#my autofill keeps wanting to fill in shit

[angellurgy2]

Pull The Trigger

your favourite freak's writing agaain! you ever wanted to read a story about a homophobic gamer boy getting doxxed and raped? well here u go! ^-^ part two coming soon

cw: noncon, forced gay, slurs, shit like that

sandstone brick, towering ahead. trapped in a corner, waiting, ak-47 comfortable in hand. listening, watching, pixel-perfect gaze. the soft pitter patter of booted footsteps approaching on sand. spin, shoot before you see. three shots of triple-round burst to centre mass. dead. 

multiple pings hit the wall ahead of him, pelted at while his back was turned. losing health rapidly. he flicks and sends his barrel spinning 180 in the opposite direction, blind trading fire. 

he screams into his bulky turtle beach headphones as the body in front of him ragdolls, screen blurring with bloody low health warnings. “YEAAAH FAGGOT, YOU LIKE THAT?”

he’s swiftly popped into the win screen, all chat and winner microphones switched on to offer a chance to flaunt or whine. 

[ALL] TriggerFinger: get GUD fags i’ll wipe u in the next one 2 lmao

[ALL] XxxGr1mR3eaperxxX: dude you suck u just got lucky

[ALL] TriggerFinger: i bet u kno a lot about sucking huh?

[ALL] TriggerFinger: just like your MOM

trigger clicks on to queue for the next game, a satisfied gleam plastering his face as everyone else is gone to the aether.

in the top left of his screen as loading screens trawl pops a message from an unfamiliar user. not on his friends list, rather it looks like they’re in the ‘recently played with’ section. probably just another noob coming to rage.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: that was pretty rude, you know.

‘ThAt WaS pReTtY rUde-’ what a beta.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: why shld i care? get a life faggot. lmao

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: you really shouldn’t talk to people like that.

this guy’s clearly got some form of retardation keeping him from getting the hint. but trigger’s got better shit to do. the loading screen for this game always takes so long. he grabs a pack of shrimp tempura cup ramen off the nearby shelf and fills it with day-old water from his water bottle, shoving it in the microwave for a couple minutes. he numbly trawls through social media feeds, doomscrolling the beautiful faces on instagram before that gets boring, then the stale porn on twitter, then the ragebait on 4chan. nothing satisfying his appetite except this one clip of some guy eating shit on his first try skateboarding, which too is ethereal in the drips of serotonin it gives.

ding!

he grabs his soppy steaming meal and brings it back over to his computer, stirring it with a stray fork before moving back into the screen. the first thing he sees is another message from the same person as before. he rolls his eye and opens the notification.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: this you? 78.222.0.13

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: TF?? 

he thinks he’s so cool. trigger quickly tabs over to chrome, typing into the address bar ‘whats my ip ad-’ before it autofills. he clicks in, praying for the release of the little ball of stress slowing spreading in his chest. only to have it implode. IPv4… 78.222.0.13

ok. well, he’s probably just trying to scare you. theres not much you can do with a few numbers. he remembers the streamers he’s watched being ddos’ed and how freaked out they’d always get. he can’t find that humour in the angered horror on their faces now, though.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: thats not my fuckin IP asshole. ur not funny

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: i think it’s pretty funny.

[PRIVATE] Anonymous-Specter: see you soon :)

trigger looks around his surroundings. nothing around, just the same open bland studio basement. mattress on the floor, check. couch, check. tv, check. tiny window that shows literally nothing but a foot of grass? check. its hard for him to hide the scowl of hatred at this empty rotting enclosure. shit, did you lock the door? he runs up and flicks it locked like how a child runs up the stairs when they’re scared a monsters behind them. not because of this ‘specter’ though. just normal precaution. he wouldn’t let another man take up space in his mind like that.

trigger sits. unable to pull his focus enough to start another game, or to divest himself entirely. stuck in a limbotic resting space. he grabs the monster can sitting on his desk - one of many - and pours it down his throat with anxious franticity. after staring at the screen for long enough, with nothing else he can see to do, he types.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: What r u talking about? fuckin weirdo

10 minutes pass.

[PRIVATE] TriggerFinger: hello?

nothing at all. empty threats and childish games. who puts in that much effort just to cause a little scare? freak, probably a faggot too.

he sighs and switches over to spotify, plugging his favourite XXXtentacion album into his grindy bluetooth speaker and grabbing a pre-roll from his weed drawer. a rusted old lighter folds between his fingers. flick, flick. hot choking mist fills his mouth and then suffuses his screen as he blows it back into the stale air. he lies idly spinning in his gaming chair, puffing until its gone and until the words leave his head. empty.

but not for long, apparently.

a resoundingly loud knocking thuds at his door. earthquaking enough to shake him out of his seatlock. but the tremors remain, rocking through his veins. he gingerly lowers his eye to the peephole. a short man looks up from a foot away, holding some sort of black bag. this is it trigger, time to man up. he paces back with soft steps, pulling a steak knife from the block and holding it behind his back. no more games, this is real life. no more being harassed by that bitch landlord, no more bad looks when mom and dad visit. when the police find him beaten and you on top you won’t have to feel bad anymore.

he opens the door.

“Hello. uber for trig?”

he doesn’t remember ordering any food, was he really that faded?

“it’s… trigger. but that’s me, yeah.”

the man passes trigger an unlabelled brown bag from the bigger unlabelled black bag. something liquid seeps out of the corner.

“have a great night, sir!” 

trigger tosses the bag onto the table already scattered with trash. throwing the knife onto the counter along with it. being paranoid is the sign of a weak mind, you need energy. he thinks about the shrooms his bro gave him a couple weeks back, saved for a special occasion in a box under his bed. the devil and angel on his shoulders scream.

he examines the food. taco bell crunchwrap and spilled soda, amazing. he begins to clean it up right as a CLFBKGBNJ clanging from the kitchenette behind his back rings out. he turns to see a tall, muscley imposing man already towering over him from there. backing up slowly, like hes a blind animal that’ll pounce at any moment. 

“hey there.”

“hi???” his words spit out with a spiteful acidity, tantrumic. 

“you must be trigger.” his monotone face twists upwards into a cruel mockery of a smile. he examines trigger up and down, who shivers at being ogled like meat.

he hears his dad in his head. puff up your chest, faggot. you can’t let people walk over you like a little bitch all the time. he straightens his back, stops retreating. his voice mimics a tough deepness.

“you need to g-get the fuck out of my house.” 

specter tilts his head with curiosity. trigger can feel the aftershocks of monster and adrenaline crumpling his heart as he looks into the intruders eyes. a dark jade gazes back, blank. empty. like null space inside his skull, giving off only the aesthetic of a watching being. beyond the entrancing holes, partially hidden behind curtains of frayed brown locks, a jagged scar cuts through his face, curved and serrated with the impression of its assailant. 

“it’s not really your house though, is it?” 

trigger stares back dumbly. specter lifts up a chiseled arm and knocks on the roof, indicating where the landlord resides. “it’s theirs, really.” he takes a step forward.

“what’s your fucking problem man?”

another step back. guarding facade broken as quickly as it was put up. you’re weak. pathetic. he can smell it on you, just like they all can.

“here to give you an attitude adjustment.” he says it so monotone, like reading a script. as if you should know what that means. specter gives a wide scan of the interior. sizing up your crime scene? this won’t be going the way you think it will, buddy. “this is a pretty shit place you got here”

“not any more shit than the goon cave you probably got, bitch” 

the molded smile on specter’s face drops in a second. in 3 sudden steps forward he closes most of the gap between them, the air between the two grows cold. trigger has no choice but to back up more to keep the feeling of safety. the distance between handler and beast, but there’s no leash here. and there’s no medic to save him.

“listen.. s-specter? right?” he looks into those dead eyes with a quiver hes kept hidden for so long.  “i'm sorry i insulted you or- or whatever i didn’t mean it okay? that’s just online shit, this isn’t real.”

specter takes another wordless step, and trigger hits the wall. this isn’t real.

“why so quiet all of a sudden?” his hand reaches out and cups triggers chin, his face too frozen with animalistic chemicals to react. forcing trigger’s weak inebriated gaze to meet his, dead yet malevolent. “are you scared of me?”

trigger spits in his face. “you- couldn’t. scare me.”

untrimmed nails dig sharply into the base of his skull. “i will.”

“my dads the chief of police. you don’t wanna do this.” he tries to put on monotone the best he can, head as swirly with emotions as it is.

specter chortles. “no he’s not”

the music emanating from trigger’s desk scratches hard as it changes into a fast-paced track. specter’s eyes and ears twitch in its direction like a bat.

