at the end of another day.

He wasn’t destined to have it. He wasn’t supposed to. He was rotten, and immortal. Broken and tainted by bad choices. He lost his chance.

He really wanted some whisky.

“All settled,” he said once there was no other way of stalling. Raphael wasn’t taking a lot, playing the role of a lonely vampire who’d just found out about the Shadow World. He wanted to look lost, so Camille would think he was easy prey. Magnus felt that this plan was mocking him, but he didn’t know why. “Take care.”

“You too,” Raphael answers, taking his weight from one leg to another like he can’t find a way to stand comfortably. Magnus sighs. Goodbyes are always painful for him, and awkward for the others. Sometimes he thinks he prefers it when people leave without doing it. But he supposes Raphael has had his fair share of disappearing suddenly. Besides, it’s not his style.

Still, Magnus doesn’t want to drag this out for him. Or for himself. He clasps his hands, seemingly satisfied with Raphael’s arrangements. “Well, good luck, then,” he says, lightly, like all the weight that drags him down was left at the bottom of his stomach, too deep to touch his words. “Take care. No, I’ve already said that. Well, then I suppose the pleasantries are already done. I’ll see you soon,” he says, purposefully vague, so it doesn’t feel like a promise, or a threat. He almost wants to turn away and slam the door behind him, redecorate the entire loft and then drink some tequila just for the burning irony of that. He doesn’t, though, because a part of him wants to see him leave, at least. He should be cheering him on. When a kid leaves their parents’ home, that’s freedom, right? It’s calls for pride and celebration.

Then again, it’s not like he’d know.

Raphael just stands in front of him. He’s stopped his - swinging, and is now looking at Magnus, something deep missing in his eyes like he’s not fully there. He’s unnervingly still, and Magnus thinks, not for the first time, that it sometimes feels like Raphael only has two modes when it comes to movement.

He never really managed to teach him how to use body language. It’d be pretty useful. Especially against Camille. Oh, fuck, Raphael was going to try and overthrow Camille. Magnus felt like his whole body was twisting. Was Raphael really ready for that? Magnus couldn’t even help.

His thoughts are forced to a halt when Raphael brings him into a hug, sudden and tight. Maybe a bit too tight, but at the moment, it’s exactly what Magnus needs, that grounding touch and pressure that feels like safety and calms his racing mind. Raphael is small, compared to Magnus, but he feels solid and precious in his arms, both shielding him and needing to be protected. It’s recharging, warm, like his magic when it envelops him after a long day.

It’s a long hug too, enough for Magnus to consider his options. He doesn’t want to put more pressure on Raphael. But Raphael is hugging him. And he feels like Raphael would like to know- deserves to know that he’s loved, that he’ll always have a home with Magnus. That he’s family to Magnus, even if Magnus isn’t to him.

So, when Raphael lets him go, Magnus takes a deep breath and says, “Te quiero.”

“Magnus,” Raphael says, putting each hand on one of Magnus’ arms, like he needs him to stay still to absorb this information, “You’re like a father to me. You know that, right?”

Magnus just stares at him, in open shock, frozen like his whole body and magic has stopped still. Raphael isn’t looking at him, which is probably a good thing, because he looks like he’s battling with the words before they leave his lips.

“You’ve taken me in, and you… Understand me… And you trusted me when I couldn’t trust myself. This will always be my home, to me, as long as it is your home. I don’t want to leave, and I…” he lets out a deep sigh, like he gives up on the battle, and then switches back to spanish, where he sounds confident, strong, certain, “Te amo, Magnus.”

Te amo.

It’s like the world is bursting out of Magnus.

Te quiero means I love you, but te amo runs so much deeper than that. It’s the kind of deep, selfless caring where loving a person feels a natural part of yourself. It’s deep, and strong, and calm, all at once, and many people live without ever saying that to anyone who isn’t their spouse, or family.

It’s bigger than when he made Magnus his mom’s special recipe. It’s bigger than the hugs, and the tears, and the time that he saved his life. It’s solid, palpable, words as solid as a spell’s.

And Magnus bursts.

All but lunges at him, forcing him back into a hug that’s, if possible, even tighter than the previous one. It knocks the air out of his lungs with a sob, sudden and desperate and relieved, like he hasn’t been breathing before he allowed himself to let that fear go.

He’s crying, like a kid, suddenly and freely and honestly, and all words escape him, except for the ones he holds deeper in his heart.

“Anakku yang kuhargai,” he says, amazingly clearly considering how overwhelmed he feels, “aku sayang kau.”

My precious son, I love you so much. It’s Malay. Words of his past, of his history, of his making, from so long ago Magnus doesn’t even know if they’re still the same, but still the ones his heart speaks in, the ones that touch him deepest even when he hasn’t dared utter them in years.

Raphael doesn’t know what it means, of course. It’s so silly- but he doesn’t have to, because he understands it all the same. And he knows, because he gets it, just how much Magnus is sharing by saying this to him, like this, in tears, in Malay, in the language that has always been family and home to him.

Raphael doesn’t know, but he knows, because he hugs Magnus back just as tight, and tells him “it’s okay, it’s okay, we will always be family, Magnus, it’s okay.”

And god, Magnus thinks. It just might be.

[misharuu]

Alone (Whumpmas in July Day 3)

@whumpmasinjuly‘s day three prompt is love! for this prompt I’m going to be writing a Supernatural drabble. please take all warnings and tags to heart c:

Fandom: Supernatural (fandom knowledge isn’t necessary to enjoy this fic! all you need to know is that Sam’s girlfriend passed away tragically)

Pairing: Previous Sam x Jess, gen

Warnings/Tags: mentions of canon character death, whump, sickfic, emeto, angst, depression, loneliness, grief, mild horror, all hurt no comfort (sorry not sorry) 

Summary: Shortly after Jess’ death and Sam’s reunion with Dean, Sam gets sick. He’s alone, delusional with fever, and desperate for someone, anyone to care for him.

Word Count: 970

A/N: So I really have no idea where this came from! I don’t ship Sam x Jess and have never written a fic about them. When I read the prompt ‘love’ this just instantly popped into my head. I also usually don’t write whump without the comfort aspect... I’m not sure why my muses lead me in this direction. 

Sam sat on the cold bathroom tile, a chill seeping through the marble and up into his legs through his sweatpants. He shivered lightly as he rested his cheek against his arm, bent up over the toilet seat, his breath sending waves across the water. His legs were bent underneath him, toes straining against the ground for leverage, knees aching from the pressure. Sam winced as a cramp tore through his stomach, his free hand clutching his abdomen as he tried to pull himself through the pain, panting shallowly. If Jess had been there she would have been rubbing his back, pressing back his sweaty hair while whispering in his ear, promising him that he’d be alright. That she wasn’t going anywhere; she’d be here no matter what. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes as he tried to push away the intrusive thoughts, struggling to ignore the phantom sensation on Jess’ delicate fingers cradling his cheek. He whimpered involuntarily as images of fire flashed through his mind; Jess’ screams as she burned, suspended on the ceiling, the smell of burning flesh assaulting his nostrils. Sam retched as he relieved her death, remembering the way her blood felt sliding down his cheek, her eyes pleading and desperate, thinking that Sam would be able to save her but he failed. He always failed.

Sam pitched forward as he gripped the toilet seat with both hands, gagging harshly as his mouth filled with saliva. He coughed and spluttered as he struggled for air between dry heaves, tears streaming down his cheeks from the force at which his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. Sam gagged painfully as he finally burped up a wave of vomit, the foul liquid burning his throat and nose, splashing into the water. He swallowed thickly, trying to fight back the bile rising in his throat before he coughed up another mouthful of vomit, eyes squeezed shut. With one final heave his vision went black, sights and sounds disappearing beneath a thick haze. He felt himself falling, just barely having enough time to hold out a hand before he cracked his skull on the marble. “D-Dean?” he called out pitifully, knowing full well that his brother wasn’t in the crappy motel room attached to the the bathroom. He’d left a few hours ago; at that point Sam only felt a bit hot and dizzy and Dean’s incessant rambling and had set him on edge. He admittedly had been acting a bit short, almost biting off Dean’s head when he called him Sammy, a nickname from their childhood that he was desperately trying to escape. After that Dean had left to head to some dive bar, hoping to pick up a girl for the night.

Sam groaned as he curled up into himself, pulling his knees to his chest, shaking so hard that his teeth were chattering. He was just so cold, so dizzy, so lonely, so unbearably hot. He imagined Jess sitting next to him on the floor, hushing him and rubbing his back, showering him with kisses and encouragement; you’re alright, I’ve got you, you’re doing so well, I love you... Sam whimpered, his fevered mind starting to slip into delusion as he reached out his hand, fingers clenching as he tried to grab hold of Jess’ dusty pink nightgown, her skin glowing in the dim bathroom light, just outside of his reach. He crawled along the tile using his shoulder and knee for leverage, desperately reaching for Jess but every time his fingertips rubbed against her skin she shot out of grasp, so close yet so far away. “J-Jess -” Sam choked as he gazed into her eyes, a small smile curling over his lips, a halo of gold and light radiating from her curls. 

‘I’m here, Sam, I’m not going anywhere,’ her voice was muffled and echoed, wrong. Sam sobbed and let out a choked off laugh, his heart swelling as he stared at his dead girlfriend, tears streaming down flushed cheeks. He tried to push himself up so he could throw his arms around Jess’ shoulders, his arms straining against his weight, feeling like his body was made of lead. As soon as he had himself up he took a moment to admire her beauty; her perfect white smile, dazzling eyes, her rosy cheeks and her velvety skin. “I love you, Jess,” Sam murmured, his heart flip flopping in his chest as he reached out to touch her cheek. Her smile began to grow, twisting and stretching beyond her lip’s natural range, splitting on the edges as her cheeks ripped to contain her wicked grin. Sam gasped and pulled his hand back, flinging himself away from Jess as she began laughing, a deep, cruel sound. Flames erupted around her head, quickly engulfing her body as she cackled, black smoke billowing through the small room, leaving Sam choking. He bent forward, his hands pressed against the ground as he sobbed and coughed. As quickly as she had appeared Jess was gone, leaving nothing in her wake except the smell of burning hair and flesh.

Sam’s sobs quickly devolved into retches, a dribble of spit clinging from his lip to the ground. He doubled up as he gagged over the ground, bile splattering on the tile, splashing back between his hands. He coughed before burping harshly, his throat feeling like it was being scorched, raw and searing. Sam sobbed silently, no energy to try to hold back anymore, allowing the pain to invade his body, letting wave after wave of vomit crash on the ground. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore, letting himself fall to the ground, laying in his own sick as he cried and shook. “D-Dean?” he called out again, desperate for help, his heart shattered like glass.

But no one came.

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) - part three

you are all TOO NICE TO ME i can’t cope with how kind you are!!!

here is part three!

(i'm having a pretty hard time with my own bad brain at the moment so pls don't hate me for the typos, etc. i will fix them when my brain is less yoghurty, pls forgive me)

good news: the next chapter will only be a bit more angst and then it's all comfort from there on out i PROMISE he's gonna be okay <3

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn’t have to do it alone.

word count: 6.7k ish ( part 1/5 | part 2/5 | part 3/5)

warnings: mental health issues -  look so there is some pretty intense mental health stuff in here so please. go careful. also trigger warnings for some super brief suicidal ideation. you are loved and i am here if you need a reminder of that <3

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

iii.

The days that follow are an enigma. 

Later, in therapy, he'll struggle to remember a single detail. There is simply a gap that promises pain should he poke it too hard, and he will shy away from reliving a single minute of it.

At the time though…

It’s a waterfall of suffering; he is cascading down, down, down, and every time he grabs a hold, his hand slips on smooth rock and agonising memories. Relentless misery beats down on him until he stops even trying to raise his head, because it is always stronger than him. Hitting the bottom, he is submerged, unable to distinguish the surface from the floor because of the murky grey all around him, and he can’t breathe down here, he’s alone down here, he’s going to die down here. 

So. The days that follow feel a lot like drowning - and Virgil would know. 

He can’t breathe and his limbs are too heavy and everything is muted, grey, useless, but himself most of all. He cannot feel much of anything at all beneath this crushing despair, but he knows that he is utterly sick of himself, beyond exhausted of feeling so terrible, desperate for a way out but unable to communicate this to his family.

He spends a lot of time thinking about his parents. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t remember them, but it’s usually memories of their lives, rather than grisly and traumatic thoughts of their deaths. But now, he can’t seem to stop himself from fixating on the way his mother turned the snow around her berry-red as she first stopped shaking, then speaking, then breathing. Nor how his father’s final moments must have been elation-turned-fear, how the heat of the flames must have engulfed him all at once, if there was any relief that he would once more be with Lucy -

He never allows himself to think these thoughts. They're too upsetting, too raw, too painful.

But now, he is powerless to stop them. 

On the fifth day of this new low - though it is fast becoming Virgil’s norm and that terrifies him - the klaxon sounds and Virgil can barely drag himself to the lounge. He does so anyway, arriving in time to see Gordon disappearing down his chute. Scott casts a glance in his direction as he makes his own way to his ship, concern blossoming at the sight of Virgil’s blank eyes. 

“Go to bed, Virg, you look rough.”

(Virgil doesn’t argue, which only tightens the knot of worry in Scott’s stomach, but he shoves it aside in favour of the rescue).

Virgil returns to bed, avoiding all reflective surfaces he can. He knows how terrible he looks and he cannot stand the sight of himself, but he also can’t seem to bring himself to get in the fucking shower. 

He’s disgusted with himself - it’s no wonder Scott didn’t want him on the rescue.

*

Or any rescues, apparently.

“You’re sick, Virg,” Scott begins, when he arrives home late that night to find his younger brother hasn’t moved from his bed. 

Virgil protests (hardly, weakly), though he can’t find the conviction for the words. It’s like he’s going through the motions of a well-rehearsed play. “I’m not sick. I’m fine to fly.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

Virgil sighs, rolling away from his brother and that horrible mounting worry. 

“You see, the fact you didn’t call me out on that language tells me just how horrible you must be feeling. I mean it, Virg. Grounded until you’re recovered. And I want you to have a medical first thing!”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any recovering from this sickness. 

*

Not having the distraction of rescues is punishment enough, but worse is the knowledge that Gordon keeps falling asleep over breakfast because Virgil can’t pull his fucking weight. He feels completely fucking useless - is being completely fucking useless - and yet, he still can’t bring himself to get out of bed. His brothers parrot concerned, loving questions he can’t answer and show him a kindness he certainly doesn’t deserve, and Virgil -

Virgil is a paradox: on the one hand, he is too empty to feel a single damned thing, no matter how much he wants to cry, no matter how hard he tries to put a label on these experiences, there is nothing there and therefore he is nothing. But on the other hand, Virgil is overflowing with raw, live misery so heavy he can’t take a full breath and so awful he stops caring about the fact. 

He’s not okay. 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong and he doesn’t know why, but he’s so far from okay, it’s laughable.

Only, he hasn’t laughed in weeks, and Gordon has stopped trying to make him. 

That realisation burrows into his heart, a sharp nasty sting of guilt and loneliness. He misses his brothers and he knows it’s his fault that they’re withdrawing - isolating yourself from them will do that - but it hurts all the same. 

It hurts because when Scott had started to count on neat whiskey to get him through the day, Virgil had dug his heels in and refused to let it be so. It hurts because when John had been relying on study drugs and no sleep to get through his PhD, it was Virgil who refused to let him hide away in shame. It hurts because Virgil has been there for more of Gordon’s panic attacks than he wants to remember, and yet he remembers them all the same. It hurts because Alan is too young to have lost so much, but Virgil refuses to let him shoulder that alone. 

Virgil loves his brothers with every single drop of Tracy blood in his veins, and he isn't afraid to show it by any means necessary. 

But he's so, so tired. 

Not of loving them - never that - but there's something so lonely and sad about this feeling and he’s exhausted by it and terrified of it and it all just hurts.

*

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” says John hesitantly, and Scott looks sharply at his younger brother across their father’s desk. “Don’t try and tell me this is fine, John,” 

"I know it's not fine," snaps John, “but I’m telling you that physically, he’s fine. A few bruises, but nothing some rest won’t fix.”

Scott begins to pace, frustration thrumming through his body. “He’s not eating properly,” He runs his hand through prematurely greying hairs in a motion learned from his father. “He’s just not Virgil.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t seen him paint or play piano in weeks, hell he isn’t even trying to get me to talk about my feelings. He’s alone all the time, constantly tired...”

“I know.”

“I just - are you sure? Nothing cracked at all? No signs of-”

“I had Brains run three separate scans, Scott. I’ve checked the results myself.”

“Could it be a concussion of some kind? He took a pretty big beating in Gen-”

“Scott. For God’s sake, listen. Physically, he’s fine.”

Scott stares at him, wishing not for the first time that the cogs of his brain moved at the same velocity as John’s. “Physically… so you’re saying this isn’t a physical thing?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Scott swallows - this is okay, unexpected, but he can recalibrate and work out what it is that Virgil needs, this is fine. “So it’s a mental thing.”

John smiles in spite of the gravity of the situation. “I don’t think that’s the correct term, but yes, I believe so.”

“What specifically?”

“I’m not a doctor, Scott. Virg’s the one with medical training.”

“Yes, but he’s not telling us anything.” Scott stares at John, fear clawing at his throat, at the thought of his brother - his best friend - hurting so much and yet seemingly unable to voice it. “What do I -” his voice cracks and he clears his throat hurriedly. “What do I do?”

“This isn’t all on you, Scott,” John says, his turn to be sharp now. “He’s my brother too.”

Scott takes a deep breath; the weight of his one thousand responsibilities have never felt so heavy on his shoulders, and yet, they may as well be feathers for how unimportant they are compared to this bombshell. But. John’s eyes reflect his own concern, but there’s a determination in the set of his jaw Scott has come to rely upon - his younger brother has never met a problem he couldn’t solve.

“Fine. What do we do?”

“I… I’m working on it.”

