#owen is like a brick wall compared to him

[three-headed-monster]

me explaining to people how there’s no way in hell kent could push owen around

[mourntheantagonist]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Chapter 2

read on ao3

Hopper was startled awake by two small hands tightly gripping his shoulders and the familiar chant of his teenage daughter's voice. Her words were frantic, falling out of her mouth with vibrato and an airy tone, and in his initial half-sleep he didn’t quite register what she had said until her voice had raised to a volume that, despite the distance, could be heard all the way from the center of town. 

“There’s something wrong!” She was screaming at him. Her nose was dripping with blood and her eyes were dripping with tears. She was shaking and scared and all Hopper could think to do was to take both of her hands and hold them tight.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as calmly as possible, his voice low and quiet, opposite of El’s own.

“Something’s wrong with Billy!” she tried to scream it, but all that came out was a choked whisper at the emission of his name. Her fists tightened in Hopper’s grip and as soon as the name ‘Billy’ fully registered in his head, he suddenly had his guard up. He had to be wary after everything El had told him she’d seen when Billy had let her into his mind, and especially after getting a glimpse of all of it for himself the moment Neil Hargrove seemed entirely unconcerned over the state of his child when Hopper had taken it upon himself to inform the family. He figured it would be easier to hear from father to father, but when the first question that left his lips was “how much is this going to cost me?” he started to doubt the man he was talking to was even a father at all.

“I told you to stay out of his head El. That’s–” invasive is what he wanted to say, but El was quick to cut him off by tearing her hands out from his grip and charging toward the front door.

“We have to go to the hospital. Right now.”

She had that serious look on her face. The one she got when she was seconds away from throwing whoever was bothering her directly through a brick wall. She got the tears to stop rolling and wiped away the blood with her sleeve, something Hopper had to constantly remind her not to do because he could never get the stains out. It was late, the moon and the stars were already so visible in the sky above them serving as their only form of illumination in the dark woods aside from the one pathetic light bulb that hung above the awning on the porch. The clock read almost midnight. Hopper was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his recliner and fall asleep, but El was determined, and if there was really something wrong with Billy, he didn’t have the time to waste.

Hopper grabbed his hat and coat off the hook and followed El out to the Blazer where she was already sitting in the passenger seat, waiting. Her eyes were fixed forward and it was scarily opposite to what she had looked like just moments ago, full of panic and fear that showed itself through tears and screams, now manifesting itself in a dead expression looking out at the dark forest through the dirty windshield. All he could do was get in the driver’s seat, turn the key in the ignition, and do what she told him to do.

The trip from Hawkins to Fort Wayne wasn’t short, and yet, they didn’t talk to each other the whole way. Hopper tried, tried to ask her what she saw but every time he did, her eyes would squeeze shut like she was in pain. 

Because every time he asked, she was suddenly transported back there. 

She’d been checking up on Billy for months now, ever since the early morning hours of July 5th when Max had begged her to tell her what was happening while they were huddled together in the back of an ambulance and not a single EMT or paramedic on site could tell them where or how he was. But there was something different about looking for Billy in the void compared to how it worked with everyone else. Usually, she’d be able to see just the physical. She would be able to see the people around them and hear the words that they said, but with Billy she didn’t see that. She didn’t see his torn up body laid out on a stretcher surrounded by doctors and nurses trying to bring him back to life like she would have expected, or hoped for at least. Instead, all she saw was Billy curled up in his own bed at home, the blue plaid sheets and the stained pillowcases that he let his head sink into, asleep. She couldn’t see him physically, she could only see into his mind and into his dreams.

And all he ever dreamed about was sleeping in his own bed at home.

It was the exact same every time. No matter how close or far she would get to him, no matter the words she’d say and no matter how loud she would say them, he wouldn’t even so much as stir. He was always motionless with steady and even breathing, and she would have thought it to be peaceful if she hadn’t been able to feel everything he was feeling when she was in there. 

Not the pain of being poked and prodded by the doctors who saw him as their little upside down experiment, but the pain of sadness and loneliness that seemed to just be a constant in his life within his own mind. It was way too much for any single person to handle, even if she hadn’t had an inkling to what exactly the cause was. She could never stay in there for too long. The feelings were just too powerful.

It was always the same, until the day that it wasn’t. Everything seemed to be going accordingly, he was in his bed, asleep, just like he always was, but the silence started to fade. Slowly she started to hear voices of different screams enter her ears from far away, growing closer and closer to her and to Billy. Suddenly the boy she never saw move was writhing in his bed. The screams grew closer and closer and louder and louder until they pierced her ears and she covered them with her hands and dropped to her knees. Billy’s own screams were added to the chorus and the dark black void faded quickly to a blinding white that forced her eyes shut like the flash of a camera.

And like the flip of a switch, the literal blink of an eye, the voices stopped and it was all back to black. But when she looked up there was nothing. No bed, no Billy. Nothing.

And her first thought, the thought that rattled in her brain the whole trip from Hawkins to Fort Wayne, the reason she was so adamant that they leave for the hospital right away…

Was that he was dead.

She couldn’t reach him or feel him anymore, and it was the only thing that made any sense.

Hopper called up Dr. Owens through his car phone and explained the situation the best he could, with the limited information he could get out of El who wouldn’t respond to a single word he said with anything but “drive”. All he really had to go off of was that El had seen something and insisted that Billy needed help, that Billy needed their help, and Owens, being ever so intrigued with Eleven and her mysterious capabilities, wasn't going to turn her away.

They pulled into the parking lot and began working their way through each layer of the hospital, from the initial check in desk to the upstairs wing where emergent cases were being wheeled in on stretchers and moved behind closed curtains. They had to go deeper than the ICU where a case like Billy’s would typically be located, but his case was anything but typical. Billy was in the deepest depths of the hospital that only select personnel had access to where lab technicians were having a field day treating Billy Hargrove who had Mindflayer DNA coursing through his veins. Their little science experiment. There was always difficulty getting permission to go back there as many of the nurses weren’t even given clearance so surely the sheriff from two towns over was out of jurisdiction.

But they eventually got their way through the barricaded entrance, with Hopper constantly having to squeeze El’s hand to remind her that no, she couldn’t just force open the glass doors no matter how much she wanted to or how much the nurse behind the counter aggravated her.

The hospital wing Billy was in looked like it was straight out of a horror film. There were no nurses or doctors rushing from room to room, the lights were dim and it was mostly silent save for the squeaking of their soles against the linoleum floor. It looked very abandoned and lonely and straight up depressing, all doom and gloom where the first impression was that whoever was wheeled into any of these rooms, likely wouldn’t be coming out breathing. Instead of being wheeled out in a wheelchair into the parking lot for a grand return home, they’d be wheeled out on a gurney with a white sheet covering their body headed straight for the morgue where Owens’ little lab rats would likely continue their experiments on the dead corpse. El had been quick to release herself from Hopper’s grip and locate the room on her own, storming down the halls with a determination he hadn’t seen from her in a while. He had to do a little jog to keep up with her, hearing his keys jingle from where they hung on his belt loop with every step that he took. El had stormed past everybody and went straight in for Billy, taking him by the hand and tightly shutting her eyes. She didn’t even take a second to notice the two people who were already in the room before her, Max and Steve, asking frantically what was going on because El didn’t even say a thing, and Hopper didn’t have a clue either.

Steve was standing against the doorframe and Max was sitting in the chair looking like she had just been woken up. The two of them looked to have the same confusion plastered on their faces that Hopper had, all three of them looking toward El who stood at Billy’s bedside silently with focus as her face turned red.

“I can’t reach him.” She said once she’d opened her eyes, releasing her hold from Billy’s hand and focusing all of her attention on the heart monitor in the room that maintained a steady rhythm with the crests and troughs indicative of life.

“Can someone here explain to me what is going on?” Steve asked, his arms crossed over his chest. He was looking to Hopper who just gestured to El as if that was answer enough. 

“Something is wrong with Billy.” 

“Billy’s fine El, what are you talking about?” Max chimed in after releasing an exhausted yawn. 

El just repeated herself, turned toward Max and staring her directly in the eyes. “Something is wrong with Billy.”

“What is wrong with Billy, El?” Max asked, and Steve and Hopper just watched the scene take place before them like they were watching a movie, waiting for the plot to thicken.

“He’s gone.”

“No, he’s still alive.” Max protested.

“Not dead. Gone.” El said, “He’s somewhere else, on the inside.”

Before anyone could question her further, Dr. Owens had entered the room. “Is there a problem?” he asked, and everyone's attention had turned toward him where he stood in between Steve and Hopper. 

El didn’t respond, and instead let Hopper speak for her. “We aren’t sure, but Eleven thinks something may have happened with the kid.”

“Why don’t the two of you come into my office and explain it to me? We have been monitoring him closely and haven’t seen any significant changes.” Dr. Owens suggested, leading the two of them out of the room. “You two keep him company, I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but he knows you’re here.” he said, looking at Steve and Max before he closed the door behind him.

- : -

“So he just… vanished?” Dr. Owens asked, his hands were clasped together in front of him on his desk and he was looking to Eleven inquisitively, while she was slumped forward in the chair, her eyes shut tightly just like before, like she was in pain.

“Yes,” she said, “and there were... screams.”

“Whose screams?”

“Billy’s, and others,” she said, her voice trailing off into nearly a whisper, “there were so many. It was so loud.” El choked on tears with that last sentence, and Hopper pulled her into his side. She covered her own ears like she was hearing it all over again. The screams of countless people were echoing in her mind. She just sobbed into Hopper’s jacket.

“Are you sure this wasn’t just a bad dream?” Owens asked. “Nothing has changed with him physically to suggest something is wrong.”

El’s head snapped toward him and her tear filled eyes filled with rage. “I know what I saw,” she said, her face scrunched and eyebrows turned down, “and I can’t reach him anymore.”

Dr. Owens leaned back in his chair almost as if he was trying to distance himself from El. He knew how she could make brain smoothies with just the use of her mind alone, and he didn’t like the idea of being on the receiving end of that. “Okay,” he said, “we’ll run some tests, but I’m not sure how much it will help.”

“Just do what you can Doc,” Hopper chimed in, “for our peace of mind, please.”

“I’ll go order an EEG and an MRI. How ‘bout you two go join the other two, maybe see if you can’t reach him this time.”

Hopper took El by the hand and led her out of the room. She didn’t seem too satisfied with what Owens had to offer, but she was definitely less enraged than she could have been. They walked back down the same empty corridor they just walked through, dim lighting and all, and found Max pacing around the small square room, visible relief on her face as soon as El walked back through the door.