“this is what you listen to?” his smile almost looks genuine this time. he gestures at the ground below them. “stay here.”

he turns and moves to walk past trigger, when he jumps into action, leaping at the man with a guttural yell.  “AA-”

immediately cut off by searing blunt force ripping through his gut, sending him crumpling to the floor with the force of extraneous gravity. so you’re a warlock, subclassed into gravitational magic, is that it? he gets up onto his hands and knees, a trail of saliva connecting his lips to the dirty linoleum floors. he chokes on each breath he tries to take in. the pain is unlike anything his soft and unexplored body has experienced before. 

specter walks away to the booming speaker, pulling out a black rectangle from the pocket of the black jeans sticking to his legs.. the speakers switch to a new track, unfamiliar to his ears. some kind of aggressive rapping, underscored by a metallic sharp noise groove. he tries to listen for words, analyzing the rhythm and slotting it with memories of other songs to try and figure out what it is. but before he can comprehend the first words to come out, a rigid boot crashes into the side of his ribs.

dazed on the ground, heaving for the little pieces of air that’ll fit through his trachea, cartoons birds twirling over his head as he stares up into the ceiling. 

a sharp sound cuts through his stupor. “you’re funny” says specter, “i really thought you’d have more fight in you.”

PHWACK. the sound of some elastic material slapping against skin, a black glove clinging to specter’s boney hand.

trigger’s shocked by the feeling of cold on his bare stomach, face twisting with rage but the rest of the body betrays him with frozen fear. specter begins to slowly lift triggers shirt, feeling up his concave flesh with rubber digits.

specter flinches back as a red handprint manifests on his cheek. i wasnt even thinking i didnt mean to i just-

a vice grip takes hold of his windpipe, holding it hostage. the hand begins to rise upwards, holding him against a wall that wasnt there two seconds ago, and then he has to fight with his noodlish body to stand up before it rips his throat right out. “you’re so weak. how did you make it so long, bullying people like that?” his other hand then puts itself to use. the cold rises up triggers body slow and nerve-wracking. he tries not to feel it and to just keep his eyes on him. the tangible, hurtable, beast. 

his mind lags from his body, not realizing he’s on the ground before he already is. terrifyingly strong knees spreading his legs apart ever so slightly, invading hand-shaped ghosts pinning him into the dirty floor face-first. months of uncaring habitation coming back to bite him in the ass all at once. his eyes jump from little pieces of dust and crumbs, filling his vision more than their existence is intended for. brought low with the trash. maybe you should’ve listened to mom.

a bottle squirts loudly out of his sight. he tries to spin his head around but he’s just met with increased pressure on his neck, pinning him down like meat on a butcher’s table. fuck this. thrashing out with all the strength in his limbs- it forces specter to change up his positioning, but even then you can’t make a single scratch, slapping at this very real intruder like a whiney little girl. 

“stop it.” he says it like he’s talking to a petulant child, dry and tired.

“fuck you! get off me!” 

a rubbery object shoves itself down his throat as he opens his mouth to yell more obscenities. fingers ripping open his jaw, dispelling his pleas into inhuman garbling.  

“reht rre throo!” 

he looks around, there has to be something he can do. everything is dark blobs because of his eyes wetting from the fingers assault of his uvula. heavy whispers assault the back of his neck, venom in his blurred ears. “i could take out a tooth. how about that?”

he shakes his head, as much as he can crushed between these manly hands. 

water trickles down from the corners of his eyes. fuck, don’t let him see you crying, that’s the ultimate defeat. man card revoked. the only benefit of this positioning is that only the tile can see your face’s treason.

the hand abruptly leaves and moves back to the rest of his body. not preferable, but at least now his eyes will stop coating themselves in water. there has to be something on this floor somewhere if he can look. 

blood coats his vision. bloody floor, bloody nose, face shoved into a pool of it. he can feel his nose contort under the hard material, head bouncing off it with a loud crack.

‘look’, you shouldve known better. thousands of hours of experience watching torture scenes in COD, and you think he’s gonna give you a break? you’re not the shooter like you thought you were, you’re just the dead russian snitch. 

slender hands dip under the waistband of his sweatpants, threatening with slow dragging downwards. fuck, he is a fag. so much screaming in his head, be a man be strong fight back faggot stop being a fucking BETA. but the weak trembling in every inch of his nervous system won’t let go. the part that knows what you are. weak little soyboy. shit, was it the burger king? he looks at the softness of his tiny arms splayed out in front of him, thinking back to all those impossible whoppers he had during that first (and last) year of college. sure there were the conspiracies but- he had to lose some weight and it was right next to his dorm and surely a little bit of hormonal meat couldn’t hurt anyone. well, apparently not. he shudders at the thought of all those tiny little girl particles running around in his bloodstream.

coldcoldcoldcoldcold fuck. something cold and wet drips down his ass, sending rippling twitches through his body. something small pokes and prods, forcing the wet inside, already he feels speared through, he has to purposefully hold his face together to not burst into open sobbing. 

“shhh sh sh. it’s okay. you’ll take it.” 

it pulls out, a hot emptiness filling all feeling. another squirt, and more wetness shoved so deep he cant handle in the choking cries. “please. please don’t. i don’t- i’m not-” cut off by the finger pulling out again, leaving his hole gaped. “Fuck stop im not gay pleasepleasepleasepl”

a sweaty palm wraps over his mouth.

something warm and hard and fleshy begins to rub circles around his hole. pressing up so close his breath hitches in fear it might go in and then pulling back and then repeating.

“be a good boy and stay quiet, trig.”

pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing

“HEEEEELPP WAIT PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE HELP NONONONONONONO STOPP#&$*%9

&$#%^#^%)#!($#$^%

##&% %%#(% %$$*$#&

*#$&$THELP

* * *

specters hard chest presses up close and warm against trigger’s back. hot, heavy breathing forces its way into his ear. they stay there for a moment, frozen in time. a breaking point cut, getting a cinematic view of his own ruination. what a shitty fucking movie this is. 

“mmhng-” specter pulls back, breaking the trance, almost making trigger wish he would’ve just stayed inside. he grunts at the feeling of trembling boyflesh seizing on his cock, shaking with each inch moved in either direction, clenching for dear life. he grips a handful of trigger’s hair and pulls it back, forcing his limp and drooling expression into specter’s vision.

 “so, what was it?” the burning rod of pressure starts to move faster, thrusting with detached force, muscular hips bouncing off trigger’s ass. “dad beat you?” another assault forward, enunciating each bit of words with the slapping of their flesh. “mom molest you?” it hurts sososososososososo bad but he cant feel anything other than the pain nothing but searing waves of some long-forbidden feeling. “or- fuck- you just get bullied too much in those squishy formative years?”

boiling hot rain streams down his face, terror burning his eyes blind. choking sobs spit out little bits of snot and saliva pooling with his tears below him in a sad filth soup. 

“oh c’mon-” specter reaches in closer, thoughtlessly pushing his cock into a switch that turns triggers legs to jelly. a waterfall of tears overlaid with shameful noises, the kind he’d before only ever heard through the speakers of a computer. each one abrading his will even more. he was supposed to be on the other side, not this. anything but this. 

“please stop”

“it’s too late.” his hand brushes triggers cheek, mimicking a comforting motion with uncomfortable skin, “you can never take back what’s already happened… and what’s about to.”

[kawaiianimeredhead]

I can not stand filling out forms on my freaking phone uhh

[anactorya]

I really wanna know about “never had it (so good)” but I am also super intrigued by “vamp 1” - does that imply there is a vamp 2???

So, this one started life as a response to a prompt on FFA, which in turn was inspired by @helens78's amazing There Is Nothing Wrong With Me (Loving You) (which, if you haven't read it, go do that now, you can thank me later). The TFATWS threads there seem to have died off now, though, so I'll probably just keep picking at it occasionally and see if I come up with something postable. It's a virgin!Bucky fic, which granted is kind of an unlikely premise, but hey, if someone could make virgin!Sam convincing, why not? If nothing else, it's a good excuse for lots of horny pining followed by lots of smut. *g*

-

It comes as kind of a surprise, because they've known each other for literal, non-Blipped years by now. Bucky can see, so it isn’t like he never noticed before that Sam has cheekbones that could cut glass and the eyes of a Disney princess and an ass hand-sculpted by God Himself. It isn’t like he never noticed the reckless courage, or the loyalty, or the fact that maybe 10% of Sam’s smartass comments are genuinely, kind-of-adorably funny, not that he'd ever admit it where the guy could hear.

It's just the little things piling up on top of each other. Sam’s hand on his arm in the bar in Madripoor, his low, “You good?” despite the way they’ve been sniping at each other for days. His pensive face on the plane afterwards, and the fact that it’s all the shit that happened to Sharon getting to him, over any of their more pressing problems. The steel-wired determination that seems to run through him when it becomes clear they can’t let Walker hang onto the shield a minute longer, and the quiet sorrow that overtakes him afterward, and that a part of Bucky wants to reach out and wipe away with his hands--only he can’t find the words or a way past the guilt starting to gnaw at him, so he turns and walks out instead.

There’s the other side of Sam he gets to see down in Delacroix, surrounded by people that love him. Still laughing and cracking jokes, but there’s a defensive layer that isn’t there anymore, a weight that seems to have lifted off him. The sun-warmed presence of him as they move around each other on the boat, steady and determined and with so much care in everything he does, even when he’s fucking it up. And he accepts Bucky’s apology, accepts whatever help he’s able to give, smiles up at him and says, “The people here are the most accepting in the world,” and makes it sound like, “You could stay.”