“John. This isn’t all on you.”

“Yeah yeah, Kettle.” John rubs his eyes. “EOS and I are researching. There’s a lot out there and because he won’t tell us how he feels, I don’t - I don’t know if we should get him a therapist like Gordon had or meds like me or… I don’t know what. And our lives aren’t exactly normal, so it’s hard to say what will actually help.” 

EOS pipes up, her lights dancing somewhere between turquoise and green (Virgil would know what to call that): “The recurring theme across research is ‘being there’ for the patient. A strange concept since humans are so limited by their physical forms.”

John smiles again, but it’s strained. “I’ll explain later, EOS. But it’s like how Virgil always checks in with me after a bad day.”

The words bring a lump to Scott’s throat that he can’t explain. 

“I see. So, you need to ‘check in’ with him now?” EOS asks.

“Something like that.” John catches Scott’s eye again. “Normalcy is also good. Being active.”

“So I shouldn’t ground him?” Scott says, though the thought of Virgil piloting his ship in a poor mental state terrifies him. He’s not afraid of his brother’s skill - that has never been in question - but how is he supposed to protect him from something none of them can even see?

“I don’t know.” John says it like it’s physically painful - perhaps it is, John is always loathe to admit lack of knowledge on a topic. “Maybe not? Though I don’t want him flying a ship if he’s feeling like, well -”

Scott slumps back into his father’s chair - his chair now. “Exactly. I don’t know what to do, John.”

“Me neither.” Uttered quietly. Helplessly.

Scott hates this.

Silence stretches between them - uncomfortable, worried tension that neither of them know how to handle. 

Eventually, John sighs, “I should go, Scott. Duty calls and all that.”

“John…” His brother pauses in reaching to cut the commline. “You - he’d tell us if he was feeling really bad, right? This is Virgil we’re talking about. He loves all that feelings stuff.”

“Yeah. Yes.” 

But John’s voice is laced with an uncertainty that curdles the worry in Scott’s stomach. 

*

Virgil's not sure exactly how long it's been but it must be weeks and he's losing his fucking mind. 

Every day is the same and it’s all one neverending nightmare. 

With the morning birdsong, he locks himself in his rooms and sleeps - or at least tries to, because it doesn't count as sleep when he wakes even more tired. He rejects his brothers' concern and ignores the trays of food Grandma has taken to leaving outside his door.

Where he's able to, Virgil still attempts to check in with them all after difficult rescues, still tries to fulfill his role as resident caregiver, but it's becoming increasingly hard to field their nagging questions. 

He almost caves, when Alan slopes into his room and practically begs him to tell them what's wrong. His brother's wide blue eyes are a weapon all of their own, and it takes all of Virgil's resolve to shrug his worries off. He steeps in self-loathing for hours at the hurt in Alan's eyes. 

Virgil doesn't understand why it's so hard to say the words out loud. For someone who has always championed self care and mental well-being, this inability to communicate his own suffering is as unexpected as it is unmanageable. He doesn't know where it's come from, nor how he's going to fix it; all he knows is that he cannot bear Scott's judgement, John's worry, Gordon's probing, Alan's disappointment -

It's too much.

It's all too much.

And he despises himself for that.

*

He endures John’s insistence he has a physical - and a second and third when the results are inevitably fine. He allows Scott’s anxious hovering as he answers Brains’ questions without complaint - another wrinkle to add to his brother’s worry lines, but he doesn’t have the energy to fight it.

For some reason, the medical proof that he is, in fact, fine, is damning. At least if there were some physical cause for his current state, he thinks it would be easier to bear (easier rather than fine, because he’s Virgil goddamn Tracy with a mile-wide stubborn streak) but instead he’s just falling apart with a single good reason.

(He hates himself for it). 

*

Scott watches his brother brush past his piano like he doesn’t even notice it’s there, flinch from the sunlight like it burns him, grow skinnier and more hunched beneath those tatty plaid shirts, and his heart aches. 

If their positions were reversed, Virgil would know what to do. Virgil knows Scott better than he knows himself, would have probably been able to resolve this before it even started. 

But Scott isn’t Virgil - he cannot untangle emotions and comfort weary souls like his brother can. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this shell of a man.

Scott spends what little time he has researching, learning, planning, but nothing he tries seems to help at all. Each time he broaches the topic of having someone to talk to with Virgil, his brother simply shuts down. He whines and begs Virgil to play him something but Virgil just sits before the piano, working on muscle memory alone. He stares at the medical reports until they blur and fade into restless sleep.

But he loves his brother just as fiercely as Virgil does him, and so it’s in sheer desperation that he tells John Virgil is back on duty. His brother blinks, schools surprise into an unreadable calm, and Scott feels the need to justify himself. 

“I just - maybe giving him a sense of purpose will help. Some structure back, you know?”

“Sure, Scott,” John says, though his tone is anything but. 

*

Scott’s announcement that he’s back on duty is a surprise to Virgil. His brother goes from you're not flying Two again until you're fit to, and you're not fit to until you goddamn talk to me to we need Two, now, Virg practically overnight. Alan and Gordon exchange similar looks of confusion, and Virgil is doubly aware of what a burden he has been to them all.

In Scott’s defense, they do need Two - and all of the ‘Birds to be honest. 

Virgil pushes through the foggy exhaustion that has become his waking state, and drops into his chute like he’s never been gone. By the time he’s adjusting his uniform, the fog has cleared a little, and when he’s settled in the pilot’s chair - his chair - he feels better than he has in weeks. Gordon flops down beside him, feet somehow already propped on the dash, and Virgil shoves them off automatically. 

He feels alive. 

Rescues help. For all the pressure and pain they bring, rescues give him a purpose. Even though rescues drove him to - no. Virgil doesn’t want to think about that now. All he knows is that without rescues - well. Actually, Virgil doesn't want to think about that option either. 

It’s been a while since he’s flown his ‘Bird, but she’s the same reliable dream she always is (a little worse for wear in her left thruster perhaps, from Gordon’s overeager antics, but nothing some tinkering won’t fix later. The fact that he is even interested in tinkering speaks volumes). The thrum of Two’s engines is practically medicinal and he revels in being able to breathe freely, think clearly - it’s been so, so long. 

The journey to the rescue zone is quiet, updates from John and occasional witticisms from Gordon are background noise to the beloved sound of Two responding to his lightest touch. Alan and Scott - speed junkies till they die - are far enough ahead of them that Virgil and Gordon exchange their usual eye rolling at Alan’s antics (“and the youngest Tracy takes the lead, a swift manoeuvre from Mr Alan Tracy proving once and for all that he is the true champ- hey, that’s not fair-“) and for a minute, it’s like none of the last few weeks had happened. 

Gordon bounces out of his seat as they begin their descent, practically vibrating with adrenaline as he dashes to his own ‘Bird. Virgil drops Pod 4 with a grin at Gordon’s whoop, catches a glimpse of sunshine yellow cutting through murky water, before sweeping round into landing beside Alan’s rocket.

In spite of the carnage around the Thunderbirds, Virgil feels the adrenaline stirring in his own chest, because finally, something he knows how to do, how to help, how to fix. 

It's an earthquake, the second one in this area in as many months. The hastily-reconstructed housing never stood a chance against tremors that tickled six on the Richter scale. In places the ground has cracked in two, dark zigzagging lines snaking across the desolate landscape. Piles of rubble, pools of dirty water, clouds of dust, and among them, people staggering hopelessly through the remnants of their houses. 

Families who have already lost everything are once again homeless. Virgil’s heart aches at the injustice of it all. 

International Rescue's task is simple, in theory. Virgil and Alan are to get the survivors out from the rubble nearest the epicentre, whilst Gordon takes Four up to the dam and assesses the damage done to the wall’s defences. Scott will be assisting with rescues from the sinkhole on the edge of the town - the result of overtaxing the land and the force of nature. And John, of course, as their ever-seeing eye in the sky. Simple. 

As simple as it can be when you’re surrounded by desperate people and their frantic hopes that you’ll save their loved ones. A quick word with Alan and Virgil dons his exo-suit, grimacing a little at the familiar weight of the Jaws of Life on his limbs. He’s reluctant to use the Mole given that it is likely bodies will be distributed at different depths in the wreckage - and Jesus, what a bleak thought that is. 

Alan begins tackling the top layers of rubble, using a combination of grappling hooks and jet blasters to clear the smaller chunks of rock, wood and dust from the area. Watching Alan work so efficiently and professionally sends a jolt of pride through Virgil’s chest; in many ways, Alan is and always will be their baby brother, but at times like this, it’s impossible to deny the man he is becoming. 

Whilst Gordon is Virgil’s usual partner on rescues, Alan is equally capable and hard-working, and between them and John’s careful scans, they begin locating some of the missing. Something loosens in Virgil’s chest at the sight of the first dust-streaked hand reaching towards them through the rocks - bruised, filthy, but unmistakably alive. As much as he tries to avoid superstition on rescues, beginning with a corpse is never a good omen. 

(Of course, this isn’t to say they don’t find bodies. A mother wrapped around her child, body misshapen from the weight of the rocks. An unrecognisable man, head bashed to a pulp - Virgil sends Alan to get some water at that point, nausea making them both shaky).

As is always the way, human kindness prevails, and soon the local people are involved in the rescue efforts. Virgil knows from experience that it’s best not to fight it, but he asks in a broken attempt at their language (that John then delivers flawlessly) that they stay away from the more dangerous sites.

As if it’s not all one big danger site.

Still. He’s busy and sweating and focused, and there is no time for self-loathing or guilt in his head at the moment. His arms are aching a couple of hours in, but he keeps going - has to keep going - because there are more people who need him and he needs this. It feels like it takes an age to clear just the stretch of what was once a row of houses, but once they have, Alan and Virgil barely stop for a rest before moving to the next place they are needed.

Virgil forces Alan to eat an energy bar, watching closely despite Alan’s glares to ensure it all goes down, but can’t bring himself to have more than a few bites of his own. 

Eventually, God knows how many hours later but late enough that there is but a slither of sun left on the horizon, John’s murmurs of heartbeats in the rubble grow further and further apart, and the number of bodies only continues to rise. Things deteriorate further with the aftershocks that rip through the land and Virgil clings to the person he’s in the middle of rescuing, willing them not to slip from his shaking grip. 

(He manages, just, though they have gone ragdoll limp by the time the earth resettles).

(But he keeps going).

Gordon has come to join them, tired but satisfied that reinforcements are in place, and Virgil smiles like it’s normal for him, claps him on the shoulder. “Good job, Gords.”

The grin he gets in return is a little bemused but bright and Virgil feels alive. 

*

The sky is velvety black now, tiny pinpricks of silver piercing it, and up there, one of those lights is his brother. Even with Two’s floodlighting, Virgil has to squint now to see what he’s shifting, his arms are leaden, and his head aches with dehydration. The end is in sight though; as brutal as it is to admit it from this point on, they will mainly be pulling bodies, and despite Scott’s insistence that International Rescue will continue their efforts, the local authority is equally stubborn that their crews can take it from here. 

(Virgil hears a mutinous, “fat lot of good that did last time,” muttered into Scott’s comm and can’t help but agree). 

He sighs, pauses for a second to stretch his muscles, and taps his own comms. 

"John, status update?"

"Two more life signs in the vicinity. To your left. Signal's faint… are they beneath that building?"

'Building' is a generous word for the structure that John has identified. Its stone walls are cracked from ground to roof, angry black tears through stone that has started to crumble. In places, the rock has already given way, revealing open sky and starlight through the gaps. It’s been reinforced with wooden shafts, which are crippled under the strain. The building is practically swaying in the breeze: a Jenga stack one block from collapse.

“Building integrity?” Virgil asks, though Virgil the Engineer is already running calculations on structural integrity and coming up with big flashing red NOs. Not even with the proper equipment - there isn’t enough of a structure to even hold onto, let alone hold up.

No way in hell is Alan going in there. Nor Gordon.

But someone has to.

“No way,” John says sharply, just as Virgil knew he would, but he’s already moving, squeezing through the space where a window once was. “Virgil - Virgil, no - at least wait for backup-”

Virgil swipes the connection away - he’ll pay for it later, but for now, he needs to focus and John’s audible yet uncharacteristic panic isn’t conducive to this.

It’s even darker inside, and Virgil makes a mental note to thank Brains for installing the headtorch in the suit. Eerie shadows bounce off the walls but at least he can see where the stairs have semi-collapsed against an internal wall - where the two victims must be buried.

“Hello?” Virgil tries, picking his way through the damage as best as he can in the gloom. “Can anyone hear me?”

There’s a pause, and then - unmistakably - a sob. A stream of words in a foreign tongue, far too quick for Virgil to understand, but he knows the universal language of fear and he moves. 

He grunts as he begins shifting rocks. “I’m Virgil, I’m with International Rescue. I’m going to get you out.” He repeats it in a clunky version of their language, and gets a further panicked babble. 

John appears again as he spots the leg of one of the victims - torn trousers and tiny feet, a child - and he does not look impressed. “Firstly, Virgil, what the fuck? Second, Scott is on his way and he will kill you for not waiting for backup-”

“We might not have time for that, John,” Virgil pants, shoving slab of the wall away. It has uncovered the whole lower body of the child and it’s a sharp twist in Virgil’s chest to see the duck patterns so dirty and ruined. 

John pinches the bridge of his nose and breaths out noisily. “This is incredibly dangerous, Virgil.”

“So let me do my job and get out of here,” Virgil snaps back, and John recoils. Virgil regrets the words the second they leave his mouth - he’s tired and dehydrated and stressed and he didn’t mean it, of course he didn’t - but John’s already gone blank with carefully-concealed hurt. 

Virgil hates when he does this. 

“John, I-”

“Don’t, Virgil. Do your damn job.” 

As John closes the connection, Virgil swallows down his guilt and focuses on the task at hand. There will be time to make it up to his brother later. 

They’re both children, it turns out, wrapped up in each other’s arms, tear stains tracking their cheeks, and scared shitless, but alive. The boy has a head wound that’s bleeding sluggishly and the girl is cradling her arm protectively, but it’s okay, Virgil got them out, they’re going to be okay.

“I’m Virgil,” he tells them, kneeling before them and tapping his chest. “What are your names?”

“Faroqh,” the girl says, pointing at the boy and then at herself. “Leila.” She adds something on the end - a plea, he thinks, though it’s too quick to catch anything.

“I’m going to get you out,” Virgil says, keeping his voice calm and soothing. He holds out his hands and the boy reaches for it, scrubbing at his eyes. 

John pops up again and the girl leaps back in shock. “Virgil - get out, aftershocks incoming, get out-”

The ground is already moving beneath them, juddering, groaning, and Virgil seizes the boy, scooping him against his chest, tries to reach for the girl through the clouds of dust rising -

Quiet.

For a split second, he thinks they’ve escaped it. 

And then it all goes wrong.

The ceiling caves first, then the walls, collapsing inwards like dominoes. There’s no time to think, Virgil just reacts, throwing himself blindly in the direction of the girl, cushioning both children as best he can against himself as the rocks rain down. 

In his mind, he’s vaguely aware that this is more of a Scott-move than a Virgil-move. Scott is the one who’ll fling himself into danger without a second thought, if it means someone else gets theirs. 

And yet, here he is. 

Even with the suit, it hurts. Jagged lumps crash into his back, pelt his already aching arms, bash his head further into the rocks. 

It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, just let them live, take him instead -

(Wait, what-?)

He doesn’t remember losing consciousness, but the next thing he can recall is a ringing in his ears and the realisation that the ground around them is still. 

“Virgil, get out of there!” John’s voice cuts across his comms, and Virgil opens his eyes.

“Faroqh?” he murmurs. “Leila?”

He feels one of them say something in his chest, senses slowly coming back online. Unfortunately, the fact that every single part of his body is in agony also makes itself known, and Virgil groans, shifting against the weight on his back.

“Virgil? Jesus, Virgil, talk to me. Scott - do you have eyes on him?”

“Almost,” Scott’s voice is tight with poorly-concealed anger and concern. “Virgil, do you copy?”

“Y- yeah,” Virgil manages, then coughs harshly.

“Status?”

“I think - I think they’re both fine. One is definitely c-conscious.”

There’s a pause and then Scott says, even more tightly. “And you?”

“Nothing broken I don’t think.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Scott says grimly.

Virgil closes his eyes again, because he’s so tired and he doesn’t have the energy for Scott’s hypocritical bullshit right now, but he must have lost more time because the next thing he knows, the weight on his back has lifted and strong arms are dragging him upwards.

His older brother is there, eyes a battleground between worry, fury and yet more worry. Virgil loosens his grip on the children, looking up at Scott. “Scott, I had to, they’re just kids-”

Faroqh stifles a cry and Scott’s eyes snap to him. “Give them to me.”

“I just - can you - Leila wasn’t speaking - is she-?”

Scott presses his fingers to her throat and there’s an agonising pause. “She has a pulse.”

“Thank God,” Virgil murmurs, slumping back and releasing his grip on the children.

“Thank God?” Scott repeats incredulously. “Virg - I don’t - I -”

“Don’t do this now, Scott,” John’s voice is quiet but authoritative. “Wait for me, please.”

Scott closes his eyes briefly. “Deal,” he mutters, and then picks up Leila’s body, stretching his other hand out to Faroqh. “I’m going to take these two out to Gordon and Alan. And then I’m coming back for you. Don’t you dare move.”

Faroqh accepts Scott’s hand but looks anxiously at Virgil, who does his best to smile encouragingly. 

And then Scott is gone and Virgil is alone in the mess he’s created. 

The weight of realisation comes crashing down around him, even harder than the building fell, and it’s a punch to his already fragile ribs. He does his best to focus on breathing rather than the swell of shame and self-loathing that’s ballooning in his chest because he really fucked this up. Virgil can feel his control beginning to slip and digs his fingers into the bruises on his legs. The pain grounds him momentarily, but only leaves him emptier when he stops. And so he only stops when Scott’s silhouette fills the entrance once more.