“What the hell is going on?!” Max asked, walking right up to El and putting her hands on her shoulders, getting right up into her face. “You can’t just say something like that without an explanation!” El was just looking back at her with wide eyes, still red and glossy from earlier. “El, tell me that Billy is okay?”

“I-“ she wanted to. She wanted to tell Max that everything would be okay just like she did with her on that mall floor, holding her as she cried right next to Billy’s lifeless body, drenched in blood. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t look Max in the eyes and tell her that he was okay when everything inside of her was telling her that something was seriously wrong. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” She shook and bowed her head.

That made Max take a step backwards, releasing her grip on El’s shoulder and stumbling into the foot of the hospital bed.

“You said you couldn’t see him, could you try again?” Steve asked, pulling a distraught Max who refused to cry into his side, “Just in case?”

El nodded and walked up to his bedside and pulled her blindfold out of her pocket. Hopper followed suit and turned the radio on the side table to a vacant frequency. She sat on the floor, her legs crossed.

She took a deep breath, and focused.

It was almost instant that she found herself back in the void, but it was still completely empty. She walked around aimlessly, her feet splashing in the water with each step she took, calling out his name only to hear her own voice echo back to her.

“Billy?” No response.

“Can you see anything?” It was Max’s voice breaking through, joining the continued echoes.

“Not yet.”

El went in deeper, and her stomach grew more and more tense with each step she took, and her breathing became more and more shallow, but still, nothing. Just pitch black like before.

But she kept going. She continued to move forward despite the uneasy feeling that washed over her.

Then a chill traveled straight down her spine as she heard the faintest little voice enter through her ears, a voice she couldn’t attribute to any of the people that were in the room with her, but also, unmistakably not Billy’s voice either.

“I hear a voice.”

“Is it Billy’s?” Max asked. 

“No it’s…”

It was high pitched, sounded like a giggle. A girl. A young girl.

“It sounds like a young girl.”

El tried to tune out everyone’s follow up questions and focused every bit of her attention on that faint little voice that was slowly growing louder and more audible. She could almost make out the words that were in between the frantic fits of laughter.

“... Daddy!...” The word was as clear as day.

And then there was another voice. Another set of laughter that joined the little girl. A low voice, slightly gruff and heavy.

“Billy.” She said it aloud, to where everyone in the room could hear the moment she realized. But as soon as she said his name, the laughter stopped. Suddenly. 

It was replaced by the screams. 

She was suddenly propelled backwards, like the strongest gust of wind hit her dead on and sent her directly out of the void. She ripped off the blindfold immediately and collapsed into Max’s arms, hands up to her ears, knees to her chest, sobbing, trying to get the sounds of the screams to exit her head.

“What happened?” Max asked, stroking her fingers through Eleven’s hair as she sobbed into her chest, just like she’d done for her, ignoring the blood from El's nose as it transferred onto her shirt.

“I could hear him.” She said through choked sobs. “I could hear Billy.”

Max held onto Eleven tighter. Hopper and Steve were both just watching the scene happen on the floor, their backs against  the walls behind them holding the bulk of their respective weights, unsure of whether or not they should intervene, or dare say anything. They didn’t want to drill her with all of the questions they had bouncing around inside their heads while the person with all of the answers was a wreck on the floor. So they stayed silent, let Max be the one to hold her while she choked back her own tears, and waited for it all to go away and calm down.

She didn’t have that chance before Dr. Owens  walked in alongside another man in a long white lab coat, wheeling in a cart with a large machine on it, a machine El recognized very well.

“Did something happen Eleven?” Dr. Owens asked the girl with the tear stains running down her cheeks. She just nodded her head, still unable to properly vocalize or describe exactly what happened or what she heard. Dr. Owens noted her hesitation to speak and the looks being given to him from the other eyes in the room and decided to drop it, to not press any further. “We’re going to run an EEG to see if there’s any abnormal brain activity, just to make sure Billy’s definitely still in there.”

The man in the lab coat made his way over to Billy’s bedside opposite of the rest of them and began marking points of Billy’s scalp with what looked similar to a blue colored pencil. El had to look away, immediately reminded of the day they strapped her down in a chair and took clippers to her head, Brenner in her ear telling her “this will make everything much easier for everyone.”

They attached the nodes all around his head, and the room was at a dead silence as they waited for it to be over, holding their collective breaths like they were trying to conserve oxygen in the room. Oxygen they might need later. El finally got up from her place on the ground and leaned on Hopper, back facing Billy. Max remained on the floor, her hand reaching up and holding onto Billy’s. His hand was cold, but warm enough that she could tell the blood was still coursing through his veins, without the regular beeping of the heart monitor. Steve stood awkwardly in the corner, feeling out of place. He gripped his own hands behind his back and rolled on his feet, the only one out of the four of them that continued to look at Billy as the contraption was placed on his head. He stared at him almost intently, looking for any sudden movement, a twitch of his feet, a lifted finger, a flared nostril, just something.

But he got nothing. Billy was totally, and completely still.

“Uh. Dr. Owens?” The man in the lab coat said, looking down at the machine on the cart, his eyebrows furrowed, giving cause for concern. “Can you come look at this?”

“Is something wrong?” Hopper asked, his voice loud and his eyes wide like saucers. He was physically leaning forward, trying to see what they were seeing.

Dr. Owens didn’t answer, he just hesitantly joined the lab technician behind the machine to get a better look, offering the group of four a hesitant look of reassurance, that wasn’t very reassuring. He pulled his glasses from where they were hooked on the collar of his shirt up to his face.

“It’s just…”

“Scribbles?” the guy in the lab coat finished. Dr. Owens held the scan up to the light, like he didn’t know what he was looking at. Because he didn’t. He had absolutely no idea what he was looking at.

“What does that mean?” Max asked, her voice almost accusatory.

“There must be a problem with the machine. We’ll try again with a different one.” Dr. Owens looked to the lab technician and without him having to say a word, the man left to fetch another machine. Dr. Owens set the scan down on the bedside table and began removing the nodes from Billy’s head. Dr. Owens was trying to hide the look of confusion from his face, trying to keep everyone else in the room calm, but the girl with the fiery red hair and even more fiery personality couldn’t be calmed down. 

Max continued to press with questions, alongside Hopper, but he had a little more tact in the way he asked for answers. But the two of them kept receiving the same exact response as they all waited for the lab tech to return with a second EEG machine. “We’ll know more when we get an accurate test.” Steve, on the other hand, remained silent and ignored the two who were begging for answers and receiving none. Instead, he walked over to the other side of the bed and stole the scan from on top of the table. Dr. Owens made no attempts to stop him. He just said “it’s only scribbles kid. It’s inconclusive.” but Steve ignored him, and walked back over to where he was initially standing and studied the scan, just like he studied Billy as he lay in that hospital bed. Lifeless. Completely, totally, still.

Dr. Owens just wrote it off and continued removing the nodes from Billy’s head, wracking his brain over how the hell the machine could malfunction like that. Max and Hopper continued to press with questions, and continued to get upset when they didn’t receive any answers, El continued to not look at Billy with all of the attachments to his head, and Steve continued to study the scan, drowning out every bit of background noise, looking at every mark that was made on the paper, like he knew something that everyone else didn’t.

The man in the lab coat came back shortly after with another machine, and everyone in the room was quick to shut up to hopefully speed the process along. They stood and watched as they did it all over again, and El continued to refuse to turn around, and Hopper rubbed circles into her back, waiting for the good news he thought that he had been promised.

“It’s doing it again, sir.” the lab technician said, his voice was frantic, and that was what finally got El to turn around. Everyone was crowding the bed to see exactly what was going on. The pen was going haywire, and Dr. Owens immediately shut off the machine. “Are you doing this little girl!?”

El shook her head

“What the hell is going on Doc!?” Hopper was done being polite. He grabbed him by the fabric of his sleeve and pulled him in close. “What the hell is going on!?” He yelled.

“I… don’t know.”

“Does this mean he’s gone?” Max asked, finally allowing a tear to escape, rolling down her cheek as she choked on her own breath. 

“No.” El answered. “He’s still here.” She was so sure, pushing past everyone and holding onto Billy’s hand. “I could hear him.”

In all of the chaos, nobody could hear Steve mumbling in the background. Nobody saw as his mouth hung open while he stared at the first scan in his hands. They didn’t hear him until his voice grew louder, and Max managed to pick out one of the words he said that made her head jerk towards him.

“What did you say?” She asked Steve, more tears streaming down her face. Everyone else in the room followed her step and now everyone was looking at Steve, who looked like he was in complete shock.

Steve looked up to her with his eyes wide.

“It’s Max.” he said, “it’s you.”

“What are you talking about son?” Hopper asked, inching closer to Steve.

Steve just turned the scan around and held it up for everyone to see, and traced his finger in a circle on the image. “It’s Max. It’s a picture of Max.”

Suddenly nobody was crowding the bed anymore and instead crowding Steve, including Dr. Owens and his lab tech, all craning their necks to try to see past the scribbles.

“I don’t see anything kid-“ 

“Wait!” Max shouted, cutting off the lab tech who spoke in a tired tone, “I see it! Right there!” She placed her finger on the scan. “See, that’s my nose, my mouth… that’s me…”

“I’m calling the others.” Hopper said, “this is fucked up.” Hopper made an attempt to leave the room and go to a phone but he was stopped by Dr. Owens pressing a hand to his chest. “Get out of my way this could be-“

“The Upside Down, I know. If that even is the case, the less people know, the better.”

Suddenly chaos had broken out again between everyone arguing with each other about involving the others, and Eleven and Max just trying to shut everyone up, only making it louder.

But that was immediately halted by the sound of the radio in the corner turning on, and music began playing, but nobody was near it to even touch it.

“Who did that?” Dr. Owens asked, and everyone raised their arms in the air at once, signaling innocence. 

The song was staticky, but they could still make out the words to a familiar song, and everyone’s stomach dropped when they looked over to where Billy was lying on the hospital bed, just a single tear rolling down his face as the song eerily played in everyone’s ears.

Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me 

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me 

While I'm alone and blue as can be 

Dream a little dream of me

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Met You Tonight: Kauri and Jack

CW: Electroshock, referenced abusive relationship, pet whump, dehumanization, referenced conditioning/brainwashing, frank references to prostitution, very brief reference to assumed drug use

This piece is a collaboration with @spiffythespook featuring Jack/Reid! Takes place immediately after Kauri escapes, five days after he gets away from Owen Grant. This collab has multiple parts, so you’ll see Spiffy and I posting them as we get them edited!