All those things pile up on top of each other, filling an empty space in Bucky that he didn’t know was there. Even still, he’s too fucking oblivious to realise what’s going on until Sam slings an arm around his shoulders at the cookout, and he’s right there, close enough their faces almost touch. Bucky can smell the smoke clinging to Sam’s clothes and the salt of. his skin and a hint of cocoa butter, can feel the warmth of him, the brush of his fingertips against exposed skin, and want swoops down out of the sky and kicks him in the chest.

He wants to kiss Sam. Maybe other things, too.

And he doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he just turns the thought over, a weird fossil dug up from some neglected, muddy part of his brain, not even noticing he’s zoned out until Sam gives his shoulder a squeeze and says, “Hey, you okay?”

Bucky smiles back at him and it’s no effort at all, which he’s still getting used to. “I’m good,” he says, and means it. “Awesome party. People appreciated my cake.”

Sam shakes his head, picking up the argument they’ve been kicking back and forth all afternoon. “I told you, they were being polite. Those old ladies are gonna roast me the second you’re not around to hear it.”

-

"vamp 1" is Bucky having been made into a vampire by HYDRA, and Sam trying very hard to pretend he's not super horny to get bitten and attempting to deal with it via dodgy vampire porn. Which is all fun and games until Bucky asks to borrow his laptop. (I did toy with the idea of a vampire!Sam one too, hence "vamp 1" but that one's even less formed than this.)

-

It's a nice morning. Quiet, sunlight filtering in the kitchen window. Sam has his coffee, his book, the prospect of not a whole lot to do, for once. He feels peaceful.

So when Bucky pads into the kitchen, scowling at the sunlight, grabs a bag of blood out the fridge and says, "Hey, can I use your laptop?" it doesn't even occur to him to say no.

It's only about ten minutes later that Sam has the horrific, slow-motion-noooo realisation that he doesn't remember clearing his browser history. His pulse kicks up, and he wills it to stop, because vampires can probably sense that shit or something.

Bucky doesn't say anything, though. Doesn't frown or look confused or, worse, disgusted.

Maybe Sam did clear his history after all. Or maybe Bucky doesn't understand how autofill works; he doesn't exactly spend a lot of time surfing the web. (Probably wise, when you're the subject of a hundred online conspiracy theories.)

Sam almost convinces himself. He half-believes it right up until Bucky closes the laptop, hands it back, and says, "You know that stuff is unrealistic as fuck, right?"

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, this fic i thought i wasn’t even going to continue is now longer at 17 chapters than War in Hermittown which was 26 chapters. And I’m not done here yet! (WiHT ended with 56,719 words. SF was at 55,597 last chapter, and this one is over 3k words, putting it to at least 58k total)

tagging time! @petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel are you guys proud of me?

Xannes and Tommy turned their weapons on Theseus. “How’d you find this place bitch?” The hels copy just rolled his eyes before gesturing over to Dream. “What, you were tracking him?”

“He’s an admin using a console. Find the console, find the admin.” Theseus replied, which confused Tommy. “Right, you wouldn’t know about that, would you.”

Tommy glanced back to Xannes. “Any clue what he’s talking about?”

“Yes. Before command blocks, datapacks, plugins and autofill commands, a lot of admins would default to consoles. These days most people tend to ignore them, but there are some benefits. Though the negatives usually make it seem like the worst option.”

“Why’s that?”

“Admins have better control over everything else. A console is more powerful and capable of much more, but it’s disconnected from the admin. It tends to be stationary in the world and needs to be hidden, and while there are ways to make them moveable, it’s usually not worth the hassle.”

Theseus smiled. “Oh look who’s not as much of an idiot as they seem. Another question then. Why are you still getting in the way? You want those scraps of metal? Take them. He’s the one I’m after.” And he pointed at Dream.

“You haven’t fucking told us why though.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“You didn’t really need to know.” Theseus said before sighing and taking off his mask. “But if that’s the only thing that’ll make you let me through, fine. Nightmare’s dead in my world. I killed him myself. Used up his three lives.”

“You guys still have the three lives system? I thought everything in hels was… y’know, worse?” Tommy asked.

“Oh it is. Exactly why I want Nightmare back.”

There was silence save for the continued sound of weapons banging off each other. “You… you want to what?”

Theseus shrugged. “The bitch never really got what was coming to him. Sure it’s the NSMP, and it’s technically named after him, but his name is based on a concept. He’s not the one in charge, he just made a place where nightmares can become reality. He just never got that chance because he’s dead. And with how hels works, he can’t come back. That is… unless I can bring Dream back with me.”

“That seems like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Xannes spoke up. “There’s no guarantee how that will work, especially since he was an admin. You’re setting yourself up for a disaster for both your world and this one.”

“And so what? I die? If I can’t do this right, why bother sticking around.”

“Then I might die too bitch!” Tommy yelled at his copy. “And I definitely don’t want to go out just like that.”

“Plus there are other people linked here.” Xannes spoke, pulling up commands. “Now, you’re going to want to stop, or I’m going to have to attack.”

“Oh please, what can you do?”

“My brother is known as the best admin of all time. Which meant I needed to be the best hacker.” Xannes smiled behind his mask. “And with Prof and NPG around, I haven’t gotten to try anything out in a while, so I’m going to really enjoy this.”

Tommy could almost feel the danger that was Xannes before he moved. He swung his sword once, and even though Theseus was more than ten blocks away, it was like the blade had hit him. He then pulled out a crossbow along with his sword, managing to duel wield the weapons. And then even though the second weapon kept being fired, it seemed to always be filled with ammo, not giving Theseus any rest from attacks, not to mention the fact that it was also multishot.

Tommy used that as a chance to run over to the bots. “Alright you two, I don’t care what the fuck’s been going on with you two, you need to fucking stop before you kill each other.”

“He deserves to die!” Jrum shouted, not looking away from his brother. 

“Jrum, I’ve told you about the guy that kinda isolated and manipulated me? The one Big G compared to Sam?”

“Yeah, and Grum’s just as bad!” Jrum said before attempting to attack again, instead just getting pulled back by Tommy.

“No! No he isn’t! That guy Grum’s been stuck with? That green bitch right there? That’s the fucker who was messing with me! And now he’s been doing it to Grum.”

“Yeah right.” Jrum crossed his arms, and Tommy slapped the back of his head, wincing as pain coursed through his body from damaging the vines. It caused the teen to flinch back, making the bottles in his inventory clank together.

Hearing the bottles made Tommy remember what he had on him. He had no clue how well the water worked, but right now it was better than nothing. He pulled them out and smashed them on top of Jrum’s head like a water balloon, the water covering Jrum and getting into his mechanics. It caused a short circuit and it seemed to fry the vines from within, but also Jrum. As the circuitry within him sparked, it damaged the vines, causing even more damage to Jrum, until it killed him.

“NO! JRUM!” Tommy yelled, freaking out about having just killed someone in his family. Beside him, Grum just stared at the place where Jrum had been standing a minute ago, the body having dissolved into smoke. 

Life Counter active. Entity Check Jrumbot. Death: canon. Life counter: 1 life remaining. Commence respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Jrumbot Teleported to Deathpoint coordinates.

Just like that, Jrumbot reappeared. He wasn’t completely covered with the vines, but he still retained the single vine around his antenna and his screen was still a red color. “Oh thank goodness, I thought you might have had a single life left.”

“Well now I do, no thanks to you!”

When Tommy had yelled, Xannes looked away from his fight. Theseus was able to finally close the distance and attack Xannes without the helsmit protecting himself, but he didn’t need to, the hacks keeping him from taking damage. “He’s using a console…”

Theseus tried attacking Xannes again. “Yeah, we covered that already. Why’s it soooo surprising now?”

“Because the console is Grum.”

That made Theseus scoff. “Wasn’t it obvious? It’s a computer that’s always near Dream. It’s essentially a console with fewer drawbacks. Even more powerful than a regular console too.”

When Theseus said that, Tommy turned his anger on Dream. “Ohhh, I can’t fucking believe you. I mean, that is an absolute child. At least with me, I was older, practically an adult, but he hasn’t even had a birthday and you decided to mess with him! As if you didn’t have a death wish already! I mean, guess that’s why you got everyone blocked. What if I just asked Grum to unblock everyone, what then?”

“And what? Just let Phil and Techno back in? What would that help with?”

“Oh please, you know their dad would be the first one in. Doesn’t that scare you?” Tommy asked with a smirk, though it fell in a few moments. “Wait do you actually not know who their dad is?”

“Just because he’s supposed to be another one of your brothers doesn’t mean anything. They’re hardly something I can’t deal with.”

“Can’t deal wi- Dream! Their dad is Grian! You know, the guy who literally has the name Dreamslayer? Like that’s part of his legal name at this point.” Tommy could tell when it got through to Dream, because he pressed back in his invisible prison just a bit and started looking for some possible way out.