As Scott approaches, furious concern has him practically vibrating with emotion. Virgil takes a deep breath, choking down his own self-loathing for now, accepts the hand up and staggers into his brother’s side as the pain hits him in full. He may not have broken anything but his entire body feels like it’s been used as a punchbag and it hurts. 

Scott’s grip tightens around his waist and the worry intensifies. “Can you make it out?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. (Probably is more honest). 

Leaning heavily into Scott, they make their painfully slow way to the door, out to where a pair of anxiously-hovering brothers are waiting for them. 

Alan barely restrains himself from lunging at Virgil, eyes overly bright. “Virg - are - are you okay?”

“Fine, Allie,” Virgil says, pointedly ignoring Scott’s irritable snort of disbelief. 

Gordon’s expression is caught between relief, worry and anger, but the former wins over and he hurries to Virgil’s other side. “What were you thinking, Virg? Going in without backup?”

“Not now, Gords, I promised John we’d wait for him. Let’s just get this moron home first.”

Virgil’s mind is struggling to compute the words whilst also concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. “Wait - John’s coming.”

“Yup.” Scott’s mouth is so thin it’s a grim slash. 

Well, shit. 

*

“You’re not flying home. No fucking way.”

“She’s my ship.”

“I. Don’t. Care. You just got injured and you’re not fit to fly.”

“Scott, it’s just bruising-”

“And a probable concussion,” chimes in Gordon, standing his ground when Virgil shoots a glare at him.

“You’re not flying and that’s an order.”

It’s not often that Scott pulls rank on him - it’s a cold day in hell when he has to - and it’s the shock of it that causes Virgil to spit “yes, Commander” with such venom. He loathes himself for the hurt he knows will be in Scott’s eyes but stalks to the passenger seat without meeting his gaze. Scott watches him for another few seconds and the stare burns right down to Virgil’s soul, scorching across his anger and burrowing right into his guilt. 

But he still can’t meet his brother’s eyes. 

Scott turns, leaves and Virgil sags in his seat. He doesn’t say a word whilst Gordon starts Two’s engines, not even when he revs a little harder than is necessary. He can’t bring himself to answer a single one of Gordon’s attempts at humour and eventually, Gordon lapses into silence too. 

Virgil’s head is in turmoil and his chest is heavy - heavier than it’s ever been. There’s a mounting dread about the screaming match he’s about to have with his brothers (because he knows it’s coming). Guilt and shame over what he put his brothers through with his antics (because that haunted look is back in Scott’s eyes and Virgil hates that he put it there) battling a self-righteous assurance that he did the right thing in rescuing those kids. Embarrassment that he fucked up the one thing he thought he could do. Gnawing anxiety over nothing he can place specifically but it’s there and it’s overwhelming. Misery that he failed, yet again, sending him straight back to the pit he’d been stuck in before all of this happened.

Above everything though, spreading insidious arms and draping its poisonous cloak over all, is an exhaustion so intense and so absolute that Virgil does not want to exist. 

(God, he’s so tired). 

*

In the infirmary, Scott helps Virgil out of the exo suit at last, sucking in sharp breaths at the sight of his brother’s skin mottled purples and blues. 

(“Jesus fucking Christ, Virg”).

Scott is as gentle as possible whilst checking for cracked bones and yet Virgil still has to grit his teeth not to wince at his touch. Eventually, Scott seems satisfied with his findings - as satisfied as it’s possible to be when his younger brother looks like a messy oil painting of angry bruising - and allows Virgil back into a sitting position to run through some mental exercises. 

It’s as Virgil is answering Scott’s questions without complaint that John bursts through the doors, heading straight for Virgil like a missile. 

John grabs him by the shoulders and shakes, uncharacteristic panic blazing in his eyes. "What the hell, Virgil? It's never you! You're supposed to be the one I can trust not to pull stupid shit!”

“Johnny, you - you shouldn’t be up yet,” Virgil says weakly, “gravity-”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to take care of myself right now-”

“Less of the shaking please, John,” Scott cuts in. He’s taken a step back, arms folded. 

John nods, releasing Virgil apologetically, but the verbal assault continues. “What were you thinking? No, scratch that, you obviously weren’t thinking at all.” In contrast to Scott’s, John’s anger is quiet. Virgil would rather be shouted over by Scott than reprimanded by John any day; John knew exactly how to let you know that you had disappointed him. 

Virgil takes a deep breath in spite of this. “I was thinking that there were two people who needed to be saved.”

“Are you being serious? That’s your excuse for going in alone, without telling anyone where you were going or waiting for backup? That aftershock could have killed you, Virg.” John’s voice trembles and he swallows viciously. “For a moment, I was so afraid it had.”

There’s a pause, in which the guilt might swallow Virgil whole, chew him up, spit out his bloody remains before his brothers. There’s nothing he can say but Scott and John look so expectant that he feels compelled to justify himself.

“I didn’t know there would be an aftershock.” 

“That’s not the point, Virgil, and you know it!” Scott explodes. “You didn’t tell us what you were doing, you had nobody watching your back-”

“They were children. They were children and they needed me.”

“We need you.”

“Stop acting like you wouldn’t have done the same, Scott!” Virgil doesn’t know when they started shouting but now he can’t stop. “Don’t act like you haven’t pulled this shit on me a hundred times! Stop being such a goddamn hypocrite-”

“It’s not the same, Virgil. It’s just not.”

“Oh sure, because you’re Scott Tracy, you get to do whatever you like, fuck the consequences-”

“Because I have you watching my back,” Scott yells.

It all goes very quiet and Virgil’s mind is blank.

“What?” he whispers.

Scott looks physically pained, forcing his answer out like pulling glass from a wound. “I’m not saying it’s fair or right, Virg. But I know that whatever stupid thing I do, I have you stopping me from going too far. Pulling me out when it goes wrong. And I know it puts too much pressure on you, and I am sorry for that - I am. But what you did today - you didn’t let us help you. You didn’t let me help you.”

(This is about more than just today and Virgil can feel it in every exhausted cell of his body but fuck, he doesn’t have the energy to hash that out now. He just wants to go to bed and sleep and sleep (and never wake up?)).

John speaks up now, holding Virgil’s gaze with the same anger, only it’s not really anger, Virgil realises. It’s love, marred by fear and stress. “Going into that situation without backup was suicide, Virg.”

A pause. 

“I’m not - you don’t think that I’m -” Virgil splutters, though he doesn’t know if the denial is more for his benefit or theirs. They’re wrong, he’s sure of it, they have to be wrong.

“We - we know there’s something going on with you,” John says, glancing at Scott. “And - and after today, we’re even more worried.”

“We care about you, Virg.” Scott’s eyes are wide, pleading. “Why won’t you let us help you?”

(Because I despise every single thing about myself, but most of all how much I’m burdening you all. Because you deserve better than my weakness. Because it’s not worth it). 

(He says none of that, obviously. Even if he wanted to, his throat has gone dry and his brain seems to be stuck on John’s words like a scratched record).

He needs to get out.

The realisation sucks all the air from his lungs. 

Anxiety rising so fast he thinks he might be sick, Virgil stands. “I - I can’t -” (breathe)-

Shove past Scott and John who are looking at him with such lost expressions Virgil can’t bear it. Inhale around the tightening band of guilt and panic-

Almost at the door and they haven’t tried to stop him - he’s not sure why this hurts more than their protests would have. Exhale and feel lungs constrict even further-

He makes it to the door, and now, exit strategy in his grasp, he can breathe. He stops, one hand on the doorframe and half-turns. Scott’s eyes take on a hopeful gleam and Virgil feels terrible for being the one to stamp that out. “They were children. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, stumbling on autopilot back to his room, sinks down into his duvet and succumbs at last to the panic attack. 

When it’s done - for now, at least - he lies in his own sweat and taut muscles, drained in every sense of the word. 

What the fuck is he doing?

Virgil doesn’t understand why he’s pushing away all the people who love him, nor why the thought of exposing this ugly, aching part of himself to them is utterly unbearable. Existing like this - so miserably and shamefully - is unbearable and he can’t face it anymore. He wants to cry. His chest aches with it and yet he can’t even muster the energy to do that.

Instead he lies there for hours, mind racing with reminders of his uselessness, body aching from his failings, soul longing for an endless sleep. 

[fogsrollingin]

2.11 Playthings Coda  Pairing - Sam & Dean, WC - 1.3k Summary/tags: hard gen or queerplatonic, cuddling+snuggling, sharing a bed, angst, shmoop 🤗, no warnings necessary A/N: Thanks to @spnfanficpond for the template on how to make tumblrfic pretty! ❤️️ ~ fogsrollingin.  Edit: 6/28/2020 this fic is now posted to AO3. 

It was a lie.

Dean knew it was a lie before he said it and yet he said it because Sam was drunk and getting worked up and sometimes just giving him what he wanted to settle down was worth a lie.

You have to watch out for me, all right? And if I ever turn into something that I'm not... you have to kill me.

I promise.

Heavy lie, though.

Sam's body shuddered where he lay on the bed. Dean got up to throw a blanket over him. As he did, he realized Sam was still awake. He'd been turned away from Dean but now he could see Sam was just staring at the wall, eyes wet, breathing a little choppy but keeping it together. Sam's arm was extended because of the cast. It made him look like the kid he still was, falling apart under his own father's prophecy that he would...

Dean shook his head clear. Dad's last words were bullshit. For the reasons he gave Sam about how you don't just lay that on your kids, but also the deeper reasons Dean was still grappling with himself. Dad's last words to him had betrayed the love and trust Sam not only deserved, but had fully earned from his family. How was it even possible for the man to say what he did when he and Dean had both had the same priorities where Sam was concerned for the past twenty-plus years? How could the man see even a kernel of malice in Sam?

Sam sniffled, pulling Dean out of his thoughts and turning back to the emotional drunk of a little brother he had laid out before him. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, placed a hand on Sam's back. After a few moments of quiet, of making sure Sam would let him, Dean slid his palm up and down his back, along both sides of the kid's spine, warming his shoulders. Gentle pressure, reassuring, comforting. Sam cut off a drunken sob with a wheeze.

"Oh come on," Dean huffed testily, lowering himself so he could cover him with a hug. Sam tensed at first but then relaxed, his breath easing. It made Dean feel better too even though Sammy’s hair smelled like sweat, booze, and the old musty floral perfume that pervaded this house and all its spooky-ass dolls.

Sam whimpered something unintelligible to Dean and turned, reached out to hold onto Dean like the hazy, clingy drunk he was. Dean wouldn't mind it if Sam wasn't so noticeably desperate, pain and fear over his future telegraphed so plainly in the way he grasped Dean, fingertips straining to hold onto his big brother like he really believed Dean was his only hope for salvation.

It was so strikingly wrong that even if Sam didn’t remember this, even if little brother was three sheets to the wind right now, Dean had to stop whatever was going on here.

"Dean-"

"No, shut up,” Dean interrupted harshly, masking how frightened he was to hear whatever Sam would say next. “Just... shut up. You talked. Now it's my turn."

Sam swallowed, looking up at Dean with familiar unconditional trust in his glassy eyes, and Dean felt the equally familiar rush of affection for Sam run through him. Sam clenched his jaw and nodded. It was Dean's turn to talk now.

Dean didn’t know where to start so he rearranged them on the bed, Sam on his side and Dean lined up against his back so he didn't have to look Sam in the eye while he said whatever terrifically maudlin crap was gonna come out of his mouth... but also so he could still hug the kid, still hold him if Sam had to curl up and cry for a spell.

"Dad didn't get it. I don't know how he didn't get it but..." Dean sighed, pressed his forehead against the back of Sam's neck.

Sam pulled his good arm up across his chest to hug himself and Dean reached over and did the same, gripping Sam's wrist, trying to pour so much security and love into his actions here because he couldn't find the words.

"I only believe what I know, and Sammy, I know you. I know you better than I knew dad, better than I know or understand his last words to me, better than some vague destiny. I know you." Dean pushed their hands against Sam's heart. Sam ducked his head and curled in a little. Dean compensated, covering him protectively. "Do you understand me?"

Sam nodded shakily.

They rested for awhile, just breathing.

Sam wasn't settling. He twitched in Dean's arms, fingers playing at the edges of his cast.

"I don't want to turn evil," he whispered. His cries were soft but clear and it was like a reflex for Dean to hold him tighter.

"You won't, Sam, you never will," Dean promised. He pulled back and Sam rolled over, reached for his brother and buried his head into Dean's chest, ashamed but needing it and if it made Dean feel better too, well, he wouldn't admit it. That promise, that lie, wasn't them. He felt dirty for having said it. And screw Dad for doubting Sam, for seeding this darkness into them. 

But this-? Holding Sam together while the kid coped, it wasn't exactly good but it was grounding. This was what he, what they both, knew; it was familiar ground they'd tread. They were there for each other, believed in each other, propped each other up when the other was down. And Dean honestly didn't know what was wrong with the world that it seemed like Sam kept getting the wrong end of the cosmic stick but Sam was handling it. Barring sudden midday binges during a case, Sam was handling it.

Sam chose that moment to speak, voice wet and weak under Dean's chin.

"It just feels like… it feels like something's coming to fuck me up so bad that I'll go evil."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed under the weight. He knew what Sam was talking about. He felt it too. He cursed their father again, those insidious last few words working themselves out in both brothers' heads: only the worst, most devastating trauma could rewire Sam's brain so much that he'd make a fundamental change from good to evil. But honestly, how had he not already suffered that?

"Sam, you lost the woman you were gonna marry, your home, your entire future, we've lost Dad. If anything bad was gonna happen that'd make you go dark side, it's already happened. And you're still one of the good guys."

"With you."

"With me." Dean nodded in idle agreement. Sam looked up at him with that puppy thing he did. "What?"

Sam pressed his lips together, red eyes glistening with tears but he just shook his head and turned around, backed himself against Dean. 

Suddenly Dean understood.

"Hey." Dean wrapped his arms around him. "Sammy, I'm not gonna leave you."

"You could die."

"Even if I did, you'd be okay."

"You wouldn't be around to kill me if I wasn't." Sam's voice was flat, toneless. It hurt. 

Dean squeezed Sam. "Don't say things like that. Don't even think them."

Sam huffed with drunken indignity, then sighed as Dean ran his fingers through his hair. "Just sleep, Sammy. It'll be better when you wake up."

"Okay," Sam whispered, finally relaxing against his big brother and gripping Dean's arm tight against his chest.

Dean decided to close his eyes too for a spell, just until Sam was all the way out, and then maybe he could slip out for his own drink. He'd seen the bar downstairs, the older gentleman who'd cheerfully mistaken them for antiquers manning it. 

But for now, just for a little bit, Dean could linger here, curled up with Sammy in a soft bed with a sturdy locked door keeping everything out. He could let go and relax as he listened to his little brother's even breath, let the warmth of their bodies soothe him. 

Sam began to snore softly. Dean smiled and tucked his head against Sam's. 

Just a few more minutes.

Fin

[mlovesstories]

Shake It Off Part 6

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Warnings: DEATH, ALL THE ANGST! cussing, therapist, physical violence kinda

AN- This is an emotional one! No bingo square.

Padackles x Reader

Jared x Therapist!Platonic

Reader’s Mom x Reader

Words: 1992

Summary: Relationships are test.

You ass!” YN screamed.

“Huh?” Jensen stormed into the last gong room hearing a yell from YN. He saw her asleep on the couch. “Hey, YN,” he nudged her awake. She rolled over.

“What?” She looked at him with tired eyes.

“You were cursing in your sleep,” he laughed quietly.

“Oh, sorry. I had a dream that all you did was yell at me and kick me out,” she sighed.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Jensen scratched the back of his neck.

“I know. That’s why it’s a dream,” YN sighed again. “Do you think my mom was a slut?” She looked at him curiously.

“No, why would I think that?” He motioned for YN to sit up so that he could sit next to her.

“She got pregnant young. All girlss who get pregnant are assumed to be sluts,” she shrugged her shoulders.

“Your mom was a good friend, actually. We had sex once. I’m not even sure what led to that-“

“Don’t need to know that, Jensen,” she put her hand up and laughed.

“Sorry,” He looked at his feet with a smile.  “It wasn’t just a fling.  She and I got along.  You weren’t a mistake is what I’m trying to say.”

“Yeah, tell her that.  She’s resented me my whole life,” YN sighed.  “Thanks.”

Jensen sat across from her in the living room.

“Thanks for what?”

“You like me,” she said plainly.

“Yeah…” he said confusedly.  “You’re easy to like.”

“No, I’m not.  I-”

“You’re amazing,” he interrupted her.  “Even when you’re mad at me for being an ass.”

“Ohhh, Daddy said a no-no word!” JJ gasped from the entryway.  “Mommy!”

“Shh!” Jensen tried to make her quiet.  “Here’s five bucks.  Don’t tell.  I’ll buy you ice cream tonight.” Jensen quickly shoved money in front of her face.  

“Okie dokie, daddy!” The little girl ran down the hallway to eat breakfast with the money in her hand.

“Too bad I didn’t grow up in your house.  I’d be rich, I’m sure,” YN giggled.  

“It is too bad,” Jensen said solemnly, “If I would have known…”

“I know, Jensen.” YN rubbed a hand over her tired face.

“I think we need some breakfast before this becomes a soap opera.” Jensen laughed.  “Come on,” he guided her up from the couch.

“It already did,” YN smiled.

Before the two could make it out of the room, Danneel stomped in.

“Why will JJ not tell me where this came from?” She waved the five dollar bill in the air.

YN and Jensen went into a fit of giggles.

“I did nothing. Absolutely nothing,” the dad composed himself. “Promise.”

“Uh huh,” his wife rolled her eyes.

_______

The Padalecki family came over for an afternoon barbeque.  YN played with the little ones while Jensen, Danneel, Gen, and Jared drank beers by the firepit.  

“Considering all, this hasn’t turned out bad,” Jared sipped his drink referring to YN.

“Yeah,” Jensen grinned.