Tagging Kauri and Jack’s crews: @im-not-rare-im-rarr, @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @rivertamandspike​

It had been raining most of the day. It was the kind of pounding, pouring rain that hit hard enough to splatter and splash back up, collected outside sewage drains and ran like miniature rivers along the gutters.

By the time midnight came around, though, the rain had stopped, leaving the sound of water rushing through storm drains along the side of the streets and a heavy, oppressive humidity hanging in the air. The streets were shimmering wet, reflections from headlights bouncing right off the road, and streetlight circles looked more like puddles than actual illumination.

People found their way out onto the streets anyway. They came in cars and on foot, walking to bars or racing each other into clubs. They stumbled drunk or walked sober, congregated into clumps that giggled and talked and danced and laughed.

In rougher parts of town people still walked to the bars, but there were plenty who simply stood, too.

Women and men walked slowly along their chosen corners in the glow of streetlights or in the dark, hips jutted out or with a certain kind of stance that gave away what they were selling. The occasional car cut through the night, came to a stop along the curb. Sometimes the john got out - sometimes the woman or man on the corner got in - before the car drove away.

From one dark alley the sound of harsh, ugly laughter echoed from two or three voices at once. Underneath the laughter was scraping and whining, thumps and a soft pleading for them to please, just st-stop, I don't have any money, please.

Eventually, one of the three, a nondescript and muscular guy in a plain shirt and jeans who could have been anywhere from a rough 30 to a pretty good 45, stepped out, lit a cigarette, and glanced over his shoulder. "Come on, guys, that fucking tweaker doesn't have shit anyway. Look at him twitch, he probably spent his last dime on whatever shit he’s got in his system.”

The two others with him laughed, coming out into the light themselves, arguing good-naturedly over their destination before heading on foot towards the nearest bar.

Their noise drew the attention of a young man, clearly one of those who had been busy walking the streetcorner, still wet from the earlier weather. The young man stayed well out of view until they departed, eyeing the raucous group until the sound of the men’s voices had totally faded and they turned a corner.

From the alleyway came the sound of low, broken cursing. The young man blinked and headed a little closer to try and take a look and see what exactly had gotten the attention of the three men that had just left.

There was a boy curled up in the alleyway - a man but barely, and he was soaked to the skin. The expensive blue cashmere sweater he'd been wearing was ripped, torn, and bloody. Soft black pants were so wet they clung to his legs, and the flat slide-on sandals on his feet were at least two sizes too big.

Bloody and bruised, the boy began to push himself back up to standing when suddenly every muscle went rigid. He let out a cry and his back arched as he dropped with a hard crack of his knees back to the ground.

"Ow, ow, n-n-no, st-stop-... please, stop, pl-please," The boy begged no one who could hear him, clutching at a spot just below his neck on the right side, pressing hard with the flat of his palm. His other hand was flat on the alleyway ground, his black curls plastered to his forehead with a mix of sweat and rain.

He felt a throbbing pain in one eye that told him he'd be bruised by morning, but it was nothing compared with the agony racing through the nerves under his skin.

"Stop, I w-won't come h-h-home, stop it I w-won't," he pleaded, in his surprisingly deep soft voice, to no one, to someone, to anyone. "Y-you lied, you lied to me, you lied, I won’t...”

From the end of the alley, pressed into the shadow of the wall, the young man stepped out slowly and cleared his throat to draw the boy’s attention. His wet hair was pushed back, combed through messily with fingers and a couple wet strands hung in his face. If his tight, cropped shirt and jeans didn’t give away his profession, his naturally alluring posture did... but there was no desire in his expression, only concern.

“Hey, buddy. You look like you’re in pretty rough shape. Need a hand?”

Kauri flinched away from the voice, trying to scramble backwards, but his muscles were still so locked from pain that all he could manage was a foot or two before he froze again. He looked up, teeth ground together, to show wide, frightened blue eyes. 

He had a circle of red around one eye beginning to darken, and the young man in the cropped shirt put his hands up, trying to show he was harmless, taking in the other man’s disheveled, sopping wet appearance.

"N-no, pl-please!” Kauri’s voice was thin and strained, and his hands kept shaking, nerve endings twitching long after the pain had ended. “I don't have any m-money. I d-don't have anything! Pl-please don’t hurt me!”

He put his left hand out in some kind of supplication, sweater sleeve riding up his arm, the hint of a barcode tattoo on the inside unmistakable. "Please! Please, j-just, just ow, fuck-... aftersh-shocks, ah-”

“Did I ask for money? I don’t want anything from you, man,” the young man said. He froze at the sight of the tattoo, biting his lip anxiously and glancing over both ends of the alley to check that no one was nearby. He crouched down a couple of feet - a good safe distance - away. With his work boots on, he couldn’t quite lay his feet flat - instead, he perched on his toes. “Hey, it’s okay. Listen, um... I used to be a box boy, too, okay? I can’t prove it, they… my owner was pretty shady. The company took off my tattoo so they wouldn’t be associated with him. Anyway, I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t… believe in that shit.”

“B-Box…” Kauri’s voice trailed off, confused. “I d-don’t-... how do you-... Oh, fuck, the news, he told the news or something…” He moved back a couple of feet, nearly crawling on his hands and knees. “D-Did you see me on the news? Is, is that how you kn-know about me?”

“Shit, no. I don’t have cable or anything-” the young man said, almost laughing. The sound died as the boy’s muscles locked again, spine curving as his head dropped towards the ground, forehead nearly touching the dirty alley pavement.

Kauri whimpered, rocking back onto his knees, unconsciously bending forwards to move into Respect.

The young man grit his teeth and hesitated, an expression of mixed distaste and old fear on his face. Again, he moved forward - nearly on his hands and knees, too, now. “Hey. I know because I saw your tattoo. I’m not gonna turn you in, man, but I can guarantee someone’s going to notice if you’re this fucked up out here alone. Lemme help you out, I’ve got an apartment. What’s happening? Is that... electroshock?”

Kauri gasped in a breath and nodded without coming up from position, trying to calm his mind, to keep a single coherent thought through the sudden rush of pain. Just as quickly as it had come, it seemed to fade out, and his breathing changed, from shallow quick gasps to deep gulps of the humid air.

“It’s-... a n-new product, I just… here.” He pushed himself up and back, kneeling resting on his heels, slowly looking back up, searching the other man’s face for a sign that this was any worse a decision than anything else he’d done in the past five days.

All he saw was concern - genuine honest concern.

He pulled the neck of his sweater down on the right side, exposing his collarbone to nearly halfway down his chest. Along the bone ran a small line of perfectly spaced circular dots, glinting like metal in the light, glowing with a faint blue light against his skin.

“I ran away from my owner,” he said, a little hoarsely. “He’s trying to get me to come home.”

The young man’s eyes widened, brow rising at the sight of the… well, they looked like piercings, but he knew better. “Damn. That’s a fancy fuckin’ product, isn’t it?” He leaned back, sat on his heels, and sighed. “Good for you, for running and not going home. You got a place to stay?”

“W-Would I… would I look like this if I had a place to stay?” The boy flinched as soon as the sarcasm was out of his mouth, like he expected an angry reaction or even for the pain to start again.

The young man grinned, tilted his head, looking happy that the other guy had a bit of spunk in him. “...fair point. But if you didn’t want a place to stay, you’d tell me you already have one.” Kauri moved to push himself weakly to his feet, and the young man watched him closely, ready to reach out in case he stumbled.

Kauri swayed a little, pale and lightheaded, but he made it to standing, one hand on the brick wall next to him to hold himself up. Some of the aging brick crumbled around his fingers as he scratched into it. “I don’t have anywhere, I’m not… I don’t know anyone. I jumped out of, of a moving car, I just have…” He looked over his shoulder. On the ground behind him, mostly hidden in shadow, was a blue backpack. “I just have that.”

The other man nodded. “Okay. So...you want a place to crash for the night or not? In case your psycho master decides to lay it on thick again. ‘Cause, uh… lemme tell you… this district is not one you wanna be stuck in overnight unless you plan to have sex of one kind or another.”

“Psycho… Mr. Owen’s not psycho, he just-” Kauri jerked again, but it didn’t last this time and he was only rigid against the wall for a few seconds before he let out a shuddering breath and turned, scooping the backpack up by the straps. It hung with surprising weight off of him when he pulled it on over his shoulders.

Sure he’s not, the other man thought, but let it slide. The shock was bad enough without someone rubbing in how warped it was that you could have electroshock piercings… maybe they were even screwed into the bone. He made a bit of a face at that idea, feeling pain in his teeth like in response to nails on a chalkboard. The heaviness of the boy’s bag told him that the guy didn’t have nothing, but that was none of his business, either.

“Um.” Kauri shifted, a little uneasily, from foot to foot. “If you… d-don’t mind, I can st-stay? Just, just for tonight? I don’t have any money, I d-don’t have anything, I j-just…” His voice trailed off, considering. “I’m… I’m Kauri.”

“I’m Jack,” the young man responded, and then promptly grinned and quirked his head. “And I’m filthy rich tonight, so don’t worry about money. C’mon, let’s go. Wanna lean on me, or are you okay?”

“I’m... okay to walk.” Kauri’s teeth were gritted, his jaw set, and he walked with a pained stiff movement that made it clear the three in the alley had landed at least a few pretty good kicks while they were having their fun, but he stayed up.

For a second, they walked in silence, Kauri glancing sidelong at Jack, curiously.

“Hey. If you were, were really… like me… then you’re n-not rich,” Kauri said, but it was with a little bit of humor lacing his voice, a hint of resilience under everything else. “We can’t live on our own, we d-don’t know anything, it’s in all the… things they made us know, to say.”

Jack nodded, then shrugged. “Speak for yourself. I am the proud possessor of one month’s rent and enough grocery money for the next couple weeks. On a rainy day, no less,” he cocked a crooked grin. It faded after a moment or two. “I dunno, man. I think my order was really strange. I’ve got memory gaps from the drugs, but all my skills are intact… well. Except the writing, still.”

Kauri was a little slow, having to move carefully against the ache from the earlier assault. It gave him time to look at Jack and try to decide if he was just lying, if he’d just turn him in. Jack didn’t seem all that bothered by the pace. He shuffled along slow enough to stay right alongside him.

“I can’t write either. If I do, um-” He gestured at his collarbone again, the little glowing circles hidden now under the wet sweater. “These go off. But I couldn’t before… is Jack your before-name? Kauri’s my name he gave me, I d-don’t have another one anymore.”

Jack nodded in understanding. How they managed to tune an electroshock device to someone’s writing, he didn’t know. It was weird. Renford could do it if she wanted - she could do anything, as far as he could tell.