He ended up snapping his fingers at Grum. “Hey, get me out of here.” And then Grum processed the information and teleported Dream a couple blocks to his left, freeing him from the barrier blocks.

“Oh shit. Xannes! He got o-” Was all Tommy was able to say before he was pressed against a wall, feet no longer touching the ground and him left struggling for air.

“You know, I could kill you right here. It would be easy. But for all I know, you come back as a ghost. So I’ve got a better idea. Just to make sure that if you do come back, it hurts even more. Grumbot?” He looked over at the robot, who immediately made its way over to Dream’s side. He handed it a netherite axe with the word ‘Nightmare’ etched into the metal. 

“No, c-come on Grum. You c-can’t do th-this.” Tommy did his best to get the words out. “Pl-Please… c-can you l-let everyone in a-at least.”

“Oh come on. He’s loyal to me. Why would you think-”

“That command is protected and requires a password to access.”

For a moment, Tommy lost all hope, but in a moment of clarity, he realized that Dream didn’t know Grum would say anything. If that were the case, there wouldn’t be a password. Yeah, Tommy could be wrong, but there was still a chance. “M-Mumbo for Mayor…” He choked out, and immediately Grumbot started processing the password, then accepted it.

“Blacklist disabled.”

“Kill Tommy!” Dream yelled in anger. And then Tommy was hit by the axe. Once. Twice. And then a third and final time.

Life Counter active. Entity Check TommyInnit. Death: canon. Life counter: no lives remaining. No respawn applicable.

No. 

Commencing Respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Tommy Teleported to Coordinates X-3, Y-3, Z-3. Returning inventory contents.

Tommy was holding his chest, panting to catch his breath. He was so sure he was dead. But no. Here he was, away from Dream and still with all his gear. That had probably been Xannes saving him, and healing him as well based on his current level of health.

For a moment, Tommy wanted to rush back in there, but then he remembered. The blacklist had been disabled. People could get in. He pulled out the communicator and sent a message to Grian, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. Then he put it away and tried to go back over to the bots, but his legs were shaky, and in just trying to take one step, he fell to the floor.

Even though he wasn’t close to death, he could still feel himself fading while at the same time it felt like everything was happening at once. Every sound seemed louder, what little breeze there was felt like pins and needles. And he just felt tired. As his vision went in and out, he saw Jrum rush off. Then Theseus stopped fighting and went after Dream. Then the three of them were gone. Then he was up in the air, something picking him up.

Finally, he felt the buzz of his communicator, and everything went dark.

The moment Grian got the message from Tommy, Grian made a Watcher portal straight to the SMP. The others nearby were slightly surprised that it was to let them follow along, but they weren’t arguing. Tubbo was the first to go through, Phil and Techno following behind. Grian was about to be right behind them, but was stopped by a hand. “You’re not keeping me from going Mumbo.”

“I know that. I wasn’t going to.” The redstoner spoke before taking Grian’s hand. “You’re the one always jumping into things, and that’s mostly a good thing. But this is something I don’t want to be left out of, so whether you like it or not, I’m coming with.”

“What? Did you think I was going to leave you behind? I wasn’t going to close the portal behind me. I was hoping you would come too, I was just letting you decide.”

“Good. ...So, do we want to…?” Mumbo started to say before he was yanked towards the portal as Grian ran through it, dragging him along.

When they arrived on the other side, Phil was the only one nearby, sitting down next to the portal. “Hey. Before you ask, I volunteered to wait while the other two went off in their own directions. That was only a few minutes ago. Haven’t heard anything back from them.”

Grian nodded. “I’m going to try contacting Tommy. Mumbo, those coordinates Tommy forwarded to me before? Can you check them out?”

“Definitely.” Mumbo nodded, pulling out his own communicator and checking the coordinates and which was to go to reach them.

“I’ll see if I can find anyone who could give us information.” Phil offered before immediately leaving, leaving Grian alone.

Alright, if I were one of the kids or Tommy… where would I be?” Grian asked himself, looking around before spotting something red in the distance. “Oh hello there. What’s that?” He quickly got into the air, flying over instead of trying to cross the rough terrain. “Tommy did send something about Jrum and red plants, didn’t he?” Grian bent down to try and touch the stuff, but was surprised when it seemed to move away. 

A voice spoke and then Grian was left looking around, trying to spot who had spoken. “What do you mean don’t touch it? I’m trying to find my kid and the best lead I have right now are these things.” Then he was left looking around again. “Oh, if that’s the case, then why not ditch the invisibility potion and meet me face to face?” Another short bout of silence and then Grian growled slightly, clenching his fists. “Then maybe I will.” And he started following the moving plants, the vines moving to almost create a path as they parted near him.

They snaked into an underground room and then down a thin tunnel. Grian had a little trouble getting through with his wings, not wanting to shift them away in case he ended up needing them suddenly. When he finally reached the end, he was greeted by what was obviously two teams of people fighting. One group was all in purples meanwhile the other group had a mix of colors, but there were a lot of reds and whites.

When it didn’t look like anyone noticed him, Grian moved forward a bit, cleared his throat, and then shouted. “HEY!” Immediately everyone froze and looked over at him. “Excuse me, I’m sure you’re having a lovely war and all, but I’m looking for my kids. The two of them are about… these heights and are adorable little robots.”

“Are you saying you’re one of Jrum’s parents?” Someone in a black and white cloak said, and Grian nodded at them.

“Yeah. Is he here? Or do you at least know where he is?” Grian asked, before the person attempted to attack him. Immediately his wings moved to act as a quick shield. “I’m guessing that’s a yes, but you don’t want me around.” Grian pulled out his sword. “Eh, I was expecting an ambush anyway.”

But before another attack could happen, the voice from before spoke, seemingly to the cloaked person. “So what?! He abandoned his kid! If that were true he would have shown up!”

“Hey, I tried getting in. Your admin just found a way to keep me out until now. Now, are you going to listen to your friend and tell me where Jrum is, or are you going to fight?”

The incoming sword worked as the answer to Grian’s question and he blocked it with a shield before attacking back. The person tried moving behind some vines hanging from the ceiling, but Grian just sliced them to the ground, clearing the area. “Wait, how are you doing that?!” The person asked before Grian flew up to bash their head with the end of his shield and knock them to the ground. 

“Nooo! What are you doing!” A voice yelled out and Grian turned around to see a familiar robot running over.

“Jrum!” Grian landed, arms open for a hug, but he just pushed past his dad to run to the person now on the ground. “Wh-what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Nggh… yeah. Wait, now where have you been?”

“I got kidnapped and Grum was there and he attacked me! But now I’m fine!”

Grian looked between his son and the person he had been attacking. He had no clue why this was happening, so he looked over as some of the other people nearby, who weren’t sure how to answer him. “Oh come on, no one had any idea?” And then the invisible person spoke. “I mean I guess? He was built before the turf war, but he didn’t really take part in it. Why? Look, I just want to get my kid and leave. My resistance days are pretty much over.”

There was quiet before Grian sighed and his wings shifted away. “Fine, I’ll play along, but you better hold up your end.” And when he opened his eyes, they weren’t their normal color, nor even just bright purple from using his watcher powers. Instead, his iris and pupils seemed to be missing, replaced by grayish-purple sclera.

“Well at the very least it was a house.” Xannes grumbled as he attempted to brush off the layer of dust on the bed sitting in the corner for him to then put Tommy on. It was tough with him having to carry the unconscious teen and only really about to use a leg as a duster, which was just spreading the dust around. “Can this be any harder?!”

A door opening behind him made the helsmit groan. “That’s wasn’t a fucking request! What the fuck do you-” He turned around and saw someone familiar and thankfully wearing a red tie. “Fine. This works. You take the kid.”

Mumbo was handed Tommy and Xannes finally was able to just pick the covers up off the bed and shake them off. It left Mumbo coughing and Xannes instantly regretting it as an alert on his screen warned him about his filters, but he put the blankets back down. The redstoner set Tommy down on the bed while Xannes worked on cleaning out the dust that was now in his helmet. “What happened to him?”

“He got killed, but respawn brought him back. It didn’t seem to be the best respawn because it hit hard. From what I can tell, he wasn’t supposed to. Is this a hardcore world?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Tommy said something about them having three lives, but they only counted if they were important.”

“So he essentially just got revived instead of normally respawning. That would explain it. You should have seen the three that got revived this season.”

“That’s right, you permakill someone if they don’t return for a season, don’t you.”

“Yeah. Of course they can still exist elsewhere, but it's a type of ban in a way.”

Mumbo nodded before finally looking away from Tommy and over to Xannes. “H-Have you seen either of the boys?”

“Yes, though they’re not doing so well. You know what a console is, right?”

“Yeah.” Mumbo nodded again. “I had to use one when I was first starting out so I didn’t break everything when working with redstone. Came in handy a few times, but I’m glad not using one anymore. Is there one being used here?”

“Yeah. The admin here decided to have fun with one since he found a way to make it mobile thanks to your redstone.”