“She is always welcome, babe.  You know that, right?” Danneel took his hand.

“Thank you,” Jensen kissed the back of her hand.  

“She really is amazing.” Gen looked to Jared.  

“Yeah, she is,” Jared agreed.  

“Guys?  A little help over here?” YN walked over to the four adults around the fire pit.  

“Nope, I gave birth to half of them,” Gen laughed.  

“Same,” Danneel smiled.

“Come on!” YN groaned.  The little ones ran up to her and yanked on her shirt.  Playfully, she fell over onto the grass.  “You guys stink!” She yelled from the ground to the parents.  They chuckled at her desperation.  

“Fine, fine.  I’ll help you out,” Jared stood up and fell onto the ground next to YN.  The kids piled on top of him while YN made her escape to Jared’s chair.  She caught her breath while Jared grunted with six children on top of him.

________

“So, how you doing?” YN asked Jared while the other friends and family played in the heated pool.

“I’m fine, YN.  Please don’t. You’ve been through a lot lately.  Don’t worry about me,” he dismissed her.

“Really?” YN rolled her eyes.  “I will always worry about you.  You’re my TV hero, and I pretty much saved your life, as you say,” she grinned, trying to gain a positive reaction.

“Okay, okay,” he assuaged her. “I”m okay.  We’re on break, so I think that helps.  Thanks for the Golden Girls coloring book,” he grinned.  

“Thought it was fitting,” YN smiled.  “Any issues?  Been seeing your psych?”

“Yes, MOTHER!” Jared laughed.  “Just deep breathing stuff, nothing came from it.”

“Good, glad for you.”

“How about you?” Jared continued the conversation.

“Eh, I’ve been fine since our little anxiety competition.”

“I’m so sorry about that.  My fault.”

“No, Jared. You didn’t know that I kept it a secret.  You know you don’t get to play the blame game.  It’s a never-ending battle.”

“I know.  It’s your story though.  You tell it if you want to.  I’ll keep my mouth shut, promise,” Jared said quietly.  

“Thank you, Jared.”

________

“So, you had a tough week, huh?” Jared’s therapist narrowed his eyes at the tall man.

“Yeah, but can we talk about something else, please?”

“You and another person were both having panic attacks, Jared.  That had to take a toll.  I let you steer the conversation a lot of the time because you are pretty open, and I don’t mind that.  BUT,” Jared huffed loudly as his therapist talked. The doctor glared at him in response. “BUT,  this was a big thing that set you back, and-”

“I’m fine!” Jared stood up from the couch he was sitting on.  The pillow he had been holding was thrown across the room and bounced off the wall.

“Yeah, obviously!” The therapist stayed seated but used a raised voice.  “Sit down or get out.  You know the rules in here.  We TALK about how we feel, but we can’t act on it in here.  You throwing things doesn’t fly, so either leave or cool it.”

Jared realized what he had done and became red with embarrassment.  

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath.  “Sorry, doc.” Quickly relaxing, he started to sit back down.  

“Go pick that up before you sit down, please,” his therapist calmly pointed to the pillow on the floor.

“Right, sorry,” Jared scampered over to it and pulled it to his chest.  

“Thank you.  Now I think we have some things to talk about.  If you act like that in here, you’ll be more than likely to be angry outside of this room.  The people outside of this room are not trained to calm you down.  You need to talk it out.”

“Ugh.  Why do I come here again?” Jared said in a whiney voice.  

“Talk, Jared.  Or I’ll kick you out.”

“No thanks,” he quietly stood up and walked out, feeling overwhelmed.  

_________

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Jared,” Jensen reacted to the man leaving therapy.  “In the middle of the session.  That’s not like you, dude,” he took a sip of beer in the Padalecki’s living room.  

“I just- he was pushing my buttons!”

“That’s kind of his job,” Jensen gave a laugh.

“I don’t know, man.  I just got so defensive.”

The boys heard a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” Jared’s voice boomed into the entryway.  

The door opened.  

“Hey,” YN walked in. 

“Don’t tell me you know too.  Gah, I didn't commit a crime, people!”

“Gen told me.  Jared, what I would give to be able to see a therapist.  And you just walked out?”

“You WANT to see a therapist?” Jared’s jaw dropped.

“I used to, but my insurance changed, and I can’t anymore.” She walked to him and sat in the chair next to him. “What happened?”

“He was being a dweeb, that’s what.”

“Shut up, Jensen,” YN rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk about it!  We were both freaking out, and it’s hard to talk about!” Jared groaned.  

“Okay, I’m sorry for pushing. Please promise me you’ll call him tomorrow?”

“I will, I promise.”

________

Later that afternoon, YN’s phone started ringing. She answered.

“STOP CALLING ME, MOM!” She yelled into the phone.

“Ma’am?” A soft voice stilled YN.

“Yes? This is my mom’s phone. Who are you?”

“My name is Darren. I’m a nurse at Dallas General Hospital.”

“Umm. Okay? Where’s my mom?” YN’s voice quieted with concern.

“She was brought in after she was found injured outside of her apartment.”

“WHAT?” YN gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Jensen asked. He sat down next to her on the couch.

“She was hurt,” YN whispered. “Is she okay?” She returned to her conversation with the nurse.

“No, ma’am.  She was beaten too badly…” his voice faded as YN realized her mom was no longer living.  She dropped her phone.  It bounced off of the couch cushion onto the rug covering the wood floor.  

Jensen knew.  He just knew.  Jensen took her phone and pressed the red button.  

“Come here,” Jensen pulled her into his side, wrapping his arms around her.  Before he could process anything more, he saw her tears and snot on his shirt.  “I know, I know,” Jensen sympathized.  

YN wiped her face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.  It doesn’t matter.” She pushed herself off of Jensen and ran out of the room leaving her phone behind.

“Damn it,” Jensen took a deep breath. Danneel hurried in. 

“What happened?” 

______

“Honey?” Danneel knocked on the downstairs bedroom door. Not hearing acknowledgement, she entered. “Hi,” Danneel whispered.  She noted how YN was curled into herself with a blank expression on her face.  

“Hi,” YN looked up. “I think I need to go,” she tried to stand up.  Too weak to maintain her own weight, she crashed back onto the bed.  

“It’s okay.  Stay as long as you need.”

“Can I have a hug?” YN asked.

“Of course,” Danneel walked to the bed and opened her arms to the tired girl.  “Always.”

______

“Do you need to go home?” Jensen asked YN the next morning.

“We had such a strained relationship, I don’t know,” she sighed, sitting on a barstool in the kitchen.  “My aunt and uncle are taking care of arrangements.  They’ll let me know when the funeral is.  Not that I will go.  I’m not sure yet,” she shrugged eating her cereal.

“I’m glad you’re eating,” Danneel smiled.  

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” YN swallowed hard.  “I honestly don’t know how to feel.”

“That’s normal, sweetheart,” Jensen walked to her and engulfed her from behind.  “I love you.”

“Same,” YN whispered back.  She was surprised by her own reaction, but she meant it.  Jensen was also shocked, but he made no mention of it.  

“We’re here.  We’ll help you.”

YN expressed how she didn’t want Jared to know, but he entered the house as she said that.

“Wait, what? What don’t you want me to know?”

“Family business,” YN said seriously and tried to exit the room.

“Haha, that’s funny,” he laughed, thinking it was a joke.

“Shut up, Jared!” YN turned back around.  “My mom just died! You happy now that you know the secret?”

“Stay out of it, Jared.” Jensen groaned. He chased after her as she ran into the backyard to get some fresh air.  

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Jared tried to follow them, but Danneel grabbed his arm, stopping him.  “I’m sorry!” he started crying.  “I didn’t know, Dee!” The woman guided him to a chair and wrapped her arms around him.

“Shh.  It’s been a long day.  It’s okay. It’s okay.  When you calm down, I think you know what you need to do.” Danneel ran a hand through his hair to calm him. His face relaxed.  

“What?”

“Call your therapist,” Danneel prompted.  

“Can I use your media room?”

“Absolutely.”

Jensen caught up to YN in the backyard.  

“He didn’t mean it.  He thought you were kidding,” Jensen turned YN around to hug her.

She accepted his act of love and stood silently with him for a long period. Nothing was said, but their comfortable silence spoke for itself.  

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[jennacat84]

Bound by his Goddess

@colivara repaid the Shingen shower fics with a wonderful drawing of Mitsuhide all tied up. Now I’m returning the favor with this fic. Also tagging @notsafefortum-blr @aromantic-misguide-to-romance @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts @gin-no-kitsune Sorry if I forgot anyone.

Shingen didn’t just get healthy on his trip to the future.

SMUT AND SIN follows. Nothing but SMUT below. NSFW. Enjoy at your own risk.

She had told him it was something fun couples could do with the western style beds that were so popular here in the future. He still wasn’t sure how he ended up here though.

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

“Shingen, I have a surprise for you!” The dulcet tones of his lady love echoed down the hall to him as he came in from running to the small grocery down the street.

“I do love surprises. Especially when you plan them, my radiant flower.” He set the bags on the counter, “Let me get the milk in the fridge and I’ll be right there.” The marvels of the future still astounded him. The cars and trains were marvellous, but the food storage and availability was truly astounding.

After putting the food away he made his way down the short hall to their shared bedroom. “Now, what’s my surprise Goddess?”

“This!” She reached up on her tiptoes to place a strip of silk across his eyes.

“What’s this my Goddess? A blindfold?”

“Yes, and you’re going to leave it there for me. It’s my turn to make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good, my Goddess. Your smile alone brightens the darkest day and lights my heart with joy.”

“Shingen…” He could hear her blush in her tone, even if he couldn’t see it. A roguish grin breaking across his face.

“Alright, alright. If it will make you happy. I will do whatever you wish of me. Though that is never in doubt, I am always ever a servant to the whims of the goddess of my heart.” Somehow even blindfolded, Shingen pulled off a proper western courtly bow.

She giggled as she took his hand, “This way lover boy” and led him to the bed. She guided him into a sitting position and began to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, one at a time, the buttons came undone, until she was pushing the shirt from his shoulders and running her hands across his broad shoulders and chest. Her fingers tangled in the rough auburn chest hair leading down to his belt.

“Mmmm, Goddess” Shingen reached out and fumbled his way to her hips, sliding his hands up her back “Now that I found you I can trace all of you with my fingertips, carving you into my mind as you’re branded into my vision.”

She gave a throaty chuckle in his ear “Don’t get too used to that big boy, you’re not the only one doing the touching tonight.” He was surprised when she suddenly shoved him back against the bed, and swung his legs up after him. “Move up handsome, I have more surprises for you.” He could hear the wicked grin in her voice.

“I can’t wait Goddess”

“You may regret saying that Shingen” her hands ran up his right arm before one left and returned with a soft wolly object that she wrapped around his wrist.

“Goddess” suspicion heavy in his voice “what’s this”

“Part of your surprise Love. Just relax. I’m going to take very, very good care of you tonight.”

He grunted his assent and relaxed as she fastened the cuff around his wrist, then moved on to the other.

“How do they feel Shingen, not too tight?”

“It’s fine Angel, just fine” He flexed his arms, there wasn’t much give, but the bedposts were wood, so he could probably break those without too much effort.

“Good.” She placed something round and metal in his right hand. “If you want me to stop at any time tonight, just open your hand and drop this.”

“What is it?”

“A sleigh bell. It will jingle loudly if you drop it”

“And why would I need to drop it?”

“Because that gorgeous mouth of yours is going to be otherwise occupied.”

“Wha-” he was cut off as she slipped a smooth round ball into his open mouth.

“How does it feel? Just nod or shake your head. Too tight?” He shook his head. “Can you push it out with your tongue?” another shake. “Good” she purred and nibbled her way along his jaw. Shingen shivered when she licked up his throat. A moan escaping around the gag.

She moved ever so slowly down his body, kissing, licking, nipping. He couldn’t tell what was coming next, or where she would strike. His pants were far, far too tight and he needed them off. But how to tell her? He pulled his feet up towards him and began to thrust his hip up, and try to somehow shimmy his pants off along the soft cotton sheets.

“Ah-ah-ah. You naughty man.” Her hands pressed down on his hips. “Can’t wait any longer for me to get these off of you? I thought we were having fun though?” Shingen both shook his head and nodded vigorously in response to her questions, grunting to try and beg her to release him from the confines of the confounded clothing he had to wear in this time.

Her fingers traced along the top of the denim covering his lower half. Back and forth, back and forth. Tantalizing him with the promise of relief, yet continually denying him. His angel was playing the role of devil tonight.

Finally her hands went to his fly. Undid the button, and every so slowly pulled the zipper down. Her fingers moved back to his hips, he was whimpering now, as he fingers hooked over both his jeans and his underwear. Shifting them both down, over his hips, down his thighs, before she finally stripped the offending garments from him entirely. Leaving him completely bare and at her mercy. Or so he thought. Until he felt a cuff, just like those she had bound his wrists with settle over his ankle.

He opened his right hand a bit and shook it around. A gentle jingling sounded through the room. Her touch left him, her weight left the bed. Shingen began to worry for a moment, until he heard her.

“Shingen, I’m going to take out the gag.”

The gag was removed from his mouth. He worked his jaw for a moment as she rested her hand on his chest.

“Are you alright Love? Should I take off everything?”

“NO! No, Princess. I just, I needed to make sure what you’re doing.”

“The plan is to fasten your ankles like your wrists, and then give you as much pleasure as I can before I take some for myself.”

“Mmm Hmm.Okay, my Goddess. I’m alright now. You really took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? We can stop and just cuddle.”

“I’m sure. Go ahead and put the gag back.”

She leaned down and kissed him fiercely. Shingen’s mind nearly went blank with the passion within that single kiss.

“Trust me Shingen, you know I won’t ever hurt you.”

He opened his mouth and nodded at her. Closing his fist back around the bell.

She replaced the gag and crawled back down the bed, keeping one hand on him all the way there. She took his one, unrestrained, leg into her hands. She stroked along his calf, then brought his foot to her lips, and kissed to top of his foot.. “I love you Shingen. Thank you for trusting me.” She fastened the last cuff around his ankle.

“You ok Shingen? Ready to keep going?”

He nodded emphatically.

She moved back up his body, kissing her way up both of his legs, moving back and forth. Again leaving little marks along her path. He couldn’t help but buck his hips when she breathed over him.

He wanted so much to tell her how she made him feel. How her every touch was a small piece of paradise. Yet all he could do was groan around the ball in his mouth as she took him into hers.

Her promise of pleasure at her hands was granted in spades. The next 2 hours became a blur of her hands, lips, teeth, and tongue on his body. She brought him to the brink and backed him off again and again. Until all he could do was moan into the gag that kept him silenced and strain against the bonds that kept him from worshiping her as she deserved.

Finally she took him in hand and sank onto him. Her moans of pleasure heightened his own. He thrust up into her as much as he could as she rode him.

“I’m close Shingen. Can you hold on for me?”

He nodded vigorously.

“You’ve been so good for me tonight” she tangled her fingers in his hair “I love you so much” her clever, torturous, wonderful fingers found the clasp of the gag and opened it, removing the gag and ripping the blindfold from his eyes in one motion.

The vision that met his renewed sight took his breath away. There she was, astride him, hair wild and free, glorious in her nudity. Truly she was a goddess come to earth to save him from himself.

“Angel, I’m close, please.”

“Shin-gen” his name on her lips was nearly his complete undoing. “Cum for me, stay with me.”

Shingen groaned with his release, feeling her answering release course through her. She collapsed on top of him, holding him close as they both regained their breath.

“I have to say, that was a wonderful surprise Angel, but do you think you can let me loose now?”

“Mmmm, yeah, of course. Let me go get the bath started. We’re both going to need it.”

She slid off of him and started to walk away. “Princess? The cuffs?” She giggled as she swayed down the hall. He rested his head back on the pillow. That woman would be the death of him. Good thing she was already his life.

[weartirondad]

Of your favorite irondad fanfics, what are some parts or them, or scenes in the fanfics that you like best or are the coolest?

This was hard and it’s by no means complete but it was fun to visit some of our favorites, here they are:

And You’ll Blow Us All Away by @losingmymindtonight is an all-time favorite and the stargazing scenes were one of the best parts throughout the whole thing and then there’s also this:

Tony stares at the kid and feels momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer number of injuries he sees. This is the kid that he took to be his own. The kid who laughed in his lab and loved to look at the stars. The kid that he swore he would protect, no matter the cost.

He’d failed him. Just like he’d failed everyone else who had ever mattered to him.

I should let him die.

The thought takes Tony so off guard that he physically sways. To his shame, he actually toys with the prospect. If the billionaire did nothing, there was a decent chance that Peter would never wake up. A few of the newer incisions were still bleeding pretty heavily, and the kid had already lost a lot of blood. Judging from his weak and erratic pulse point, Peter would already be a goner without his enhanced healing. Tony knew that dying from blood loss wasn’t so bad, especially considering that Peter was already out. It would be quick. Tony would hold him. Peter would never even know.

(“I want him to die screaming.”)

But even as he ran the scenario through his head, the billionaire was snatching the med kit from the ground and pulling an antiseptic wipe out of a packet. He couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish, but Tony found himself incapable of facing a world without Peter.

we just tagged @geekymoviemom‘s Sins Of The Fathers in our last post (oops, sorry if this is getting annoying) but the best part of that story is the continuity. When you re-read it from the very beginning you notice all these little things, like Peter’s hair shampoo smelling of green apple, but this specific scene owns my heart.

Peter bit his bottom lip, looking up as the nurse re-entered the room. “Can I lay down next to my dad?” he asked in his squeaky, little boy voice. “I promise I’ll be careful, I’m just really tired. I was too scared to sleep well last night.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” the nurse said with a shake of her head. “But your dad needs to rest too, and we can’t have you—”

“I’ll be able to rest better if he’s with me,” Tony interrupted, as firmly as he was able. “Pete will be careful, won’t you, Pete?”