“Yeah,” he nodded, shuddering for too many reasons thinking of her face… being wet and cold was the least of them. “I had a, uh, a pet name. I don’t like it. Took me a while to remember myself, but the other guys in the district knew who I was. They helped. Sorta.” He snorted. “There’s some loyalty among whores, but us gay prostitutes have too much competition and too little market, so I still watched my back.”

Kauri stumbled to a stop all at once, turning to look at him again more clearly in the light that shone from a streetlamp above their heads.

He took in the cropped shirt and tight pants, the shoes, then slowly raised his eyes back up to the man’s face. “I-I didn’t…” His voice trailed off again, staring blatantly, but the look on his face was more like wide-eyed surprise, like a child that had never seen a dandelion before, rather than any kind of judgement.

Jack turned, surprised that Kauri had stopped. When he realized why Kauri looked so surprised, he grinned and put a hand on his hip, cocked it, and smirked. “You like what you see?” Kauri’s surprise was hilarious. But that was okay...he didn’t seem grossed out.

Kauri went red. “I, um, I just… I-I, you’re… you’re okay, I just-... you went from being a, um, a pet to being… on purpose?”

Jack blinked at the question, and then gasped in understanding and shook his head. “Oh, no. I started on the streets long before I was legal - don’t tell anybody that - and then one day they picked me up. Special order for Cori fucking Fisher. You seen him on the news? Bastard. They fixed up my looks and made me take an oath, then dumped me back here - home sweet home.”

Kauri bit down on his lower lip in thought, cocking his head to the side, trying to think. Finally, he shook it. “No, sorry. Mr. Owen doesn’t watch news, I don’t… I don’t know anything. You had a bad owner? I mean, not just to you, to other people?”

Jack snorted. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly.”

Kauri seemed to be thinking, taking Jack in. Then he started walking again, the heavy weight inside his backpack smacking against his lower back a little as he moved. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a, a gay, um, prostitute, uh… before.” Kauri’s face flushed red, visible even in the yellow streetlights they moved under. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ve seen anything before but… I feel like this is new.”

“You probably have and just couldn’t tell.” He smirked a bit at the flush on Kauri’s face. Man, he looked cute.

“So when you s-said you were rich…”

“Oh, I said I’m rich tonight. I’m a tiny bit sore, but I’m paid up for the month.” If it was possible, Kauri’s face went even redder, and Jack’s smile wider. “Worth it. Means every night I can work for the rest of the month, I’m saving. It also means we can stop at the store for supper. You hungry?”

Kauri swallowed, eyes widening a little at the offer, looking at Jack sideways again like he wasn’t sure what he should say. There was a muffled sound from inside his backpack - a soft faint beeping - and he twisted back to look at it, jostling it a little until the beeping went quiet again. “I, um. Y-Yeah, I haven’t… it’s been a, a while since I ate. This guy bought me crackers, but… Do you… I don’t have any money. I took s-some cash from Mr. Owen but, um, some people took that like the, the first day I was out. I can maybe help you? Clean or something? I have some Domestic training…”

Jack glanced uneasily at Kauri’s backpack, but decided to leave well enough alone. “Don’t worry about it, man. Like I said, I made enough today to eat for a while. I’ll make enough after a day of recovery that I won’t even worry for next month. Anyway, I had Domestic training, too, so the apartment’s in great shape.”

There were others out - women and men, some Jack’s competition probably, Kauri thought, eyeing them in a whole new light. When he’d found his way here it’d been because he’d been kicked off a bus, he had no idea where he was. He hadn’t known he was in a bad neighborhood other than the worn-down buildings and empty storefronts.  

The bars all seemed to be doing well enough, at least. And there was no shortage of cars stopping at streetcorners to pick the men and women lingering there up.

There was one woman with hair that made Kauri stare as they moved towards her, hanging most of the way down her back in shades of purple, green, and blue, nearly iridescent. She was wearing a short, tight minidress that mirrored it, the sequins almost like fish scales. “She looks like a mermaid,” Kauri breathed, but then caught himself. “I… don’t know what a mermaid is, I don’t know why I said that...”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said softly, almost under his breath, already starting to steer Kauri away.

Too late.

The woman heard them, glancing over and tossing hair over one shoulder.. “Oh thank you, honey. I worked hard to buy a wig as nice as this one.” She raised two thinly plucked eyebrows at Jack, shooting him a smile that wasn’t quite kind. “Look at you, Jack-Jack, picking up strays. Takes one to know one, I guess. Adopt don’t shop, that’s what I always say. This one’s cute.”

Jack smiled tensely back, the look a caustic and distinct leave us alone that had a mean little smile twitching onto the woman’s face in response.

Kauri shifted himself a little closer to Jack, and when the woman’s eyes went back to him, Kauri moved until he was behind the other man completely.

The woman pouted, a little, as if sad that he would hide from her. “Geez, Jackie, where’d you find him? He looks like he’s been standing out in the rain all day long.”

Kauri fought the urge to mumble two days actually, and hid himself a little more thoroughly behind Jack.

“I found him in the rain. Duh,” Jack responded, reaching back with an open hand for Kauri’s, hoping he would give it. Kauri gripped tightly onto him without hesitating, twining fingers around his and stepping as close to him as he could get. “Speaking of, I hear it’s gonna start up again pretty soon. Torrential downpour. Might wanna get you and your wig inside, Stella. See ya tomorrow.”

As they moved away from her, Stella rolled her eyes at him, shifting on her very high heels and turning back to watch the cars moving past, one hip jutted out. “Didn’t think twinks were your type, Jackie!” She called after him, and Kauri twisted around to look back at her, confused.

Jack pretended he didn’t hear her. He kept his eyes peeled for more hazards and leaned close to Kauri, voice low and cautioning. “Don’t talk to these people - you’re an outsider. They’ll eat you… and not in the fun way like I would.”

Kauri nodded solemnly, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand a little more. “Like, like the guys in the alley,” Kauri said in a half-whisper, less a question than a statement of fact. “They thought I had money, and then Mr. Owen… wanted me to miss him. That’s, that’s why he set it off, I think…”

“Yeah.”

Kauri hesitated, and then whispered, “Jack? Can, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“Um... What’s a twink?”

Jack burst out laughing and steered Kauri down a different main street. “A twink’s a skinny, young, hot guy. They usually bottom, but not necessarily. Stella’s wrong, though - my type is ‘has a dick,’” he grinned a bit.

Bottom. Has a dick, Kauri mouthed the words in echo but didn't say them out loud, his face a little red, still embarrassed. "I, I don't… I, um. D-Do I… am I… that?" He gave up on putting together a sentence that made any sense and followed Jack in embarrassed silence after that.

The convenience store was on the corner of this block, bars on the large windows but a view of the fluorescent lights and displays inside visible in between them, and Jack led Kauri in after taking a quick look around. “Hey, Bill,” he greeted the clerk, with easy familiarity and something like real affection.

“Hi, Jack,” the clerk, a man somewhere in his forties, responded without looking up from his book.

The shop had mostly canned goods, magazines, and junk food, but Jack took a basket and went right to the freezer section to pick up some meat first. Crappy meat, but better than nothing. He got a gallon of milk, some blocks of cheese, and a couple jars of pickles.

“Anything you want in here?”

Kauri kept himself close, nearly pressed against him, eyes on the floor. As far as he knew, he'd never been in a place like this before. Owen bought groceries or had them delivered, Kauri never went anywhere with him except a coffeeshop or to the Host's, or to the, the ski cabin, where he and-

Kauri cut the memory off before it could hurt, gnawing on his lower lip nervously, trying not to look like what he was - a runaway pet, something worth money. The clerk hadn't looked up but his bloodied face and ripped-up expensive clothes weren't exactly subtle.

"I, I, um… I, I don't-... whatever you want is fine, Jack," He said seriously.

There was a soft beep from inside his backpack and a muffled, slightly mechanical female voice said, Kauri pizza appreciate all kinds. Kauri sandwich appreciate but not mayonnaise. Kauri iced coffee appreciate milk.

Kauri's eyes widened back to the fear from when he'd first seen Jack and his already pale face went white.

Jack’s brow raised and he pulled Kauri behind one of the shelves, out of Bill’s view. “Please tell me you don’t have robot parts in you, too.”

Kauri’s eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders curving in a little. As his hair dried out of the rain it was beginning to frizz up, and as he shook his head he tried to smash them back down, less distinctive, less recognizable.

“I, I don’t… um.” He looked to one side and then the other, then slid the backpack off his shoulders, holding it with one arm curved around it while the other reached for the zipper. When he unzipped it, slowly, he pushed back the fabric so Jack could see inside.

Jack stared a second at Kauri, and then warily looked into the bag, half-expecting something to jump out. Part of a circle of black metal and plastic was in there, with two softly glowing red circles on the flattened top. Jack squinted.

Keira greet, the female voice said, clearly coming from the Roomba nestled into some fabric. Designation Keira. Kauri, Owner.

Kauri swallowed, shamefaced. “I, um, I stole something when I ran away from Mr. Owen.”

“... yeah. A floor cleaner. Real bright,” Jack said, bewildered, staring at the two faintly glowing red dots that seemed to stare right back. He’d realized the kid was naive, but he didn’t realize he was a dumbass. “That’ll help you a lot more than like… clothes… water… I don’t know, a knife. Whatever, man. It’s talking, though, and that’s weird. Pizza? I’ll get pizza.” Jack muttered to himself a bit, pulling a couple boxed pizzas out of the freezer. That was reasonable - he could do that. Great. Just great. Lost one psycho, gained another.

Kauri’s eyes narrowed, the first sign of any real backbone or spine he’d shown so far. “No, I took her because he was going to get rid of her,” he snapped, zipping the bag back up and throwing it angrily back over his shoulders. “And she has GPS, she could tell me directions, but I didn’t… I don’t have anywhere to go, so she doesn’t know how to direct me. I don't know anything, and she knows everything. I can't even read, I can't… I can't tell anyone I don't know how to read."

“You just told me,” Jack responded, more to be obtuse than to actually argue.  

"You used to be a pet, too!" Kauri half-hissed, half-whispered. "You should be the only one I can tell!"

There was no more beeping from the backpack. Kauri's jaw was set and angry, but even so - he never left Jack's side, shadowed him like the pet he still was, always just behind and to the side.

Jack didn’t exactly mind that, although he was starting to question Kauri’s sanity - in fact, he turned around and took a long look into Kauri’s eyes, checking for dilated or pinprick pupils. Kauri stared right back, swallowing against the way they were inches apart.