“My red- wait!” Mumbo jumped up from kneeling on the floor next to the bed. “Are you telling me he’s using one of the boys?!”

“Yeah, Grumbot. He’s extremely out of it, but Tommy was able to get him to remove the blacklist and I’m pretty sure he’s the one who revived him, so it’s not a completely lost cause. Meanwhile the other one got infected with something like crimson nylium. I’m not sure how bad your land war went, but ours got out of hard fast.”

“We had a bit of trouble near the end, but the minigame battle near the end kept things from getting too far.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t end up like helscraft. Most of us ended up possessed by the different nyliums for a good portion of the war. And looks like Jrum is in the same situation.”

Alright, I’ll let the others know and hope Grian notices the message.”

“How many came along with the two of you?”

“Same group that we visited with. They came from here in the first place anyway, so they’ve got a better chance finding what we need.”

“Hello? Ranboo? Are you in here?” Tubbo asked, carefully stepping into the house. They had been planning to set up the second floor for Michael when he disappeared, so hopefully Ranboo would still be living there at least a little, unless he had taken the ziglin elsewhere. 

The place was dark, all the windows closed and no torches or lanterns there to light the place up. It left Tubbo fumbling around, trying to feel his way around and wishing he had brought something for light. He tripped on something and fell to the ground, rubbing his head and hoping he hadn’t damaged anything. Then suddenly, something lit up, and Tubbo froze.

He had looked behind him to try and see if he could tell what had tripped him. He could barely make out the outline of a foot. Following up, it led up to a glowing screen with a smiley face plastered on it. Just behind that, Tubbo could also see two glowing magenta eyes from an enderman standing behind the robot. 

Before Tubbo could ask any questions, a voice came from elsewhere in the dark room. “You know. As far as everyone knows, you're dead. How about we keep it that way?”

[howlingguardian]

Hey folks, just posted my first fic on AO3- a quick BNHA drabble right here. I’ll cross-post it here as well for the rest of you.

All Might Is So Tough

There are some days where you do absolutely nothing of importance and enjoy yourself doing it.

Class 1-A were cheerfully enjoying one such lazy Sunday- while many of them were working on homework, or getting in a workout, they did so knowing that there were no villain attacks threatening them, no exams closing in, no logical ruse the teachers were so fond of… Just a day to decompress.

Those that weren’t in their bedrooms or the gym were gathered in the common room, spread out over the furniture. Kaminari and Mineta had claimed the sofa in front of the tv, snarling with concentration as they played a racing game, while Jirou and Todoroki were sat on the couch across from them; Ashido was grabbing a snack from the fridge, chatting with Satou; Iida was reading in an armchair, while Uraraka and Midoriya leant on either side, one with a magazine and the other with a journal. The mood was peaceful and relaxed-

‘Damn it!’

-up to a point.

‘What’s wrong, Jirou-chan?’ enquired Ashido, leaning over the kitchen counter with a pot of yoghurt. Jirou was flopped on the couch with her laptop on her knees, staring at the ceiling with a frustrated glare.

‘It’s this- ‘she gestured angrily to her computer, ‘stupid site!’

She sat upright and hammered something into the keyboard furiously, then clicked. There was a ding noise, and she slumped back with a loud groan.

‘I’m trying to put in a review for this album I bought, but the stupid thing keeps saying there’s a problem with the form! It’s just- I- aaarrrgh…’ she trailed off and gesticulated angrily at the screen. Next to her, Todoroki slid a bookmark into his novel, set it down, and leaned across to look at the screen: Jirou wordlessly turned the screen so her could see better. After a moment he pointed at one line.

‘I think you missed a box. Here, your username.’

‘Huh?’ Jirou sat up again and peered past his finger. After a moment she smacked her forehead and started typing again. ‘This is what I get for turning off autofill…’ she mumbled, clicking Submit for the fifth time. After a moment, the form went through, and she sighed with relief.

‘Look on the bright side, Jirou-san,’ said Satou, ambling over to flop on a beanbag ‘at least you don’t have it as bad as All-Might-sensei. He can’t fill out online forms at all.’

As heads turned towards him, Satou grinned, and with the air of someone laying down a trump card, announced ‘Because All-Might never submits!’

There was a round of good natured groans and a few laughs. Even Kaminari and Mineta snorted a bit, though they didn’t stop button-mashing for a second.

‘I don’t get it.’

There was an almost audible whoosh of air as everyone’s heads turned to Todoroki. Books were lowered, Ashido almost dropped her yoghurt, even the gamer duo paused the race to goggle at Todoroki’s puzzled face. After a moment, Midoriya realised something.

‘You didn’t get All-Might jokes in your house, huh?’

Todoroki shook his head. ‘My old man probably would have exploded- Ashido!’

The girl in question had dropped between him and Jirou so hard they almost bounced off. Ignoring Jirou’s dirty look, Ashido raised a finger authoritatively.

‘Todoroki, as your friends, it is therefore our duty to induct you into the ways of the All-Might joke.’ For about five seconds, she managed to keep a serious expression. Then she broke into a grin, clapped her hands, and looked around the room. ‘Who wants to go first?’

‘Me!’ yelled Kaminari, leaping to his feet. Taking a dramatic stance, he intoned-

‘All Might is so tough, he doesn’t do pushups. He just pushes the world down!’

There was a ragged cheer as Kaminari bowed to his audience, sitting down. Todoroki simply sat there bemused as Iida pushed his glasses up his nose and spoke.

‘I recall the tragic tale of when they attempted to name a street in All-Might-sensei’s honour. It was impossible to traverse until they changed the name. For you see-‘ he chopped a hand down and announced-

‘Nobody crosses All-Might and lives!’

The cheer was louder this time. Ashido whooped and clapped as Iida nodded at the praise.

‘Alright, Iida-kun! How about…’ she trailed off for a moment, then brightened. ‘Ah! All-Might is so tough, he can slam a revolving door!’

‘Boo, too old,’ jeered Kaminari. ‘Bring the A-material, Ashido.’

‘Like you’re one to talk. Everybody’s heard the pushup one. I saw some guy have a t-shirt with that once!’

‘Me next!’ shouted Mineta, pushing off the couch. ‘Uuuhm… Ok, I got one. All-Might is so tough, he out-stared a wall.’

‘Nice. I give it 7 out of 10. Anyone else?’ Ashido asked.

‘What’s going on?’ called Yaoyoruzu as she came in, followed by Ojiro and Hagakure.

‘We’re telling ‘All-Might’s so tough’ jokes. Wanna play?’ invited Kaminari.

‘I did hear one. It went, let’s see- All-Might doesn’t battle, he just allows you to lose?’

Todoroki smiled faintly. ‘That’s a good one, Yaoyoruzu.’

‘I got one!’ cheered Hagakure, drawing people’s attention from Yaoyoruzu’s faint blush. ‘All-Might doesn’t go swimming, water just wants to be around him!’

This one got a few claps, cut short by a familiar ‘The fuck is this?’

Bakugou tromped in, fresh from a workout, trailing Kirishima, Sero and Shouji.

‘We’re doing All-Might jokes. Know any good ones?’ said Uraraka, having put her magazine aside long ago. Bakugou sneered.

‘That’s easy. Everybody knows All-Might’s got a bear skin rug in his room.’

There were a few confused looks and mutterings until Bakugo smirked and delivered the punchline.

‘The bear ain’t dead- it’s just too afraid to move.’

Ashido clapped amidst the laughter that followed. ‘Nice one Bakugou, a hard act to follow! Come on, everyone! Everybody has to try and tell an All-Might joke! Except Todoroki,’ she added as an afterthought. Todoroki simply shrugged and looked on as more jokes were told, gradually gathering the whole class as they wandered in to see what all the noise was about.

‘While learning CPR, All-Might actually brought the practice dummy to life!’

‘A cop once pulled All-Might over. Luckily the cop left with just a warning-ribbit.’

‘All-Might went sky-diving once and his parachute didn’t open, so he took it back for a refund the next day.’

‘Monsters check under the bed for All-Might.’

‘All-Might doesn’t flush the toilet- he scares the shit out of it!’

‘All-Might can lift up a chair with one hand. While he’s sitting in it.’

‘All-Might had a role in Star Wars. He was the Force.’

It was during a lull, when people were trying to get their breath back, that Ashido looked around the room, did a count, then realised-

‘Who hasn’t gone yet?

All heads turned to Midoriya, who looked up from his journal, pen in hand. Iida leaned over to see-

‘Midoriya, are you recording all our All-Might jokes?’

Midoriya flushed and stammered ‘Well, i-it’s just, I haven’t heard all these jokes, so I-I wanted to note them down, so I could remember them.’

After a moment of thought, Ashido nodded. ‘Sensible. Anyway, it’s your turn now.’

Midoriya gulped and set down his journal, fidgeting with his pen for a moment as he thought. After a moment he sat up.

‘The universe is not expanding.’ He paused for a moment to let it sink in, then continued, ‘It’s running away from All-Might.’

There was a round of laughs from the other students- even Bakugou hid a small smirk. Then there was a dry, deep laugh from the doorway.