“Yeah!” Peter exclaimed. “I promise I’ll be careful! Please?”

“Well, if you’re sure,” the nurse said slowly, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. I swear, there’s not a single person out there who can resist this kid of mine.

“Oh, thank you!” cried Peter. With the nurse’s help, Peter crawled up onto the wide hospital bed, burrowing down on Tony’s right side with his head resting on Tony’s shoulder. Tony turned his head, breathing in the comforting scent of Peter’s hair, and felt his tightly clenched muscles start to gradually relax. This was much better than any painkiller.

“That better, buddy?” he whispered.

“Uh huh,” Peter whispered back, his little body already going slack. “Loads.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, the beeping of Tony’s heart monitor the only sound until Peter piped up again. “Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I can hear your heartbeat. Your real one.”

“Oh? And what do you think?”

“I like it. It sounds strong.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” Tony said. He brought up his right hand, weaving his fingers into Peter’s hair. “Dad’s are supposed to be strong, right?”

All of @theoceanismyinkwell‘s stories are amazing but one that I, personally, always come back to is Borrow Hope To Understand that is one of the only fics I know that addresses the struggle that believing in God can be.

Peter forces out another noisy breath through his nostrils. “I stopped believing two years ago.”

Tony doesn’t have to bend over backwards to do the mental math. Many things happened to Peter Parker when he was fourteen. Monumental things, things whose weight is too recondite to be described even in the vocabulary of an adult who has been well acquainted with storms and the sting of acid rain in his eyes.

“Maybe ‘stopped believing’ is a little too harsh. I dunno. I guess. You could say it just…got hard to keep believing at that point? Because I actually try. It’s not like–I don’t…God.” Peter sounds like he’s scrubbing a free hand over his brow and his eyes. His voice barely bubbles back up to the surface when he speaks again. “It’s not like I want to push Him away…you know? I don’t have anger. I don’t, I don’t–I don’t think I could hate anybody, except maybe myself. I just–” A quiet hitch in his lungs. “I wanted Him to embrace me, but He never did.”

Tony’s thumb stills in its figure eights. The grace of his hand wants to curl into a fist.

“And to me, that felt the same as pushing me away.”

“Because when it’s God pushing you away, how do you come back?” Tony finishes for him in a whisper.

Lazarus, come forth by @iron–spider

He opens the last envelope, because he has to get this over with now. It’s a picture. Him and the Avengers, from that one party where they all got drunk and Thor broke a coffee table. He’d given Steve the good stuff from Asgard, and Steve couldn’t stop telling everybody how much he loved their outfits and the stars that night and the way Tony designed his floor tiles. Natasha and Clint nearly killed each other over Mario Kart, and Tony carried Bruce around on his back and listened to him laugh like a little kid right into his ear. In the picture they’re in the living room, draped over each other, Thor with his head in Tony’s lap, Bruce kissing Steve’s cheek, Natasha standing behind Tony with clear intentions to put him in a headlock, and Clint cuddled up close to Steve’s chest, sleeping peacefully.

Tony stares at it, his heart straining. He knows Pepper took it, and it’s one of his favorite pictures. They’d printed it up in black and white, folded it as easily as they could for the envelope, and when he holds it a certain way he can see the message on the back. He turns it over.

We will always be with you.

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by grilledcheesing

Tony tries to hold in a wheeze, and even charitably considers, for a half a beat, turning the other cheek and letting the kid off the hook. But he can’t keep it up — he takes one look at Natasha, who is practically holding her breath trying not to laugh, and within a second the two of them burst into merciless cackles as Peter covers his face with his hands and all but melts into the floor.

Just Hug Your Father by @bee-boy-apollo (There’s more than this.. this whole fic makes us laugh out loud every. single. time.)

Peter had accepted death. He was Gen Z. It was in his DNA to just. Accept death, and go on with life, gently searching for the perfect moment to die.

This… This was not the perfect time to perish.

Oof. Feel free to add on! 

And thank you for your ask!

[sleepyverstappens]

Let me share this whole new world with you (Chapter 5/6)

Title: Let me share this whole new world with you

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen

Rating: Gen/PG

Word Count: 9358

Tags: Daniel Ricciardo, Max Verstappen, Oliver Verstappen-Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Carlos Sainz Jr, Mateo Sainz, Lotte Verstappen-Ricciardo, 5+1 Things, original child character, mostly focusses on Max and Oliver but there is some maxiel in this, Fertility Issues

A/N:  This chapter mentions (male) fertility issues, it's not super super in depth but if that's something tricky for you skip the part between these signs *  

Summary: The first time Oliver gets to share the paddock with his little sister. 

Read chapter 4 or Read from the start

5) Winter testing, Montmeló, Spain 2028  (Oliver is 6 and a half)

The paddock is bustling, but a lot more quiet than on a normal race weekend. There’s only a few photographers around, fewer TV crews set up in the media centre and none of the sponsor celebrities are around. It feels different this time around, introducing a new person to this world. With Oliver it had been a packed Spa paddock, with Lotte it’s a quiet Wednesday morning. The little girl strapped into the sling across Dan’s chest, Oliver holding onto Max’s hand loosely, itching to run off and play with his friends.

As they pass the McLaren hospitality he’s already pulling at Max’s hand, trying to get them to say hello to Carlos and Lando and more importantly Mateo. “Daddy, papa, pleaseeee!” he begs them.

“We will go see Mateo in a bit sweetie, your sister needs her feed first. You wanted her to grow quickly so you can play with her right?” Dan reasons. Oliver had loved the idea of a little sister, someone to play with and to teach things, but he hadn’t really fully understood that Lotte would need to do a lot of growing before they could really play together. He loved her, he really did, cuddling and kissing her all the time, but at just two months old she couldn’t really play football with him yet.  

*They hadn’t wanted there to be quite this big of an age gap, to have their kids be closer in age like both him and Daniel and their sisters. They’d started trying again right after Daniel retired, using the same clinic as before with Oliver. They’d known then already that there were some issues with Dan’s fertility, a lower sperm count found in his samples, but, they’d said, IVF is usually the solution for this and since they’d been going that route anyway it wouldn’t be an issue, just one viable little sperm could already be enough.

With Oliver clearly being Max’s biologically they’d easily settled on trying with just Daniel’s sperm this time around, but after trying multiple times there still had been no successful fertilization. Dan had done test after test, yet every one of them had come back inconclusive. It had been a big strain on their relationship, Daniel feeling so insecure and just being down on himself for not being able to do this. Angry at Max that there had been no issue with his sperm, angry at Max that he could go and escape to the race track whilst Dan was left alone in a stale hospital room or alone with his thoughts.

When no real explanation or solution came they’d sat down and had a long talk. They were happy with Oliver, did they really want to let the stress of this let them break them, break what they already had. They’d both wanted another child so much though, wanted Oli to have what they had with their siblings. So after two years of trying and failing, instead of wasting more money and more time, though money really wasn’t the issue, they’d come to their own solution. Like Dan had said back when they were waiting for Oliver to be born, DNA isn’t everything, it’s them who shape their child into the little human they become, not just genetics.

After days poured over files from both egg donors and surrogates, they had found Amber. She could’ve been Daniel’s female doppelganger, long curly brown hair, the same colour brown eyes, tan skin and an infectious smile. Nine months later little Lotte was born, a tuft of dark hair already on her small little head and Max’s pout on her lips just like with Oliver. All worries and insecurities about her not being biologically Dan’s had fallen away as soon as his husband had held her in his arms. She was theirs no matter what.

*The last couple of years had been a struggle to get through, but they fought through it together coming out from the fight stronger than they’d ever been. And as they walked around the paddock, Oliver whining about wanting to go see his friend and their little girl strapped onto Daniel’s chest, their family was at home and perfectly complete.

A disgruntled little cry coming from Lotte pulled Max back from his thoughts, the four of them now having arrived at the Red Bull hospitality he quickly rummaged through the baby bag slung over his shoulder for the bottle of formula and set about making their daughter her bottle.

---

“Papa please can we go see Mateo now, pleaseee?” Oliver whined as soon as Lotte was fed, burped and happily dozing back off to sleep again. He was bouncing in his seat impatiently, their hyperactive boy at that age now where he wanted to go and explore the paddock on his own but they weren’t quite comfortable yet by letting him wander off on his own. The paddock was a lot more quiet during testing though, so maybe they would extend the ‘leash’ a little more these coming two weeks, he was nearly seven after all.

“Okay let’s go. You coming as well Dan? I’m sure Carlos and Lando would love to see our little princess as well,” he suggested, grinning as Oli let out a cheer.

“Yeah of course, where did they put the stroller you said? I’m sure they’ll wanna hold her, so this thing won’t really work,” he said gesturing to the now empty carrier on the chair next to him.

“They somehow managed to cram it into my driver’s room,” Max chuckled, the space was already crowded enough as it was without the giant stroller taking up most of the space.

“Okay, you guys go see Mateo, I’ll be right behind you.”

---

“Mateo, Mateo, I have a little sister!” Oli exclaimed as soon as he caught sight of the Spanish little boy. His dark brown hair falling into his eyes, styled similar to his father’s hair. The two of them hadn't seen each other since the last race of the season last year, Max and Dan too occupied by the impending arrival of their daughter in January for them to get in some time to see their friends in England. Oliver had clearly missed little Mateo and they easily fell back into their old routine, Oliver excitedly telling the other boy about his little sister.    

“Really?! Where is she?”

“She’s with daddy. Papa where’s daddy?” The little boy asked tugging on his sleeve to get his attention as Max was talking to Lando.

“Daddy will be here soon, he’s just getting the...” before he could even finish the sentence Oliver was already running off and as he turned around he could see Daniel walking over to them, pushing the dark blue stroller in front of him.

“Daddy, daddy can I show Lotte to Mateo, please!”

“Of course mate, but you gotta go sit down first remember?” He could hear Daniel answer as the two of them reached the McLaren hospitality. Oliver quickly went to sit down on the nearest chair available and waited impatiently for Dan to carefully put his sister into his waiting arms. His eyes going wide like always when he felt her weight in his arms, the feeling clearly hadn’t gotten old to their son yet either in these last two months.

“Gently cariño,” Carlos said as Mateo inched forward and reached his little hand out to stroke Lotte’s head, gasping a little when Lotte wrapped her little fingers around two of his own, holding on tight.

“She’s so little,” he whispered in awe, eyes wide as he looked up at his father and step-dad.

“Yes, my little sister. I’m a big brother now Teo, ‘m here to protect her and love her and give her lots of cuddles!”  

Max could feel the tears well up in his eyes, hearing Oliver say those words always tugged at his heartstrings, the boy adamant to keep up the promise he’d made before Lotte was born. He could feel Dan squeeze his hand, and when he looked at his husband he could see his watery eyes blink back.

“Papa, I want to be a big brother too!” They could hear Mateo explain to Carlos, making Carlos splutter and the rest of them chuckle. They could see him share a quick glance with Lando, the youngest of them having expressed wanting one of his own on multiple occasions. They knew he loved Mateo with all his heart, but they also knew he really wanted to share it, all of it with Carlos. Little Mateo loved him like a second father, but he would always have Isa as his mother.      

“Maybe cariño, maybe.”

“You would be the best big brother Teo, I just know it,” Lando said, a wistful look in his eyes. The Brit clearly already picturing what it would be like, a little baby cradled in his own arms. Mateo holding his own little brother or sister one day.

“No! I am the bestest big brother!” Oliver said with a pout, pressing a big wet kiss onto Lotte’s forehead to prove his point.

“No, I will be!”

“Okay, okay boys calm down, you can both be the best big brother. You will be to Lotte, Oli. And you will be to your little brother or sister Mateo. No need to fight about it,” Max said exasperated, trying to calm the boys down as best as he could. They were each other’s best friends and he didn’t want them to end up fighting over such a silly thing, though Max was sure they would have plenty of dumb fights over the years.  

He glanced over at Lando who mouthed oops, a grimace on his face as he witnessed the results his words had had. Max just shrugged, the boys had already seemed to have calmed down again, Lotte now in Carlos’ arms as the boys ran around the hospitality chasing each other. Oh to be able to resolve all fights so easily, Max thought, he would’ve much prefered a quick game of chase around the paddock instead of all the sleepless nights he’d had during the last couple of years he’d been with Daniel, fighting over everything and nothing. He wouldn't change it for the world though, he'd gotten his perfect little family after all.

[myukamokunazu]

Whiskey Bubbles

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372403

Category: Gen Relationship:  Bakusquad - Platonic Characters: Kaminari Denki, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki's Family, Bakugou Katsuki, Ashido Mina, Sero Hanta, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Class 1-A Additional Tags: villain OC, Minor oc, Self-Denial, Self-Doubt, Self-Acceptance, Dad Aizawa, Genderfluid Kaminari Denki, Unreliable Narrator, Kaminari Denki-centric, Comatose Kaminari Denki, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ok... So there was supposed to be some dadzawa..., But there didn't end up being a lot, Songfic, Kaminari Denki Angs

It was 6:48, I was walking home

Stepped through the gate, and I'm all alone...

When Kaminari Denki is on his way back to the dorms, from a visit home, he finds himself affected by a strange quirk. The only way to escape from this quirk is to solve the rabbit hole of memories he denies.

Chapter 1: Fake it Until it Bubbles to The Point You Can't

Kaminari Denki walked slowly and wondered what he would say. He couldn't wear a hood in class and he doubted that he could get away with a face mask. He didn't want to explain the new bruises or the belt buckle imprints to Recovery Girl. Hiding these knew indents would prove difficult. He wondered if the class would believe he fell down the stairs while trying to put on a new belt? They likely would. He had said that his last belt had broken last week. It would make sense that that would happen if he was rushing to beat the dorm curfew.

“Hello? You there, boy? Can you get the police or a hero? I need some help,” A voice came. The creaking voice resounded down the alley he was passing. Kaminari walked down the alley and helped the elder woman. He reached a gloved hand down and she clasped it. Her grip was tight and not at all what he expected from the fragile looking woman. He felt a sharp flash of pain in his chest. He ignored it. He was sore all over so it didn’t make much difference. He pulled her up.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone or escort you somewhere?” Kaminari looked around. The area was very desolate. He hoped she could get home.

“Oh, child thank you. But no, it looks more like you could use my help,” she said. Kaminari blinked. He didn’t know what to make of that. Did she have some healing quirk? Before he could ask what she meant she grabbed the bare skin of his wrists. Her brown eyes flashed gold. She let go and he noticed he was starting to feel better. He was glad he didn’t have to come up with a lie, but still, he was surprised.

“Thank you, but are you sure you’re fine?” Kaminari couldn’t help but ask. He really did want to run through. If aura could be seen he was sure that it would slowly be fading to black. The lady just had a tension about her.

She nodded and he left.

The almost eerie feeling followed him. He couldn’t seem to shake it no matter where he was or what he was doing. He made his way to Kita-Urawa Transit Station. 54 minutes later the Transit came to a stop. He got off at the Ueno-Okachimachi Station. He got up and walked from the station to the McDonald’s around the corner. He picked up a couple of large fries and a burger. He decided it would be good to get back to school after that. It really wouldn’t do to get detention.

He turned his mind from those thoughts and made his way back to Musutafu.

It was 6:48, I was walking home

Stepped through the gate, and I'm all alone

A sigh of relief almost left Kaminari as he saw the school gates. It felt cold with that odd, terrifying feeling all over again. He held up his Student ID Card to get past the barrier. Getting inside didn’t help with the sensation that he wasn’t safe. He hoped to see someone soon. He figured anyone, even Mineta, would do.

He kept walking. He still felt so alone.

He knew he wouldn’t be for long though. He didn’t miss curfew so everyone would still be up. It wasn’t 7 yet, so he could check the kitchen and see if anyone was still eating. He went straight to the kitchen and grabbed an apple. He hoped to sit on the counter and took a huge bite. He’d just started chewing when he’d heard Iida.

“Kaminari, It is not appropriate to sit on the counter. It is quite disrespectful to the school and everyone who uses the counter,” he said. It seemed as if he would be able to fill pages with reasons for why not to sit on something. Kaminari blinked and put a smirk on his face.

“Alright,” He said. He raised an eyebrow raised, before jumping atop the fridge and finishing it there. Iida still wasn’t happy with him being on top of the furniture. Kaminari vaguely wondered if doing this was cruel to the boy. He blocked it out. He looked over to the living room. He seemed to have caught a few stray glances, but most still were watching t.v. He looked down at Iida. “What are they watching? I can’t tell from here.”

Iida pushed up his glasses and stated that they were watching various Disney movies. Apparently, Aladdin was supposed to be next. Kaminari had a sudden thought: how much longer will I be here? How much longer can I make them happy? I feel like it won’t be long now. I want, no, need to go overboard. Kaminari kicked off his shoes and curled up there until he heard the start of Aladdin. Iida started reaching for him and ‘One Jump Ahead’ started playing. Kaminari sang to it. “ Gotta keep,” Kaminari jumped to the counter. He was especially careful to not get caught by Iida’s arms. “One jump ahead of the breadline,” Kaminari danced back away from Iida’s grasp. He had to strain himself to hear the music now more than before.

As if sensing his dilemma, Jirou turned the t.v. up. Though, it could have been that she was also watching him as she seemed to be hiding her laughter. “I steal only what I can't afford,~” Kaminari sang loudly. It didn’t sound good since he was restraining his own laughter. He jumped to a table.

“And that’s everything!” He and Jirou yelled. She was laughing more than he was. Even some others of the class had started to giggle at his makeshift attempts to be Aladdin.

He started jumping to all the tables to avoid the swing of Iida’s hands. He didn’t want his stage performance to be cut short. “One jump ahead of the lawmen. That's all, and that's no joke. These guys don't appreciate I'm broke,” Kaminari shrugs and tries not to grin.

He honestly didn’t expect for Iida to join in on the song. “Riffraff! Street rat! Scoundrel! Take that!” Iida seemed just as surprised that he joined in as Kaminari did. It didn’t take long for some of the others to join in too. Midoriya and Uraraka joined him in being guards and Sero joined Kaminari. He took on the role of Abu.