Finally, Jack sighed, seemingly satisfied with what he saw. “Okay, so she’s a computer. She could tell me the total of this stuff. If she’s right, she’ll match Bill, and then maybe I’ll believe you.” Jack listed everything off with their prices before tax and waited.

There was a brief pause.

Fifty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents pre-tax, the woman's voice spoke from inside the backpack. She might have sounded slightly smug, but that could have just been the way the mechanical, robotic edge to the voice made it seem flat. Local sales tax is 6% on food and 13% on non-food items. Total cost sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.

Kauri frowned, crossing his arms in front of himself. "There, now you admit when she's right that I'm not crazy."

“I didn’t say you’re crazy,” Jack said. He hadn’t, not to Kauri’s face. He’d just been muttering that he was psycho. Which was… not different. “Okay, I did say that you’re crazy. But I don’t think she’s right.”

He took a hoodie and a pair of sweats off a hanger, and put them up on the counter. He loaded the food up. “Hey Bill, can you subtotal before these?”

Bill looked up at Jack and his company, sighed tiredly, and set down his novel before he started punching in and bagging the order. Which subtotaled, of course, to sixty-one dollars and fifty-nine cents.

“...great, thanks. Yeah, add these to the order,” he pushed the clothes. Bill added them, looked over Kauri and paused.

“Got yourself a new stray? Lookin’ kinda fancy, there,” he asked, surprised. He folded the sweats and watched Jack, who kept a straight face and tried not to look nervous. “You boys should be careful. Cops’ll be making their rounds soon. Here,” he tossed the hoodie at Kauri.

“Yeah, thanks, Bill,” Jack took out a pair of fifties and passed them to Bill, who put them in his drop box right away and counted out some change. “Have a good night, man.”

“Get some rest, Jack.” Bill paused, and the automatic doors had slid open with a sssshhhk sound when he added, "And get something over his arm."

Kauri glanced down only to realize that crossing his arms had made his sleeve ride up again, his barcode and Whumpees-R-Us product number in plain sight. He yanked the sleeve back down and cradled the hooded sweatshirt in his arms, holding it so the cloth folded over his left arm, looked perfectly natural.

“Fuck. Thanks, Bill.” Jack led Kauri back outside, looking determined and heading straight for his apartment.

"Is he… is he going to tell?" Kauri whispered once they were outside. "H-how far is it to your place? Mr. Owen might hit the button again, I don't want to, to be obvious if he… if he asks me to come back again."

“Nah. Bill’s a good guy, pretty trustworthy. And he owes me some,” Jack shrugged. He snorted softly. “Couple buildings down this way, couple minutes’ walk. You mean when he electrocutes you for fun?”

“H-He doesn’t-” Kauri cut himself off, a look of uncertain worry on his face. “It’s not for fun. I wasn’t supposed to be able to leave him. He, he just… he just misses me, he doesn’t have any other way to say it.”

“Yeah. Sure he does.”

Kauri clutched the sweatshirt closer to his chest, pressing just a little against Jack, like he was reminding himself that Jack was right there, and this was real.

Jack looked to the side at him. Man, at least Cori had never been smart enough to make Reid think he wanted him or cared about keeping him - he just took Reid off the shelf to play with and put him back.

“I was supposed to be, um… I messed up but he didn’t get rid of me, he could have sent me for refurbishment but he didn’t, just r-repair, so… so he just wants me home. I just-... I just don’t want to go home, Jack. Home... he hurts me a lot, now.”

Refurbishment had Jack’s gut twisting. There were so many phantom pains when he thought about that place and Ruby. “So do what you want. Don’t go home,” he shrugged. “I mean, he can’t be exciting to go home to if he’s hurting you when you’re not around. Can’t imagine what he does when you are.”

Actually, he could. Very vividly.

Jack stopped by a building door and bent, took a pair of keys from out of his sock - the only keys he owned. He unlocked the door to the stairwell and led Kauri up. “Make sure that closes behind you. Don’t wanna get any bums hanging around.”

Kauri looked quickly back over his shoulder, as though there might be some of those bums already ready to leap through the second their backs were turned. He pulled the door shut firmly, listened for the loud click as it closed and locked.

Then he turned back, following Jack up quickly, hissing occasionally as it jostled what he was pretty sure was a bruised rib.

"Well, I wasn't supposed to leave. He was nice, b-before I, um, was… incorrect. Aberrant pet," he muttered to himself. "Incorrect mental process. He got mean b-because I, um, he thought I was… looking at another pet."

“Well, they usually start nice. Then there’s… something… and their real self comes out.” Jack looked back over his shoulder, brow raised. “Looking at another pet? What, like you liked another guy?”

"I don’t think we count as guys,” Kauri said, a little confused. “Besides, um, pets don't feel emotional connections. The only individual a pet can develop an emotional bond with is its owner or owners-... You probably learned that, too. S-sorry, it's automatic…"

“Oh...sure. Spent a day arguing with my handler on that one just cause I could,” Jack laughed a little and shrugged. “Emotional connections aren’t... well. Haven’t had many.”

After they were up the first flight, they walked down the hallway. Jack stopped at the third door on the right, tested the knob. All good. He unlocked it and stepped in. The moment he was in, he hung up his jacket in the small closet, beside a denim jacket and a brown leather instead of the black he’d worn tonight. Then he peeled off his crop top, back littered in scars.

Kauri swallowed, watching Jack, and when he pulled his shirt off Kauri’s eyebrows rose, just a little. It’s been days, some part of him piped up, insistent. Kauri shifted uneasily. Owen had stopped caring about whether or not Kauri felt good in bed since he’d come back home from repair, and things had been mostly painful - and now he’d been gone for five days and his body wasn’t used to that any longer…

“Deadbolt the door behind you, set your bag wherever. Your Roomba can do its thing if you want. Shoes off - the floor’s clean and I don’t wanna track dirt everywhere,” he added, going to one knee to untie his work boots. Under his left foot, in the sole of the boot, he pulled out several folded-up hundreds. He stuck those in his jean short pocket. “I’m gonna go stash this and get some clothes on.”

“Uh-huh,” Kauri said, distantly, still sort of thinking about Jack without his shirt on - the absence of a mark inside his left wrist, but also the rest of him, too - as he dropped the backpack to the floor, stepped out of the too-big slides, and let Keira out to sit on the ground. “Her, uh-” His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat. “Her wheels are broken, she doesn’t… clean much now. That’s why he wanted to get rid of her. Um… can I… is there a place I can change, or, or out here, or…?”

Jack walked to his room - the kitchen and eating area, along with a comfortable loveseat and a tv, were all one space. The bathroom and bedroom were both small, separate rooms. “Yeah, bathroom, or out there. Wherever. I see bodies all the time, man, doesn’t bug me.”

Kauri nodded, and thought that if he weren't what he was, he would want to use the bathroom, for privacy.

But he was what he was, and so he peeled the sodden, bloody, ruined blue cashmere off of himself without hesitating further, dropping it with a wet thump into the trash can.

The little circles along his collarbone still glowed faintly, a soft pulsing light. All the new red spots that would blossom into bruises couldn't quite disguise the darker, older marks already there. All his suggestions that Owen didn't hurt him all that badly became an obvious lie when he could see the evidence left since he'd come back from repair.

Kauri had been controlled, but he had proven to Owen he could no longer be trusted, and life had been… worse, since he’d come home, and he could only lie about that as long as no one saw his skin.

He swallowed, peeling his pants off, too, shivering with damp skin in the chilly air as he dug through one of the grocery bags to pull the sweatpants out.

Just as he pulled out the simple black sweatpants, fire lit along his collarbone, racing out through his nerves.

Kauri crumpled naked back to the floor, muscles rigid. He curled into a ball, jamming his hand against the little circles, whining low in his throat at the pain.

Jack had pulled on a pair of thrifted slacks when he heard a soft noise. He paused, listening, and then decided he was imagining it and reached for a shirt.

Along Kauri’s collarbone, the line of metal suddenly turned a bright and brilliant glowing sky blue. “Ow, ow, hurts, h-hurts, ow ow ow-"

On the floor a few feet away the stationary Roomba began to call out in a loud mechanical voice HELP KAURI HELP KAURI HELP KAURI.

Jack was running back at the first cry of pain. The Roomba’s noise made things feel surreal - how could a robot asking for help not be? - but he made it quickly and dropped to his knees.

Jack hesitated, hand hovering over Kauri’s shoulder, worried the current would carry.

Kauri twisted around to look up at him, blue eyes wide and focused on something far beyond him, making a constant helpless low whine in his throat. He reached out to grab Jack's wrist, his fingers shaking, but he gripped on tight.

Jack startled at the quick grasp, but he let Kauri take him.

"P-push, on, on it, h-helps-" Kauri tried to bring Jack's hand over the line of metal. His voice shook with the electrical current, forced out between gritted teeth with a jaw that would barely move, tears standing in his eyes. "Push on th-them-... Ow, I'm, I'm sorry, Oh-Owen, I'm so sorry-"

The Roomba dropped the volume of its voice, but it did not stop repeating its plea.

“Fuck, Kauri, you don’t need to apologize to him,” Jack muttered as Kauri pushed his hand gradually more and more firmly onto the line of metal, brow furrowed with worry. “Fuck this guy.”

The metal was warm to the touch, warmer than Kauri's skin, but as he pushed on it Kauri's locked muscles started slowly to relax.

The pressure did something - Kauri didn't know what - did something to make it hurt less, and Kauri kept his grip on Jack's wrist, breathing hard, still making low hnnnh, hnnnh sounds, tears running from the corners of his eyes towards the ground.

Jack stared at him, teeth set, worry evident as he watched Kauri cry and listened to his pain.

"No, j-just… just a second, he u-usually d-d-doesn't-" There was a tense moment, Kauri's back arching. He gasped as the metal under Jack's hand went suddenly hot.

Finally, Kauri collapsed back onto the floor.

"F-fuck, h-hate when it does this ah, after," he stammered, limbs twitching and jerking with aftershocks. "S-sorry, sorry, d-didn't mean to…"

“When it does what after? When it heats up?” Jack winced but kept the pressure, glad that he’d stupidly snatched food out of a hot frying pan with his fingers often enough to numb the ends a bit. “What didn’t you mean to do, man?”

"A-all of it… t-to, to go, to… " Kauri's voice shook, riding out the way his muscles tried to lock up, until finally he could relax enough to control his own limbs again. "H-he, ah, I j-just, hnnh." He had to concentrate to let go of Jack's wrist, slowly unwinding his fingers, still twitching as he rolled onto his back, grateful for Jack's cool clean floor.