‘Good one, young Midoriya. I haven’t heard that one before.’

Heads turned in shock as All-Might sauntered into the room, making a beeline for the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

‘Don’t mind me.’ He said, waving cheerfully as he strolled back the way he came. There was a pregnant silence after he was gone, eventually broken by Todoroki clearing his throat.

‘So we’re not telling any more All-Might jokes while sensei might be around, right?’

There was a chorus of yeps, uh-huhs, and a few ‘too damn awkward’s to that affect, and that was the last they spoke of it for the day.

All-Might was suspiciously upbeat for the next few days, for no reason the other teachers could figure out.

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 5 (2k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev | next >

- - - - - - - - - -

Once he pulled into their usual parking spot at the DPD, Connor let out a sigh of relief. He didn't realize he was holding the wheel in a death grip until he had to pry his hands off to kill the ignition.

It wasn't the driving itself. He knew how to drive. He drove better than Hank. But that was when he was an android. He could run his driving program while also holding a conversation with Hank and texting three others simultaneously. He obviously knew that he didn't have his programming to multi-task like that today, but he underestimated just how difficult it would be to focus only on one task. He didn't normally rely on multi-tasking that much, did he?

On the drive over, he would be focused on the road, then notice that the girl waiting to cross the street had a very nice dog, then he'd wonder what kind of dog it was, then he'd lament humans' inability to search the internet without a phone, then he'd considered taking out his phone—Hank's phone—to search it, then the fact that he hadn't payed attention to the road in a bunch of seconds slapped him in the face. Following that, he was glad Hank wasn't there to see his faux pas, reconsidered to think Hank might actually keep him on track, noticed the radio was playing one of Hank's least favorite songs, and screeched to a halt at a red light he hadn't seen. Or his eyes saw it, but the memo was in line behind all the other thoughts waiting to pass through his one-track human brain. It was... It'll take some getting used to.

No matter now. He's safe and sound and unmoving.

He took a deep breath. The cool air filled his chest, and it made him feel physically refreshed. There was no system-measured value of how it affected internal cooling regulation. Just a sense of lightness.

Too many senses to keep track of in his current head. He could go crazy trying.

Connor stepped out of the car. His hand automatically tried to adjust his tie like he did every morning before work, but it caught the collar of his T-shirt instead. He tsk-ed at his habit, locked the car, and zipped his hoodie halfway as he walked. His calves felt warm and uncomfortable under pressure; again, he admitted it wasn't his brightest idea to have the whole household sprint around the neighborhood a half hour before trading in his metal body for one just chock-full of pain receptors.

The next thought in line made him slow his pace: This wasn't his body, but Hank's. Therefore, not only should he try to talk like Hank, he should act like him, too, gait, posture, and all. Connor tried to pull up a memory of the lieutenant as reference, but it was so vague and unfocused that he couldn't make out every detail. Or even many details. In a way, he was watching a recording of an event, same as ever, but in every other way, he absolutely was not.

Instead, he resorted to adjectives. Keep it loose, yet confident. Lazy, yet deliberate. The lieutenant was an old pro at what he did but still dedicated to his purpose. Connor rolled his neck, loosening up his shoulders. Walk like you own the place.

He dug his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and strolled through the front door, hoping he had affixed the correct 'ready for bad news' almost-scowl and 'seen some shit' gaze to his expression. The woman at the front desk looked up. "Oh, Lieutenant!" she said, buzzing him in. "You're not usually here on Saturdays."

"Hopefully it won’t be too long."

“Shall I be expecting Connor to join you?”

“Shouldn’t think so.”

“Unusual.” Connor paused before the turnstile, hoping she didn’t suspect anything. He couldn’t see her LED, but she went back to work without comment. He let out a quiet sigh of relief before continuing through to the bullpen.

As a calm weekend in Detroit, there weren’t nearly as many people around as he was used to: Only two officers were at their desks, with a third wandering to the break room. The door to one of the conference rooms was closed, so more might be hidden away in a meeting. He would have been able to look up the room bookings for today if today were a normal day. Alas, he’d have to settle for mere conjecture.

Captain Fowler was in his office, leaning back in his chair, arms stretched overhead, looking for all the world bored out of his mind. He didn’t notice Connor approach until he was nearing the open doorway. “Well, shit,” he called. “Honestly, this is an hour or three earlier than I expected.”

Connor shrugged and closed the door behind him, if only to buy him another second to think. “I was out and about anyway, so might as well swing by and get this over with.”

“Is this proactivity I see?” Fowler smirked before leaning forward to get to business. He passed Connor a tablet lit up with forms. “I know the thirium meth case was only a few days ago, but the suits have been on my ass for the reports all day. You don’t have to finish it all right now; god, I wouldn’t put you through all that. Just get through the rest of the prelims so I have something to give ‘em and do the rest with Connor on Monday.”

He skimmed through the first partially-completed form. It was all basic facts: brief, location(s), culprit(s), suspect(s), victim(s), motive, DPD personnel involved, contact info, et cetera. “Yeah, alright, I’ll try to get through it quick,” he said, pulling out a chair to get settled and get started.

Fowler nodded. “Alright.” He turned back to his desktop, but not before Connor caught him giving him an odd look. “Where is the kid anyway?”

“Visiting a friend.”

He barked a laugh. “Really? Glad to know he’s not a perpetual stick in the mud anymore. Next thing you know, he’ll be at a rager, beer just staining his shirt.”

Connor blinked, caught off-guard. “At four in the afternoon?” was all he could say.

“You never know. I’m sure we wandered into one this early at some point or another.”

“…Heh. Yeah, probably.”

Fortunately, Fowler didn’t continue down that tangent. Connor leaned back and rested the tablet on his legs, selecting the first field Hank hadn’t already filled. His finger depressed on the screen, his skin squishing as he typed. It was something so slight, and yet it was so different than what he was used to. It was like he barely had to touch the keys for the screen to recognize it.

Focus, detective. Personnel on scene (in order of arrival). It was him and Hank first, then Allen and his team, then Wilson, Cao, and Silverman….

…It was simple, yes, but how he wished he could run this in autopilot and do something else instead. The amount of focus needed to stay on track doing something so mundane was unexpected. And not really all that fun.

Man, humans really have to run on sheer willpower, huh?

Much of the preliminary paperwork was already filled out, and many fields were repeated and could be autofilled, but it still took maybe fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the last form. It requested information of the person filling out report, which wasn’t exactly him at the moment. He didn’t know Hank’s badge number off the top of his head, and he couldn’t check his memory archives….

His back was beginning to feel stiff and uncomfortable; he tried shifting his position. He straightened up, hearing and feeling his spine pop twice, immediately making him grimace.

“What’s up with you today?”

“Hm?” Connor looked up.

Fowler had his arms crossed on his desk and his eyes on him. “I know it’s a Saturday, but you’re really out of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like that! Who the hell says that?”

Connor held his breath. Of course Fowler would notice his friend was different. And he did need to get some details from Hank anyway…. “Well,” he started, “to answer your rhetorical question literally, Connor would.”

Fowler stared at him. Connor had seen the man during some late nights at the office before. He was starting to look just as tired now. “The hell does that mean?” he sighed.

“Hank and I are assisting CyberLife with some research, so I am inhabiting his body for today, and he’s in mine.”

“…uh-huh.”

“Sorry for not informing you earlier, Captain.”

Fowler rubbed his eyes. “God damn it, Hank would never say that. Why is it always you two doing something crazy.”

“It’s only tempor—”

“I don’t want to know.”

“It’s been quite successful—”

“Don’t wanna know. Done with that paperwork?”

“I’m on the last form, but I need to ask Hank for some specifics.”

“Whatever. You’ve probably plagiarized it all already, but go ahead, call him up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fantastic.” Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something as Connor found Hank’s phone. “The one time I get any respect from Hank fucking Anderson, it’s because it’s Freaky Friday, of all things.”

Connor was about to correct him on the day as his phone rang before he remembered Hank had said the same thing that morning. Was it a reference to something? The call connected, and his own voice asked, “What’s up, something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Lieutenant. I’m just filling out some paperwork for Captain Fowler and need some details. What’s your badge number? And dates of employment at the DPD?”

“0309—Isn’t that technically plagiarism?”

“You and Captain Fowler have been saying many of the same things today.”

Hank snickered. “Should I call a cab and come over or…?”

“No need; this is the last form.” Connor entered Hank Anderson, Lt., #0309 in the first field. “Employment date?”

As Hank supplied him with the missing figures, Fowler leaned back in his chair again, arms crossed over his chest. His behavior supported Connor’s earlier theory that humans must be uncomfortable with separating psyche from physique, although this is a much different reaction than Hank’s. Connor considered leaving him be, but he would be leaving the office once he’s done anyway.

It only took a minute or two to finish. He thanked Hank for his assistance, told him he’d be by in fifteen minutes, and hung up. He slid the tablet onto the desk. “Is that all for now?” he asked.

Fowler continued looking at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s fine. You’re free to go.”

Connor rose and returned the chair to its original position. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Captain.”