Sero hung his tape all over the ceiling and Kaminari gladly swung on them. One piece, however, broke, due to his rough swinging, before he hit his mark. He ended up have strung over the couch in between Momo and Jirou. “Oh, it's sad, Aladdin has hit the bottom. He's become a one-man rise in crime,” The two sang, Kirishima and Ashido happily joining in.

“I'd blame parents except he hasn't got 'em,” Even Bakugou chimed in, likely due to the pushy Kirishima next to him. Kaminari ran all around the room. Randomly choosing to swing from the tape. He ran up a couple of the stairs to the doors and turned around. He reached for a piece of the tape.

“Here goes, better throw my hand in. Wish me happy landin'. All I gotta do is jump!”

Kaminari realized too late that what he did was not a good idea. The tape snapped, yet again. He flinched. Though the small jolt didn’t look like one. He was started to fall. He braced himself, though he didn’t really have to. Iida caught him.

“You would make a terrible Aladdin,” Jirou said.

“Haha, Yeah. You’re right. I guess the guards won, huh?” Kaminari started looking around. “Abu!” He yelled. His voice was light and he tried to make sure it wasn’t weighed down by any of his laughter. Sero saw the fake seriousness for what it was and playfully tried to sneak away. “You were supposed to help me,” Kaminari said. It came out more like a whine though. Sero laughed at the pitiful squeak that was Kaminari’s voice. Kaminari plopped on the ground in front of the couch.

Ashido, being the one behind him, started braiding random parts of his hair. This continued until everyone was to go to bed.

The next day, they went to class. Kaminari tried to pay attention, though it was hard, It always was though. Still, something the teacher would saw caught his attention more than others. “HEE, HIGH TENSION!” Present Mic cut himself off as he saw a bug.

She walked down to the market. They stared at her. “Makeup is for girls.” She wasn’t a he, but wasn’t she?

He found himself standing in the middle of Present Mic’s class. Thankfully it was one of the few classes he did decently in. It was also his favorite. He really looked up to Present Mic. Still, he was standing in the middle of class. He also noticed he was in a daze. “Kaminari? Why are you standing?” The teacher asked, and hot damn, Kaminari wished he knew the answer.

“I think I left my clothes in the washing machine yesterday? Hey Sero, do you know if I did?” The lie came out of his mouth as smooth as butter. Sero raised an eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Do you even know how to do laundry?”

“Ya-Yeah! Of course, I do!”

Present Mic laughed. He always did. It was almost as if he welcomed the distractions sometimes. Still, though, they had to learn. “Alright, settle down. We still have some writing TA DO!” The classroom steadily became more hectic as Present Mic started teaching.

Lunch came soon enough. Today, he sat next to Ashido and the rest of the Bakusquad.

“Hey, Kami, what was up in English class?” Ashido asked. Kaminari shrugged.

“Don’t know. Just a weird feeling, ya know? But, hey, if you had to establish civilization on an island what would your first rule be?” Kaminari throws the topic off track. Though the question was bound to spur an odd conversation. Ashido gripped her chin.

“Hmm, Rule 1 would have to be ‘Everyone has to be nice or as punishment, they can’t dance with everyone else and instead have to dance in their cell’!” She said. Bakugou scoffed. She turned to him with a pout. “Do you have something better?”

“Of course! If they piss me off they have to die!” Bakugou said. Needless to say, no one was surprised.

“OH! I know! Everyone has to do what they can to live without regrets. That’d be so manly,” Kirishima said. Kaminari almost wondered if the conversation seemed too serious. He hoped it would end up a lot funnier.

Monoma had passed their table and a cucumber fell off his tray. Kaminari jumped. He jumped so high he ended up on a tree branch above their heads. Monoma laughed and taunted him with the cucumber and some of the other students giggled at his antics. Ashido compared him to a cat.

Monoma threw the cucumber up and Kaminari flinched back violently. Why the fuck am I terrified of that? It’s just a vegetable. That familiar buzzing under his skin was back. With practiced ease, his panic took over and electrified the closest objects. The tree and the cucumber. Kaminari felt his skin quake in discomfort.

He didn’t notice that Kendo had come over and smacked Monoma over the head.

This brought out more giggles.

“We should get you a cat hoodie. You would be such a meme online! Like, no jokes, you are just like the cat videos,” Ashido said. At his silence, she looked straight at him. Clammy, pale skin paired with a trembling body. She was filled with regret. “Kami? Hey, you okay?” He looked down at her. His eyes were almost animalistic. Eyelids flashing down, redding his eyes of panic.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. That was really an overreaction, huh?” His face was so blank it scared her.

“It’s fine to be afraid of things. I honestly thought you were mimicking the cat videos.” The clouds of numbness cleared from his appearance.

The rest of the day passed by. It was uneventful. When classes ended, Kaminari went to do his homework. Usually, he’d put it off, hang with the Bakusquad or Jirou. Or, anyone. It’s not like he’s picky about who he’s around. His dorm room was propped open slightly and people, from time to time, would glance in. Confusion always laced their features. Kaminari didn’t mind. It was weird after all.

He spent a few hours studying, not that it helped much. He was only barely passing. He checked the time. 5:43. He went down to check the laundry machine and dryer. No. Not his clothes. He must have been mistaken earlier, though it was said while he was in a daze.

Kaminari entered the kitchen throwing a wave at Kirishima, Ashido, and Momo. Kirishima was at the table with Ashido. Momo was watching t.v. and drinking some tea.

He went to the fridge and pulled out some leftover fried chicken.

I had chicken on the plate, but the food was cold

Then I covered up my face so that no one knows

She tugged on the grey sleeves of her dress. It wasn’t really her dress. It was her mom’s dress. Her mom would never buy her a dress though. She threw a yellow hoodie over it and went outside. She didn’t really think it was that weird of her. She always left the house around this time to get something to eat at the gas station down the street. Still, people stared at her.

Confusion. Disgust. Unease.

Mothers covered children’s eyes and she couldn’t understand why. She looked down at herself. A grey dress that went down to her knees. A yellow hoodie with lightning bolts. Black tennis shoes. There was nothing wrong with her appearance. Was there? Was it her hair?

It was short. Lots of girls had short hair, though.

She decided to put it out of her mind for now. It didn’t matter to her.

She went around the small food aisle and grabbed a donburi bento, for 500 yen. It had gyudon. She liked it since it reminded her of hamburger. They were both beef after all. She scanned the isle some more. She grabbed a steamed bun for 200 yen. Then she got some Karaage fried chicken for 500 yen.

She went up to the counter to pay for the food. She got out 1500 yen. She handed the money to the man and he gave her change back. She was glad that he didn't just say a huge amount and expect her to count it out. She was terrible at math and she knew it. Berated herself for it.

She started walking home but was pulled aside by a teenager. She heard people throw out whispers of ‘delinquent’ and ‘does she know that boy?’ She figured that meant it was bad to be around him.

“Hello? I kinda have to get home before my mommy gets home,” she said. She wasn’t sure what to do.

“You’re a boy, aren’t you? You go to school with my brother. Who knew there was such a freak in his class?” The boy laughed. Another boy seemed to come up from behind and started pushing her forward. Then the other boy pushed her back. All the movement made her drop her sack of food.

“Stop!” She cried. It drew some attention toward them. No one moved to stop it though.

She kept getting pushed around until she curled into a ball. The pain continued and her skin started to tingle. A small crackle rang in her hands. She wouldn’t have been able to hear it if her hands weren’t over her ears. The tingling spread. It encased all her skin. It burned and she just wished that it would go away.

One of the boys went to kick her in the stomach and she arched her back out of its way. The tingles left and spread throughout the ground and everything touching it. Though it never passed the boys. She blinked away a few tears. A hero, Enveloping Bubble, was there. She and the boys were in a bubble. It hadn’t been there before. At least, she didn’t think so. Everything was foggy. Well, everything but the pain.

The bubble came down and the two boys sped away, but they didn’t get far before they were trapped in a bubble.

Enveloping Bubble came over and asked if she was alright. She wanted to say yes. She tried to. She couldn’t though. She didn’t know when she started standing or when she bumped into the wall. The crowd laughed and after 20 minutes left. The hero stayed there though. He watched her. She wanted to thank him and say she doesn’t need the attention, no matter how much she craves it, but couldn’t. Everything still hurt. Her mind felt as if it was shattered. She couldn’t think a coherent thought with more than five words in it.

Her finger caught an electrical outlet as she bumped into the wall again. The zap of the current seemed to clear her mind some, though she noticed it also freaked out a couple people. That included the kind hero who was trying to keep her safe.

An ambulance had arrived. The hero had probably called for it a while ago.

The hero and others watching tried to usher her into the ambulance. She blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry? I can’t do that. I’m fine, I just need to get home. Mommy will be getting off work soon.”

The hero made her promise to tell her parents about what happened. She nodded, thanked him, and went to pick up her bag of food.

I didn't want trouble, I'm the boy in the bubble

But then came trouble

“Kaminari? Hey, you okay, bro?” Kirishima said, waving a hand in front of the other teen’s face. Kirishima grabbed Kaminari’s wrist and Kaminari flinched. “Kami-bro?” Kirishima’s voice shook and his head tilted.

Kaminari blinked and rubbed her his eyes. Kaminari’s eyes drifted over to Kirishima, then trailed down his arm to where their skin met.

“Hey, Kirishima. Sorry, was I blocking the fridge? I was just getting out some of the leftover fried chicken. Want some?” Kaminari asked with a furrowed brow.

“Nah, bro. I was… You kept opening and closing the fridge as if you were in a daze. You’ve been here for 15 minutes, ya know?” Kaminari’s shoulders hunched in contempt for herself himself. She’d He’d made someone as kind and loving as Kirishima worried.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I blanked,” Kaminari said. She He rubbed the back of her his neck and her his head slightly bowed. “You don’t think any of the food spoilt, do you?” They both looked at the fridge. Simultaneous, they reached in and pulled out some of the food. They smirked at each other before biting in.

“Is he really okay?” Kaminari heard Momo ask Ashido. She He flinched. She He couldn’t tell why it hurt. He? He? It was wrong. But she was wrong too?

“Who knows? I've seen him do some strange things when he’s fried himself. It could’ve just been that?” Ashido didn’t seem convinced at her own explanation. Still, they dropped it.

Not he? Not she? NOT HE? NOT SHE?NOTHE?NOTSHE?

“I think it’s still good, bro,” Kirishima said. He was loud, boisterous, but not yelling. Still, his energy seemed to make everyone relax. They had a good time after that. It was seven before they started getting ready for bed and chilling in the dorms or living room. Ashido had convinced a few people to dance on the couch with her to some music. Kaminari would have joined in, though he felt he should look up what was making him feel this way.

‘Why do I not feel like a girl or a boy sometimes?’

Confused and clueless [gender identity confusion] - Gender …

https://www.asexuality.org › Identities › Gender Discussion

Feb 5, 2014 - 6 posts - 4 authors

But it's not like I want to do it as a girl - I'd want a guys body to dress like ... bigender ( feeling both male and female ) or genderfluid (sometimes …

Non-Binary Gender Identity Explained | Teen Vogue

https://www.teenvogue.com/story/what-is-non-binary-gender

Feb 12, 2016 - Here's What It Means When You Don't Identify as a Girl or a Boy . "Non-binary gender is any gender that isn't exclusively male or female . ... Sometimes people confuse gender with sex, and while the two words are related, .... Parts of my body feel like they should be male , others feel like nothing just neutral.

Nonbinary? No? Maybe? Genderfluid… It sounds right? But that’s not HIM. I HAVE to be a HIM. Right?

Kaminari felt drained. He set an alarm for 7:00 in the morning and went to bed.

"When my mom walked into the living room

She said, "Boy, you gotta tell me what they did to you"

Kaminari sat in the living room. She knew she should have taken off the girl clothes, but they felt right. At least, they did at the moment. She was a boy though. She wasn’t supposed to go outside of what’s considered normal or standard behavior for a boy. Her mom didn’t like it when she did that.

She was five now. She knew better.

It was too late.

She pulled her hood up as the front door creaked open.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Welcome home mommy,” Kaminari said meekly. She cowered into herself for a second before jumping over the couch and running to her room. The epitome of manliness for a boy her age.

“Denki? Something wrong dear?”

“No!” Her mom’s footsteps neared her room. The door opened.

“Denki? Is that… My sweater dress?”

I said, "You don't wanna know the things I had to do"

She said, "Son, you gotta tell me why you're black and blue"

The day passed like any other. Aizawa-sensei’s class was quiet. He got distracted in it yet again. He tapped his hands on the metal of the chair. Ashido’s hair just looked so fluffy. He just wanted to touch it. Ashido looked at him. She just glanced quickly, but it was enough to catch his attention. She held her phone and tapped it twice. He wanted to smile and nod but then they’d definitely get caught by Aizawa-sensei.

AM: Hey Denki this is SOOOO boring!;-;!

KD: Ya but think on the bright side?

AM: What bright side??? BORED!!!

KD: Well??? There’s always something happening in class? Or, uh? Did you ever notice that Aizawa-Sensei is so cat-like???

The pink girl could barely muffle her laughter. She threw her head back slightly and gripped her shaking body.

AM: OMG WTF do you mean? LOL

KD: Well??? I mean? Like he takes cat naps all the time and he totally pretends not to care about things when he does. He’s kind to us but he doesn’t want to be around us a lot? Like a cat that lets people pet him only when he wants to???

AM: LOL… That is so fukin beautiful Denki!

AM: Like srsly 0////0 Aced how Aizawa-Sensei is!

KD: I feel like I started something bad…

AM: Hell yea. You did! Not bored anymore tho.

KD: Must have been worth it then, Mina?

AM: Thx. <3 you Denki!!!

Kaminari’s smile gave them away. Their phones were confiscated and Kaminari had a feeling that Aizawa-Sensei read the messages about him. He glared at the two all throughout class.

Once lunchtime hit, the bakusquad took their usual places at the table. The group was always loud and seemed to garner some attention for it. No one ever took them seriously though. Except for Bakugou sometimes.

Today the conversation started with his short, sweet, romantic tryst with a coworker from the cafe he worked at. They knew he worked, as did the teachers, but not where.

“Oh, shut up you damn Phone Charger! No one cares about your piss for shit love life!”

“But, Bakubabe,” He whined. It was childish and he knew it. He couldn’t help it.  “You have the personality of a dead sewer rat. No way you can flirt better than I can!”

“Oh, Denki, my baby,” Ashido griefed. “Be nice to your brother’s boyfriend.”

“Yes, be nice to your future brother-in-law, or you’ll end up chasing him away,” Sero said in the most dad-like voice he could muster.

“Hey,” He said softly. Ashido looked over. She wondered if something was wrong. “If potatoes had eyes do you think they’d be colorblind or that they would see like us?”

Ashido covered her mouth and nose area as she let out a gaggle of sorts and giggles. “Denki, where do you come up with this stuff?” Her pink cheeks flushed and those around could hardly tell. Kaminari tried to pay attention to the subtle things about his friends. He made a point to know what makes them tick and what makes them over the moon with joy. He wasn’t sure he could ever forget a friend’s birthday.

He shrugged to his hyper friend. Bakugou raised an eyebrow and whispered to Kirishima. Kaminari blinked over to the two though that did nothing to settle his confusion.

I said I didn't want trouble, I'm the boy in the bubble

But then came trouble"

He was itchy. There was a buzzing in -no, under- his skin. He wanted to scratch at his arms, dig the pulses out. He couldn't though. He was fighting. When he asked who though, the blurred light would laugh. He punched and kicked toward the noise even after the light would go. He just wanted everything to stop. He could see himself, in that dress again, cowering in the corner.

Lightening spewed off the other figure. It got closed to Kaminari. Looking at the figure, it really was too blurred for him to discover the identity, He wondered if it was his dad with a blurred out face. This has happened before with his father. Ya, that must be it.

It was his dad... It was because he was wrong... That must be it.

Still, it hurt when the lightning strikes him.

"Denki!" Ashido screamed. The sound drew the attention of everyone in the room. Class 1-A rushed over filled with worry. Kaminari's face was pinched in pain. He was left lying on the table where he fell. He gasped and sent out small warning shocks at every attempt to move him. One of the students ran to get Aizawa-Sensei. When he arrived he shut off Kaminari’s quirk. He and Kirishima carried him to the nurse with the bakusquad following close behind.

Chapter 2: It's a struggle, but only acceptance can break the bubbles

Kirishima felt his whole body tense as he saw his friend fall limp. Electricity crackled off the falling blonde. Kirishima could tell everyone had run toward the Bakusquad at Ashido’s high pitched squeal. It rang in the boy’s head and only enhanced his panic. A student, likely Iida, though Kirishima didn’t pay attention, got Aizawa-Sensei. The man had looked as if he was calm when he arrived. The man had used his quirk on Kaminari with no delay. Kirishima ran over to grab the left side of his slouched comrade. Bakugou quickly tried to take the other side but the teacher blinked. Faint flickers of heated light reached up and took the blonde by the hand.

Bakugou hissed and drew it back. Spews of swear words and threats of regret left the vehement boy. He almost reached a hand to retry after the teacher had his eyes back on the passed out teen. The teacher took the right side. The look the teacher gave the passed out boy made Bakugou stand down for a few seconds.

“Fuck off, I’ll help,” he told the teacher. The teacher glances his way. Aizawa-Sensei kept his attention on Kaminari.

Bakugou would have fought harder had Sero and Ashido not gotten his attention. He grumbled as Sero bandaged his hand with tape. Bakugou went to point out that he was not the only one touching Kaminari as he’d sparked. Looking over though, Kirishima had hardened. It was pointless to try to deter the boy from helping his friend even a little bit.

The Bakusquad trailed after the teacher and the other member. They were lucky that the few times Aizawa blinked, the shocks were light. Still, the teacher had strained himself getting the boy to the nurse.