Jack moved slowly when Kauri let go of his wrist, still leaning over him. He gently wiped the tears away from Kauri’s temple with his fingers, then slowly sat back, cross-legged.

Kauri leaned into the touch automatically, without a second thought. His eyes closed, breathing hard, but at least Jack didn’t hurt. "Hnnnh, it's, um… h-hate my voice like this, like th-the Facility… th-think he's going to bed, turned it up for th-th-that… s-s-saying g-goodnight…"

Jack stared, baffled, and shook his head. “Saying what? I definitely don’t like this guy.”

“I d-don’t want to either,” Kaui said, almost dryly, and opened his eyes again to try on a shaky smile. “I’m s-sorry, this… probably isn’t how you pic-pictured a naked tw-twink on your kitchen floor.” His shaky smile widened, just a little. “H-hey, I made a j-j-joke.”

Jack grinned and shook his head, laughing. “Do you hear me com-... complaining?” he almost had to force the word out. Which was fine. He’d force whatever they stopped in him, like he’d forced reading, thinking, saying what he thought. “Oh no, how do I deal with the naked twink on my kitchen floor getting electroshocked? A helpless hot guy in my kitchen, how terrible for me. Seriously, though, we should find a way to get that thing out. Carefully. Fuck him and his goodnights.”

"D-d-doesn't come out. They put it in me at the, when I got repaired. Th-there's a video… ugh." Kauri pushed himself up a little, resting weight on his elbows. The skin around the metal circles was reddened and looked almost like a halo of sunburn, but the glow had gone back to the usual soft blue light.  

"S-sorry. I won't… I'll get m-moving tomorrow. Thank you f-for, um, for helping me.”

“Sure, man. You’re welcome to stay, but if you wanna leave tomorrow that’s your decision,” Jack shrugged. He was a bit disappointed, but that was his own to deal with.

Kauri blinked, surprised at the offer to keep staying, and then his eyes dropped back to Jack’s body, before going back up to his eyes. “Hey, c-can I… you said you were a Romantic but y-y-you're all marked up. Did your owner do that?"

Jack laughed awkwardly and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Uh...some of it. They weren’t allowed to shock me when they trained me. Special order bullshit. So they used drugs and pain. And then some of these are from my customers, but nothing major. I was never actually trained for Romantic besides the positions. Already knew what to do for sex. But I’m stubborn like a goat, so... she had her work cut out for her with my Domestics.”

Jack look pretty pleased about that. He was stubborn. They’d changed him, but he’d fought every bit of it… except when he hadn’t. He didn’t think about that. That was Reid, and Reid didn’t belong here.

"I used to be stubborn, too," Kauri said a little wistfully, sitting up fully as the ache finally subsided the rest of the way. "I think so, anyway. I had to be, if I ran away, right? Training's supposed to get rid of it."

Kauri glanced around, searching the floor with his hands, before he found the black sweatpants behind him. Apparently he'd been laying on them the whole time. When he went to pick them up, his fingers twitched and refused to quite close. "Just like the Facility," he muttered. "H-hey, is it okay if, if I need a second? To get dressed? My, my hands are always bad after discipline."

“Yeah, sure,” Jack reached for the pants and set them on Kauri’s lap. If he let his hand linger just a little longer than necessary, Kauri either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to mind. “Let me know if you need a hand. I’ll get the food going. What are you thinking? Pizza?”

Jack had already turned away when Kauri, looking down at the black pants in his lap and with his shoulders still twitching with the occasional mild aftershock, said softly, “Mostly I’m thinking that I’m r-really fucking lucky I met you tonight.”

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Table of Contents

Present

The world’s a murky place. There’s nothing black and white about it yet somehow Malcolm’s out there always trying to still piece it all together into a larger more concrete image. It’s full of murky rules and murky happenings and sometimes the world’s murky because water vapor grows too thick thanks to a cloud touching down into the ground. Doesn’t seem right though to have headlights beating down fog on a Christmas night in New York. Fog needs it to be humid and the air is too dry, the sort of dryness that makes your nose bleed.

Malcolm watches Owen put the car in park. Owen’s so busy trying not to look at Malcolm. They’re wedged between buildings full of people’s wanted and unwanted goods. Full of people’s secrets. Back to the murkiness.

You shouldn’t get into cars with strangers. It takes a lot of power to not look. Malcolm can barely recall the last time he heard his imaginary friend. Chances are it could be years ago or moments ago.

Either way, Tommy’s back again.

Tommy’s sitting in the back seat putting pressure on Malcolm’s headrest. Owen’s avoiding eye contact as he shuts off the headlights and unbuckles. Grabs his keys from the ignition with Malcolm watching his every move while his imaginary friend warns him again and again. Tommy’s always been right about his warnings, too.

You shouldn’t follow him. It’ll only bring danger. For a moment, Malcolm uses the rearview mirror to see Tommy there but it’s him, young him. It’s always been young him though. Young Malcolm who once was Old Malcolm compared to how Young Malcolm was when he first started having premonitions. Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back.

No going back. Malcolm watches Owen leave the car without a word forcing him to climb out without sparing a look at Young Malcolm.

Please don’t. Don’t!

Still, Malcolm climbs out of the car shutting the door as if it could turn his brain off. “What is this place?” he asks right away.

Owen’s leaning down pulling a brick from the ground. There’s not a window for its use, that’s if his use is to break inside the place in front of them. He’s busy bringing Malcolm somewhere but at least he also provides answers. “Turner was a private guy. He liked the quiet out here.”

“. . .You’ve been here before?”

Malcolm’s keeping an eye on Owen, trying to steady his breaths. You’re supposed to inhale deeply while counting to five to help with anxiety. Or is it seven? Or maybe it’s another number. Malcolm flinches as Young Malcolm pounds on the windshield from inside the car. Young Malcolm’s carrying such a fast beat. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. He’s screaming the whole time and it’s not like Malcolm needs to hear what he has to say word for word because he knows. He knows.

Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back.

It’s the question and not the sounds of the shining that stalls Owen. He has keys in his hand and his fidgeting with a lock. He looks at nothing, maybe he can see memories of his own. There are some flooding his brain. They’re blurs though. So many blurs of tumultuous times.

“Not in fifteen years,” whispers Owen as he continues to fidget with the lock. There’s no issue with it. His hands tremble. It’s a little warm for a winter night. “We were partners. We used to come and work out here sometimes.

The lock clicks, it slides open with ease. It’s frequently used. Young Malcolm continues banging on the windshield as he screamed into the window. Steam creeps across the glass. And not once does Malcolm move, his hand isn’t even trembling as he watches Owen move to the next step of opening the door before them.

Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back. Please don’t. Don’t!

Owen looks at Malcolm who moves forward as he hauls the door upwards leading to a garage. Some reason Malcolm walks past Owen, he pauses to peer at him as he holds open the door. Not a word is exchanged before the two and Malcolm slips right into the building.

Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back. Young Malcolm never stops screaming and pounding on the windshield. He could try and open the door.

Malcolm’s heading inside more and more only for metal to scrape behind him. Owen releases the garage door for a moment, he’s coming inside and drags it shut. Darkness collapses on them and Young Malcolm’s shouting is lost, it’s lost outside with his banging on the windshield.

Please don’t. Don’t!

Electricity hisses, it flickers hardly allowing shadows to retreat. There’s a blue hue to it and it almost sounds like those mosquito zappers some people have hanging right outside their doors. Malcolm is standing in the middle of the garage surrounded by archival boxes. It’s Owen’s turn to watch him. Malcolm pays no mind to the boxes or Owen as he watches the ends of a sheet flutter up, it’s covering something large, something that’s not archival boxes stacked up on each other. He means to take it one slow step at the time. Instead, he trips up, moves forward too fast, and almost crashes into whatever the sheet hides and pulls it off.

Crime scene photos decorate a board. Puzzle pieces are spread across it, Turner tried to fit them together but these puzzles aren’t so easy. There’s no edges to find and plant. Instead, there’s photos all across them including recent images from the junkyard where they found bodies, bodies, bodies.

Malcolm snaps his attention to Owen who’s trying to not look so startled. His jaws slightly ajar and Malcolm touches some of the images on the board. “Why-Why was Turner looking into the Junkyard Killer?” Maybe he should’ve listened to Young Malcolm. He shouldn’t have followed Owen inside because now it’s too late to turn around and return to the world before. “He never even worked on The Surgeon Case?”

Owen’s already turned on another light bringing some warmth to the room. He’s looking through a folder of some sort. He glares at Malcolm. “Yeah, but I did.” And it’s back to the flipping of the pages in the book. Malcolm leans back against a desk, he crosses his hands in front of him watching Owen, analyzing his words and movement. “These are all my files from 20 years ago.” All of them. Owen slams the folder down on top of a filing cabinet. Can’t believe him. All of them. Twenty years.

Puzzle pieces are surfacing in Owen’s mind as he turns his attention at the photographs on the board. He stares right at images of a younger Malcolm, walking home and another candid shot of him. There’s a post-it note that simply says “Malcolm Whitly” and it’s underlined twice.

“I always thought there was more.” He knows. He had to know. Bet he knows. “Martin must’ve had a cleanup man, but my higher-ups. . .” Malcolm again is stuck on Owen, trying to analyze but there’s a lot fluttering through his thoughts. His hand quakes and he needs to stay present, not fall out of time again. All of them. Twenty years. I knew it. I knew it! . . . “closed the case. . .” Owen’s eyes are bulging as there’s overstimulating thoughts circulating all throughout his mind. There had to-There had to be more. Twenty years. “They called it a day.”

Malcolm’s leaning forward into each of Owen’s words almost lost in between the spoken and the silent ones. “You kept digging.” It’s obvious on all levels but the old papercuts on Owen’s hands from researching still sting.

“Uh, hell yeah, I kept digging.” Here. All of them. Twenty years. There had to-There had to be more. . .He knows-He knows something. That look. Look. Owen sinks into the seat he’s on. “I was blackballed for my trouble and by the time Turner showed up, I was pretty well spent.” Words scraped his throat as thoughts continue to fluctuate. Owen snags his flask out of his pocket, shaking his head. Turner. “You know, he-he-he put up with me until. . .”

Malcolm looks away, he looks at the board as if he’s studying the images but he parts from Owen’s mind as best as he can. There’s puzzle pieces but private memories as well. The pain of them still clenched up in the pit of his stomach. Daggers in the intestines.

“He put up with me until-until he couldn’t and he gave up on me like-like everyone else did.”

There’s a faded snapshot. The sort of a polaroid aesthetic. Owen’s shaking his head trying to loosen it from the front of his mind. But it’s him at a bar, he’s sitting at the actual bar, mulling over another shot of whiskey, it’s burning his throat, tells himself it’s clearing his sinuses, somebody taps his back and he turns to see Turner there commenting on how it’d go down better if he grabbed a bite to eat before asking, Wanna go grab some pizza?