He zipped his hoodie and was reaching for the door when he heard, “Hey, Connor?”

“Sir?”

Fowler sat up to collect the tablet, glancing over at his subordinate. “This’ll all be back to normal by Monday, right?”

“Yes, of course. It only lasts a couple hours.”

He paused. “What’s it like?”

Hm. What was it like? Once again, a hundred half-thoughts ran through his head, interrupting and overlapping each other. It was oversensitive—overstimulating—single-minded—emotional—overtly acute yet insufficient at the same time. The physical rush of emotions he felt in the first ten minutes came to mind. Various aches and soreness at random times. The brush of sunlight on his skin. The following prickling of radiation. Fabric rubbing on his skin at all times. Just how tactile his skin was—and taste and everything about it—and how he just took a breath—and how long it was taking to come up with an answer—

In summary: “It’s slow.”

Admittedly, his memory was compromised at the moment, but for perhaps the first time ever, Fowler laughed, a low, hearty guffaw. Startled and worried that it came off as a joke, he quickly added, “No offense intended, sir!” which only made him laugh harder.

After his initial shock, something about it seemed contagious. It lightened the room and made him relax. Were all humans susceptible to emotional contagions? “It’s a different take on a world I thought I already knew,” Connor continued. “There’s just…so much to notice, and yet the human brain has much less processing power than I’m used to working with.”

“Holy shit. Processing power.” Fowler devolved into a brief fit of coughs before he waved Connor away. “Alright, then, go live it up, kid. And tell Hank he ain’t off the hook, either.”

Connor pushed open the door, fishing his keys from his pocket. “Off the hook for what?”

“Oh, he’ll know.”

[next >]

[houseofglass]

ABO Virus: Pack Life Chapter 15 - Talking

Here is your usual AO3 link

Cas watched Sam care for his brother over the next few days. Dean was healing nicely – physically, anyway – due in large part to Sam's attentiveness. He tried to step in and take over to allow Sam some rest, but Sam would just brush him off kindly every time. There were times Cas simply cuddled with Dean, mostly because he wanted to show Dean he loved him no matter what, and a little bit to give Sam some much needed time off without announcing that was what he was doing.

It took a bit of research to realize Sam was probably feeling responsible for Dean, that his Beta nature wanted to ease the way for Cas to adjust to the loss of another pup. What Cas was having difficulty understanding was how to show Sam he was useful, helpful, and needed without Sam pushing him away. The answer arrived when Cas wasn't paying attention.

~

Cas had his head stuck in the files for what felt like days but was more like a couple of hours. When he felt like he couldn't absorb any more information he drifted into the kitchen for a cup of tea and found Sam staring into the fridge. “Is everything all right?” he asked after turning on the kettle.

Sam closed the fridge door with a huff. “Yeah. How's your learning going?”

“Tiring,” he admitted. “Thank you for giving me time to learn.”

“Yeah no problem,” Sam sighed. Dean had been reasonably easy to care for once he was only taking the number of pills Sam gave him. On the upside, Dean was cuddly and mostly compliant. On the downside, he didn't seem to care if he ate and was weepy at the smallest thing. It was draining for Sam, but he discovered he really enjoyed taking care of Dean, even if Dean behaved like a petulant child sometimes. Nap time had become Sam's time for a little quiet reading. Something he was planning on doing after he finished up in the kitchen.

“Dean's asleep?” Cas confirmed out loud even though a quick check of the channel revealed him to be in the bedroom drifting off.

Sam nodded. “He just fell asleep. He'll be out for a bit. I wanted to get a snack ready for him for when he wakes up since he didn't eat all of his lunch. That way he shouldn't be too cranky for the rest of the day.”

Cas noticed Sam was talking about Dean as if he was a child. He also noticed the dark circles under Sam's eyes and the general drawn look to him. “You haven't been sleeping well.”

“No,” he confessed. He'd genuinely hoped Cas wouldn't notice. The last thing he wanted was to burden him with anything while he learned the inner workings of the store and dealt with the loss of his pup. “I'm thinking of weaning Dean off the pills,” he said, surprising himself for saying it out loud.

Cas nodded slowly. And then he saw it: Sam wanted to be a good Beta, which meant following Cas' orders and providing him with information when needed in addition to making sure his injured Omega was healing properly. “Tell me why,” he stated, sitting at the table while his tea steeped. He leaned forward when Sam sat opposite him.

“I don't think he needs it any more,” Sam started, encouraged by Cas' attention. He launched into an explanation of how well Dean had been doing, but was getting dangerously attached to the pills. As Cas prepared and sipped his tea, Sam filled him in on how to get Dean off them.

It was immediately obvious to Cas that Sam had done a great deal of thinking about the issue, so he asked questions and paid attention to his reasoning. When Sam was done, Cas reviewed all the information with him to ensure he understood. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” he praised. “Begin as soon as possible, please.”

Something wonderful settled deep inside Sam. For all his attempts at being a good brother and mate, having Cas indicate he was grateful took away stress he didn't know he was carrying. “I will. His next dose is supposed to be after his nap. He won't be happy. How are you doing?”

Cas considered how much he should tell Sam. “I suppose it's a bit easier this time. There's no indication Dean chose to terminate, and the pup was lost before I knew it was there.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. “I'd been thinking of children lately,” he told his mate hesitantly.

Cas nodded. “Me too. I wonder if I influenced Dean somehow,” he admitted.

Sam gave Cas a tiny, sad chuckle. “Me too,” he whispered.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you were able to hide that from me, and I could hide it from you, maybe Dean also didn't know,” Cas suggested hopefully.

Sam was already shaking his head side to side. “Omegas are far more sensitive to emotions in others, especially within the pack. If we were both thinking of children, our attitude would have filtered into Dean somehow.”

“So I did do this,” Cas accepted.

“Not...no Cas. Not really. You can't-”

“I can. By leaving the way I did last time I created an environment for Dean to be afraid. By having strong feelings towards having children I caused Dean to forget his birth control. I did this.”

“I don't think.....I don't think it works like that Cas. Dean is the only one responsible for his actions.”

“By that logic, you are not at fault for thinking of children,” Cas pointed out kindly.

“No...well...but Cas....I....” Shit.

“No,” Dean said, making his presence known at the entrance to the kitchen. “I ran away instead of talking to you guys. If I'd stayed home I wouldn't have been in the accident and I'd still be pregnant.”

Both men at the table startled at Dean's voice. Sam because he was sure Dean was sleeping, Cas because while he'd been keeping his channel wide open to detect Dean, he hadn't considered proximity and thought Dean was resting in the bedroom. Cas recovered first.

“Dean. You should be resting.” Cas rose to take Dean back to the bedroom.

“How much did you hear?” Sam asked softly, also getting up.

“You guys both been thinking of having children?” Dean murmured, not allowing Cas to take him anywhere.

“I think this conversation can wait until you're feeling better,” Cas decided, pressing a firm hand into Dean's side until Dean began to move toward the bedroom.

This time, Dean allowed Cas to guide him. “You want to be a dad, Sam?”

“Someday. Yeah. How about you rest, Dean. We can talk about it later,” Sam said quietly when they got to the bedroom.

Dean crawled back up onto the bed and let himself be tucked in. “Have you been thinking of kids a lot, Sam? Is it a deal breaker if we don't have them?” Dean hated the desperation in his voice, but he hated not knowing the answers even more. “What if I can't have any more?” he whispered.

Sam's mind spun away too fast for him to create rational thought. He honestly didn't know how much he wanted children until recently. The knowledge surprised him a bit and he'd been actively trying not to think about the issue while Dean recovered. He knew he was only mostly successful in his efforts.

Cas could feel the questions and concerns from both brothers and reluctantly decided this conversation should happen sooner rather than later, thinking if they air some of this out then Dean could heal better. “Are you up to talking about this now, Dean, or would you rather get some rest first?”

“Now.” Dean sat up slowly. He'd been moving through the bunker trying to avoid the pockets of guilt each of his mates unknowingly left around. Every time he started to relax he'd walk through one of the goddamn pockets and feel bad all over again for leaving that morning. Sammy always said talking helps. Maybe if they talked about it they could feel better. “Can I have the next pill? Is it time?”

“No Dean, you may not,” Cas answered for Sam as he sat on the bed. “I would prefer you to be sober for now. If you are in too much pain, we can talk later.” He knew full well that Dean had almost no physical pain at the moment.

Dean saw the small challenge in Cas' face, daring him to say he was in pain. Honestly, it had been a while since he hurt enough to take something stronger than Tylenol. So, sober it was. “Nah, we can talk now,” he muttered, trying not to sound resentful that he had to actually be present. “How long have you wanted kids, Sam?” Dean asked, mostly to deflect attention from how he didn't need the pills any more.

Sam took a deep breath and sat on the bed as well. He didn't really want to be the one to start, but couldn't think of how to get out of it. “A little while. There are some pregnancies on campus and I just.....want one.”

Dean caught something in the channel but it was too fast to grab. He stared at his brother while a few puzzle pieces fell into place for him. “I borrowed your laptop the other day,” he started.