The Bakusquad stayed there with Aizawa-Sensei until Naomasa Tsukauchi arrived. “Children, you should leave,” The police detective said with no hesitation or sympathy. The man seemed as if he just wanted to do his job and get out. With the darkened rims of his eyes and his sluggish movements, it was an easy guess that he was tired and overworked. Even knowing this, Bakugou couldn’t hold even a strand of sympathy toward the man.

“Fuck no! We aren’t just going to go like that!” Aizawa-Sensei rubbed his temples and looked over to glare at the loudmouthed troublemaker. “Tell us what this is!”

Ashido peeked out from behind Sero to let out a quick quip, “and how we can help.”

Naomasa seemed uncomfortable with the idea of letting students, who would most definitely stop at nothing to help a friend, have any information regarding this. He snuck a glance at the teacher. He figured it would be best to follow the man’s lead.

As if sensing his thoughts, Aizawa-Sensei nodded his approval. The other adult sighed. “Well if you’re fine with it Aizawa, I will start.”

“They’ll figure it out, and work on their own either way,” Aizawa-Sensei said. Naomasa wondered if the man had regretted becoming a teacher. He brushed the thought off in favor of the current predicament.

"And my heart was pumping, chest was screaming

Mind was running, air was freezing

As much as they had tried to figure it out, all they could tell that night was that it was not medical. It had obviously been caused by a quirk if Recovery Girl couldn’t heal him. The teenagers were told not to inform the class about this just yet about these developments. The day still seemed to pass too slowly and quietly.

Kirishima sat still and merely took notes. Ashido would look down at her phone for updates, at a constant rate. Everyone seemed drowsy and unmotivated. The only person who acted as he normally would was Mineta, and even his attempts seemed lax compared to usual. It was like the boy was only flirting excessively because that was what he did every day. Most of his daily comments lacked any and all passion.

The second lunch hit, students crowded the bakusquad members, with the exception of Bakugou.

Many of the students asked for more information or ways to help. Ashido went to tell them that they were looking for someone whose quirk could cause that but stopped at the pointed look Bakugou shot her.

Ashido put on a nervous smile and said, “He’ll be fine. He was working himself to death with his part-time job.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at the idea. He thought students were not allowed to have part-time jobs at this school. It was especially risky with Class 1-A, and U.A. in general, being targeted frequently.

Put my hands up, put my hands up

I told this kid I'm ready for a fight"

Kaminari Denki tried to fight back. It didn’t matter in the slightest. Every evaded attack seemed to come back and hurt him worse. His father laughed at his failed attempts. The little him, that cowered in the corner, ran. She He ran down the twisting hall. Kaminari figured that the child version of him would just run out of sight.

She, he was a boy, not a girl. A dress wouldn’t make him a girl. He was a boy.

He didn’t though. The scenery and even the deaged Kaminari’s clothing changed way with each step. The hall lead way to their childhood home in Saitama. Young Kaminari was wearing a yellow and black striped shirt, a too big hand-me-down, and some loose fitting jeans. He had to have been around 7 years old.

He watched the scene. Young Kaminari snuck out around the time that school would have been starting, had it not been a Saturday. He met up with a kid with messy purple hair.

“Why do you even hang out with me? Don’t you think I’m scary?” The barely younger boy asked. Kaminari seemed to stop walking. He didn’t really get why the other boy thought himself scary.

“Why would I think that?” He said. “I’ve got a scary quirk too.” The boy, a young Shinsou, looked confused. Than, comprehension spread across his face. Yes, electricity could hurt. It could be scary. Just as scary as having no control. “Oh! Let’s go play in that park!” Kaminari pointed. The park was relatively small. Still, it was beautiful and lush with lots of open room.

There wasn’t much playground equipment; just a swing and some monkey bars.

The two gravitated to the swings before all else. The two had a lot of fun at the park until two other students showed up. One of them was the younger brother of the boy who called him a freak. His name was Hajime Jirou. His family disapproved of anything that went against the ‘original and proper’ way of doing things.

Kaminari felt bad for the other boy. He couldn’t stop him, though, from gaining his parent’s philosophy. Kaminari liked that word. He learned it the other day from his aunt. She let him wear dresses when being a boy felt too wrong.

He knew people could change that, but he didn’t want to hurt his family or make his dad angry by doing so.

Punch my face, do it 'cause I like the pain Every time you curse my name

He woke up. They didn't even realize that they'd fallen asleep. No, not they. She looked over the room. The nurse's office was as clear as day to her. She could see Aizawa-Sensei there. “Hey,” she tried to say. Her jaw wouldn’t open though. It was like it had been wired shut. She could see and hear everything. The bakusquad coming in to check on him. Other students doing the same. Some weren’t even in their class. They could hear and see everything.

Their eyes were wide open, so how did nobody notice? How did everyone say they care and start to cry about them but not even notice they were awake? That they were in pain?

“How are you so sure you're awake?” a familiar voice says.

Kaminari turned. The light that spoke seemed to twitch and spark. Then it faded into someone the child always loathed to see. He didn’t bother to reply. He knew it would change nothing for the better. His father would just hurt him more.

The figure hurled electricity toward Kaminari. He opened his arms as if to embrace the painful strike.

“Se-Sensei! His vitals!” Sero said. He seemed on the edge of panicking from just the spike. They watched for a second. The electricity escaped Kaminari’s body and flooded the building. The surge his power caused made the computers crash. The medical equipment overloaded. Aizawa stopped Kaminari’s quirks but the after effects had already taken its toll.

The building’s electricity was out for the next three days. It made it easier for the bakusquad to sneak out without the rest of Class 1-A noticing.

I know you want the satisfaction, it's not gonna happen Knock me out, kick me when I'm on the ground

Kaminari’s feet sunk into the ground and kept him upright. “What do you have to say for yourself?” His father’s voice echoed through the encompassed area. Kaminari didn’t know if there was anything he could really say to make the man stop. It was easier to take the hits. It always had been.

The man crept closer. He had a sinister look on his face, though that felt all too normal to the younger man. Kaminari flinched and curled inward on himself. “Well, BOY? Speak!” The man raised an arm to strike. “Or will you deny everything, forever?”

For some reason, the word echoed in his head.

He wasn’t denying anything. He was protecting his family.

It's only gonna let you down

Bakugou growled as they stalked the streets. He knew that quirk forms were confidential. Still, it had been three days since they had started getting the procedure of getting a warrant.

Bakugou was worried and impatient.

The bakusquad had followed Bakugou’s advice of checking out the Saitama prefecture. The group split into groups of two; Ashido and Sero, and Kirishima and Bakugou. When Kirishima had gone to explain the idea to Aizawa-Sensei, the teacher seemed skeptical to let the students roam the streets near the place where the quirk had been used on Kaminari. However, a glance at the student’s eyes proved that it would be fruitless to tell them not to.

Aizawa and Yamada trailed the students in case of attack.

The two groups of students asked anyone who passed by if they had seen what happened to Kaminari. No one seemed to have noticed the boy.

Bakugou scowled as Kirishima brightened his worried smile and approached another couple. The two seemed to have recognized Kaminari from a picture that Kirishima had saved on his phone.

“I’ve seen that boy at the park before. Poor thing,” the girl said.

Her husband said, “I know the kid’s father. He’s not a good man. You shouldn’t get involved in that family.”

Small explosions were released from Bakugou’s hands. The couple flinched back. “That boy is going to be a hero. He’s a student of U.A,” Bakugou said.

Kirishima looked between the three with an uncertain smile. The tension growing was already thick. “Look, we know Kaminari. He is a good guy. It doesn’t matter if his father isn’t. Not to his friends and teachers, at least. If principal Nedzu thought he would betray us, he wouldn’t have let him enroll.” The students could almost see phantom gears turning in the couple’s head. The newfound regret was obvious on their faces. “Have you seen him around three days ago? That was the last time he went out of the U.A. dorms. He got a hurt. The police seemed to think that he was affected by a quirk.

“I think I saw him,” the woman started. “He was in an alleyway, helping an old lady up.”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes as if to threaten her to explain. Kirishima was the only one to vocalize anything, though. “What did she look like?”

“The woman had greying cyan hair. She looked a little shorter than him, maybe? She was hunched over like she had scoliosis. She might have been in her mid-60s. Oh! I remember now, she reminds me of the librarian from the library I go to.” She gave them information on how to get there, as well as where the alley was. They asked their questions to the librarian, but ultimately, it led to nothing.

Bakugou had decided that the easiest way to find her was to get the records from schools in the area near Kaminari’s house and in the area of the alley. The group of U.A. students regrouped at their own school and discussed the plan. All the students decided they wanted to help

The schools were reluctant to release information that wasn’t in records for the public. They did let them check out the yearbooks. They decided it would take too long to check every school. It might have even taken months if they went about it that way.

“Hey, Bakugou? Did you ever think about posting on forums?” Ashido asked. With all the technology they use on a daily basis, Bakugou felt like kicking himself for not seeing such a possible lead. He growled.

“He didn’t,” Kirishima, the Bakugou translator, said for him. The group wasted no time spreading the word on many media outlets.

After that, the group took turns checking the forums every hour. Someone had posted a lead on people they know who have the ability to put others in comas. Kirishima and Ashido had a pair of full-blown grins as they check the lead. They had finally found her; Wanashi Kikowa.

The two raced to gather the members of the group and their teachers. Aizawa, Yamada, and All Might arrived at the same time. The two blonds seemed excited that they were finally going to put an end to the panic induced by this incident. Aizawa still seemed to have the same lazy, apathetic composure as always, though everyone there knew what the man was feeling was quite the opposite. All Might called Detective Naomasa and put the man on speakerphone.

She had no priors and hadn’t been in the system at all. The only evidence they had that it could be her, was a couple of testimonies from her high school days. It was said that she had gotten in a fight with her girlfriend, Aiteki Naiko, over whether the girl was ashamed to be seen with her. The fight ended with the girlfriend stuck in her head until she resolved to be herself and be open with her thoughts.

The Bakusquad lept into action at the first chance. They raced to the woman’s current address. The hot-headed leader would have kicked in the door, had Aizawa’s scarf not caught him. The other teachers were quick to scold the boy, however, Aizawa just glanced at the door. He let the impulsive student go and went to knock on the door.

They stood there until the door opened, no one moved even an inch. With every second the host of the house didn’t show up was a moment of building tension.

The door opened. “Hello?” The woman said without even a stutter. She didn’t act surprised or even annoyed at their presence.

“Undo whatever you did to Kaminari!” Ashido said.

“You must be the friends of the blond child with the bolt in their hair. Trust me, they will be better in the long run after they awaken.”

“Look, lady, I don’t give a shit for what you think was for the better!” Bakugou attempted to charge at the fragile looking old lady. He was, again, held back due to the teacher’s interventions.

Come the lightning and the thunder You're the one who'll suffer, suffer

Rounds of memories seemed to trail with every spike of electricity shot through him. Sometimes it felt like he was slipping away, back to the nurse's office. The memories were never lucid. They were foggy and bubbly. It was like something dragging him under the waves in an ocean.

He could hear his friends voices. There was another voice he couldn’t quite place, even with the familiarity to it. He knew she was someone he talked to recently. He did talk to a lot of people though.

The voices were muffled and came in and out like a radio losing signal. With his quirk, that wouldn’t be possible. He’d been here so long he didn’t know what to make of these short visions. “ Com- -n. Ke- -ighting. You'll -ine. We -re -ere you.” He could feel his skin tingle as the electricity built up. His hand was already warm from Sero and Ashido’s hands gripping his, but the feeling of his quirk was easily distinguishable. He opened his mouth to warn them.

He was pulled back under completely. All warmth other than his quirk disappeared. His eyebrows drooped than his eyes followed suit. He felt tired. He wanted to give up. This was so hard. He walked down the shadowy path in hopes for somewhere to lay. Nowhere came to view.

He didn’t think any place would show up in an area where the ground may as well be sludge.

Well I squared him up, left my chest exposed He threw a quick left hook and it broke my nose

“Please, stop this nonsense, Denki-chan,” Kaminari’s aunt Alouette. It was rare that she was in Japan. Kaminari had just wanted to feel pretty. She didn’t get why her kind aunt had told her to stop. “Your father will be home soon. Take off the dress. We have to hide it somewhere. Come on, petit?”

Now Kaminari understood. She hurried to her room to put on her boy clothes. She was only allowed to be a boy. If she wasn’t, not even her mother or aunt could stop her father from hurting her.

Last time, he came back home when Kaminari hadn’t felt like she was either. So she had worn a long shirt that looked considerably like a dress and she wore shorts. She hadn’t wanted to offend him, she recalled. He still took it that way though. He always did.

She changed and came out wearing a black and yellow striped shirt, jeans, and a pokemon hat.

She ran over to where her aunt was and tried not to twitch too much. These clothes didn’t feel right. Not that they felt bad, just not right.

She wondered, not for the first time, why she was so strange… So wrong.

I had thick red blood running down my clothes And a sick, sick look 'cause I like it though

Finally, Kaminari stopped watching their memories pass by. They shuddered at the hand on their shoulder. Their feet were still stuck in the mud. “Well, boy? Ready to answer?”

Kaminari glared at his father. He couldn’t go on watching these memories anymore. He knew his father was showing him this in order to disgust him. That left Kaminari wondering how he even knew some of these memories.

He felt his adrenaline spike as his father opened his mouth.

A small chuckle escaped that cavern of cavities. He saw the hands reaching for him. Every second doubled the stress he felt. He knew this would be painful.

I said I didn't want trouble, I'm the boy in the bubble But then came trouble

“Look, the child is strong, but in pain. If the child cannot come to terms with themself, then they may be stuck in their head for a long time. They helped me, and so I reverted all injuries but psychological ones. Currently, their mind is putting them in a coma to attempt to heal the psychological scars. If the child wants to awaken, they must find a way to heal those injuries. To do that, most people learn to accept themselves. The child might awaken, or still be able to hear if you want to keep them company?” The old lady said.

And my heart was pumping, chest was screaming Mind was running, nose was bleeding

His father lunged for him. His fingers, at first contact, released small bursts of discharge.

“Aizawa. It’s happening again!” Recovery Girl said as she shook him awake.

Kaminari had not felt his father’s electricity course through him very often. He had lost count of how many times he’d felt the belt buckle digging into his skin, or how many times half-full beer bottles would be thrown at him. He never lost count of the electricity though. He, in fact, could count on his fingers the number of times it had happened before today.

The villain seemed to morph. A shadow took his place and cackled.

“You weren’t protecting them by hiding this. You were just protecting yourself - like a coward!” The shadow said. It’s distorted voice boomed. Kaminari couldn’t tell whether the form was a girl or a boy. It’s voice ranged from deep to high and would change by the second.

This enemy confused him. It felt familiar. It felt like it was a part of himself.

He didn’t want that to be true, but the second he thought it, he couldn’t erase the feeling.

He wanted to deny this figure because it was evil. That wasn’t the real issue though. The issue was still gender.

Of course, he didn’t want to be evil, either. The shadow knew that. It knew it’s purpose was to beat some sense and self-love into the child. It didn’t think it was bad. Just that it was a tired guardian of the mind. One day, it hoped, the child would see that too.

The shadow dropped into it’s fighting stance and held up it’s hands.

Aizawa blinked and the electricity came back full throttle. Aizawa disabled the boy’s power again. He put a hand on the boy’s forehead. There was no doubt that the boy had gained a fever from overexerting himself and his quirk.

“Why isn’t he getting any better?” Bakugou asked the old lady. He almost seemed like he was growling.

Wanashi smiled and said, “The child will get better when they accept themselves.” Sero and Bakugou had the feeling that something was wrong. There was no doubt that even the quirk user had no clue what was happening.

“That’s what you said before, you old hag!” Bakugou said.

At the same time, Kirishima let out a question. “What would we be able to do to help Kaminari accept himself?”

“We could stay with him and play familiar music and stuff?” Ashido said.

“I’ll go get my laptop and charger. Maybe we can play some of his favorite movies too?” Sero said.

The group then looked to the teachers. They didn’t seem to mind the idea. The rest of the class seemed to like the idea as well. Sero raced to get the technology while Ashido went to get comfort items. Kirishima and Bakugou decided to stay.

Throughout the night, they indulged in everything that Kaminari liked. Kaminari’s favorite teachers stayed for a little while, before saying, “We don’t care if a few of you sleep in here, but not everyone can stay. Try to get to your rooms at some point tonight.”

The class nodded eagerly and then turned their attention to trying to help Kaminari. Most of the night, while they had thought it’d be watching their classmate’s favorite movies, but it ended up very different. Everyone picked a song that reminded them of Kaminari and told their favorite story featuring Kaminari.

Some songs included Powerful by Major Lazer, Electric by Maniac Drive, DNA by BTS, Reckless by Jaxson Gamble, and Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen.

Kirishima picked Little Moments by Brad Paisley. It was a surprise to many of their classmates.

“So, Ashido, for some reason thought it was my birthday.” Kirishima started. “So, Kaminari somehow convinced Bakugou to help him distract me while she set up a surprise party. He rented a golf cart and drove us around. He ended up backing down a hill. That was so funny. It was pretty manly when he did it on purpose the second time.” A fond look came over Kirishima’s face as he recalled the experience.

“The dumbass bought baking supplies, beforehand and stashed them in a bag hooked to the back,” Bakugou grumbled.

“The milk was two days old and all the eggs cracked when he accidentally backed up into a tree or something. He started freaking out over it. He had planned to distract me by having the three of us bake a cake out in the woods as if we were camping. It was a manly idea even if it didn’t work out.”

Bakugou grunted about the impossibility of making a cake without an oven. People started to turn to Bakugou in a silent declaration that he was next.  “Fuck no! I don’t have some shitty story to tell of the damn rip-off Pikachu!” Bakugou was glad when Iida drew the attention to himself by raising his arm.

Iida held the class to the teacher’s words. Bakugou stood and went to follow the class out, but was cut off from the action due to Kirishima’s hand. The hotheaded boy was dragged back down onto the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. All of the Bakusquad stayed the night.