“I don’t think he did,” Malcolm whispers looking back at Owen to give him full attention but to also analyze, analyze, analyze. Malcolm points at some of the images on the wall and the archival boxes waiting around in the dark. Even his brain is almost stuck on the same repeat as Owen. All of them. Here. Twenty years. “Turner did all this for you.”

Like anybody, there’s some of Turner left behind. Memories spread all about everywhere.

“When the news about the Junkyard Killer came out, he must’ve dug up all your old case files.”

Owen curls into himself, he attempts not to and to hide it. There’s him at the bar again, him drinking at the bar again, him stinking up the bar again, this is different though. The bar’s barely open because the sun’s still out, people are casually walking by and there’s a tap on his shoulder. His nerves feel so deaden he almost doesn’t feel it until he hears it. Turner’s behind him simply saying, Owen. . .

“He was trying to clear your name.” Malcolm takes a few steps toward Owen.

Some semblance of silence enters the garage. Owen’s mind hits a sound, an emergency broadcast sort of sound as he sinks into the seat biting down on his fingernails. There’s not much of them left, his cuticles instead start to bleed. The emergency broadcast carries on for a second, two seconds, three seconds longer before his hand falls from his lips.

“Damn it,” Owen whispers. Turner. All of them. Here. Twenty years. “Damn him for being a good guy.” He never takes a swig from his flask as he stares down at his feet and the steady beat of overstimulation bearing down on his brain. All of them. All of them. All of them. . .Turner. Owen’s breath hitches, he’s close to possibly shedding a tear and he tries to take in one long steady breath and it’s back to the bar the first time. “For being my guy.”

“You and Turner were in a relationship,” Malcolm says as he continues to study Owen.

Owen comes close to smothering himself again. His fingernails still bleeding. There’s more hitches in his shaky breath. “I-I spent ten years hating him for ruining my career when all he was trying to do was save me from myself.” The flask in his hand feels more like the morning after, the taste of vomit burning his mouth and nostrils. “And-And now he’s dead. And. . .And I-I just want him to know that I. . .I just want him to know that-that. . .”

Emergency broadcast erupts again and Owen chucks his flask across the room. People not like us. They’re too good. And Owen’s sinking again while Malcolm pats the air knowing he should comfort and he should help him, but it’s hard. There’s such discomfort in emotion yet emotion intrigues him. So much emotion is left behind along these walls.

“He knew,” Malcolm whispers as he attempts to make eye contact with Owen. “All this, all this was because he believed in you, Shannon.” Malcolm picks up the folder Owen had been looking through for emphasis. He pages through it only something catches Owen’s eyes and stills his mind as he zones in on it. Without moving much, Malcolm pauses catching this silent drift.

Owen snatches something from the folder blurting, “What?” He’s staring at the paper, staring at it, the puzzle pieces are all into play. “Turner was hunting down my suspects.”

“You had suspects?”

“Everyone I thought that might be helping Martin. If there was a stone, we turned it over.”

Energy causes Malcolm to bounce about, he’s twitching warning to get his hands on the papers Owen holds. Owen gets up coming closer to him as he is staring at those names.

“Now don’t get too excited.” Owen makes sure Malcolm can see as well. “Each one was a dead end.”

Malcolm looks up trying not to grin. There’s so much energy, he might bounce right out of there. “Not if we compare them to my list.” The words almost slur together, he’s talking so fast. “The Surgeon met The Junkyard Killer at St. Edward’s Hospital and we narrowed it down to a possible 50 names.”

The words are still sliding together. Malcolm whips around to take off and grab what he needs. There’s banging outside the garage door. By the way Owen follows him, it doesn’t appear Owen can hear it. Instead, it’s gotta be Young Malcolm out there shouting his same warnings again and again and again.

Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back.

“So if the name is on both lists. . .” Owen comes up beside Malcolm ready for research. They’re standing with more light. He spreads the sheet of names out and Malcolm pulls out his phone so he can show his list. Owen snaps up, he almost accidentally headbutts Malcolm. “No, no, no, no, no, no. We don’t get to be so lucky.” Twenty years

“It’s not luck if it took twenty years.”

Malcolm lowers his head to study the names. Owen is teetering off balance as he gawks at Malcolm before getting to business. There are names to list and names to reject. Owen saying one, “Wade,” only for Malcolm to go, “No.”

“Waits?”

“No.”

“Walker.”

“Nope.”

The pounding on the garage door increases, but Malcolm’s too hyper-focused to even give Young Malcolm a second thought. Besides, what else is he going to say other than: Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back.

“Watkins.”

The name snaps like a brittle twig, a warning when you’re walking through the woods. Malcolm looks up forgetting how to speak for a second. He’s on the edge of falling out of time. There’s Malcolm squinting at a man trying to dig through his thoughts only to find nothing, nothing, nothing as the man kept them so tied up and private. The man made jokes. The man made apologies. The man said, ”John Watkins, a friend of your father. Told me I could stay here if. . .I helped with this place.”

Without a no following, Owen looks up and Malcolm finds words again, “Watkins! Uh, John Watkins.”

Owen’s breath rasps as he releases one long exhale. “Holy hell, I remember John Watkins. He was a really strange guy.”

All the way back then and in the past, back at the Overlook as life too often happened, Malcolm added no comment while he watched this John Watkins unable to remember a time he heard his name. For a person who could hear the spoken and unspoken, it seemed weird he had no idea who this stranger was standing in front of him. And John Watkins went on as if not a single oddity was apparent.

“He used to work swing shifts at the hospital.”

Malcolm glances at his information. “I have an address! It’s twenty years old, but still!”

Both Owen and Malcolm chuckle. They pop up ready to make a run for it. Malcolm gets the lights as Owen hauls the garage door back open. All along Young Malcolm stands there banging his fists on the metal. He spots when it’s no longer within reach. Owen holds the door open waiting for Malcolm to make a move, but Malcolm almost trips over himself. Startled by the fact Young Malcolm watches him so closely and with such silence.

Malcolm does his best to scurry past Young Malcolm, but Young Malcolm’s fingertips brush across his elbow. Malcolm watches as he continues toward the car.

Young Malcolm stares him down. But you already knew all of this all along. Don’t do it. You know if you go in there, there’s no going back. He wasn’t ever speaking of the garage and what they’d find. The door comes down with a racket. Owen talks but his words are gone. Malcolm is stuck looking at Young Malcolm. He wasn’t ever warning Malcolm about the garage but instead-instead, something else. . .

Thanks again! If you’re still here reading, thanks so much! This might be it for awhile because it’s where I left off and am 1. depressed 2. tired and 3. I have a lot of schoolwork but I hope to get back into writing more scenes because I miss this show so much.

[lex-ically-batman]

What nicknames make Owen blush? Like, will Curt call him “Sexy” And There’s hardly a reaction, but then if he calls him “baby boy” Owens practically a tomato or other way around or is he constantly blushing?

Oh I love this.

So, the way I see it is this:

Curt is ALWAYS trying to get Owen to blush, but the man’s a brick wall. Don’t get me wrong, Owen is very transparent at home, but as a spy, he’s an excellent actor, so getting him to break out in public is hard as shit.

Nicknames that get no reaction and that Curt uses on a daily basis: sexy, love, baby, Adonis

Nicknames that got a laugh, but nothing else: baby slut, Romeo, stud/stud-muffin

Nicknames that got a glare and Curt only got away with once: daddy, big boy, silly little boy, and Bond (“We’re actually spies, Curt. Don’t compare me to that hack.”)

Nicknames that get instant tomato-face: naughty, King, and kitty cat (huge surprise to Curt on that one)

Send me yours or ask me my headcannons.

~Liz~

[eurusholmmes]

Haunted| Owen Hunt

I know I haven’t written in forever, and I have three more requests to write, but this one was requested very recently and is something I hold dear to my heart. I hope you guys enjoy it - because there might be more things coming!

Requested by @hurricaneameliaa : Can you do a Owen Hunt imagine where you don’t know each other, but you both are in a support group for PTSD, his obviously from the war and yours from something she experienced as a child. The two of you end up talking after the group. 

Guys, for those of you who are going to continue to request things.. It is going to be a decent amount of time before I manage to get it out. I have not been able to write due to a full time job and schooling, so I will try to get them out when I have the availability. 

  “You have nothing to worry about.” 

  ‘’These people have been in your shoes. They know you. They respect you, even despite your mistakes.” 

  “Don’t be afraid to open up.”

But even as you sat in the middle of that taunting group of circular green chairs, you had never felt so uncomfortable in your life. You had been attending this group for victims of PTSD for the past six months - having been convinced by your counselor at Seattle Grace Memorial Hospital after gentle prodding that it would be good for your well being. 

Yeah.. okay.

Your trauma had come at the age of 15. You had been on your way home from high school with your mother, travelling the main highway through Seattle to arrive home to your family, when a semi truck had T-Boned you through the drivers side door. The wreck had left you with limited use of your left leg, and without a mother. 

There was so much blood.

Scarlet.

It was no longer your favorite color.

 Just another trigger that only further clawed its way up your throat in the form of a desperate cry as you ran to the confines of your bedroom to hide in the darkness. 

And you were still convinced that the group was pointless. Well... until Owen Hunt decided to show up. 

He had come in without so much as a warning - dressed in his civilian clothing with his auburn hair mussed and hanging over his eyes; hands shoved deeply into his pockets as a petite blonde followed behind him, almost as if she was encouraging him to step into the room. You came to find out that the blonde was Doctor Teddy Altman, who had served with Owen in Iraq and Afghanistan. She was a firsthand survivor to the descent of Owens sanity.

It wasn’t the fact that he had served over seas and returned home that intrigued you - It was the way he recanted the story as if he was still living it. He talked so openly, like he was perfectly comfortable with others hearing the tale of how he had endured hell, survived, and integrated back into life with the weight of all he’d seen on his shoulders. 

  “If there is one thing that I learned over there,” Owen said loudly, leaning back into his chair and propping his leg against his knee, hands rested awkwardly in his lap. “It’s that we are in a very real world here.. Where people fall, are remarkably naive and they make irreparable mistakes without considering the cost of their choices. I had to bury many of my fallen comrades and I have not taken a day for granted since.” Your heartbeat increased when his stunning cerulean irises landed on your astoundingly calm form in the plastic chair. “And I hope none of you do either.” 