Sam's eyes widened in shock immediately before he slammed down his shields. “Dean,” he struggled, not sure what to say.

“Do you want to be a dad, or do you want to carry a pup?” Dean challenged. Sam's history was full of information on the procedures required for a Beta to have children. Dean hadn't snooped on purpose, but autofill led him down some interesting searches.

Cas was only partly surprised. He adjusted position on the bed so he could get an arm around Sam. “It's ok,” he whispered when he saw Sam's eyes fill.

“B-both,” he admitted, staring at his hands in his lap. “I want a baby. More than I thought. If you don't want to carry one, I will.”

Dean stared at Sam, trying to gauge where he stood on the issue. “It's dangerous for you,” he whispered.

“Dangerous?” Cas did not like that. “How do you mean?” he practically demanded.

“Beta bodies aren't meant to have children,” Sam began, “but there are things that can be done to help. The doctors aren't completely successful yet-”

“Over twenty percent die from the surgery or complications,” Dean interrupted. “And if you survive, you have an eighty percent chance of miscarriage.”

“Let's go back a step,” Cas advised. He didn't want to have to tell Sam 'no' right this minute, but he knew there was no way he was going to allow Sam to have the surgery. Not until those numbers were significantly better. “Sam wants children, as do I. Dean. How do you feel about children?”

Dean's head jerked like he was trying to get out of the spotlight. “I um....yeah....I was gonna....I....” he stopped to take a deep breath and close his eyes. He opened his mouth and surprised himself with a bout of verbal diarrhea. “After I calmed down I realized I wanted a baby but then I lost it now I'm afraid if I get pregnant again I'll do something stupid and lose that baby too but yeah I want one too I just don't want to lose it again but yeah, yeah I want one but I don't want Sammy to do something that would hurt him just because I'm too scared to try-”

“All right slow down,” Cas soothed. He reached over and got a hand on Dean's knee. Seeing that wasn't working to calm him down, he moved so he was sitting between the brothers. This way he could get an arm around Dean while keeping a hold on Sam. Eventually, Dean's shaking eased and his breathing slowed down. “Now. Try again please.”

Dean just breathed for a while, trying to find the right words. “I want a pup. But I'm scared.”

“Thank you Dean,” Cas praised. “We are all in agreement then. Each of us would like a pup.” Both brothers nodded. Dean opened his mouth to eject another long stream of worry but Cas stopped him with a look. “Dean. Both times you've been pregnant it has been by surprise. Would it help for you to be actively trying to get pregnant instead?”

Well Dean hadn't considered that. “Oh,” fell out of his mouth while he let it sink in. If he was trying, then the spark wouldn't be a shock and maybe then he wouldn't freak out so badly. “I think.....yeah......” Panic rose inside Dean when he thought of trying for another one so soon.

Cas picked up on the panic instantly. “Not right now Dean. Not for at least six months,” Cas informed his pack. “And before you go off the birth control, we will have another discussion about it. I want to be completely sure we are all aware of what's happening and how we all feel about it. I want you both to know it's all right to change your mind as well.”

Dean exhaled a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Sam wiped his eyes discretely, trying not to hope too hard. Six months was both an eternity and a blink of an eye.

Cas checked in with Dean's channel and found he was good for now, so he switched tracks a bit. “Sam,” he started, “will you tell us more about wanting to carry a pup?”

“I want to,” he whispered almost too low for Cas to hear. “I want my belly to get big. I wanna feel the baby kicking. I wa-want t-to feel what it's l-like,” he sobbed quietly. “I want to, I'm sorry.”

Cas gave Dean a squeeze before taking his arm back so he could slip both arms around Sam. “It's all right to want to, Sam, it's all right,” he soothed as he rocked Sam in place.

Sam cried a bit into Cas' shoulder, grateful to finally not have to keep that a secret from his pack any more. He hadn't wanted to make Dean feel worse, but he also couldn't shake the thought of children out of his head.

When Cas felt Sam was more stable he pulled away gently, one hand going to rest on Dean's knee. “Can you tell me how you feel about Dean getting pregnant?”

“I want him to try,” Sam admitted quietly. “I don't know if it will make me want to carry one or not. Maybe I won't want to if I watch Dean get big,” he shrugged a little. “But I'm warning you, I'm gonna be touching your belly constantly.”

Dean laughed a little along with Cas and Sam. “First I gotta get pregnant.”

“Not for at least six months,” Cas re-iterated firmly. He was absolutely unbending on this issue. Dean needed to heal completely first. Also, Cas was very aware that Dean was still under the influence of the pills a bit and that may alter his thinking. “If you feel differently Sam, you need to tell us. If Dean being pregnant upsets you at all, you have to talk to one of us. Don't allow that kind of thing to fester inside you.”

“Yeah Sam. Like, immediately. This has been Hell,” Dean told his pack as he shifted in the bed.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, genuinely confused.

“Both of you have been feeling guilty. It was me. I got in the car. I lost the pup. Not you. But every time I think I'm doing ok I get hit with either one of you thinking about how you did something wrong, or how you don't wanna blame me, or which room would have been a good nursery,” Dean blurted. “It's been hard,” he added in a small voice.

Sam and Cas looked at each other, confirming to themselves that their thoughts do indeed influence Dean to some degree. “Yeah. The second I feel bad I'll go to Cas. Not you though Dean. Not about this.”

Dean just nodded, guiltily pleased at Sam's thinking. Before he could stop it his mouth yawned hugely.

Cas noticed Dean's yawning but felt he needed to press just a tiny bit. “Dean. You know you are not at fault for losing this one.”

“Sure, yeah,” he agreed absently. Of course he was at fault. He did this. He caused all the pain.

Cas listened to Dean, who seemed to be completely unaware he was sending his thoughts through the channels. “Did you drive your car into someone just to miscarry?”

“What!? NO Cas,” Dean said, tears springing to his eyes, hands gripping the blanket until his knuckles were white.

“Did you leave the bunker with the attitude of trying to rid yourself of the pup? Or did the idea occur to you while you were out?” Cas challenged.

“NO Cas,” Dean cried, outright sobbing now, the Omega parts of him desperate to show his Alpha he had been truthful. “I told you! I was SCARED! I went driving to clear my head! I was comin' home to tell you guys! I was plan-ning on findin' som'a those little sh-shirts in flannel! M-maybe a c-crib! An'....an' feelin' how he-heavy she'da b-been in m-my a-arms...” Dean couldn't continue over his crying, which was ratcheting up to hysterics.

SHE. The tiny little word smashed through every other thought Cas had. SHE.

Sam watched Dean's mini outbreak with shock. He hadn't expected Cas to be quite so challenging, but maybe it was what Dean needed to break free of his guilt. Cas looked shaken and distant, so Sam moved over to hold Dean. “You just wanted some time alone,” he murmured.

“YES! Just f-for a wh-while!”

“You had no way of knowing another car would hit you,” Sam said, running a hand up and down Dean's back.

“NO!” Dean's breath hitched. “N-no,” he said much more quietly, still sobbing.

“You didn't know this pup wasn't meant to be,” Sam soothed.

“Wh-what?” Shock made Dean stop sobbing and pull away from Sam a bit.

Sam reached up and grabbed a hand towel from the stack they kept in the headboard shelves. As he wiped Dean's face and told him to blow his nose he said, “if the pup was meant to be, you wouldn't have miscarried.”

“Sam?” Now Cas was confused.

“I overheard two women talking at the grocery store yesterday. One had a daughter that miscarried, the other told her if the baby was meant to be then it would have been born. It makes sense to me,” he said with a little shrug. “It made me feel better to think that of your pup, Dean. When I remember, anyway.”

“Ohhh,” Cas breathed. That did make it just a tiny bit better. If Chuck wanted this pup born, she would have been born. He still wanted to find Chuck and smite him for it, but it felt a little bit better. And, truth be told, a little more confused. Since falling he'd come to realize there was a lot that Chuck didn't control at all....or even seemed to acknowledge. But it was possible the pup would not have lived anyway, for a large number of reasons he hadn't even considered until right now.

Dean grabbed that tiny bit of knowledge and held on to it tight. Maybe something was wrong with the pup. Maybe she wouldn't have survived anyway. Maybe.

“Is there anything else you two need to talk about?” Cas asked when he brought himself back to reality. Both brothers shook their heads so Cas informed Dean it was still his nap time, pushing him down slightly.

“Is it.....um....pill time?” Dean asked hopefully, stopping himself from laying down completely. “Please?” Again, Dean hated the pleading in his voice, but dammit he wanted that pill.

Sam checked his phone. It was close enough, so he nodded and re-set the alarm. He handed one over, thinking he should tell Dean it was his last full pill, but ultimately deciding Dean could do without that information until after he'd rested. Neither Cas nor Sam bothered to get off the bed. Instead they each stretched out and stared into space as Dean settled into a floaty rest. Each one felt the other two probing at the channels, each one testing to make sure everything was all right, each one finding a bundle of love waiting for them.