Put my hands up, put my hands up I told this kid I'm ready for a fight

The shadow raised it’s fists and darted forward. Kaminari raised his arms to block. He even tried to move out of the way. Black tendrils, from his subconscious, made a grab at his legs. He could almost hear the deafening doubt course through his body. Unkind words he’d heard every time he was ‘acting weird’ echoed through his mind.

The situation distracted him from the sharp quick to the ribs that he could have attempted to avoid. Fleet jabs made their way to his face and upper chest. He could feel his collarbone crunch under the pressure of the assault.

Punch my face, do it 'cause I like the pain Every time you curse my name

The shadow winced as it took in the damage it inflicted upon it’s host. It hoped the child would forgive it later. Or, at very least understand it’s explanation. It brushed off the thoughts and readied itself to inflict more damage. It was just until the child figured it out. And this was the best way to help them anyway.

If it didn’t continue to remind the child of the words, if the child didn’t catch the meaning of the torment, then the child’s mind would be reformed into exactly what their cruel father had wanted. Normal. Evil. Someone who would betray their friends for their own benefit.

The shadow swept a roundhouse kick through the air. It caught Kaminari right in the face. The shadow briefly felt relief at the fact they were only in the mindscape. If they were in the real world the electric teenager would have a broken nose. The shadow decided it would shift. It may help the host figure out the trick to success.

I know you want the satisfaction, it's not gonna happen Knock me out, kick me when I'm on the ground

“Can’t you wake up soon?” Kirishima mumbled. He curled into himself, only a hand grasping the comatose boy’s hand, was extended. Bakugou rubbed his eyes and looked over to the fake redhead. He grabbed a chair and moved it beside the other as quietly as he could.

“Shitty hair, stop that. The asshole will wake up. You even heard the old hag, he just has to get through some shit,” Bakugou whispered. The sound was still rough, but it was the most gentle Kirishima had heard in a long while. The two talked until they crashed, both cuddling into the small space at the end of Kaminari’s bed.

The two awoke to small zaps from the unconscious boy. “He is so dead when he wakes up,” the brash boy growled while Kirishima chuckled. Then they both realized just how close the two were. Blushing, they both wondered if they should move closer or if they should kiss. Neither noticed the pink girl taking pictures of them with her cell phone. They had even moved closer to Kaminari before they noticed her. Ashido let out a giggle. She saved the pictures to an online folder that even Bakugou couldn’t find. Bakugou exploded with anger, waking everyone in the room.

Even Kaminari stirred. All attention shifted to the boy. Bakugou, being one of the closest and more capable at taking temperatures than Kirishima, placed a hand on the comatose teen's forehead. “Get a damn bucket of slightly cold water and some damp washcloths, you fucking incompetents!”

The fever, while not dangerously high, did not go away completely under Bakugou’s watchful gaze.

Wanashi and Principal Nedzu walked into the room. It was seven in the morning, and they were reminded that they should go to class while the adults took a shift watching their classmate.

“Should we contact the boy’s family and see if they would like to check up on the child?” Wanashi asked.

“The boy’s father is a villain. I’m sure you already know that though. I don’t trust you and I think this is intentional. That being said, I see no reason why, with supervision, the boy’s family can’t check on the boy.”

Wanashi scowled. The principal was very intelligent, but she hadn’t thought she’d left any clues. She decided she’d continue to play innocent since the man had no proof.

It's only gonna let you down

Finally, Kaminari could tell who he was fighting. A villain who stole his face, his power. She walked toward him and he stalled. He wasn't sure how to react. She distorted. Kaminari felt his skin tingle as he felt his body shift. She looked as if she was enduring the same problem due to her stall. She was a he, now. As for Kaminari, he was a she now.

He -No, she- didn’t know how, but at the moment she couldn’t care.

Kaminari flexed her muscles. She released a little bit of static and smirked. Ya, it didn’t matter after all. She was who she was and could fight either way.

Come the lightning and the thunder You're the one who'll suffer

The shadow smirked and released it’s hold on it’s form. The color that painted it to look like Kaminari seeped downward. Kaminari readied herself to attack again. She couldn’t help but feel confused when the dark creature just smiled and sat down in the moving puddle.

The shadow reappeared in a hammock. They had once again had transported to a different place in her memories. It was an old friend’s room. Her friend, Sukuinushi Kageka, would often lend her room as a place of comfort when Kaminari was younger.

“You recognize this place, right?” the shadow asked. Kaminari started to feel tense, still, she smiled and nodded. “She was a good friend, wasn’t she? She would be glad that you accepted yourself. That’s why she gave me to you really. I’m a shadow guardian. Her quirk. You may not have seen her in years, but I don’t wear off until I’ve done what I needed to do.

It was 6:48, he was walking home With the blood on his hand from my broken nose

“I think his fever is breaking,” A soft voice said.

Kaminari blinked. She was no longer in that place. She was back in the nurse’s office. The whole class was there. That old lady was too. There was a soothing cool hand on her forehead. She glanced up to see Ashido. With how cool the hand felt, she had assumed it would be Todoroki.

“Hey, guys?” She said. For three seconds, it seemed like everything had slowed down. She could count the emotions on everyone’s faces. What stuck out most was the Bakusquad; twitch of Bakugou’s hand and twitch of his grin, the way Kirishima’s drained puppy dog eyes lite up, the bubble tears that sprung into Ashido’s eyes, and, lastly the full teeth grin and worried brow crease of Sero.

The old lady stepped up. “I’m glad you managed to accept yourself,” She said. At Bakugou’s growl, the lady took a step back. Kaminari eyed the situation slowly. All of her class was there, her teachers, Shinsou and a few other random students. She had noticed all of them at the first glance she took around the room. Then she noticed her parents and her aunt.

“Thank you, by the way, what’s your name again?” She said in the most polite voice she could.

“Oh, my dear, my name is Wanashi Kikowa, but you can call me whatever you wish to after what I made you endure,” The lady said. She looked worried but managed to keep her voice steady even under the threat of Bakugou’s ferocity.

“Hmm, It’s fine. I finally got it. I just hope everyone else accepts it easier than I did,” Kaminari said. She let out a ditzy sounding laugh and went to get up. A couple people pushed her back onto the bed lightly. She took their advice. She already felt dizzy after only that one attempt.

The class looked hesitant. Midoriya flustered and opened his mouth. She knew that he was going to ask what it was that she had to accept before she could wake. She wondered if she should tell them now or wait until her father left. “So, how much did I miss out while I was… napping?”

The student body gawked at her. She looked over to met her father’s eyes. He had a glare that almost encouraged her to mess up.

The bakusquad swarmed the ex-comatose girl. Ashido and Kirishima filled him in on the latest gossip and school drama. Sero rolled his eyes and tried to explain what they were doing in class. Bakugou scowled and hit Kaminari over the head with some rolled papers. He dropped them over her head and they floated down onto the bed sheets.

She looked down at the offending papers, then looked at him. “Are these your notes? You didn’t have to,” she said.

“Shut up, rip-off Pikachu!” All in all, the moments after waking seemed sweet and playful to her, until her father cleared his throat.

But like every other day, he was scared to go Back to his house 'cause his pops was home

The students slowly left the room. Everyone had left words of encouragement and relief for Kaminari. “Guess they don’t recognize you,” Kaminari Denki said. Her father glared at her.

“What happened? You’re my son. You should be stronger than this! Not only that, but I only sent you here under the condition you would leek information to us,” Kaminari’s father whispered. Though his voice was quiet, it still held that edge that implied any misstep would lead to his father losing control of himself.

Kaminari didn’t want that to happen, not here, and not with his mom and aunt around. They were fearful enough of him as is. She wasn’t sure if she was really afraid of the other electric person now though.

Kaminari gave a blank stare toward the man. She then turned her stare toward the other members of her family. She beckoned them to the door.

After they left, Kaminari’s father looked even more unhinged.

She bit her tongue and tried to muster some courage. Turned out, she didn’t need to. With her newfound confidence, she felt no fear as she broke the news to her father.

“Dad, I’m not a boy. Not really. I feel like I move throughout the spectrum of gender. I am genderfluid. Some days a girl, some a boy, and sometimes neither or bigender.” The villain growled.

Drowning his troubles in whiskey bubbles Just looking for trouble

Kaminari’s father was swift to grab her throat. The lack of oxygen made her feel as if she was drowning. That was no excuse for being helpless during an attack though. She sent her knee towards his stomach. Her touch, though electric, felt like nothing more than weak static to the elder. She started kicking more frantically. A few of those hits struck a painful place and the man dropped her and curled in on himself, his hands unconsciously clasp in a protective barrier in front of his groin.

Kaminari rubbed her throat and took a step back. She threw three balls, similar to the pointers she used to aim, around her father. She aimed some electricity at them. The little balls put up a field that was only turned on when charged. It was very resourceful for capturing targets without injuring them or leaving a chance for escape. She remembered when she had accidentally charged them around herself and she had to wait for the current to die down for her to leave. It was a long, boring day compared to the second time she used these new trinkets. After the last device the Support Class had created for her, she gladly went back and asked them to make more ideas for her.

They expected the class to get fed up with them at some point. They got along with almost everybody there, though. Some of the young inventors would even ask them to come over and sometimes test the technology to see how well it would work. They figured the class was really just happy that they had caught an idiot who would gladly test supplies for others. They felt relief that they had never fallen into their father’s lap. They now knew too much of the next generation of heroes and support workers alike. Their father would be way too powerful with that kind of information at hand.

“Father, why can’t you accept me. Our entire family is afraid of you and your responses to what you deem as wrong. This is way more accepted in this generation, than in yours, but still, you should at least be happy, maybe proud, and respect how I live my life.”

“Why on earth would I ever be proud of you? You are so stupid you think you’re not a boy and you can’t even spy on these so-called-heroes. You’re worthless to me,” The elder man spat. His struggles to get out of the trap were futile.

Well, there's no excuse for the things he did But there's a lot at home that he's dealing with

Wanashi walked into the room, with her saddened family behind the hag. “Let your father go child. It will not end well if you disobey me,” she said. Her hand latched onto the arm of Kaminari’s aunt.

“Wanashi, that is impossible. He won’t be free until the capsules run out of charge. It was something that the support course came up with. I don’t know how to turn it off.” The women clicked her tongue in an annoyed fashion that spurred Kaminari’s mind to the newest Robin in the DC Batman comics. She hadn’t read them in years, but she could still see the eerie similarity.

The woman pulled a small device out of her ear and crunched it underneath her heel.

Kaminari scowled and tried to look tough, but she couldn’t help the widening of her eyes or the unconscious curl inward that her body exhibited. This was the second time she had seen the shadow-like-man who could transform his body into a portal. She wondered why he would come to get the old lady and Kaminari’s own father when the electronic was destroyed.

She knew her father was capable of destroying it without even trying or noticing. She knew that couldn’t have been a sign. Still, the frequency meant the shadow man had heard all the conversation.

Kaminari was glad that the man had just decided to abduct the villains instead of attack though. She knew she couldn’t fend them off without her aunt and mother getting hurt.

Because his dad's been drunk since he was a kid And I hope one day that he'll say to him

She turned her attention to the two other women left in the room. They held each other as if it would calm the shaking that was starting to settle in their forms. “Oh Denki, how do you stand all this violence? I thought it was bad enough that it was violent at home, but now this? Is it always like this?” Her mother asked before hugging her child. She looked like she would start to cradle and rock the teenager.

Kaminari sniggered. “It’s fine mom. It’s not always like this at all,” She said.  She wanted to add that it was something that happened every once in a while but felt as if that would make her mother abandon her newfound relief. She also feared being pulled out of school. She wanted to be a hero with all her heart. She wanted to help kids who didn’t think they would ever be able to use their quirks properly. Kids who wanted to help but always thought that their quirk wasn’t good enough, whether it be because of the side-effects or words that other children had said about them. Kaminari had experienced both. She knew if she could do it, so could they. She hoped this wasn’t enough to make her mother pull her out of school.

“Mom? Will you finally leave him? I know he hurts you too.” Kaminari pulled her head from her mother’s embrace to see her face. With a brilliant smile and glistening eyes, she bent forward to kiss her daughters forehead.

“I can try, my daughter. But I can’t make that a promise,” Kaminari nodded. After processing the words, she smiled. She was so happy that her mother called her daughter instead of a son. She didn’t even question how her mother knew. She had always chalked it up to being a mother thing.

She wondered if one day she would have the mother thing.

"Put down those bubbles and that belt buckle In this broken bubble"

Kaminari spent that night in their room. She had spent a good hour answering her mother’s and aunt’s questions about being genderfluid. Still, they felt very exhausted after the whole ordeal. They had asked their mother and aunt to confide in the school about the abuse and villianry that Kaminari’s father was almost always up to.

They wondered briefly if they should let their family go home, but knew that it would be best to let the teachers decide about whether it was or was not too dangerous to return to the tiny home in the Saitama prefecture. They also knew that if the two didn’t feel safe, they would find a way.

It wouldn’t be the first time their mother had swept into the house and taken anyone inside to a hotel or friend’s house when it just wasn’t safe to be home.

Punch my face, do it 'cause I like the pain Every time you curse my name

Kaminari decided that using ‘they’ could be confusing for when they were in this mood. Looking up more pronouns they decided they’d go with xe. Xe sounded right, though xe knew it could be confusing. Xe hoped xyr other friends would be accepting. Kaminari couldn’t help but feeling that anxious feeling that reminded xem that they may not accept. Xe took a second to sit and calm xyr thoughts before going to find xyr most trusted friends.

Xe explained the situation, and grinned when xe heard Bakugou’s outraged voice say, “That’s it? You damn ripoff-Pikachu! Don’t fucking disturb my sleep for something even you should know the answer to! If anyone gives you trouble for this shit, I’ll kill them!” Still, at the volume and anger in the always-angry-blond, Kaminari flinched. Xe honestly thought that the impetuous boy would be disgusted or just angry. The rest of xyr close friends also spouted that they cared about xem for xemself. A grin eased itself on xyr face and xe pounced to hug the bakusquad.

“So, what pronouns are you using at the moment?” Sero asked

“I think, at the moment at least,” Kaminari said, seeming meek. Xe stopped for a short while, fearing their reactions until he was shouted at by an impatient Bakugou being subdued by Kirishima. “Right! Sorry! I’d like to go by xe/xem pronouns right now!”

I know you want the satisfaction, it's not gonna happen Knock me out, kick me when I'm on the ground

Kirishima looked over to the electric blond and grinned. “Kami-bro!” He cried. Kaminari instantly looked over with a grin. “Does this mean I can’t call you Kami-bro anymore?” Kaminari giggled at the almost pitiful face Kirishima pulled. It was so exaggerated it broke the tensing mood back into the normal happy-go-lucky mood that the group would usually enjoy.

“Well duh. That’s just how you are. You aren’t going to offend me by a nickname that has never bothered me before. Being genderfluid won’t change that. I mean, yeah dysphoria sucks, but there are a lot of times when it’s lessened. I’m also just a really go-with-the-flow kind of person,” Kamiari said. Xe was still giggling at xyr red-headed companion. After the tension had eased, the group shared stories of what happened.

Kaminari found the most amusement in being caught up on who Bakugou has had the most scream matches with while xe was out and with Mina’s picture of Bakugou and Kirishima’s almost kiss. They all talked for hours, even with Bakugou’s explosions bringing the teacher’s attention on them. They were scolded and told to go to bed. After that, they did the only thing natural for a teenager to do. They ignored their teachers and had a sleepover in the dorm’s living room. No one went to bed until 5 in the morning and no one woke them up for school the next day.

The teachers decided that it should be considered that they had been worried sick over Kaminari and deserved the day to spend time with the ex-coma patient.

It's only gonna let you down Come the lightning and the thunder

After all the classes had ended, Kaminari told the bakusquad that xe wanted to come out to their class and teachers. Xe was getting annoyed with the repetitiveness of having to explain so many times. “That’s so manly,” and “We’re proud of you, dude,” rang in xyr head. Xe couldn’t stop the nervousness but was happy that xyr friend’s had xyr back.

“I have something to say,” Kaminari said while standing on the coffee table in their dorm. The rash action called the attention or every class member, and the few teachers and other students who had decided to check on the impulsive child. “I think I’m genderfluid. Sometimes I feel like a girl and sometimes I feel like a boy. Sometimes I don’t feel like either. I think it was because I was denying that myself. I think that’s why the woman was able to put me in that coma.” After a few moments of silence, Kaminari climbed down from the table with slumped shoulders. Xe wasn’t sure if xe felt disappointed by the lack of response.

Finally, a response came. A cruel and offensive was uttered by Mineta. It was like a backstab to the gut even though xe felt it coming. Xe didn’t expect the backlash the boy would get, though. All the class had stepped up to defend Xem. The principal sent him away to atone for his cruel response. The boy was also warned that if he did anything to offend or hurt another student or person on the school premises, he would be taken out of Class 1-A.

Kaminari secretly hoped that when, there was no if, at this point, Mineta was booted out, Shisou would take the vulgar boy’s place. Xe was pretty sure most of the class also wanted the purple-haired boy to join the class.

Not even an hour after the boy was out of site, Bakugou had terrorized the bigot to the point Mineta never said anything bad about Kaminari again.

You're the one who'll suffer, suffer

Name Meanings:

Wanashi Kikowa 罠 (Wana) trap 四 (Shi) four 記 怖 (Kikowa) Memorial 記 (Ki) Record 怖 (Kowa) Fear

Kageka- 影華-meaning shadow flower/ shadow splendor 救主- Sukuinushi- Savior (I was lazy on Sukuinshi-Chan's name. Sorry.)

This is a story I wrote a while ago, but I’m not too great at keeping things in synch, so the picture that goes with it is late. REALLY LATE. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I hope you enjoy it. I decided It would be best to just put both the chapters together since it’s easier to cross post like that, sorry?

-Myukamo Kunazu