You don’t know how you gained the surge of confidence to approach him outside, but as you stepped out the door and into the foggy Seattle morning; you couldn’t help but stand and stare at him. Owen was leaning against the wall that separated the VA from the nearest coffee shop, his calloused hands firmly wrapped around his coffee cup. 

  “Doctor Hunt?” You called out weakly, cursing beneath your breath as your voice cracked. Owen chuckled softly and beckoned you towards him. Exhaling slowly, you propped your boot against the wall and slowly leaned into the bricks. 

  “Please, call me Owen.” He replied quietly, eyes cast on the road in front of you as the rain gently slapped the pavement. Your gaze softened whenever he reached to the side and produced a cup of black coffee - which was your favorite. “Your counselor informed me that you like coffee as well, and it’s a common courtesy to buy your friends coffee.” 

You quirked an eyebrow and shivered as your cold hands came in contact with the warmth of the Styrofoam cup. “Who said we were friends, hm? I think we just met.” You retorted softly as you slowly sipped the scalding beverage. Owen was amazed at the way you carried yourself compared to others with PTSD - soft spoken, tender, completely at peace with the world. It was endearing to know that such good still existed. 

He envied it. 

  “I could tell during the first meeting that you were interested in what I had to say,” He murmured, glancing down to your leg that wasn’t propped against the wall, encased in a thick brace to allow the bone ability to heal properly. “What was it for you?” 

You froze, suddenly unable to speak as your throat closed up - eyes flickering around the busied street as you struggled to find your focus. Breathe. You have to keep breathing. One.. two... three. One... two... three. Your hands trembled violently as you struggled to keep your hold on your coffee, overwhelmed with the memories of a night you’d rather forget. Scarlet. Screams. So much pain.. So much loss. 

With as much strength as you could muster, you lifted your eyes to met Owens and managed a weak smile. ‘’Car accident when I was 15. We were T-Boned by a semi, and my mother died instantly. The impact of the crash took the greater majority of the mobility in my left leg. It’s a miracle I wasn’t paralyzed.” Owen tilted his head and brought his hand to rest upon your shoulder as a sign of moral support. Even through the smallest contact, you still couldn’t resist the shiver that crawled up your spine at the electricity that flowed through his touch. There was something about him, something that he kept hidden away from the prying eyes of others.. that you wanted to explore more of. 

You wanted to know just who Doctor Owen Hunt actually was. 

  “I’ve seen that look in myself before. It’s the haunted eyes of someone who has seen too much,” His fingers curled around your shoulder as you kept your y/e/c eyes focused on his own. “I admire your strength and resilience, y/n. You have something that many with PTSD don’t.” 

  “Which is?” 

  “Hope.” Owen said, grimacing as his phone chimed in his pocket. Your face fell when the warmth on your shoulder vanished as Owen was beginning to pull away, most likely being called back to the hospital for an emergency. “The next time you come back to Seattle Grace, you come and find me!” 

  “Y-Yes Owen! I’ll see you!-” 

Your response was lost on the wind. Harrumphing, you stomped your foot into the ground and quirked an eyebrow when you felt it; the gentle scrape of paper against your palm. A warm, ear-to-ear smile filled your expression as you read what he had written prior to your conversation outside the coffee shop. 

To The Girl With Hope For A Better Tomorrow

Owen Hunt 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

 “I’ll see you later, Doctor Hunt.” You whispered, venturing out into the rain and raising your hand to oncoming traffic to signal a taxi-cab. That name would forever be engraved into your memory - a constant reminder of the time where you had finally begun to feel safe in your own hometown. Somebody cared enough to listen to you - to reach out in your most desperate time - and you heard him. “Because I’m going to find out just who you really are.” 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Kauri And a Cat (Drabble)

I promised to reward anyone who drew a specific, amazing fanart idea I was sent in an ask with a fake fanfiction drabble that featured the Colton (belongs to @shameless-whumper)/Kauri pairing.

I have written one of the owed “fake Cori fanfiction” drabbles and still owe, I think, four more. Well, I’m still working on @burtlederp’s actual prompt (”And they were roommates!”) - but I also offered a second prompt since there was a second piece of art, and the given prompt was “Kauri and a cat”. 

So… CW: referenced dubcon spiciness (no, I don’t know how it got there either but I blame @shameless-whumper), dehumanization and pet whump, but also… an actual cat. And a cute Kauri.

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump

At first, he doesn’t recognize the noise. It sets off some sense of familiarity inside of him, some deep life knowledge from a world that is supposed to be totally erased from inside his head, but at the same time the sound doesn’t mean anything.. It’s a high-pitched noise, inhuman, a sort of yowl muffled through the glass door of the balcony.

Kauri looks up, blinking, then glances back over his shoulder. The sound comes again, stirring some hint of I know what that is, but he doesn’t, he can’t remember.

There’s no motion from the hallway. Owen left for a meeting with some people, and the cleaning lady came about an hour ago, staring at Kauri as he opened the door with a flat hostile nothing on her face.

The cleaning lady does not like Box Boys, but it’s not like usual, where the few people who have seen him treated him like a dog or some kind of status symbol for how rich Owen is… instead, she looks at him like he is made of poison.

Like every week, Kauri said hello as he let her in, using his cheerful, soft voice, the one Owen liked the most. And just like every other week, she said nothing in response, eyes flickering to the heavy white-gold collar and then right through him, as she pushed past him and got to work.

When the cleaning lady comes, Kauri is a ghost. A half-life, a thing made of wandering legs and pretty, expensive sweaters and pants. Part of Owen Grant’s home décor.

The whore in the house, part of him whispers, and is ashamed. But it’s a small part, and a very quiet voice, and even the pain that follows sharp in its wake is barely a headache compared to all the other incorrect thoughts he has. 

She’s currently in the bathroom and moves onto Owen’s bedroom next, so he’s out here in the living room, curled up under a fluffy blanket, pretending the cleaning lady thinks he’s a Platonic or Domestic, that she doesn’t know what he’s for and what positions he knows. 

If he was a Domestic, all he’d have to do is clean or maybe do household finances. Platonics, he thinks, are usually caregivers - live in the house but they don’t have to go in the bed or know the extra positions. Not that anyone was safe.

But he would have been a good Domestic or Platonic, he thinks; and then he wouldn’t have to know the things he knows to keep his owner happy.

The yowl comes again, and this time Kauri lets the blanket slip off his shoulders and quietly stands, moving with careful silent steps towards the balcony. Keira is settled into her docking station charging - the cleaning lady doesn’t like her, either - and so he’s alone as he creeps, heartbeat moving faster, to investigate the noise.

There’s a crash and a clatter, and he jumps, his hand still stretched towards the doorknob to head outside.

Finally, he slowly closes fingers around the cool metal, turns the knob until the door unlatches, and-

“Oh,” He says softly, staring down at a perfect, fluffy white cat with bright blue eyes. “Hello.”

Why hadn’t he known it was a cat before he saw it? Why had the noise been locked away, but he knew it when he saw it anyway? Were cats one of the things he shouldn’t know anymore?

Kauri’s head starts to ache.

Merry Christmas, little birds!

Oh my gosh! Oh, oh gosh, oh look, Mommy thank you! [ERASED], look, it’s a kitten!

Oh, neat! Cats are awesome! I want it to sleep in my bed.

No, my bed, it’s clearly my cat, right Mommy?

Well, actually, it’s everyone’s cat-

My bed!

No, mine!

Mine!

Guys, come on, stop fighting and let me enjoy the memory of the two of you being excited by the cat for at least thirty seconds.

The cat meows at him, and sits with perfect regal dignity to look up at him with slowly blinking blue eyes that nearly match his own. He drops into a crouch, reaching out to pet the beautifully soft white hair, feeling the cat bump up into his hand for more. “What are you doing here, huh? You’re very sweet.”

It makes a low noise, not quite a meow and then twines around him, fluffy white tail swishing back and forth, back and forth.

Kauri glances around, seeing the little planter it must have knocked over on its side dirt spilled out but the little succulent inside seemed to still be mostly intact. “Hey, that wasn’t very nice, little kitty.” He puts it back to rights, wagging his finger at the cat who reached out with a delicate stretch of her neck to lick at his finger.

Kauri melts.

“Okay, fine, just between us you can do whatever you want for forever,” Kauri whispers, and it licks at his finger again. He grins, settling back into sitting on the balcony floor, petting her as she moved into the space between his legs and lays herself down into a kind of boneless half-circle of cat on the floor. 

How long he stays like that, Kauri has no idea. He pets her until his feet went a little numb from the sitting, stands to get the feeling back into them, and then crouches and petted her again. She let him rub at her belly a little - although she batted him with half-clawed paws before too long - and she really liked the scritching behind the ears.

“I wish Mr. Owen would let me have a cat,” Kauri murmurs. “But I guess Keira would probably choke up trying to pick up all this fur. That’s okay. You can just come visit me, okay? I’ll sit here and pet you, I don’t have anything else to do.”

The cat blinks at him, silently, tail swishing contentedly. Kauri smiles at her, giving her one let good pet.

Then he hears the cleaning lady calling, “Mr. Grant’s pet! Come here and unfasten what you have left behind!”

Kauri remembers all at once, the night before and what was still attached to the headboard and footboard of the bed, and he winces, face flaring a bright and vicious red. He’d forgotten to take it down before she showed up.

“Well,” He says softly to the cat, who only looks at him in return, then slowly groomsone white paw. “I have to go, um, to go handle that. Will I see you again?”

The cat blinks once, then turned away from him, leaping gracefully up into one of the chairs, then to the balcony railing. 

Kauri watches with shock as the cat jumps onto a little ledge cut into the brick wall of the condo, where it crouches down, wriggles its haunches and then took a flying leap down into the balcony of the condo next door.

When she lands, all he could see was the swish of slightly curved white tail.

“I hope I do, anyway,” Kauri murmurs, and walks back inside, closing the balcony behind him, to go discover new shades of ashamed of himself while the cleaning lady watches him unbuckle all the leather bits that attach to the bed.

Why hadn’t he known it was a cat just from the sound?

Why wouldn’t he be allowed to remember cats?

The headache had really started to pound before he even makes it to the hall, and Kauri carefully banishes all thought and told himself, you weren’t made to think, and you don’t care about cats, anyway.

But the next week, when he hears the yowl again at the door, Kauri was up like a shot to open it and greet her with a little bit of tuna he’d managed to sneak away from lunch and a shy, friendly smile.

Keira the Roomba beeps at his heels, interested - Kauri thought so at least - in getting her sensors on the new thing she had never seen before.

Keira beeps.

The little cat stares then slowly, confused, batted at the black metal and plastic with one paw.

Kauri melted.